“I play with big boys’ toys all day,” he said. “Can’t beat a job like that.”
She studied him, bothered by her thoughts and this sudden, unwanted curiosity about his life. “Business must be good.”
“We’re doing all right. You should come by sometime and check us out. Take a spin on one of the new Arctic Cats.” Using a black marker, he labeled a filled box and set it aside.
“Maybe I’ll do that.” When Antarctica melts. Though she was itching to ask why he’d left the military, she refrained, struggling not to care one way or the other. But something new about him disturbed her, something more than their painful break-up.
When he came around the table toward her then, she took a step backward, wary. The last thing she wanted was for him to touch her or apologize or...whatever he was about to do.
“I’ll get the filled boxes for you,” he said, indicating the two she’d packed and slid to one side. “They get pretty heavy.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling silly. “Thanks, but I’ve still got some muscle.” She raised her sweater-clad arm and made a muscle to prove the point.
Rafe was still a little too close, so much so that his outdoorsy scent tinkled her nose. Amy’s breath caught in her throat as memories flooded her. Her chest filled with an ache too big to hold. She’d once loved him so very, very much.
Heedless of her inward battle, Rafe’s powerful fingers lightly squeezed her relatively small muscle. He whistled. “Spokane girls got the power.”
Yes, they did. The power to back away and remember what Rafe Westfield had done five years ago.
She dropped her arm to her side and turned away to rummage in the donation boxes.
They worked in silence again, sorting, stacking, boxing. Amy tried to focus on the good she was doing, on the families who would benefit from the food and toys they’d deliver to homes shortly before Christmas.
“I wish we had a radio,” she said suddenly.
“Want to use my iPod? I’ve got earbuds.”
“You downloaded Christmas carols?”
“Are you insinuating that guys don’t listen to Christmas music?”
“No, of course not—” Amy looked up to see he was teasing. “How did you know I wanted Christmas music?”
“Because you always did.” Expression easy, he pointed a cake mix at her. “You drove me nuts singing ‘Jingle Bells’ at the first sign of snow.”
Not wanting to remember those good times, Amy tossed her head. “Maybe I’ve changed.”
He stared at her for two beats before saying, “I guess we both have. You gonna sing in the Christmas cantata?”
“I hadn’t thought about it.” But she was thinking about what he’d said. They’d both changed. For some reason, the statement made her sad.
“You should. Trust me, the choir needs your soprano.”
“I doubt that.” She added packs of beans and rice to the three new boxes she’d set between them as barriers. “New Life has plenty of strong voices.”
“None as sweet and pure as yours.”
“Is that a compliment?” She looked up, smiling in spite of her resolve.
His perfect mouth shrugged while his eyes twinkled. “Maybe. Or maybe Darlene Clifford is jockeying to sing a solo.”
Amy clapped a hand to each cheek. “Argh. Say it ain’t so!”
Holding a tea box to his chest, he nodded in mock seriousness. “And we both know Darlene’s voice could take the paint off the walls.”
Amy sniggered. Then she laughed. Rafe joined her. And in the next minute, through shared silliness, she relaxed a little.
“Shame on you.” Amy tossed a bag of noodles at him.
He one-handed it. “You laughed first.”
So she had. Rafe could always make her laugh.
But she’d still be glad when the evening was over.
* * *
The scream jerked him awake. He bolted upright in bed, shaking, heart thundering inside his chest. The rat-a-tat of gunfire resounded in his head. His nostrils full of fire and dust and that peculiar, sickly sweet smell of death.
Rafe shook his head, fighting to gain reality. He was home. In Snowglobe. In his old bedroom. He’d done his job. Let it go.
He sat up on the side of the bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. Cold night air prickled the sweat trickling down his neck.
He could hear his own ragged breathing, loud and harsh in the silent night.
The doorknob rattled and the door opened. Light from the hall bathroom crept in around his feet.
He looked up to find Jake a dark shadow standing in the doorway.
“Are you all right?” Jake asked, voice low and worried.
Rafe ran splayed fingers through the top of his hair, collecting himself for the sake of little brother. “Yeah.”
“I heard you.”
Shame calmed the pounding of his pulse. Jake’s room was next to his just as it had always been. Rafe was thankful Mom and Dad were at the other end of the house. But he didn’t want his brother thinking he was a sissy. “Sorry.”
Jake padded across the soft carpet, quiet as a cat, and a welcome presence. “Another nightmare?”
As much as he hated to admit it.
“Something like that. No big deal. Must have been the chili dog.”
Jake hovered, uncertain. “I can get you something. Water. Milk. Ibuprofen.”
Rafe wondered if he’d screamed, if he’d cried out like a scared girl. He wondered if he’d said anything he shouldn’t. But he didn’t ask. Couldn’t. He was a marine. “Go back to bed.”
“You sure? I could stay. Talk.”
“I’m good.” He could handle it. “Don’t say anything to Mom about this, okay?”
Jake hesitated for another few seconds, then squeezed Rafe’s shoulder, slipped quietly out of the room and shut the door with a soft click.
In total darkness again, Rafe sat on the side of the bed, adrenaline jacked, his sleep shot for the night. He couldn’t remember details of the dreams but they left him feeling weak and helpless and frustrated that war had followed him home. They didn’t come often—maybe once a week—but when they did, they wrecked him.
He bowed his head, hands clasped between his still shaky knees and prayed. Afterward, he rose and went to the window, pulling up the heavy insulated shades to look outside. The world was peaceful here. Peaceful and safe. Snow fell in the moonlight and glistened like the inside of a snowglobe. He thought of the one he’d carried with him all around the world. The snowglobe Amy had given him.
“Amy,” he muttered against the cold windowpane.
Tonight had been strange. He’d known she hadn’t wanted to be alone with him at the food pantry. Even though he understood her reasons, he was bothered. They’d been such good friends, able to talk about anything and everything, even before becoming engaged. But that, like everything else in his life, had changed.
He wondered again if he should broach the topic of their broken engagement and explain how sorry he was for hurting her.