wisp of hair away from her face.
Jennifer’s breath stilled, reminded of the tender gesture in the hospital. “Thanks,” she said softly.
Sometime before dawn, Jennifer sat upright with heart pounding and unsure why. It took a minute for her to recognize her surroundings. She heard a hoarse cry coming from somewhere in the hallway.
Blake .
She fumbled out of bed. Her foot throbbed the moment she lowered her legs to the floor. She had forgotten where she’d left the crutches and rather than looking for them, she hopped on her good foot into the darkness and toward the sound.
Ignoring the pain radiating up her leg, she limped into the other room, and knelt down beside the couch. Jennifer placed a hand on his arm and gently nudged him.
Blake continued mumbling. His skin was sweaty to the touch.
She moved her hand to his shoulder and gave a vigorous shake. “Blake,” she whispered.
It took several shakes, but his eyes snapped open, and he grabbed her arm and twisted—hard.
“Ow! Blake, it’s me, Jennifer! You’re having a nightmare.”
Chapter 10
It took several seconds for the bright sand hill to fade into the darkened drywall of the familiar spare room, and even longer for Blake to loosen his grip on his M16 rifle and watch Jennifer slump to the floor.
She was gasping and looking plain scared.
“Jennifer, what are you doing here?” He shot off the couch in such a hurry that his skin burned at the sudden movement. He bellowed and contracted into a ball.
Spasticity was often taken for granted, and he kept forgetting that abrupt movements tended to stretch his skin beyond its limits. It was a sharp reminder that he had to stop foregoing his occupational therapy sessions.
Jennifer scrambled to her feet, using the couch as her crutch. “You were having a nightmare. I heard you from the bedroom.”
He saw her wide eyes and pale skin reflecting the faint glow of the nightlight. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, you just scared the hell out of me when you pulled that Steven Segal move.” She sat down on the edge of the sofa and slowed her breathing. “What’s going on, Blake? Is there anything I can do for you?”
Blake shook his head and crossed the room to turn on the lights. “Go back to your room, Jennifer.”
Jennifer squinted and, ignoring his order, asked, “What’s wrong? I’m sure it’s not all about counting sheep that caused the nightmare. Care to talk about it?”
Her concern caused his defensive wall to slam firmly into place. He’d rather not deal with compassion and tenderness. He despised being weak and helpless, and Jennifer’s voice was packed with healthy doses of the unwanted sympathy.
“I didn’t know you were a shrink. Not that I ever needed one.”
“C’mon, Blake, even big boys like you need to unload.”
He settled on the opposite end of the couch, wincing as he spread his legs in front of him. “You want me to talk about the horrors of war? You want to hear the gory details of staring into my dead comrades’ eyes seconds after I pulled them to safety?”
Her eyes widened. “Is that what happened to Trent?”
“I wasn’t talking about Trent.” He rammed his fingers through his hair in disgust. “You have no idea what I’ve seen out there.”
“You can talk about what you’ve seen out there with me, Blake. If that’s what it’d take to get the load off your chest.” Her tone was low and calm. She scooted closer on the couch.
Too damn close.
With unfathomable weariness, he shook his head. “I’m not going to burden you with the horrors of combat. Those are the details I take to my grave.”
She reached out her hand, and he jerked away. “If talking won’t help, maybe I can ease some of the pain in your arms.” She reached for his hand again.
It took a tremendous amount of self-control not to pull his hand away. The softness of her skin against his made him tingle. Her touch alone elicited a sleeping urge within him, and he tried to curb the
Jennifer’s breath stilled, reminded of the tender gesture in the hospital. “Thanks,” she said softly.
Sometime before dawn, Jennifer sat upright with heart pounding and unsure why. It took a minute for her to recognize her surroundings. She heard a hoarse cry coming from somewhere in the hallway.
Blake .
She fumbled out of bed. Her foot throbbed the moment she lowered her legs to the floor. She had forgotten where she’d left the crutches and rather than looking for them, she hopped on her good foot into the darkness and toward the sound.
Ignoring the pain radiating up her leg, she limped into the other room, and knelt down beside the couch. Jennifer placed a hand on his arm and gently nudged him.
Blake continued mumbling. His skin was sweaty to the touch.
She moved her hand to his shoulder and gave a vigorous shake. “Blake,” she whispered.
It took several shakes, but his eyes snapped open, and he grabbed her arm and twisted—hard.
“Ow! Blake, it’s me, Jennifer! You’re having a nightmare.”
Chapter 10
It took several seconds for the bright sand hill to fade into the darkened drywall of the familiar spare room, and even longer for Blake to loosen his grip on his M16 rifle and watch Jennifer slump to the floor.
She was gasping and looking plain scared.
“Jennifer, what are you doing here?” He shot off the couch in such a hurry that his skin burned at the sudden movement. He bellowed and contracted into a ball.
Spasticity was often taken for granted, and he kept forgetting that abrupt movements tended to stretch his skin beyond its limits. It was a sharp reminder that he had to stop foregoing his occupational therapy sessions.
Jennifer scrambled to her feet, using the couch as her crutch. “You were having a nightmare. I heard you from the bedroom.”
He saw her wide eyes and pale skin reflecting the faint glow of the nightlight. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, you just scared the hell out of me when you pulled that Steven Segal move.” She sat down on the edge of the sofa and slowed her breathing. “What’s going on, Blake? Is there anything I can do for you?”
Blake shook his head and crossed the room to turn on the lights. “Go back to your room, Jennifer.”
Jennifer squinted and, ignoring his order, asked, “What’s wrong? I’m sure it’s not all about counting sheep that caused the nightmare. Care to talk about it?”
Her concern caused his defensive wall to slam firmly into place. He’d rather not deal with compassion and tenderness. He despised being weak and helpless, and Jennifer’s voice was packed with healthy doses of the unwanted sympathy.
“I didn’t know you were a shrink. Not that I ever needed one.”
“C’mon, Blake, even big boys like you need to unload.”
He settled on the opposite end of the couch, wincing as he spread his legs in front of him. “You want me to talk about the horrors of war? You want to hear the gory details of staring into my dead comrades’ eyes seconds after I pulled them to safety?”
Her eyes widened. “Is that what happened to Trent?”
“I wasn’t talking about Trent.” He rammed his fingers through his hair in disgust. “You have no idea what I’ve seen out there.”
“You can talk about what you’ve seen out there with me, Blake. If that’s what it’d take to get the load off your chest.” Her tone was low and calm. She scooted closer on the couch.
Too damn close.
With unfathomable weariness, he shook his head. “I’m not going to burden you with the horrors of combat. Those are the details I take to my grave.”
She reached out her hand, and he jerked away. “If talking won’t help, maybe I can ease some of the pain in your arms.” She reached for his hand again.
It took a tremendous amount of self-control not to pull his hand away. The softness of her skin against his made him tingle. Her touch alone elicited a sleeping urge within him, and he tried to curb the
Similar Books
