The Man Who Wouldn't Marry. Tina Beckett
after the way she’d angled her face toward his hand for a second as he’d brushed his fingers across her cheek in the emergency room. His breath had caught, memories of her doing that very same thing in the past sweeping over him.
But neither of them were the kids they’d once been. And Sammi evidently had an easier time accepting that than he did, because she’d pulled away. He, on the other hand, had been lost the moment he’d touched her. All he’d wanted to do was press his lips to hers and feel the response that used to set his world on fire.
He’d told Molly and Blake he’d make sure Sammi got back to the hotel, as her rental car was still there. She hadn’t seemed very happy about that either, although she’d kept silent. Glancing over at her as she stared out the passenger window, he wondered if he’d done the right thing in demanding she accept his offer. But she couldn’t take Toby on that ferry, dammit. Even she had to see that.
‘You doing okay back there, buddy?’ He peered into the rear-view mirror to find Toby leaning against the window in the back, eyes shut, mouth open. A thrill of anxiety went through him, along with a flashing image of a different boy—blood everywhere as the medics worked on the horrific wounds covering his small body. The same child who inhabited many of his current nightmares.
But Toby wasn’t that boy. And he wasn’t injured, just asleep. Mark forced his hands to ease their grip on the wheel, and thankfully the memory faded away.
He glanced at Sammi to make sure she hadn’t noticed anything. ‘He’s out.’
‘I’m sure he’s exhausted.’ Sammi twisted around in her seat to look, her dark braid looped over her left shoulder. He’d teased her about that long length of hair in high school, tugging on it repeatedly. Those had been during the light times, when they’d just been good friends. Later, when they’d been more than friends, he could remember wrapping that braid around his hand to hold her in place as he kissed her. Or removing the band and unwinding those thick lustrous strands so that they could fall loose and free.
This was a mistake, and he knew it. Being around her and Toby was reawakening the very things he’d tried to wipe from his mind. But he had no choice. It was time he thought about someone other than himself.
He was. He had been. It’s why he’d left Dutch Harbor all those years ago.
So why had he moved back to his hometown? Why hadn’t he just stayed away?
Because his mother needed him. At least that’s what he told himself.
Soon they were parked in front of the hotel’s check-in area. ‘Which room?’
‘Four-oh-two.’ Sammi’s voice remained soft. ‘Thank you, Mark. I know I didn’t seem very grateful back at the hospital, but you’re right. It’s better for Toby if we fly back. We’re not taking you away from a customer?’
It wouldn’t matter if they were. This was more important than a tourist. ‘Nope. I don’t have another charter trip on the docket until Tuesday, and that’s just a quick little island hop.’
Mark found the room number and pulled up in front of it. ‘I’ll help you get him inside, then I’ll check in. I’ll call you with my room number.’
‘Wait. Weren’t you going to stay with Blake and Molly?’ In the dark, he could just make out her frown.
‘I thought it might be easier to leave first thing if I stayed here. They’re forecasting sleet in the morning, and I’d like to be in the air before it hits.’ He hesitated. ‘And if something happens, you might need someone nearby.’
His chest tightened at the thought.
She unbuckled her seat belt then shoved her arms through the sleeves of her down jacket. She didn’t say anything as she clicked open the door and stepped from the car, so Mark had no idea if she was happy or furious that he was staying at the hotel. It didn’t matter either way. It was the right thing to do.
Getting out of the car as well, he pulled Toby’s door open and carefully released the latch on the seat belt. Then he slid his arms under the boy’s shoulders and knees and eased him from the car, thankful the kid’s jacket was still buttoned up tight. He was light. Almost as light as the boy he’d once carried to his chopper. That seemed like a lifetime ago now.
Had it only been a year?
It’s over. Done. You can’t undo the past.
Mark used his own body to block the wind, backing towards the door that Sammi had already opened.
‘He likes the far bed,’ she whispered as they went past.
‘His backpack is still in the car.’ Mark walked toward the bed, glancing down at the child’s slack face and dark lashes fanned out against his cheeks. A shard of loss went through his chest, and he suddenly had trouble catching his breath.
After setting the boy down on the blue bedspread, he carefully unzipped his coat, thankful the heat had been left on in the room. The weather conditions had turned frigid outside. So different from the stifling heat of Afghanistan and its twin scents of blood and fear that would often sweep through their camp like a dust storm, coating everything in sight. Even now it stung his nostrils, filled his lungs—
‘Mark?’
He jerked upright, turning toward her. ‘Yes?’
‘I—I wanted to thank you for what you’re doing. It means a lot to me.’ Before he could prepare himself, she stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his cheek. The touch was as light as a feather, but it was as if something in his heart clicked back on. Fear—and something much stronger—began racing through his veins.
He had to take a step back before he wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her into his arms, hoping her very presence could banish the memories he’d locked deep inside himself. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’d do the same for anyone.’
Something flared behind her eyes, and he damned himself for not thinking before he opened his big mouth. Yes, he’d do it for anyone, but the suggestion had been so much more than the casual offer from one stranger to another.
As she said goodbye and closed the door on him, he had his first inkling that he might be headed on a dangerous course. He couldn’t save the world, he’d already proved that to himself and everyone around him. He’d left Dutch Harbor eight years ago a scared and messed-up kid. He’d returned an even more screwed-up man. One who could barely take care of himself, much less anyone else. He’d do well to keep that in mind before making any other big promises he couldn’t keep.
Like promising a little boy he’d be fine? That he wouldn’t die like his mother and father had?
Mark set off for the lobby, a wave of exhaustion going through him. If there was one thing he’d learned, it was that promises were the stuff of fairy-tales—not worth more than the hot air used to voice them. He’d broken one too many of them over the course of his life.
But not any more.
He pulled off his clothes and slid beneath the bulky covers of his bed, the chill from the sheets clinging to skin like the ice that sometimes coated the props on his plane.
No more promises from him. Not to Toby. And especially not to Sammi.
Mark frowned as he peered over the steaming surface of the desert. The wind from his chopper’s rotors whipped a woman’s dark hair around her face as she pushed toward the aircraft. Even from a hundred yards away, something about her looked familiar.
The wife of their translator, who was now dead at the hands of insurgents. His eyes went to the bundle she carried in her arms.
A bomb!
The thought scrabbled through his mind, sending fear spiking through his veins.
The medics had just raced to help several downed soldiers who’d gotten caught in the crossfire, leaving Mark alone.
She