4

 

“Ryder, what are you doing?” Alison asked as she strode down the cobblestone path. “Get out of the dirt.”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Ryder sat back on his haunches and gazed up at her. Though it was barely seven in the morning, the May sun was warm on his back through a soiled navy T-shirt, and a bandanna wrapped around his forehead absorbed sweat before it dripped into his eyes. His leg was stiff where a scar still healed along his thigh, but he shook it off. The knees of his ripped jeans were splattered with mud.

“Aren’t you a bit too old to be playing in the dirt?”

“I happen to like the dirt.” He’d spent enough time in the barren desert. Besides, he needed something to take his mind off things—off the fact that Mama Stallings had been laid to rest two days ago beside her Jacob, and that half the town—OK, to be honest all of the town—had Ryder on its radar. Even a quick trip to the home improvement store yesterday afternoon had incited a litany of speculation from Old Man Jenkins. The past had risen to meet Ryder with a vengeance. “You could offer me a glass of water, though. It’s hot out here.”

“What’s all that river rock for?” Ali pointed with a manicured finger. “And the mulch? Where did you get that truck and those plants?”

“I bought the truck. Can’t haul things without a truck.”

“What about your motorcycle?”

“Romeo still hasn’t released it from the impound.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

“I will.” She scanned the length of the side yard. “I still don’t fully understand what’s going on here, Ryder.”

“Here’s the Cliff’s Notes version: I’m repairing your flowerbeds.”

“I don’t want you to repair my flowerbeds.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.” She stomped one foot, deliciously clad in less-than-sensible red stiletto-heeled pumps that matched a flowered skirt. Seams hugged in all the right places while a hint of calf peeked from beneath the hem. How did she get any work done around the inn, dressed like that? Ryder wasn’t sure if the sweat that trickled down his back was caused by the rise in mercury or his eyeful of her. “Don’t tell me what I want, Ryder. Go wash up. I’ve made breakfast.”

“Breakfast can wait.” He knelt again, dumped a magnolia into the hole he’d just finished digging. “This plant is hardy. You can’t destroy it if you tried, Ali.” He grinned and reached for a thermos. “And don’t worry about that glass of water. I brought my own.”

“Good.” She took a step toward him, carefully navigating the upturned mess of soil with the pointy heels of her shoes. “What’s this?”

He caught a whiff of her perfume…sweet and musky. “You’re sure full of questions today.”

“This tattoo.” She jabbed his right bicep. “I don’t remember you having any tattoos, Ryder. What is it?”

“A trident.” He pushed back his shirt sleeve, fully exposing the design with a backdrop of an eagle atop an anchor. “Emblem of the Navy SEALs.”

“But, why…?” A storm cloud swept across Ali’s face and her skin went pale, offsetting a smattering of freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose. “Ryder, where have you really been the past several years?”

“I told you—I joined the military.”

“I know that much. You told me you were scheduled to report for basic training…for the military. But you never said—”

“Honey, the SEALs are the military.”

“That’s dangerous, Ryder.” She took a step back, stumbled as he reached out to catch her. “You should have told me.”

“So you could spend your days worrying? I couldn’t bear that thought, Ali.”

“It’s not your place to make that decision for me. I had a right to know. I would have tried harder to bring you back home.”

“And I wouldn’t have come. I couldn’t until I was ready—until you were ready.”

“And you think I’m ready now?”

“I don’t know. Are you?”

“I’m mad at you, Ryder Shane Hawkins.” Her voice went high and shaky as she used his full given name. “No, I’m furious. You could have been killed.”

“Yes, I could have.” His hand gripped her wrist, and he felt the rush of her pulse as her eyes flashed the deepest green. “But, would it have mattered, Ali?”

“I—you—oh!”

The slap caught him across the jaw and stung like a grazing bullet. Her eyes exploded into emerald flames. “I hate you for asking that, for even think—”

“I just needed to know.”

“And I guess you got your answer. I hope you’re pleased.” Ali spun away from him, yanking her arm from his grasp. She stomped up the walk. When one of the pumps slipped, she kicked it away, shucked the second, and tramped on in bare feet. She didn’t pause until she hit the back steps. She turned back just long enough to toss him a death glare before crossing the threshold, slamming the door so hard Ryder was shocked to see it remain on its hinges.

 

****

 

The man was impossible.

Alison stamped to the refrigerator, the bottoms of her feet stinging from the scrape of cobblestones. She heaved air, fighting vertigo. If she didn’t grab something cold to drink and collapse into a chair soon, she was sure to take a swan-dive to the floor.

But, would it have mattered, Ali?

Ryder’s words rushed through her mind like a freight train plowing the tracks. The nerve…the gall.

He deserved the slap, yet guilt nudged her. She’d never resorted to hitting anyone in her life. Tears blurred her vision as she massaged her throbbing hand and glanced out the back window. She’d smacked him awfully hard, and now her conscience battled with a smug prickle of satisfaction.

But, would it have mattered, Ali?

She swiped her eyes as she grabbed a pitcher of orange juice from the fridge and thought about gulping directly from the container. Her throat blazed like an inferno. She reached into the cabinet for a glass and filled it to the brim.

The aroma of bacon mingled with ham and cheese omelets. Gravy simmered in a chafing dish as the coffeemaker hissed and spat. Though no guests were scheduled for the inn today, she’d prepared breakfast anyway.

For Ryder.

Embers of anger flared once more. She slammed her glass on the counter and juice splattered over her hand.

“I’ll take a glass of that.” Ryder stood in the doorway, swiping his face with a blue bandanna that brought out the gray of his eyes. His cheek held the angry red splotch of her handprint. “If it’s safe to come in.”

“Suit yourself.” She grabbed a second glass from the cabinet, tossed it to him without concern about whether he might miss and have it shatter to the floor. “I’ll share.”

One eyebrow disappeared beneath disheveled hair. He massaged his thigh, grimacing. “Looks like I have a talent for raising your ire.”

“You always did, Ryder.” She set the pitcher on the counter, slid it toward him so juice sloshed over the rim. “I did the same to you. But, we’ve always been honest with each other—at least I thought we were.”

“I didn’t tell you where I was because I knew you’d worry.” He filled his glass, sucked it dry with one greedy gulp. “I also knew you were already struggling with what happened to Josh, all the grief you were carrying. I didn’t want to add to that.”

“So, you just dropped by one morning to say, ‘By the way, I’m leaving for basic training this afternoon.’” She moved toward the table and dropped into a chair, angry that the tears kept leaking down both cheeks. “In the next breath, you were gone. No glance back, no forwarding address, as if what we shared didn’t even mean anything.”

“You hadn’t spoken to me for an entire week, Ali. It was killing me. We never went more than a day without speaking.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Your parents hated me, too.”

“They didn’t hate you, and neither did I.” Tears flowed faster. Her voice was muddled, her heart in shreds. “I could never hate you. I was just confused.”

“Having me around only added to that confusion. Don’t you see? I had to go. I couldn’t stay with the way I was—the way we were. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“So, you left.”

“Yes, I left with the hope that I could become something better—something more than the kid who always seemed to find trouble.”

“And the SEALs helped you do that?”

“It’s the toughest training I’ve ever been through…then the hardest seven—nearly eight—years of my life. But not only because of what I did, what I learned, where I was. It was hard because I wasn’t with you, Ali.”

“You should have told me. I had a right to know.”

“I only wanted to protect you.” He eased close to smooth a thumb over her cheek, gathering tears. “Please, don’t cry.”

“You can’t shelter me from everything. I’ve learned that sometimes feeling pain, facing it head-on, is the only way to get through it.”

“I know that now, too.”

“I loved you, Ryder.”

“And I loved you. That’s why…” He shook his head, his gaze softening. “That’s why I had to go, and why I’ve come back. I still love you, Ali. I always will. It’s the only thing in life that I’m completely, utterly sure of.”

“Don’t say that. You can’t love me, Ryder. I-I’m thinking about getting married.”

“Thinking about it?” The muscles along his jaw went taut. “But you haven’t promised yourself to him yet, have you?”

“Does it matter to you, Ryder?” She turned the question on him and was shocked to see his jaw slacken, his eyes fill with a dangerous mix of fire and longing.

“It matters to me, Ali. I just told you I still love you.” He slipped his fingers through her hair, drew her close to press his lips to her forehead. “It definitely matters.”