Part 9 (2/2)
”Heroes get their hands shaken.”
”Reggie's the hero, not me. I just hold his leash.”
”I highly doubt that's all you do. But you can always have them shake Reggie's paw if you want to.” Owen cast me an exasperated glance, which I ignored. ”Why do you downplay what you've accomplished?”
”You have no idea what I've accomplished.”
”You've been in the service for ten years, Owen. I doubt you had your thumb up your a.s.s.”
He choked.
”If it bothers you to have your hand shaken, get over it. It's going to happen a lot.”
”Not if I hide.”
”Good luck with that.” Once people knew he was in town, and why, they were going to come searching for him. And a guy of his size, with a dog of Reggie's size, in a town of this size?
He wasn't going to be able to hide for long.
”I didn't join the corps to be a hero,” Owen said.
”Why did you?”
He cast her a quick glance. ”You know why.”
”I know what you told me.” Her mouth tightened. ”You had to make something of yourself. But to me, Owen, you were everything.”
She'd been everything to him too, which was why he'd had to go. This place had made him feel like nothing, like no one, and even her love couldn't change that. But how could he tell her that she wasn't enough?
”I didn't mean to lie.” Which was a great, big lie. He hadn't wanted to lie, but he had meant to.
”You lied?”
”I said I'd write.”
”You were going to leave and never write?” Her face crumpled, confused, in the soft, early morning light.
He'd also said he'd come back. But one lie at a time.
”I should have told you, but I...”
He had a sudden memory of her eyes-stricken. Her tears-salty. Her kiss-desperate. Her touch ...
Everything.
How could he tell her it was over when all he'd wanted was for it not to be? Then he'd made love to her and ...
He certainly couldn't tell her then.
”I didn't want to hurt you,” he finished.
She laughed, one short, harsh burst of sound. ”You think it hurt less to wait and wait for that letter, then open it and find out how stupid I was to believe in you, than it would have hurt to know you didn't love me in the first place?”
That wasn't true. He'd left because he loved her. He'd leave again for the same reason. But he couldn't tell her that any more now than he could then. Just because Emerson Watley had shaken his hand didn't mean anyone else would.
In Three Harbors, Owen would always be the delinquent son of a crazy drunk-druggie. Just as Becca would always be the daughter of one of the founding families. People used the word doctor before her name. Just because he carried the rank of sergeant before his wouldn't change anything. If he lost that rank, then what would he be?
No one all over again.
”It was a long time ago.” Becca stared out the pa.s.senger window where the tip of one of the silos on the Carstairs farm had just become visible.
”Feels like yesterday.” She looked the same, smelled the same; he wanted to kiss her ... just the same.
”Sometimes it does,” she agreed. ”Then other times it all seems so long ago, so far away, so hazy, like it happened to someone other than me. As if you were a story I told myself.”
He didn't care for that at all, but who was he to judge? He'd coped with the loss of her by throwing himself into his training. Becoming so exhausted he could do nothing but move forward with little energy left to look back. Because looking back hurt so badly he could hardly breathe.
Owen turned into the long, gravel lane that matched the one at Watley's and led to a similar farm at the end. House, barn, sheds, machinery, all pretty much the same, though in slightly different locations.
A big, floppy tan mutt came racing out of the barn, braying either a welcome or a warning. From Reggie's grumble, he thought it was the latter.
Owen set his hand on the dog's shoulder. ”Easy, boy. His place.”
”Moose is harmless,” Becca said.
”Reggie isn't.” He didn't play well with dogs not of the working variety. Probably because he'd never had much chance to. Or maybe because, to Reggie, work was play and vice versa. He had no time or patience for anything else. He lived to sniff out bombs and terrorists. But, hey, so did Owen. He rubbed his bad leg.
Becca rolled down the window a few inches. ”Barn, Moose!”
The dog appeared crushed, but he went where he'd been told, leaving a looming, waiting silence behind.
Owen s.h.i.+fted the truck into park. ”Becca, I'm sorry-”
”Me too,” she interrupted, then took a deep breath. ”I know I asked you to breakfast...”
His lips curved. ”I wasn't going to come.”
She nodded as if she'd known that. She probably had. She'd always known him better than anyone. And despite other people treating him as if he were a completely different person than the one who'd left, he wasn't. Deep down he would always be the same.
Just like his mother.
”It's probably best if we don't see each other any more than we have to while you're here.”
Owen blinked. Hadn't seen that coming.
”Not at all would be my vote.” She scrubbed her nails lightly between Reggie's eyes. The dog practically drooled. ”However, with the problem at your house, that probably isn't going to happen.”
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