Don’t say it back. Don’t.
Hand snaking back to her side, she bit her lip against the sentiment trying to burst from her throat. If she admitted out loud that she liked being with him too, she might be tempted to let this fly like a fighter jet beyond the runway of friendship.
And she just couldn’t. Not with her dreams just within reach.
She felt adrift when he turned away and walked into Brock’s unit. The air around her grew empty and filled with loneliness.
She crossed her arms over herself and rested her hands along his jacket’s sleeves. Then she tilted her head down and breathed in his manly scent evident in the traces of woodsy cologne. Powerful, like the draw that had pulled his eyes to hers while he took reluctant steps away. Though he couldn’t possibly see in the window, she noticed that he cast glances over his shoulder, like he hadn’t wanted to end their time together.
She could relate.
After one last, lingering glance her way, he closed Brock’s door behind him.
Chloe remained on alert after Chance left, waiting to hear him emerge from Brock’s unit. What seemed like hours later, footsteps sounded on the boardwalk. Was she imagining that they paused outside her door?
Chloe took a step, nearly stumbled over Midnight, sleeping in his bed beneath the window, and watched Chance walk to his car. He must still be in the process of moving. He had armfuls of clothes and teetering stacks of books. Titles she recognized as global bestsellers, as well as famous classics.
He was an avid reader? This big, bad Special Ops soldier? There were so many layers to this man. “Special is right.” She sighed and closed her blinds so she didn’t feel like a stalker spying on him as he loaded the Jeep.
Since Chance seemed to do a lot with Brock, that meant she’d no doubt see Chance more than anticipated. She’d also see him while working with Ivan, but that was a professional environment. Here at Evie’s B&B she could be more casual, friendlier.
Chance had said his dad wasn’t typically this difficult, but that using Midnight might not work. In such cases, Chloe didn’t push the issue of animals in her therapy.
But Chloe felt in her gut that Midnight could help Ivan far faster and better than if she only used traditional therapy.
Ivan was already in jeopardy of it being too late, too long after the stroke to do much good as far as regaining dexterity and mobility.
Chloe yawned and rubbed her temples. It had been a long day, filled with a roller coaster of emotions. Chance’s unexpected friendship and her attraction to him. Fiona’s medical emergency. The complications with planning her program in Refuge. She headed toward her bedroom, knowing she needed to get some sleep so she could tackle whatever challenges the morning would bring.
The next evening, after a long grueling day of errands related to building her Refuge program, Chloe sat down with Ivan’s chart. His therapy had brightened her day, even though Ivan had been a real pill through it and refused most of her new exercises.
Complicating matters, she’d been disappointed not to see Chance. Ivan said he’d taken a new recruit to lunch because the recruit had asked about Chance’s church. That Chance had chosen to go to lunch rather than see her during Ivan’s session needled her, even though she knew her reaction was ridiculous.
Her fax machine bleeped and she approached it. Good. Ivan’s physician faxed her more of his history.
She kicked off her shoes, grabbed a pear and sat at the small kitchen table Evie had furnished.
Midnight lay down on top of her feet.
“Hmm. Ivan likes to work with clay. He has an Internet business and sells custom-made chess sets online. Let’s check them out, Midnight. What do you think?” While Midnight chased a katydid across the floor, Chloe went online.
Images of beautifully handcrafted games appeared. Chloe set down her fruit. “Wow. He is really talented.”
Empathy flooded her when a message appeared that said: “Due to family emergencies, we are unable to process orders at this time. We apologize for any inconvenience. Please check back next season.”
“So sad.” Chloe determined that minute to get Ivan to the point where he could work on his chess sets again.
More pictures scrolled across the screen. Chloe’s heart melted at the images of family and friends that came in and out of focus with the slide show.
“That must be Ivan’s late wife. Chance has his mom’s smile.” Speaking of Chance, image after image of him rolled across the screen. Some recent, some not.
“Wow. Ivan is really proud of his son.” She wondered if Chance knew all these photos were on here.
She giggled at one of Chance holding a stringer of catfish. “He looks about ten years old here. And severely sunburned.”
Another image scrolled. Chance in full dress blues. “Wow. Air Force guy. I must admit, he is so handsome he takes my breath away.”
The next image caused her face to flush. Must be recent because it was Chance, looking similar to now, on a lake in a fishing boat with Brock.
She leaned in, very close. They were both shirtless and standing in camouflage shorts flexing ballooned biceps, wash-board bellies and goofy grins.
She cleared her throat and grabbed papers off the table, then proceeded to fan herself furiously with them.
Thankfully, he was not shirtless in the next few photos. Those big, bulky guys must be part of his team. PJs or Pararescue Jumpers, Mandy had called them.
She’d look pararescue up after perusing Ivan’s site and chart and formulating a written game plan. Images on the family-owned business site caused even more compassion to well up.
“Midnight, good buddy, we really have to work on Ivan. Okay? Starting tomorrow, let’s do our best to help him get as much of his life back as possible.”
The dog licked her hand, which she normally wouldn’t allow. But she hadn’t paid much attention to him today.
Giggling, Chloe got down on the living room floor and played until they were both worn out. Then she took him for his evening walk and readied for bed.
She wrestled with her pillow. Flopped, tossed, turned. The more she thought about Ivan and Chance and the family photos and all they’d lost when they lost Chance’s mother and Ivan suffered his stroke, the more sleep eluded her. Turning her pillow to the cool side didn’t help.
Ivan’s Web site had given her intimate glimpses into their lives. And the Pararescue Jumpers site gave her a peek into the life of Chance, a true hero. The man who was becoming frighteningly intriguing to her and who felt far too familiar and fascinating for the little time they’d spent together.
And it seemed clear that the interest ran both ways.
Certainly the attraction did because she caught him checking her out every time she turned around, the same way she did him when he wasn’t looking, which wasn’t often.
This man was a rare breed. One who was, as their pararescue creed stated, willing to risk his life for others. The creed scrolled through her mind and left her more unsettled.
It is my duty as a pararescueman to save life and aid the injured. I will be prepared at all times to perform my assigned duties quickly and efficiently, placing these duties before personal desires and comforts. These things I do, “That Others May Live.”
That creed also meant he’d never give up his duty for any woman. Not even his wife. Just like her dad, his career would always come first.
Nevertheless, her determination to be involved in this family was about Ivan, not about Chance and not about her. She must really be tired. Otherwise her brain wouldn’t have brought the ridiculous and very