the effect she had on him? He recalled how she’d been in high school, so dreamy-eyed and sensitive, with her head in the clouds. No, not clouds. Flowers. Her thoughts were usually so wrapped in flowers that she didn’t notice that heads turned when she walked by. Even now, she still gave off that naïve, soft-focused aura that roused his protective instincts. Hell, what was there to protect her from but him?
Did she want him to stay? Better question, could he risk staying? “Why?” he hedged.
“We need someone to repair the carousel. Once upon a time you even promised you’d restore it for me. Remember?” Her smile was soft, beguiling. “And you were always so good with your hands. If you were staying in town . . .”
His laugh came out in a barking snort.
Her startled eyes widened. “Did I say something funny?”
She hadn’t noticed his hand. Of course not, he was still wearing his motorcycle gloves. He’d kept them on primarily because he hadn’t wanted her to know. Had wanted to postpone the inevitable.
She put out her hand to touch him, but he sidestepped it. She looked hurt again, just as she had at the cemetery.
Why couldn’t he let her touch him? Maybe it was because he knew that if she touched him he wouldn’t be able to hold on to his stoic façade. That he’d come completely apart at the seams. The thought scared the shit out of him. He’d held his tender emotions in reserve for so long he didn’t even know if they were still there. Maybe that was really what terrified him. That he’d lost the ability to love.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
Just rip off the Band-Aid. Show her. Get the horror over with.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not your man.”
“What?” Confusion clouded her features.
“I can’t refurbish your carousel.”
“Because you’re leaving town.”
“Because I can’t do it.”
“Nonsense. Remember that jewelry box you made me for my seventeenth birthday? I still have it.”
Why did that news make him feel so buoyantly sad? “I was good with my hands. Past tense. Not anymore.”
Her nose crinkled. “What do you mean? You can’t forget a talent like that.”
“No, but you can lose it.” He was being coy with her, which wasn’t his style, but he couldn’t seem to make himself just pull off the glove and show her. They’d reached the town square. The van had pulled up into the vacant lot and the workers were unloading the contents.
“How?” she asked.
He anticipated the stunned look on her face that would quickly turn to revulsion when he pulled the glove off. He knew how it would go. The only two women who had not turned away from his deformity were an army nurse with a weird kink for amputees and Moira, who’d seen so many land mine casualties it no longer fazed her. “Remember when I said I’d been in more than one bombing?”
“Uh-huh.” She brought a hand to her mouth and fear came into her eyes. Those innocent eyes that should never know about stuff like this.
He took a deep breath. Here was the moment of truth. Standing in the vacant lot, surrounded by wooden carousel animals ravaged by time and burly workmen going about their chores. “It happened in a village outside Kandahar. I was a newly minted Green Beret, on a special ops mission targeting high-level Taliban insurgents.”
Caitlyn’s gaze never left his face, but he couldn’t look at her or he wouldn’t be able to continue with the story. He shifted his gaze to the budding mimosa trees on the courthouse lawn. This place was so damn Norman Rockwell. He didn’t belong here. He never really had.
“There was a little girl.” He spoke dispassionately as if it had happened to someone else. “She dropped her doll in the street.”
Caitlyn was shaking her head, already jumping to the obvious conclusion. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t tell me there was a bomb in the doll.”
He nodded.
“Oh, Gideon.”
“In spite of my training, some stupid impulse took hold of
Did she want him to stay? Better question, could he risk staying? “Why?” he hedged.
“We need someone to repair the carousel. Once upon a time you even promised you’d restore it for me. Remember?” Her smile was soft, beguiling. “And you were always so good with your hands. If you were staying in town . . .”
His laugh came out in a barking snort.
Her startled eyes widened. “Did I say something funny?”
She hadn’t noticed his hand. Of course not, he was still wearing his motorcycle gloves. He’d kept them on primarily because he hadn’t wanted her to know. Had wanted to postpone the inevitable.
She put out her hand to touch him, but he sidestepped it. She looked hurt again, just as she had at the cemetery.
Why couldn’t he let her touch him? Maybe it was because he knew that if she touched him he wouldn’t be able to hold on to his stoic façade. That he’d come completely apart at the seams. The thought scared the shit out of him. He’d held his tender emotions in reserve for so long he didn’t even know if they were still there. Maybe that was really what terrified him. That he’d lost the ability to love.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
Just rip off the Band-Aid. Show her. Get the horror over with.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not your man.”
“What?” Confusion clouded her features.
“I can’t refurbish your carousel.”
“Because you’re leaving town.”
“Because I can’t do it.”
“Nonsense. Remember that jewelry box you made me for my seventeenth birthday? I still have it.”
Why did that news make him feel so buoyantly sad? “I was good with my hands. Past tense. Not anymore.”
Her nose crinkled. “What do you mean? You can’t forget a talent like that.”
“No, but you can lose it.” He was being coy with her, which wasn’t his style, but he couldn’t seem to make himself just pull off the glove and show her. They’d reached the town square. The van had pulled up into the vacant lot and the workers were unloading the contents.
“How?” she asked.
He anticipated the stunned look on her face that would quickly turn to revulsion when he pulled the glove off. He knew how it would go. The only two women who had not turned away from his deformity were an army nurse with a weird kink for amputees and Moira, who’d seen so many land mine casualties it no longer fazed her. “Remember when I said I’d been in more than one bombing?”
“Uh-huh.” She brought a hand to her mouth and fear came into her eyes. Those innocent eyes that should never know about stuff like this.
He took a deep breath. Here was the moment of truth. Standing in the vacant lot, surrounded by wooden carousel animals ravaged by time and burly workmen going about their chores. “It happened in a village outside Kandahar. I was a newly minted Green Beret, on a special ops mission targeting high-level Taliban insurgents.”
Caitlyn’s gaze never left his face, but he couldn’t look at her or he wouldn’t be able to continue with the story. He shifted his gaze to the budding mimosa trees on the courthouse lawn. This place was so damn Norman Rockwell. He didn’t belong here. He never really had.
“There was a little girl.” He spoke dispassionately as if it had happened to someone else. “She dropped her doll in the street.”
Caitlyn was shaking her head, already jumping to the obvious conclusion. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t tell me there was a bomb in the doll.”
He nodded.
“Oh, Gideon.”
“In spite of my training, some stupid impulse took hold of
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