“Hello.”

“So. How are things?”

She laughed. “Things may never be the same again.”

“Can’t tell if that’s a complaint or—”

“We’ll go with or.” She lifted a hand that felt like lead and caressed his cheek. “We will definitely go with or.”

He tucked her head back beneath his chin and held her close.

How she felt lying here with him, naked and spent and steeped in the wonder of his strength and heat, was something she treasured. Nothing else mattered but these moments. Nothing else counted but this feeling. She didn’t want to catalogue or define it. She didn’t want to think outside this little pocket of intimacy. She wanted to live it, breathe it, be lost in it. For a long time, that’s what she did. Until it occurred to her that he was probably starving.

“Are you hungry?” she whispered into the silence.

“You think I’m lying around like a slug because you wore me out? Hell, no, woman. I’m weak from starvation.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you have a teensy-weensy theatrical streak?”

“Minored in musical theater in college.”

That brought her up onto an elbow. “Seriously?”

“I’m liable to break out in show tunes at a moment’s notice.”

Now she knew he was kidding. “I’ve heard you sing in the shower. I was not impressed.”

“You were impressed a minute ago.”

She laughed. “Yes, I was. And I hope to be impressed again after I feed you.”

“Count on it.”

She leaned in and kissed him, then got out of bed and reached for her robe.

By the time he joined her in the kitchen, she had the food on the table.

“Looks good,” she said.

“Kentucky Fried. Nothing but the best for my lady.”

He’d pulled on his jeans and shirt but hadn’t bothered to button it. His hair was mussed, his eyes were sleepy, and his lips were swollen from kissing her—and other things.

And he really was hungry. He dug in as if he hadn’t eaten in a week.

Soon, however, the elephant in the room refused to take a backseat to polite table talk.

“You know, you’re killing me here, Jess. Say something.”

Suddenly, they were back on the bench by the lake, and he was wanting to make a life with her.

“Yes,” she said, feeling and sounding breathless, as if she’d just stepped off a cliff.

“Yes… what?”

A nervous laugh burst out. “Well, I may be a little slow on the uptake, but wasn’t there a proposal mixed in somewhere with wanting to buy a plane?”

A slow, pleased smile spread across his face. “No. That wasn’t a proposal. That was a preamble.”

He shot up from the table, disappeared into the bedroom, and came back with a small blue box in his hand.

He got down on one knee in front of her, opened the box, and held it out to her.

She pressed a hand to her chest, stunned by the extravagant emerald-cut diamond that winked at her from inside the Tiffany box.

“This is the proposal. Although, I’ve got to tell you, I didn’t imagine myself half-naked when I made it.”

She lifted the ring out of its satin mooring with trembling fingers. Met his eyes.

“I love you, Jess. Will you marry me?”

“You’re really sure about this?”

“Never been so sure of anything in my life.”

“Then yes.” She threw herself into his arms. “Yes, I love you, too. And yes, I’ll marry you.”

“DID YOU EVER think about having kids?” Ty asked later, after they’d made love again. “You and J.R.?”

It was a fair question. “J.R., well, he’d seen a lot of ugly things. A lot of troubling things. He didn’t want to bring a child into the world he knew.”

“What about you? What did you want?”

“I tried not to think about it.”

He was quiet for a moment. “You want to know what I think? I think you’d make a great mom.”

She turned her head on the pillow so she could see his face. The expression she saw there told her what she wanted to know. “And I think you’d make a great daddy.”

He grinned. “I hope so.”

So easy. Again, everything was so easy with him.

“I want to tell you something,” she said. “And I don’t want you to think that I’m speaking badly of J.R.”

“I know you’d never do that.”

“I loved him. I did. As best as I could, at least. But I never really understood him. You know, growing up here, it’s pretty confining. You’d be amazed how many married couples started out as high school sweethearts. You might say it’s a tradition.

“Anyway, that’s how it was with J.R. and me. We fell in love as kids and never really got to know each other as adults. It seemed like he was deployed all the time. And when he wasn’t, he was still all about the Army. It took me a while to realize that no matter what, I’d always come second with him. I’d reached a point before he died where it wasn’t enough.”

He remained silent, giving her time to get this off her chest.

“We fought before his last deployment. I wanted him to resign after his hitch was up. I told him I wanted us to be a couple, that I was tired of leading two separate lives and that if he didn’t resign, I was leaving him. I don’t even know if I meant it, but when he made it clear that wasn’t going to happen, I started seriously thinking about leaving. We went to bed angry. In the morning, he was gone. I never saw him again.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too. I did love him. And in his own way, I know he loved me. But it was never easy. He was a good man. I want to make that clear. A good provider. A good soldier. A good friend… to everyone but me.”

The truth was, he had often shut her out, and the deep connection she’d always thought they would make in time had never come. She’d tried. She’d followed him from post to post, but when his deployments became more frequent, his emotional distance became more pronounced.

“It won’t be like that with us, Jess.”

She turned in his arms so they were nose-to-nose. “I know. Promise me. Promise me that you won’t ever leave me to fight someone else’s war.”

“Try to get rid of me, see what happens.”

“You’ll sing show tunes?”

He squeezed her hard. “Worse. I’ll do my Elvis impersonation. Thang ya. Thang ya verra mush.”

He could joke all he wanted, but he needed to understand something. “It takes a special kind of person to live up here. Especially in the winter. Winters are long and cold and isolating.”

“You forget, I grew up in Colorado. I know about winter. And I know something else that’s far more important: I have never loved anyone the way I love you.”

She believed him. Just as she was starting to believe that she might finally get her happily ever after.

Chapter 20

Afghanistan, October


THE ROOF AT NIGHT HAD become his refuge. The stronger and more complete his memories of his time in captivity became, the more he needed the wide-open sky above him, the absence of walls and bars. The illusion of being free.

And then there was Rabia.

Each night for more than a month, she came to him here. Each night, he lost himself in her soft, giving body, her sweet, tender mouth, and for the moments they were together, he forgot he was a man trapped in a hostile country and hunted by the Taliban. He forgot, even, that he had no idea how he was going to get home. Forgot that he still didn’t know where home was.

The nights had grown cool. She brought blankets with her when she came to him now. They lay wrapped in one tonight, while a sky free of light pollution exploded with magnificent starlight. Her naked flesh warmed him like a furnace, pressed to his side as she slept.

He ran his hand absently up and down her arm, spent in the aftermath of their lovemaking, grounded again in the reality of his situation and the wrongness of what they did together in the night. The futility of it. The cultural and political impossibility of it for her. He knew that being with her this way made him complacent. He had to beef up his physical conditioning routine. He had to somehow overcome the vertigo and blinding headaches and the physical limitations of his bad leg. He had to get away from here and somehow hook up with Coalition troops.

She stirred, and he pulled her closer, tugging the blanket higher over her bare shoulders. The thought of leaving her, however, weighed on him the way the holes in his memory weighed on his psyche. He’d come to care for her. Too much. Too, too much.

She had become his escape. And while he still had difficulty piecing together his past, he had no problem drawing on lessons from a psychology class he must have taken at some point in time. He understood the psychology of dependency. He understood about Stockholm syndrome. Rabia had been both captor and healer. She had been his lifeline—the giver of food, the provider of relief in the form of opiates during the worst of his physical pain. She’d been his savior during withdrawal. And now she was his lover.

Even more than that, he had grown to respect her. The longer they were together, the more they talked. Not only about him but also about her.

He’d discovered that she was a rebel, that she’s risked her life for more than his sake. She’d downplayed her role in the Afghan women’s movement. She didn’t merely belong. She was a leader, responsible for bringing an underground movement out in the open and operating in defiance of the Taliban, who would have them back in chains and stoned for minor infractions of sharia law.

She stirred in her sleep, and again, he pulled her closer, missing her before he’d even left her but knowing that he would leave her. He would leave this woman who had saved him on more levels than he could count.

“Why do you not sleep, Jeffery?”

He should have known. Even in her sleep, she sensed his unrest, and it had awakened her.