“Nah, I don’t think so,” Taryn said, handing him a sandwich and taking one for herself. “Aidan said she spent the last twelve years overseas with the Red Cross. Guess she picked up on the medical stuff there.”
Kane’s hands stilled about midway as he brought the cup up to his mouth. He glanced over at Aidan. At the honey-bronze hair. At the brown and gold eyes. Son of a bitch. It couldn’t be that easy, could it? Without another word, he set the cup down, sandwich forgotten, and made his way toward the gym.
It didn’t take long to spot her. There she was, moving – no, gliding - through the throngs of the wet, bedraggled masses, looking like a vision. Yes, her jeans were muddy and torn and splattered with God knew what. Her tunic was wrinkled and just as stained. Her hair rebelled against the forced incarceration of the thick brown clip, cascading around her face and past her shoulders. She was thinner than he remembered, but still decadently lush. Her eyes were shining. Her skin was pleasantly flushed and pink. And her smiles came easily and often.
Kane swallowed and closed his eyes. The din of the masses retreated into the background. He focused on her until he could hear her voice, a gentle, soothing hum, cutting through the anxiety and despair, offering comfort, direction, and encouragement. He knew that voice, had experienced the quiet power of it; he’d heard it speaking to him in his dreams for the last three months. He opened his eyes, his ears now attuned to her voice, so he could track her movements as well.
From a distance, he watched as she calmed children and adults alike, tending to their minor injuries or directing them elsewhere – to Michael, to the cafeteria, to the communications center they’d set up to contact worried loved ones – based on their needs. Sometimes all they needed was someone to listen. With a caring nod, a few encouraging words, and a soft touch – God, he remembered that touch – she worked her magic.
She had a way with people, no doubt, even those he knew for a fact were not overly likable. But her very presence was soothing – he could personally attest to that – and people responded to that. She provided compassion and strength at a time when it was sorely needed.
When she wasn’t tending injuries or directing people, she was unpacking or organizing supplies. He ignored the undeniable pull for as long as he could, but when she disappeared into the back for more than a few minutes he could not stop himself from following her.
He found her at the end of a long hallway, sitting in a window well, looking out over the Commons. She had traded her tunic for a sweatshirt several sizes too large for her, but at least it was warm and dry. Kane recognized the distinctive blue color of the shirt, knew that on the front, above the left breast it featured a frothy mug of beer surrounded by a chain of Celtic knots and the moniker Jake’s Irish Pub. It was one of his brother’s, no doubt. He bit back the growl that he felt rumbling up in the back of his throat, surprised by it.
Her back was to him, her head bowed as she leaned against the wall. He walked silently, some unforeseen force drawing him toward her, stopping just a foot or two from the well.
When she finally sensed his presence, he saw her back straighten, heard the slightest of sniffles. Without thinking – he really wasn’t quite sure what made him do it - he reached into his pocket and extended his hand in offering.
Rebecca noticed his hand first and the three Tootsie-rolls held in his open palm. Her gaze travelled the length of his arm, up his shoulder, and to his face. He knew he looked different than the last time she had seen him; he hadn’t shaved for several days, and his hair was longer and unkempt. But when she looked in his eyes, recognition dawned.
Her eyes widened; her mouth fell open. “Kane? Oh my God! Kane? Is it really you?” She quickly rotated around to face him.
He nodded, unable to completely suppress the grin that tugged at his lips. At least until she rose up on the ledge and wrapped her arms solidly around his neck. It caught him off-guard. As a general rule, people did not hug him. Taryn was an exception. He immediately tensed at the feel of her much softer, much warmer body against his. It was something he had refused to think about all this time, and for damn good reason. It felt way too good.
*
Rebecca sensed his discomfort. Even without her ability to read people it was impossible to miss the hiss accompanying his sharp intake of breath or the way his body seemed to instantly become solid marble. His arms remained frozen at his sides; he made no attempt to return her embrace. A wave of embarrassment washed through her, coloring her pale cheeks with a lovely blush, but she recovered rather quickly.