Free A Man of Honor by Miranda Liasson Page B

I—” Shit, what was he doing? He had to avoid the temptation to explain to her about himself. That would lead to her having sympathy for him, which would make keeping her away even harder. So he stayed on safe ground. “I—never asked you, how’d your interview go?”
    “It went fine. Everything’s okay.” She flashed him a bit of a smile, but he saw through it and her falsely pleasant tone. She’d wanted to help him, yet she kept her own troubles to herself. But he could tell something wasn’t right.
    “Pull over for a minute.”
    She shot him a confused look. “Please,” he said. They were approaching a rest stop, so she pulled off the highway and into one of a long line of parking spaces. He got out of the car and put a couple dollar bills into a soda machine and brought back a plastic bottle of Coke, opened it, and handed it to her.
    “Have some. Peace offering.” He tipped the bottle in her direction. Her cool green gaze looked from him to the Coke. Then she took the bottle.
    “You’re lucky I’m very thirsty, Guthrie. So I think I’ll take you up on that.”
    He watched her drink the Coke. Watched her pretty lips close around the rim and her slim neck extend as she tipped the bottle back to swallow. He wanted to place his lips on the arc of her neck, feel her soft skin, and inhale her clean, heady scent that reminded him of sunshine and magnolias. She took a few hearty glugs, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and handed it back to him. “Thanks,” she said, trying to stifle a burp but failing.
    He almost smiled, wondering how a soft, girlie thing like her could make a sound like a truck driver belching after a beer. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I overreacted. I’m seeing a psychiatrist for some issues I’m having after my injury.” Some issues was putting it mildly. How about night sweats, nightmares, startling at noises as simple as the lawn mower next door. Not to mention the anger. Hell, he was angry with everyone, especially himself and his effing useless leg most of all. “I wanted to keep it private. My own pride, I guess.”
    “Just to let you know, I wouldn’t tell anyone. Your business is your business.” She eyeballed the Coke. “Can I have another sip?”
    “I know you wouldn’t tell anyone.” He hated her knowing how weak he was.
    He took a swig himself and passed it to her. Their fingers touched as she took the bottle from him. Such soft, forgiving hands. Such knowing, kind eyes, like an angel. Suddenly, he wanted to get lost in her. Feel her under him, looking at him like that and believing that somehow, the broken pieces of his life would eventually come back together. The need punched his gut so hard, he nearly lost his breath.
    “Thank you,” was all he could manage.
    “For what?” she asked.
    “For not being angry with me.” He stared into her eyes, hoping she knew he didn’t mean sorry for the past sixty seconds, or today, but for all he’d done to her over the past few months. A real apology rose to his lips but faded fast.
    It would be wrong to dump all his shit on her. Expect her to save him—because she couldn’t. It was a battle he’d have to fight himself. He looked around at families getting out of their cars, headed for the restroom or to walk their dogs on the dog paths. He wondered where they were going. Judging by the carriers atop the car roofs, most of them were on a spring vacation. Forgetting their worries and problems. Lucky them.
    “Don’t mention it.” Her stomach grumbled again.
    “There’s a nice little restaurant about fifteen minutes up the road. Want to stop and get some lunch? Then you can tell me how your interview really went.”
    She looked surprised. “What makes you think it didn’t go well?”
    He shrugged. “Just a gut feeling.” He had a lot of those with her. Maybe it was something as simple as knowing what it meant when she worried her lip or crinkled her forehead up when she had something on her mind.