“Can’t wait to see it,” she said, her eyes still glittering at him.
“We’ll see.” Jericho reached out, tapped the coffeepot carefully with his fingertips and, satisfied, picked up a cloth to grab the pot by its curved handle. He poured each of them a cup of the steaming black brew, then watched as Daisy pulled a cook pan closer and dumped her corn chowder into it to heat.
“It’ll be ready in a few minutes,” she said, picking up her coffee cup for a sip. “So while we wait, tell me about Brant.”
That caught him off guard and Jericho’s gaze snapped to hers. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what was it like over there? Was Brant happy where he was—before he died?”
Frowning, Jericho said, “Happy? Nobody’s happy on a battlefield.”
“You know what I mean,” she persisted.
He stared into his coffee as if looking for answers. Finally, he said, “Yeah, I do. The thing is, people always ask that question, but they don’t really want to know what a war zone is like.”
“I do. I want to know what my brother’s life was like before it ended.”
Lifting his gaze to hers, he kept his face deliberately blank. “Brant did his job. He was good at it. He was well-liked.”
When she opened her mouth to ask another question, he cut her off. “Daisy, let it go.”
“I can’t,” she told him, regret shining in her whiskey-brown eyes. “I have to know.”
Jericho sighed a little, took a drink of his coffee and told her what he could, with some judicious editing. Civilians would never understand what it was like in a combat zone. Would never know the moments of pure adrenaline rush, followed by the searing hours of boredom. They wouldn’t understand what it was to put your life in someone else’s hands and to trust them with yours, or the fierce loyalty that the military experienced on a daily basis.
And how could they?
So he kept it simple and as vague as he could possibly get away with. “The days were blistering hot and the nights were so cold,” he said, “you half expected to wake up with icicles on your nose.”
“Brant complained about the cold in an e-mail once. I sent blankets,” she told him. “To everyone in his unit.”
“I know,” he said, giving her a real smile now as his memory raced back in time. “There was a lot of celebrating that day. After that, every mail call, Brant’s friends huddled close, wanting to get in on one of your packages from home.”
“I’m glad,” she said, though her features were wreathed in sadness.
He could give her this much. To let her know that her efforts had been appreciated by more than just her brother. “Touches of home are really cherished when they’re hard to come by. I can tell you all of the hot chocolate and instant coffees and dry foods you sent made him real popular. MREs get pretty tasteless after a while.”
She nodded. “Meals Ready to Eat. Brant told me about them. He actually had me taste one once. It was tuna casserole.” She grimaced.
Jericho laughed. “It’s an acquired taste. Actually, I brought some with me on this trip, just in case. So if you want to—”
“No, thanks,” she said, reaching out to give her chowder a stir.
The scent of the soup filled the air and Jericho could admit at least to himself that he was relieved she’d brought along provisions for tonight. What she’d packed looked a hell of a lot better than the MREs.
“You were with him when he died, weren’t you?”
The question was so softly asked, posed with such hesitation, the sound of the river nearly drowned it out. But Jericho heard her and also caught the worried expression on her face, as if she were half afraid to hear his answer.
He was stepping onto dangerous ground here. Might as well have been a minefield. Not enough information and she’d still be thirsty for more. Too much information and her dreams would be haunted. No information at all and she’d rag on him until he gave her something.
Again, he kept it simple. “Yeah, I was.”
“He wasn’t…in pain, was he?”
If he had been, Jericho wouldn’t have told her, but as it stood, he could be honest about this at least. “No, he wasn’t. He talked about you. Asked me to help you out if you ever needed it.”
“My little brother trying to protect me,” she mused and looked at him. The trail of a single tear coursed down her cheek like a drop of silver sliding over porcelain.
“That’s what brothers do,” he said, thinking of his own brothers. Jefferson, Justice and Jesse. He hadn’t seen much of them since he’d come home.
By choice, really. He’d wanted, needed, the solitude of the mountain and his brothers had respected that. Of course, he thought with an inward smile, his sisters-in-law were less understanding and had managed to drag him off the mountain for a few family things.
And on those rare occasions, he had been struck by a surprising jolt of envy that had shamed him some. Hell, he was glad for his brothers. They were all happy, doing what they loved doing—raising families. Jericho had decided as a kid he wasn’t interested in living his life in the traditional manner. But seeing his brothers with their families always left him feeling a little like the outsider.
“You have three brothers, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said, jolting from his thoughts.
“Are you close?”
“Used to be,” he admitted. “Still are, really, but we grew up, we each chose a different path and we all got busy building lives. Jefferson lives in Ireland now, so no, we don’t see much of each other anymore.”
“That’s a shame,” she said, spooning chowder into two bowls and handing him one. “Family is important. It’s the only important thing.”
Which made him remember that now that she’d lost her brother, Daisy had no family. Though he didn’t see much of his, he couldn’t really imagine life without them, either.
In the firelight, Daisy looked lovely, delicate, with her soft hair falling over her shoulders, reflections of the flames dancing in her wide, brown eyes. She ate her soup and thought her thoughts and couldn’t possibly have known that just looking at her was making him…want.
Which just naturally brought to mind Sam’s warnings before they’d left the lodge that morning. Maybe the older man was right. Maybe Jericho was just being twitchy and not being fair to her.
But, hell, it was his mountain.
Who said he had to be fair?
* * *
Jericho watched Daisy maneuver her way carefully across a rope bridge in the early morning light and found himself silently rooting for her. She was a surprise in many ways. Not only did she have spine, she seemed inherently incapable of quitting. She wasn’t afraid to try something—take a risk—if it meant getting herself closer to her goal.
Plus her incessant good humor was starting to rub off on him. Hard to maintain a stern demeanor when you were faced down by a brilliant smile every time you turned around. Yeah, she wasn’t what he’d expected at all. And though his original opinion that she didn’t belong on the mountain still held, he had to give her credit for a hell of a lot more than he would have guessed.
Frowning, he watched