from the hallway into the darkened room. He stood with his arms crossed, facing the window, staring out at the night. He looked vulnerable standing there alone. Lonely. Desolation wedged hard in her throat.
He didn’t glance at her as she crossed the room or when she placed her hand on his arm. He didn’t even acknowledge her presence. But neither did he pull away.
Relieved, she hitched out her breath, then stood beside him in the darkness. She inhaled the scent of his leather jacket, along with a faint trace of whiskey. Her heart twisted. How typical of Wade to exile himself to a bar and deal with his pain alone. He never did believe anyone cared.
But Norm had cared, and Wade needed to remember that. “You know he thought of you as his son,” she said.
He tensed, but she kept her hand on his arm. “He saved every letter you wrote. He read them to us all the time—at the café, the grocery store, whenever we stopped by the house… We heard about your years on the hotshot crews, your rookie training. And when you made smokejumper, I’d never seen anyone so proud.”
She smiled at the memory. “He carried around a photo of you in your jump gear. He showed it to us dozens of times. It got so worn out you could hardly tell who it was anymore, but his face still lit up when he pulled it out.”
She heard him suck in his breath, felt his arm tremble beneath her palm. Tears thickened her throat, but she forced herself to go on. “We heard about every jump you ever made. And we’re experts on smokejumping now, thanks to Norm. You could give us a quiz—sticks and stobs, speed racks, streamers. He hardly talked about anything else.
“And that video you sent him…he watched it over and over…” Her voice broke on a sob. “He loved you so much, Wade, and he was so proud of how you turned out. You need to remember that.”
Wade covered his eyes with his hand. And suddenly she couldn’t bear it. Her own eyes burning, she stepped behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Unable to speak, she pressed her cheek to his back and held tight.
He stood stiffly as she hugged him and she thought he might jerk away. But after several tense seconds, he eased back and she shut her eyes in relief.
She wasn’t offering him much, just human touch and kindness. But then, she never had given him what he needed. She’d tried, Lord, how she’d tried, but he’d always pushed her away.
Except that night at the river, when he’d finally lowered his guard. The time he’d shared his heart, along with his body. But afterward, he’d built up his walls again and pretended it had only been sex. But it had been love—deep, soul-baring love, at least for her. And she would have sworn he’d felt the same.
The minutes stretched in thick silence. Then, without warning, she felt the muscles of his back flex and his tension rise again.
“He had a damn DNR in place,” he said suddenly, his deep voice rough with anger. “An order not to resuscitate. Hell. I had to sit there and let him die.”
She tightened her grip, sensing the horror, the pain he’d endured. Wade lived in constant action—flinging himself into the slipstream, leaping into forests to battle fires. Sitting by helplessly while Norm died would have driven him out of his mind.
But Norm had made that decision and there’d been nothing Wade could do. “He’d been in a lot of pain,” she said. “He probably felt it was time to go.”
Wade retreated into silence. Minutes lengthened, along with the shadows in the room. Finally she heard him exhale. He understood, but needed time to process the grief.
And she’d done all she could. She eased her hold and stepped back. He turned to face her and she saw the despair in his eyes.
Sorrow clawed at her chest. She wanted so badly to take care of this man, to erase the grief from his heart. She’d give anything to have that right.
But she didn’t. She was just an old friend. She stepped even farther away. “Are you hungry?”
“No.” His voice was gruff and threaded with sadness. “But thanks.”
He peeled off his jacket and tossed it on the wing chair near the dresser, then sat on the bed and removed his boots. When he dropped back on the bedspread and threw his arm over his eyes, she knew she ought to go.
But she couldn’t bear to leave him yet. Her chest full, she picked up the lap quilt from the wing chair and spread it over his legs. Then she perched beside him on the bed and cradled his free hand in hers.
What more could she say? What could ease the pain of losing a father? She shook her head, knowing it was futile to try.
So she just sat there and held his hand until his breathing deepened and slowed. Until his grip slackened and she knew he slept in the darkness. She stroked the scars along the back of his hand, the calluses on his palm, felt the strength and power in his fingers.
And remembered other stories Norm had told her, of the terrible risks Wade had taken. How he’d jumped the most volatile fires and worked in the steepest terrain. Because he believed he was expendable. That no one would miss him if he died. That no one cared.
But he’d been wrong.
His arm fell back against the pillow and she gazed at his hard, shadowed face. Her chest tightened and swelled with longing. She’d loved this man her entire life. He’d been everything to her, from a childhood hero and teenage crush, to the man she’d yearned to marry.
She’d given him her virginity, along with her heart. She would have given anything if he’d loved her back, if they could have spent their lives together.
But he hadn’t, and she’d shelved those hopes long ago.
But not the memories.
Her gaze traced a path down the rugged planes of his face, and she dragged in a shaky breath. Maybe it was the moonlight, the way the smoky beams cast shadows over his face. Or maybe she was simply too drained, too weary to fend off the emotions tonight. But she couldn’t stop the images from flooding back, the wild need swamping her heart.
It had been hot, so hot, and the soft rush of the river, the languid buzz of insects permeated the night. She’d stood beside him on the wooded towpath, gazing out at the swirling water, far from the party downstream. The sultry heat slugged through her blood. Moisture beaded her skin.
And an awful weight pressed on her chest, blocking out everything except that one thought. That he was leaving in the morning. That she might never see him again.
That she only had this one chance, this last night, to do what she’d always dreamed.
She’d turned to him then. The moonlight teased the angles of his masculine face, shrouding his dark eyes in shadow. She dragged at the sweltering air. The buzz of the insects grew louder.
And she moved deliberately closer.
He stilled and his dark gaze locked on hers. Neither spoke. The damp woods rustled around them. Tension pulsed through the air.
She knew she was crossing a line, an unspoken boundary between them, but she’d wanted him, fantasized about him for so long. And sometimes, when those whiskey-brown eyes seared hers, she’d suspected he wanted her, too. But he’d always kept his distance and she’d never had the nerve.
Until now.
Now she had this one night to make those fantasies come true.
Hardly breathing, she reached up and ran her hand across his bristled jaw. His rough skin burned beneath her palm; the erotic texture thrilled her.
But he grabbed her wrist and blocked her. “Erin,” he warned, his deep voice flat.
She nearly lost her nerve then, and she flushed. But the heat in his eyes gave her courage. She sensed that he wanted this, wanted her, but wouldn’t let himself touch her. That somehow, in his need to protect her, he’d placed her firmly off limits.
Her