A Summer to Remember (32 page)

Fia didn't want to soften or be amused, but she couldn't stop herself from adding to his record. “And you've still got scars on your ankle from a miniature poodle with pink bows on her ears.”

“That was one ferocious dog,” he defended himself. “Of course, if I had to go around with bows on my ears, I'd be pretty pissed off at the world, too.”

After his grin faded, he took her hand. “Fia, the point is, loving somebody and making a commitment to them doesn't have anything to do with health or wealth or social status or career or any of that stuff. It has to do with who you are and who I am and the fact that we're better people together than we are apart. You having some disease…yeah, it's awful, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone, but it doesn't change who you are, and it doesn't change who I am. Who you are is a strong, intelligent, hardheaded woman who's been on her own so long that you're afraid to let someone else in for the long haul.”

At least he got the
hardheaded
part right. Strong? She used to be. Intelligent? Her head had been so muddled with frustration and helplessness that she wasn't sure how much intelligence remained. After all, she was trying her best to break up with the best guy she'd ever met since Scott. Nothing smart about that, was there?

“And who are you?” Her voice was tight, broken between words by the lump rising in her throat.

He gazed at her with the intensity that had made her shivery from the start. “I'm the guy who's in it for the long haul, no matter how hard you push me away. You may not have learned this yet, darlin', but I'm a little on the hardheaded side, too. I know, I know, I come off as all soft and easygoing and biddable—”

She snickered. “What twenty-eight-year-old man says
biddable
? Wait, I bet your grandma used to say it.”

“Nope. I picked that one up totally on my own.” He flashed a grin, but the fierce look in his eyes didn't lessen. “Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, biddable. But deep down, I'm like a dog with a bone. When I want something, I don't give up.”

She waited for him to go on, but he didn't. “Until you get it,” she prompted. “You don't give up until you get it.”

“No. I don't give up. I never give up.”

He would never give up on her. So how in the world could she give up on them so easily?

We're better people together than we are apart.
He really believed that. Did she?

All it took to answer that was a scan of the past few weeks. All the tenderness, all the feelings that she was once again part of a whole, all her smiles and happiness and hopefulness—all of it had come from or been in response to Elliot. He had that missing part of her heart. She could live without it, but why in the world would she want to?

Slowly she lifted her gaze to Elliot. A smile was tugging at her mouth, pulling wider until it spread across her face, sending warmth and pleasure through her. She hadn't really smiled since Saturday night, and damn, how she'd missed it.

She slid to her feet, picked up the ticket, grabbed his hand, and pulled him up. “You've been taking care of Mouse the past few days. Now it's time for me to live up to my end of the bargain and take care of you. After all…” She gave him a wicked look over her shoulder. “We don't want any body parts falling off, do we?”

I
t was Saturday night, the evening was still, the heat was hanging around, and sheet lightning was putting on a show off in the northwest sky. Exhausted in a totally comfortable happy way, Elliot lay on a chaise longue on the patio, Mouse curled by his feet, with a beer resting on an upside-down bucket serving as a table. Beside him, Fia lay on a matching chaise. She wore shorts that left her long legs bare, a thin top that left glimpses of her belly bare, and his straw Stetson, tipped forward to cover most of her face. Her water bottle sat on the bucket, too.

It had become their habit to come out on warm still nights and laze—or as Elliot liked to think of it, be one with the universe. They watched the sun set, looked for comets and shooting stars, and mostly found airplanes. It was a peaceful, restful end to their days—peaceful and restful being something Dr. Haruno highly recommended.

This second Saturday in June, while a hell of a lot of fun, had been far from either one.

“Are you awake under there?”

“Yup.” She removed his hat and looked at him. “The margarita girls throw one hell of a party, don't they?”

“Yes, ma'am, they do.” It had started as a simple little barbecue to celebrate that school was out, for the students—the kids, Dane, Bennie, and Noah—and the teachers, Carly and Therese. Then since it was June, they'd added Carly and Dane's anniversary, and they couldn't overlook little John's big oh-one birthday. Patricia's son and daughter-in-law, Ben and Avi, were heading back to Georgia from leave, the Smith family was meeting Dillon's daughter, Lilah, for the first time, and Elliot's own family was coming to town to meet Fia for the first time. The simple little school's-out party had become a huge celebration of everything.

It had been the best first meeting in the history of family first meetings. “You know my family adored you,” he mentioned, just in case she'd let uncertainty blind her to the obvious.

Her smile was broad and teasing. “I know. Your mom said after tire-iron girl and foul-mouthed English girl, she'd begun to worry about your taste in women, but I was even better than she dared hope for.”

His expression wrinkled into a grimace. “She told you about them, huh?”

“Oh, babe, while you were off with the guys, your mom and Emily told me
every
embarrassing moment and bad choice in your life.”

“Nah, couldn't have. That would take way more than one day.”

She reached across to tuck her hand in his. “I like the Emily-saves-Elliot stories.”

He chuckled. “To be honest, some of the Emily-saves-Elliot stories happened because Emily got Elliot into the bad situation to start.”

“But she never left him there. You said everyone should have an Em in their lives.” Fia gazed into the sky, satisfaction radiating in lazy waves around her. “And now I do.”

“Damn right you do.” While Elliot had been “off with the guys,” he, his father, and Bill had talked at length about the future with regards to Fia's health. Mitchell's and Bill's offer had been simple: If and when her MS began progressing more rapidly, they were more than open to a move to Tallgrass to help out. Family was family. They celebrated together when things were good and pulled together when they were bad.

It had been enough to bring a lump to Elliot's throat, but he hadn't been surprised. That was the way the Rosses were. They took care of their own.

And Fia was theirs now, too.

Damn, he'd been blessed.

After a moment's silence, Fia spoke. “I counted four pregnant women today: Carly, Bennie, Avi, and Ilena. Jessy and Marti and I are betting Lucy's next.”

“Maybe you'll be.” He said it casually, but everything inside him tightened, awaiting her answer. He tried not to pressure her about it, but he couldn't help wanting. He hoped that as time went on and her medications returned her to relative normalcy, she'd get more comfortable with the idea.

And the meds were working. She'd had only a few minor episodes since that awful Saturday night. Her energy was coming back; she wasn't afraid to walk Mouse by herself; she'd regained the weight she'd lost, thanks to his cooking, she teased; and she'd even talked about taking on a couple of her favorite training clients this summer.

She gave him a long look, then set his hat aside and slid across the small space between them to share his chaise. He turned on his side to make room for her, though it meant lying very, very close and touching, well, everywhere. Anticipation started in his belly, spreading with each beat of his heart.

“Who knows?” Fia said at last, her tone thoughtful. “Maybe it
will
be me.” In a voice so soft he barely heard it, she said, “And then everything will be perfect.”

Wrapping his arms around her, sliding onto his back again and lifting her onto him, he said, “It's all a matter of attitude, darlin'. From my perspective, everything
is
perfect. Right now. Right here. You know, life happens in an instant. You blink, and you miss it. We're not gonna blink, either one of us. We're not gonna miss a thing.” Not in the six weeks since they'd met, not in the six weeks, six months, or sixty years they had ahead of them. Whatever future they faced, they faced it together.

With a sweet sigh, she rested her head on his shoulder. “I love you, Elliot.”

“I love you, too.”

“I'm so glad you came to Tallgrass.”

“I couldn't have stayed away. Remember, I told you I was looking for a place that felt like home.”

“And you even made a list of what it needed to be home.” She lifted her head to look at him “What's on that list?”

He gazed into her solemn eyes a long time, raising one hand to gently brush through her hair. He'd been born knowing he was damn lucky but never so much as he was right that moment. “You are, darlin',” he said in a husky voice.

“Just you.”

I
t had taken only three months of living in Oklahoma for Carly to learn that March could be the most wonderful place on earth or the worst. This particular weekend was definitely in the wonderful category. The temperature was in the midseventies, warm enough for short sleeves and shorts, though occasionally a breeze off the water brought just enough coolness to chill her skin. The sun was bright, shining hard on the stone and concrete surfaces that surrounded them, sharply delineating the new green buds on the trees and the shoots peeking out from the rocky ground.

It was a beautiful clear day, the kind that Jeff had loved, the kind they would have spent on a long walk or maybe just lounging in the backyard with ribs smoking on the grill. There was definitely a game on TV—wasn't it about time for March Madness?—but he'd preferred to spend his time off with her. He could always read about the games in the paper.

Voices competed with the splash of the waterfall as she touched her hand to her hip pocket, feeling the crackle of paper there. The photograph went everywhere with her, especially on each new adventure she took with her friends. And this trip to Turner Falls, just outside Davis, Oklahoma, while tame enough, was an adventure for her. Every time she left their house in Tallgrass, two hours away, was an adventure of sorts. Every night she went to sleep without crying, every morning she found the strength to get up.

“There's the cave.” Jessy, petite and red haired, gestured to the opening above and to the right of the waterfall. “Who wants to be first?”

The women looked around at each other, but before anyone else could speak up, Carly did. “I'll go.” These adventures were about a lot of things: companionship, support, grieving, crying, laughing, and facing fears.

There was only one fear Carly needed to face today: her fear of heights. She estimated the cave at about eighty feet above the ground, based on the fact that it was above the falls, which were seventy-two feet high, according to the T-shirts they'd all picked up at the gift shop. Not a huge height, so not a huge fear, right? And it wasn't as if they'd be actually climbing. The trail was steep in places, but anyone could do it. She could do it.

“I'll wait here,” Ilena said. Being twenty-eight weeks pregnant with a child who would never know his father limited her participation in cave climbing. “Anything you don't want to carry, leave with me. And be sure you secure your cameras. I don't want anything crashing down on me from above.”

“Yeah, everyone try not to crash down on Ilena,” Jessy said drily as the women began unloading jackets and water bottles on their friend.

“Though if you do fall, aim for me,” Ilena added. “I'm pretty cushiony these days.” Smiling, she patted the roundness of her belly with jacket-draped arms. With pale skin and white-blond hair, she resembled a rather anemic snowman whose builders had emptied an entire coat closet on it.

Carly faced the beginning of the trail, her gaze rising to the shadow of the cave mouth. Every journey started with one step—the mantra Jeff had used during his try-jogging-you'll-love-it phase. She hadn't loved it at all, but she'd loved him so she'd given it a shot and spent a week recovering from shocks such as her joints had never known.

One step, then another. The voices faded into the rush of the falls again as she pulled herself up a steep incline. She focused on not noticing that the land around her was more vertical than not. She paid close attention to spindly trees and an occasional bit of fresh green working its way up through piles of last fall's leaves. She listened to the water and thought a fountain would be a nice addition to her backyard this summer, one in the corner where she could hear it from her bedroom with the window open.

And before she realized it, she was squeezing past a boulder and the cave entrance was only a few feet away. A triumphant shout rose inside her and she turned to give it voice, only to catch sight of the water thundering over the cliff, the pool below that collected it and Ilena, divested of her burden now and calling encouragement.

“Oh, holy crap,” she whispered, instinctively backing against the rough rock that formed the floor of the cave entrance.

Heart pounding, she turned away from the view below, grabbed a handful of rock and hauled herself into the cave. She collapsed on the floor, unmindful of the dirt or any crawly things she might find inside, scooted on her butt until the nearest wall was at her back, then let out the breath squeezing her chest.

Her relieved sigh ended in a squeak as her gaze connected with another no more than six feet away. “Oh, my God!” Jeff's encouragement the first time she'd come eye to eye with a mouse echoed in her head:
“He's probably as scared of you as you are of him.”

The thought almost loosed a giggle, but she was afraid it would have turned hysterical. The man sitting across the cave didn't look as if he were scared of anything, though that might well change when her friends arrived. His eyes were dark, his gaze narrowed, as if he didn't like his solitude interrupted. It was impossible to see what color his hair was, thanks to a very short cut and the baseball cap he wore with the insignia of the 173rd Airborne Brigade Combat Team. He hadn't shaved in a day or two, and he was lean, long, solid, dressed in a T-shirt and faded jeans with brand-new running shoes.

He shifted awkwardly, sliding a few feet farther into the cave, onto the next level of rock, then ran his hands down his legs, smoothing his jeans.

Carly forced a smile. “I apologize for my graceless entrance. Logically, I knew how high I was, but as long as I didn't look, I didn't have to
really
know. I have this thing about heights, but nobody knows”—she tilted her head toward the entrance where the others' voices were coming closer—“so I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything.”

Stopping for breath, she grimaced. Apparently, she'd learned to babble again, as if she hadn't spoken to a stranger—a male stranger, at least—in far too long. She'd babbled with every man she'd met until Jeff. Though he'd been exactly the type to intimidate her into idiocy, he never had. Talking to him had been easy from the first moment.

“I'm Carly, and I hope you don't mind company because I think the trail is pretty crowded with my friends right now.” She gestured toward the ball cap. “Are you with the Hundred Seventy-Third?”

There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes that she recognized the embroidered insignia. “I was. It's been a while.” His voice was exactly what she expected: dark, raspy, as if he hadn't talked much in a long time.

“Are you at Fort Sill now?” The artillery post at Lawton was about an hour and a half from the falls. It was Oklahoma's only other Army post besides Fort Murphy, two hours northeast at Tallgrass.

“No.” His gaze shifted to the entrance when Jessy appeared, and he moved up another level of the ragged stone that led to the back of the shallow cave.

“Whoo!” Jessy's shout echoed off the walls, then her attention locked on the man. The tilt of her green eyes gave her smile a decided feline look. “Hey, guys, we turn our back on her for one minute, and Carly's off making new friends.” She heaved herself into the cave and, though there was plenty of room, nudged Carly toward the man before dropping to the stone beside her. She leaned past, offering her hand. “Hi, I'm Jessy. Who are you?”

Carly hadn't thought of offering her hand or even asking his name, but direct was Jessy's style, and it usually brought results. This time was no different, though he hesitated before extending his hand. “I'm Dane.”

“Dane,” Therese echoed as she climbed up. “Nice name. I'm Therese. And what are you doing up here in Wagon Wheel Cave?”

“Wishing he'd escaped before we got here,” Carly murmured, and she wasn't sure but thought she heard an agreeing grunt from him.

The others crowded in, offering their names—Fia, Lucy, and Marti—and he acknowledged each of them with a nod. Somewhere along the way, he'd slipped off the ball cap and pushed it out of sight, as though he didn't want to advertise the fact that he'd been Airborne. As if they wouldn't recognize a high-and-tight haircut, but then, he didn't know he'd been cornered by a squad of Army wives.

Widows
, Carly corrected herself. They might consider the loose-knit group of fifteen to twenty women back in Tallgrass just friends. They might jokingly refer to themselves as the Tuesday Night Margarita Club, but everyone around Tallgrass knew who they really were, even if people rarely said the words to them.

The Fort Murphy Widows' Club.

Marti, closest to the entrance, leaned over the edge far enough to make Carly's heart catch in her chest. “Hey, Ilena, say hi to Dane!”

“Hello, Dane!” came a distant shout.

“We left her down below. She's preggers.” At Dane's somewhat puzzled gesture, Marti yelled out again, “Dane says hi!”

“Bet you've never been alone in a small cave with six women,” someone commented.

“Hope you're not claustrophobic,” someone else added.

He did look a bit green, Carly thought, but not from claustrophobia. He'd found the isolation he was seeking, only to have a horde of chatty females descend on him. But who went looking for isolation in a public park on a beautiful warm Saturday?

Probably lots of people, she admitted, given how many millions of acres of public wilderness there were. But Turner Falls wasn't isolated wilderness. Anyone could drive in. And the cave certainly wasn't isolated. Even she could reach it.

Deep inside, elation surged, a quiet celebration. Who knew? Maybe this fall she would strap into the bungee ride at the Tulsa State Fair and let it launch her into the stratosphere. But first she had to get down from here.

Her stomach shuddered at the thought.

After a few minutes' conversation and picture taking, her friends began leaving again in the order in which they'd come. With each departure, Carly put a few inches' space between her and Dane until finally it was her turn. She took a deep breath…and stayed exactly where she was. She could see the ground from here if she leaned forward except no way was she leaning forward with her eyes open. With her luck, she'd get dizzy and pitch out headfirst.

“It's not so bad if you back out.” Despite his brief conversation with the others, Dane's voice still sounded rusty. “Keep your attention on your hands and feet, and don't forget to breathe.”

“Easy for you to say.” Her own voice sounded reedy, unsteady. “You used to jump out of airplanes for a living.”

“Yeah, well, it's not the jumping that's hard. It's the landing that can get you in a world of trouble.”

On hands and knees, she flashed him a smile as she scooted in reverse until there was nothing but air beneath her feet. Ready to lunge back inside any instant, she felt for the ledge with her toes and found it, solid and wide and really not very different from a sidewalk, if she discounted the fact that it was eighty feet above the ground. “You never did say where you're stationed,” she commented.

“Fort Murphy. It's a couple hours away—”

“At Tallgrass.” Her smile broadened. “That's where we're all from. Maybe we'll see you around.” She eased away from the entrance, silently chanting to keep her gaze from straying.
Hands, feet, breathe. Hands, feet, breathe.

Dane Clark stiffly moved to the front of the cave. A nicer guy would've offered to make the descent with Carly, but these days he found that being civil was sometimes the best he could offer. Besides, he wasn't always steady on his feet himself. If she'd slipped and he'd tried to catch her, she likely would have had to catch him instead. Not an experience his ego wanted.

His therapists wouldn't like it if they knew he was sitting in this cave. He'd only been in Tallgrass a few days. The first day, he'd bought a truck. The second, he'd come here. The drive had been too long, the climb too much. But he'd wanted this to be the first thing he'd done here because it was the last thing he'd done with his dad before he died. It was a tribute to him.

The women's voices were still audible, though all he could really make out was laughter. What were the odds he would drive two hours for a little privacy and wind up sharing the cave with six women—seven if he counted the pregnant one, now handing out jackets—from the town where he was stationed?

It really was a small world. He'd traveled a hell of a lot of it. He should know.

Sliding forward a few inches, he let his feet dangle over the edge. God, how many times had doctors and nurses and therapists told him to do that? Too many to think about, so instead he watched Carly's progress, her orange shirt easy to pick out against the drab shades of rock and dirt. Why had she volunteered to lead the climb if she was afraid of heights? To prove she could?

Finally, she jumped the last few feet to the ground and spun in a little circle that he doubted any of her friends noticed. She joined them, and what appeared to be a spontaneous group hug broke out, congratulating each other on their success.

He'd had buddies like that—well, maybe not so touchy-feely. Still did, even if they were scattered all over the world. But after years filled with one tour after another in Iraq or Afghanistan, a lot of them were gone. Sometimes he thought he couldn't possibly remember all their faces and names. Other times, he knew he would never forget.

After posing for more pictures, the women headed away from the falls. With the trail empty as far as he could see, he stood up, both hands touching the rock just in case. Time to see if his right leg and the miracle of modern medicine that served as his left could get him to the bottom without falling on his ass.

He succeeded. Uneven ground made for uncomfortable walking, the prosthetic rubbing the stump of his leg despite its protective sleeve. It was odd, standing, moving, climbing, without more than half of his leg. He could feel it, and yet he couldn't, sensed it was there but knew it wasn't. It was the damnedest thing—sometimes the hardest of all to accept.