expectation. It was rather like petting a beautiful tiger, wanting so desperately to touch something so lovely but knowing at the same time that the tiger could kill you.
She turned restlessly in the bed, tangling the sheets, and when the doorbell rang she jumped out of bed with a sense of relief and grabbed her robe, shrugging into it as she ran to the door. Just as she reached it she skidded to a stop and called, "Who is it?"
"Chris," came a muffled voice and Sallie's brow knit in puzzlement. What was he doing here? He'd been on the road a lot lately, due to Rhy's influence, no doubt, but he'd arrived back in town the day before, and he'd been fine earlier when she'd seen him long enough to say a quick hello. Now he sounded as if he was sick, or in pain.
Quickly she unlocked the various locks on the door and opened it. Chris had been slumped against the doorframe, and he straightened, giving her a glimpse of his drawn face. "What's wrong?" she asked swiftly, catching his sleeve and pulling him in so she could close the door. She fumbled with the locks again, then turned to him. He'd jammed his hands deep into his pockets and stood regarding her with deep, silent misery evident in his brown eyes.
Sallie caught her breath. Had someone been killed? That was always her first thought, her deepest fear.
She held out her hand to him and he took it, squeezing her slender fingers in a painful grip. "What is it?" she asked softly. "Chris?"
"I didn't know it would hurt so bad," he groaned, his voice so low that she could barely hear him. "Oh, God, Sallie, I didn't know."
"Who is it?" she demanded, grasping his arm urgently with her free hand. "Chris Meaker, if you don't tell rne--
He shook his head as if to clear it, as if he'd abruptly realized what she thought. "No," he said thinly.
"No one's dead, unless you want to count me. She's left me, Sallie."
Sallie gaped at him, remembering that he was in love with a woman who wanted the same things she'd once wanted, a nice, normal husband who came home every night, who fathered children and loved them and was around to see them grow up. Evidently the woman had decided that she couldn't live with Chris's job, with knowing that every trip could be his last one. Granted, some of the assignments weren't that dangerous, but it was a high-risk job at best. She hadn't been able to take it, either, the constant worry about someone she loved desperately. Only by cutting Rhy out of her life had she been able to function again.
"What can I do?" she asked in quiet sympathy. "Tell me how to help."
"Tell me it'll get better," he begged, and his voice cracked. "Sallie, hold me. Please, hold me!" To her horror his face twisted and he began to sob, jerking her to him with desperate arms and holding her so tightly that she couldn't breathe. His entire body was shaking and he buried his face in her neck, wetting her skin and hair and collar with his salty tears. Great tearing sobs tore from him and she put her arms around him, giving him what he'd asked for, someone to hold him. She knew what he was feeling; dear God, she knew exactly what he was going through. She'd cTied that way for Rhy, feeling as if he'd torn her insides out and she'd die from the pain of it.
"It'll get better," she promised thickly, tears blurring her own voice. "I know, Chris. I've been there."
He didn't answer, but his arms lifted her, taking her from the floor. He drew a deep, shuddering breath and swallowed, trying to control himself. "God knows it can't get any worse," he whispered, and lifted his head. For a moment his brown eyes, wet and miserable, stared into her wet blue ones, and then he dipped his head and fastened his mouth to hers, kissing her with silent desperation. Sallie understood and she kissed him back. He wasn't kissing her for any sexual reason; it was merely a reaching out for human contact, a plea for comforting. She'd always liked Chris; at that moment she came to love him.
Not the
She turned restlessly in the bed, tangling the sheets, and when the doorbell rang she jumped out of bed with a sense of relief and grabbed her robe, shrugging into it as she ran to the door. Just as she reached it she skidded to a stop and called, "Who is it?"
"Chris," came a muffled voice and Sallie's brow knit in puzzlement. What was he doing here? He'd been on the road a lot lately, due to Rhy's influence, no doubt, but he'd arrived back in town the day before, and he'd been fine earlier when she'd seen him long enough to say a quick hello. Now he sounded as if he was sick, or in pain.
Quickly she unlocked the various locks on the door and opened it. Chris had been slumped against the doorframe, and he straightened, giving her a glimpse of his drawn face. "What's wrong?" she asked swiftly, catching his sleeve and pulling him in so she could close the door. She fumbled with the locks again, then turned to him. He'd jammed his hands deep into his pockets and stood regarding her with deep, silent misery evident in his brown eyes.
Sallie caught her breath. Had someone been killed? That was always her first thought, her deepest fear.
She held out her hand to him and he took it, squeezing her slender fingers in a painful grip. "What is it?" she asked softly. "Chris?"
"I didn't know it would hurt so bad," he groaned, his voice so low that she could barely hear him. "Oh, God, Sallie, I didn't know."
"Who is it?" she demanded, grasping his arm urgently with her free hand. "Chris Meaker, if you don't tell rne--
He shook his head as if to clear it, as if he'd abruptly realized what she thought. "No," he said thinly.
"No one's dead, unless you want to count me. She's left me, Sallie."
Sallie gaped at him, remembering that he was in love with a woman who wanted the same things she'd once wanted, a nice, normal husband who came home every night, who fathered children and loved them and was around to see them grow up. Evidently the woman had decided that she couldn't live with Chris's job, with knowing that every trip could be his last one. Granted, some of the assignments weren't that dangerous, but it was a high-risk job at best. She hadn't been able to take it, either, the constant worry about someone she loved desperately. Only by cutting Rhy out of her life had she been able to function again.
"What can I do?" she asked in quiet sympathy. "Tell me how to help."
"Tell me it'll get better," he begged, and his voice cracked. "Sallie, hold me. Please, hold me!" To her horror his face twisted and he began to sob, jerking her to him with desperate arms and holding her so tightly that she couldn't breathe. His entire body was shaking and he buried his face in her neck, wetting her skin and hair and collar with his salty tears. Great tearing sobs tore from him and she put her arms around him, giving him what he'd asked for, someone to hold him. She knew what he was feeling; dear God, she knew exactly what he was going through. She'd cTied that way for Rhy, feeling as if he'd torn her insides out and she'd die from the pain of it.
"It'll get better," she promised thickly, tears blurring her own voice. "I know, Chris. I've been there."
He didn't answer, but his arms lifted her, taking her from the floor. He drew a deep, shuddering breath and swallowed, trying to control himself. "God knows it can't get any worse," he whispered, and lifted his head. For a moment his brown eyes, wet and miserable, stared into her wet blue ones, and then he dipped his head and fastened his mouth to hers, kissing her with silent desperation. Sallie understood and she kissed him back. He wasn't kissing her for any sexual reason; it was merely a reaching out for human contact, a plea for comforting. She'd always liked Chris; at that moment she came to love him.
Not the
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