Bruce drove into the cemetery and followed the winding road. He pulled off to the side and stopped. Rows of tombstones gleamed under the midday sun. He took a deep breath.
Emily’s birthday. She would have turned thirty-two. Never thought he’d outlive her.
He’d come back to the States with a bullet wound, and Emily had been his nurse at Walter Reed. A tough lady with a big heart, she soon won his over. Her straightforward-no-BS approach worked wonders with the soldiers. She knew exactly how to treat them and earned their respect. She found a way to break through the wall Bruce had put up to survive the horrors he’d witnessed while in Special Forces. A year later, he and Emily got married. Her love filled the void left when his parents had died.
Even though he’d inherited enough money to live a life of luxury, neither of them cared about fancy things. He indulged and bought a beautiful home, but they lived a simple life, hiking and camping for fun.
He closed his eyes. She’d died two weeks before Christmas. While people celebrated with parties and gift exchanges, his entire world crashed. Now he kept the radio off through the holiday season. Christmas would never be the same.
With a sigh, he picked up the bouquet of red roses from the passenger’s seat and opened the door. Head down, he marched a straight line behind a row of tombstones until he came to Emily’s. Pink carnations were scattered on the grave.
Joe. He never forgot. The flowers blurred.
Bruce knelt and placed the roses in front of her headstone. His chest ached as he rested a hand on the slab and whispered, “No one could ever take your place.” He stayed in that position until his legs went numb. When he stood, pins and needles pricked them.
“Happy Birthday, Em,” he said softly. Painful memories flooded as he trudged back to the truck.
Every time he had entered his family room, the tree they’d cut down together mocked him. Ornaments with their wedding pictures, all smiles and full of love, hung on the branches. The gifts he picked out that she would never open glittered under the lights.
After the funeral, he and Joe went back to the house. Bruce wandered to the Christmas tree, picked up one of the wedding ornaments, and held it so tightly the glass cracked, cutting his hand. He grabbed his truck keys and drove around for hours. When he came back, he opened the door to find everything gone. The tree, the decorations, and the gifts. A short note Joe left on the counter said the presents were in a box behind the entertainment center. The next day, Bruce donated them all to a charity for battered women.
He sold his house fully furnished and moved to a condominium on the water. Like a robot, he threw himself into his job, taking on more PT patients. He lost weight and stopped going out. Friends, supportive at first, fell by the wayside when he didn’t return calls.
One day, Joe showed up and dragged Bruce to the farm. Said he needed someone to train a lame ex-racehorse he’d rescued.
Bruce had argued that he didn’t have time, but one look in the proud, injured horse’s eyes, and he couldn’t say no. Looking back, he knew they’d saved each other’s lives from a downward path.
And damn that sneaky Joe. He’d known it.
Bruce got into his truck and drove through the open gates of the cemetery. When he reached the farm, he parked in the grass, away from the house and the stables. Today, he’d rather be alone as much as possible. He climbed out and leaned against the passenger door, his gaze on the horses as they grazed in the fields. The mere sight of them calmed him.
He didn’t turn when the sound of random whistling and footsteps came from behind. A bottle cap hissed, and a beer entered his line of sight. He reached for it as Joe sidled up beside him and leaned against the hood.
For a while, they stood in silence sipping the beers and facing the fields.
“Lost a dollar bet yesterday on the Orioles game,” Joe said.
“Yeah?”
“Damn Yankees.”
“That was a tough one.” Bruce ran a thumb up and down the bottle in his hand.
“Seems it’s always like that. You know?”
“Like what?” Bruce glanced at Joe, who wore a frown and kept his gaze on the fields.
“Things are going great. You’re moving along, thinking you have a game plan. Then bam, the Yankees come to town and kick your ass.” He took a swig of beer. “And to boot, you lose your best pitcher to a career-ending injury.”
“Yup.”
Silence stretched between them for a while.
Joe scratched his head. “But it’s not over, you know. It’s never easy to find and break in a replacement pitcher, but that’s what champions do. Anything to get their game back. And the fans rally to support them.” He glanced at Bruce. “They love their team, and they never give up on them.”
A lump formed in Bruce’s throat.
Joe’s gaze went back to the meadows. “Of course, the star pitcher’s mad as hell he can’t play anymore, but he can still watch and cheer from the stands. Cuz in the end, he wants his team to go on without him and win.”
Bruce’s eyes fogged.
A door slammed, and he swung around to face the house. Sarah came out onto the front porch carrying a drink. Her dark hair blew in the breeze.
Joe looked over his shoulder at the ranch. He drank the last of his beer and said quietly, “She’d want you to be happy. It’s time.”
Courageous, caring, beautiful Sarah. Bruce’s shoulders tightened. She’d found a way in. Even after the gun incident, he couldn’t stay mad at her. But if she ran or anything happened to her, he’d be alone.
Again.
“You know something else?” Joe tapped his bottle against the hood of the truck. “Only one person I can think of who was a bigger baseball fan than me.”
Bruce cleared his throat. “Who?”
“Your father.”
Too choked up to speak, Bruce gazed back at the fields. They used to go to the games together. Him, Uncle Joe, and his dad.
Joe pushed off the truck. “Yup. Somewhere he’s got box seat tickets to this”—he waved a hand around the farm—“and he’s casting his vote for you as the MVP.”
Bruce blinked hard. Neither of them spoke for a long minute.
Joe dusted off his pants. “You want to get some grub?”
“No. I’m good.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged and took a step toward the house.
“Hey.” Bruce kept his back to Joe and said in a low voice, “Thanks.”
“Yup.” Joe muttered, “Damn Yankees.”
Bruce had an hour to kill before Charlie’s lesson. He drove home with Joe’s words ringing in his ears. “It’s time.”
He tried to put himself in Emily’s shoes. If anything had happened to him, causing her to be the one left alone, he’d want her to be happy and move on.
When he entered his condo, he gazed around the large, open family room. Paintings of seascapes and farms graced the walls. No pictures cluttered the end tables. The stainless-steel refrigerator, bare of any snapshots, gleamed under the lights. A realtor could walk in at any time and show the place without having to remove any personal effects.
He went upstairs to his bedroom and picked up a framed photo of Emily from the nightstand, a candid shot he’d taken of her with her horse. Right before he’d taken it, she’d looked up and grinned.
Her warm brown eyes gazed back at him. He ran a finger along the picture frame. His chest constricted. She would understand and want him to move on.
Sarah…the welcome feel of her body in his arms when he’d carried her to the suite after the sunset. The soft touch of her lips on his cheek when she’d kissed him earlier. And that, after he’d been so gruff. He wasn’t upset with her for trying to learn to defend herself. Maybe not the best choice of when and where to shoot, but she had pluck. She might not be able to find the stalker, but she wouldn’t sit back in a corner and cower either.
He couldn’t tell her about Emily. Sarah had enough of her own problems without taking on his baggage. She didn’t need the pressure of trying to measure up to a ghost. Or worse, pity him. Nope. His past, his problem to deal with.
He opened the nightstand drawer, placed the picture inside, and shut it. Nothing but lonely silence hung in the air. Maybe Joe was right, and it was time for Bruce to bring Sarah into his life. He glanced at his watch. But not today. Not on Emily’s birthday. A weight pressed on his shoulders. He’d get through this one the same way he always had. Shut down the feelings. Too many, too close to the surface. He took a deep breath and stood.
Tomorrow, after his ride with Morgan, he’d talk to Sarah.
Time to take that first step.