Damn, she had eyes that didn’t let him look away. Michael took a deep breath to recalibrate his brain, which was suddenly full of images of Jamie. Some clothed, some not. The last two months had been the most intense of his life. A red-hot roller coaster that he didn’t want to end. Well, the good parts anyway. He could do without the vanishing girlfriend or gunshot parts.
His ribcage still ached if he took a deep breath or twisted a certain way. The bullet had run along a few ribs, removing a little bone and a lot of skin. No surgery needed, but it’d been an awkward place to heal, and the pain had stretched from his sternum to his spine. The stitches on his lips hadn’t been pleasant either. Hard to kiss the woman you love when your mouth hurts like hell. It didn’t help that the black stitches had looked like they’d been sewn by a five-year-old.
The stitches were gone, but he still had a weird numbness in some spots that the doctors assured him would return to normal. Then he wouldn’t be distracted when he kissed his woman.
His woman.
He didn’t dare say it out loud. She’d roll her eyes, but that didn’t matter. He knew what she meant to him, and he made certain she knew it, too. He knew exactly what he wanted in his future. Her. All of her. But she had some weird idea about going slow. Why? He knew they were fated to be together. Why did they have to dance around and learn about each other? They could do all that later. He wanted one hundred percent of her now.
Putting his house on the market might have spooked her a bit, but hey, he was living at her place. She seemed to be in denial. She had some socially acceptable idea of the path a relationship should follow, and moving in together after knowing each other for two weeks didn’t fit in her perfect world.
Screw her perfect world. He’d show her perfect.
Chris supported him completely. As did Brian and his parents. They all loved Jamie. She and Brian had brought an openness and affection out of his uptight parents that he’d never seen before. His father had resigned from the Senate and stood by his mother’s bedside as she healed from her surgery. And they’d never looked happier.
Brian was spending the day with his grandparents while Michael, Jamie, and Chris tramped through the forest. Chris stopped, staring at a fallen tree off to the right. Michael felt a brief shudder shoot through Jamie, and he squeezed her hand.
In front of the fallen tree was a pile of river rocks, which surrounded a thin, concrete-like marker. It wasn’t large, maybe eighteen inches high by a foot wide.
How had Chris hauled that into the woods?
Jamie let go of his hand and ran her knuckles under her eyes, moving closer to the marker. She squatted down and touched the pale concrete.
“I made the marker,” said Chris. “I’ve been here maybe five times over the years. The first time I managed to find him, I buried him.” He swallowed hard, his voice unnaturally hoarse. “I don’t know what you want to do, Jamie. Do you want him moved?”
Her fingers traced the letters, her face hidden by her long hair. Christopher Jacobs. Brother and Friend. There were no dates. Michael’s heart ached for her.
She picked up a small rock from the pile, wrapped her fingers around it, and stood, turning to face both the men. She looked lost. Michael watched her study Chris’s face. She had to be searching for the brother she remembered. Could she see the difference? Or had the years combined the two men into one? Her gaze locked with Chris’s, and she gave a small smile.
“Look around,” she said, her focus moving to the towering firs. “It’s beautiful here. It’s quiet and peaceful and calm. I feel a happiness and restfulness in the air. I can’t think of a better place to be. He needs to stay here.”
Michael felt the calmness, too. The forest was still and tranquil, almost welcoming. He studied the small marker, hating and loving the simpleness of it simultaneously. Part of him ached for it to be a huge monument, but most of him knew it was utterly appropriate.
He felt a kinship with the young man buried under the earth; it could have easily been his own brother. In a way, it was. Daniel hadn’t returned; Daniel had died, too. But the man next to him was definitely his brother. And Jamie’s brother, too.
“She’s right,” Michael said. “This is perfect.”
Chris looked from one of them to the other and back. His shoulders slumped a bit in relief, and he nodded. “I’d hoped I’d done the right thing. It seemed right.”
Jamie hugged him hard. “Thank you for taking care of him.”
Michael slapped his brother on his back. “You did good.” Chris surprised him by fiercely pulling him into the hug. Michael hugged him back and laid his cheek against Jamie’s hair, inhaling her scent.
“You’ve got a family here, princess.”
She met his gaze and smiled. “Always.”
I have an amazing group of people who support my writing in different ways. My agent, Jennifer Schober, who handles the legal wrangling of my books. My acquiring editor, Lindsay Guzzardo, who guides me every step of the way through the production of my books. Charlotte Herscher, my developmental editor, who gently lets me know when I’ve created unlikeable characters. Jessica Poore, my author-relations guru, who promptly answers my million e-mails and sends me chocolate. Melinda Leigh, fellow Montlake author, who shares my roller coaster ride of tears and squees on the publishing journey. My husband, Dan, who suggested I quit my day job and hire someone to clean the house. He’s a keeper.
Photograph ? Yuen Lui, 2010
Born and raised in the Pacific Northwest, Kendra Elliot has always been a voracious reader, cutting her teeth on classic female sleuths and heroines like Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, and Laura Ingalls before proceeding to devour the works of Stephen King, Diana Gabaldon, and Nora Roberts. She graduated with a degree in journalism but went on to become a licensed dental hygienist. Her debut novel, Hidden, was an overall top 100 Kindle bestseller for 2012. Elliot shares her love of suspense in her third novel, Buried. She still lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and three daughters.