The Heart's Command Read online

  He liked that she was willing to acknowledge her own faults. Not many people were big enough to do that. Even in the Corps, where utter honesty was expected of everyone.

  "It's okay," he said. In all his years in the Marines, he'd never been hassled for having a few drinks when he was off duty. As long as he didn't create a disturbance. But... "I can see your point of view. Let's just forget it."

  "Fair enough. It's just that this is such a small town...." She shrugged.

  "I know." He looked past her, out the window, unconsciously taking an assessment of dangers, routes of escape and all the rest of it, as if he were in a den of enemy soldiers. The tension between his shoulder blades had been with him for so long now he wasn't even aware of it anymore. Truly relaxing, without the aid of booze, was beyond him, and he didn't even really know it.

  Beth spoke. "You have a thousand-yard stare."

  The sound of her voice jolted him back into the here and now. Once again he was sitting in a familiar diner in Conard City. "Uh, yeah. I guess." He knew what she meant. He'd first noticed it years ago just after boot camp, when he'd met his first combat veterans. Some of them never learned to relax that stare.

  Her next question was simple, and not the one he expected. "Are you going back?"

  "I suppose so." Which was the truth. He didn't know for sure, but his unit was still over there. He braced himself for the questions about how long he'd been overseas, and what he had done and seen, but those questions never came. She merely nodded her head.

  "I was over there for a while," she offered. "I never got off the ship, though."

  Something in her face told him that experience had been bad enough. He knew how it was. Even a ship couldn't keep you safe sometimes.

  "When?" he asked finally. Crossing the barrier.

  "I was aboard the Hartridge when that suicide bomber struck."

  He paused, something inside him growing very quiet. "That was bad."

  "Not one of the best weeks of my life. I'm sure you heard all about it. We lost twenty-six sailors, and had sixty-four wounded." Her face grew shadowed.

  He didn't reply. When words didn't fit, he didn't speak them, and there were no words for what she had probably seen. What could he say, anyway? That he was sorry? No point in it. It was part of being a marine.

  "Yeah," he said after a bit. "That was bad."

  "I'm sure you've seen worse." She didn't act as if she expected an answer, and he didn't offer one.

  "So," she said after Maude delivered their meals and drinks, "you have family around here?"

  "Yeah." The answer sounded short, even to him. "My sister's family and my grandfather."

  "Are you going to see them?"

  "I don't know."

  She didn't seem to find that response strange. Nor did she press for any more.

  "How long have you been the recruiter here?"

  "Nine months." Again the hint of that smile, pushing the shadows away. "A long nine months."

  "I can imagine. I used to dream about getting out of here. There's not a whole lot to do."

  "I suppose it's great for a family, but..." She shrugged and gave a little laugh. "I'm getting awfully tired of television and movies."

  "Oh, you need to take up bowling."

  "I got tired of that, too."

  He laughed. The sound surprised him. "I hear you. Not exactly the adventure you signed on for."

  "It's not that bad, really. It's almost like being on an extended vacation. I don't have a whole lot to do. And most of the time I don't have anyone breathing down my neck. So there are advantages. In the winter I manage to get in some skiing, and in the summer I hike in the mountains. It's a good thing I'm not a party girl."

  "Have you made any friends?" He couldn't say why that suddenly seemed important. There was no ring on her finger, which said a lot, but...he wasn't interested in that, was he?

  "Oh, sure. Sheriff Tate practically took me under his wing. I've met some really nice people at church and at the high school. It's not that I don't have a life."

  Of course not. And in her position she'd get to know a lot of people. She'd have to. But he could still hear the hint of wistfulness underlying her pleasant tone.

  It was sad in a way, he thought. The Corps was a tight-knit group, and your unit became your best friends. To take a marine and put her out here in the middle of nowhere like this was to cut her off from the support structure she'd been relying on for years. He felt a twinge of sympathy. In her own way, she must be feeling as much like a fish out of water as he was.

  He spoke. "All my buddies are back...there." He caught himself before he spoke the place-name he wasn't allowed to speak.

  She looked down at her plate, as if she'd noticed the food for the first time. "I know," she said.

  And somehow he figured she did. For a while, they ate in silence, neither of them seeming especially hungry. Maude, he thought, was going to be all over them like white on rice if they didn't finish their meals.

  Suddenly Beth looked up. "Wanna go to a movie tonight?"

  Chapter 3

  Joe wasn't sure why he had agreed. He didn't especially want to see a movie, any movie, especially not one that was billed as "heartwarming and uplifting." Even less did he want to go to a movie with someone else, especially a female someone else.

  But he had said yes, probably because she was a marine, too, and marines kinda hung out together, and she had no one else in this town and...

  And all the excuses didn't add up to a reason. He'd said yes, and he was damned if he knew why, but since he'd agreed, he would go. At least she'd said she'd meet him at the theater. That felt casual enough. Like friends. The kind of thing he would do with one of the guys.

  Which was undoubtedly how she meant it. Marine to marine. Yeah.

  He still needed his head examined.

  He spent the afternoon wandering around town, checking out old haunts in an effort to bring himself into the present. It was amazing how remote the days of his youth seemed now. Places he'd remembered so fondly now looked strange, different. So far away in time that they might have been someone else's memories. The feeling unsettled him, as he realized that it was true, you couldn't go home again.

  Worse, you not only couldn't go home again, but if you tried, you were going to demolish all those happy memories.

  Maybe that was part of the reason he was so afraid to go see his sister. Maybe he was afraid that wouldn't feel like home anymore, either. He didn't know if he could handle that. Home, after all, was a place you cherished when you were far away and in danger. It was a place you couldn't afford to lose.

  Of course, in the last nine years he'd come home a few times, and nothing had gone amiss before. But this time was different. This time he had brought home a whole new pack of memories. Ugly memories.

  And maybe he feared they'd somehow pollute the past, too.

  These thoughts, and even darker ones, somehow brought him to the parking lot of the movie theater on the edge of town. He was a little early, but that was all right.

  Standing there, he remembered the times he'd come here with his high school friends. All the good times they'd had, all the popcorn they'd packed away. All the good and not-so-good movies they'd seen.

  A flicker of curiosity stirred in him as he wondered about his old friends for the first time in a long time. Were they married? What jobs did they have? Children?

  He'd lost touch with most of them a long time ago. As far as he knew, none of the ones who had been his really good buddies still lived around here.

  Another thing you could never get back: old friendships too long neglected.

  Maybe realizing that was part of dealing with his present and recent past. He didn't know. He just knew that he was feeling hollow in a way he couldn't describe. Not depressed. Not whiney. Just hollow. And the dance of his thoughts was probably an attempt to avoid thinking about why he was so empty.

  He hadn't felt empty even when Kara had died. Upset, yes.
So enraged he could barely see. Deeply saddened. But not empty. He hadn't felt empty until he came home.

  Maybe he was just adjusting to the huge changes in himself. He'd be a fool to think combat hadn't changed him at his very essence.

  "Hi."

  He turned and saw Bethany striding toward him, a smile on her face. "Hi." He managed a smile of his own.

  She'd abandoned her uniform for jeans, a lavender Western shirt and cowboy boots. Her jeans and shirt cradled her curves in an eye-catching but not insistent way. At the moment, she looked Conard County born and bred, and nothing like a marine at all.

  A ripple of something passed through him, something at once erotic and wistful. For those moments, everything else faded away.

  He felt he should buy her ticket, but she insisted on buying her own. Just new friends catching a movie. That was okay.

  What the film was about, he couldn't remember by the time they emerged from the darkened theater. What he was aware of, all he was aware of, was her perfume, a subtle, spicy sent, and the sound of her laughter.

  "Well," she said with a bright smile when they stepped out into the parking lot, "that was fun. Thanks for keeping me company."

  Just like that she was going to be gone. Poof. Vanished. And just like that he knew he couldn't stand it.

  "How about getting a drink or a sandwich?" he suggested.

  She hesitated, and after the way she'd seen him last night, he could understand why. But then she smiled and nodded. "Sure. Mahoney's?"

  "They make a great sandwich."

  "Okay. Um...do you have a car?"

  He shook his head. "I came into town on the bus."

  "Then hitch a ride with me."

  As easy as that. And somewhere deep inside, he knew he'd taken an irrevocable step.

  Bethany couldn't imagine why she'd invited Joe Yates to join her for a movie. She'd put it down as an instinctive act of charity. But when she agreed to go to Mahoney's with him, she knew something more was going on.

  She found him attractive. Absolutely. There was no denying that. A healthy woman with healthy urges, she looked at the tall, muscled, weather-hardened marine with the faintly exotic face and she felt electricity. Parts of herself that she had been ignoring for years seemed to wake up and take notice. And while she wasn't the kind who wanted a quick fling, she actually thought about having one with Joe.

  Hmm.

  Her hands shook a little on the steering wheel as she realized what she was thinking and where she might be heading. No way. That was a recipe for disaster.

  But her insides still quivered, anyway. And being this close to him, she was acutely aware of his scent, of the way his strength seemed barely bottled up by the requirements of civilization. Oh, hell, she'd always been attracted to dangerous men. Hadn't she learned?

  Apparently not.

  His quietness was making her edgy, too. It wasn't that she need to be gabbing all the time, but so far he really hadn't volunteered much of himself, nor seemed all that interested in getting to know her. So maybe he wasn't interested, and she'd be safe from her own urges.

  Somehow the thought didn't cheer her at all.

  She drove slowly to Mahoney's as if she dreaded it, when in fact she needed to be far more frightened of being alone in the car with Joe.

  But fear didn't come easily to her, not anymore. Boot camp and the years since had taught her that she could handle just about anything. Oh, she might carry a scar or two afterward, but she could handle it. Standing up to her neck in swamp water, feeling like a smorgasbord for mosquitoes and snakes in muggy temperatures that made it almost impossible to breathe, had taught her a lot about her ability to endure. So had later events, events that had nothing to do with mosquitoes and everything to do with guilt.

  So she could handle Joe Yates and her feelings for him. She could even handle whatever stupid decisions she might make in the coming hours. And she could handle the consequences. Oh, yes. She was good at handling consequences.

  But sometimes she wished she didn't have to handle things. It was a furtive, barely acknowledged wish. One she would never admit to herself. Being a strong, independent woman, especially in a macho outfit like the Corps, demanded that she handle things. All things.

  Ruck Up, Suck Up And Press On. The Corps' oft-spoken, never written motto. Something you imbibed with the heat, the stench and the fetid swamps of Paris Island.

  She pulled into the lot behind Mahoney's and got out of the car before Joe could do anything as stupid as try to come open her car door for her. It was all part of establishing herself as an equal, something that had become part of her nature since joining the Corps. It hadn't taken her long to figure out that if you let them, these guys would put a woman in her place. So she carved out her own place with every breath she took.

  Inside, Mahoney's was quiet. Well, it was Thursday night, and it was getting late. She would have headed for the bar, but Joe slid into a booth, giving her little choice but to sit across from him. The high backs on the benches made it seem like a private cocoon, holding the few other patrons at bay.

  A waitress with eyes too old for her young face came to take their orders.

  "Club soda with lime for me," Bethany said.

  Joe smiled faintly. "The designated driver."

  "That's me."

  "Anything to eat?" the girl asked.

  Bethany hesitated. She'd already gone overboard with lunch at Maude's. "Just some pretzels, thanks."

  "I want a club sandwich," Joe said. "And a cola."

  Bethany was relieved he'd decided not to drink. She didn't want to see him the way she'd seen him last night. It wasn't the drunkenness that bothered her, although she didn't especially care for it. She'd seen plenty of people drunk over the years. What she didn't want to see was the edge it uncovered in Joe, an edge she hadn't seen once in him today.

  "I decided to reform," he remarked, as if he knew the direction of her thoughts.

  "Reform?" She pretended not to understand.

  "Yeah. I'm not going to become a cliché."

  She smiled, this time with real amusement. "That's an unusual way to put it."

  He shrugged one shoulder. "It's the truth. Marine returns from hell, drowns his sorrows in booze, et cetera. How many times have you seen that one in the movies? "

  "Too many."

  "Exactly. It doesn't do any good, anyway. The memories are worse with a hangover."

  "What memories?" As soon as she asked the question, she knew she shouldn't have, even before his face darkened.

  "Let's not go there, okay?"

  "Okay," she agreed swiftly. "Stupid question." But she still wanted to get to know him better, so she headed for something that seemed safer. "You grew up around here?"

  "Oh, yeah. In another lifetime."

  She knew what he meant. Some things changed you so much that it was like there was a permanent marker in your life, a defining line between the person you had been and the one you were now.

  He looked down at the wooden table between them and moved a cardboard coaster around aimlessly. "I'm not sure I know how to have a civilized conversation anymore."

  "Sure you do," she said bracingly. "The idea is to talk about all the things that don't matter, like the weather, and the football scores, and who's going to win at Wimbledon or something."

  That surprised a laugh out of him, and his dark eyes lifted to her face. "Okay, okay. How about those Packers?"

  And suddenly they were smiling at each other with a kind of understanding that, if Bethany hadn't been so mesmerized by how the expression transformed Joe's face, might have scared her, marine or not.

  The too-close moment was shattered as their glasses thudded onto the table in front of them. A bowl of pretzels followed.

  "Back in a sec with the sandwich," the waitress said.

  "Thanks." Joe glanced up at the young woman for a second, watching her walk away. "I have the feeling she was a few years behind me in school."

  "Th
at's a possibility."

  "But I can't place her." He shook his head.

  "Maybe she's younger than she looks."

  "Maybe."

  "She didn't seem to recognize you, either."

  He moved his glass of cola to one side. "I don't look the same."

  "Few of us do."

  Slowly his gaze returned to her. It was odd, she thought, this feeling that she was having that he kept slipping away from her into someplace in the past. As if he weren't really here with her now. "Have you been home long?"

  "A few days."

  That might explain it. She remembered her own return, and how out of place she had felt for a while. It was probably even harder for him. She remembered what Maude had said earlier at the diner. "And you haven't visited your family yet?"

  "Not yet." Again his gaze drifted away, the thousand-yard stare returning.

  "Is there a problem there?"

  His attention snapped back to her. "No. Why?"

  "I just wondered. Usually when people come home, they visit their families."

  "I'm not ready yet, is all."

  "I see." But she wasn't certain she really did. Her family was the first thing she had wanted after the bombing, which she still thought of, in her own mind, as The Incident. "Are you afraid?"

  It was a good thing she didn't really expect an answer to that question, because she didn't get one. He studied his cola as if the rising bubbles held the answers to the secret of life, and didn't say a thing, even when the waitress put his sandwich in front of him.

  Bethany tried to mend the rift, wondering why she'd asked something that was none of her business anyway. "That sandwich looks good. Maybe I'll get one."

  "You can have mine."

  He started to push his plate across the table, but she stopped him by reaching out and touching his wrist. The electricity that shot through her as her fingertips touched his warm skin was almost enough to make her gasp. But she retained enough presence of mind to say, "No, Joe. You need to eat. You look too thin."

  After a moment, he nodded and picked up one triangular piece of the thick sandwich. But he didn't immediately raise it to his mouth.

  Feeling as if she were somehow out of place, Bethany forced herself to look around the bar and not at Joe while she nibbled on a pretzel, waiting for the sound of him finally taking a bite.