“I crawled through the bathroom window and shimmied down the rose trellis.”
“Ah, Kathleen,” he exhaled, his heart swelling that she would go to such lengths to see him. “You shouldn’t have done that.” He placed light kisses over the scratches, aware of the gawking stares Brian and Fitz were giving them. They would probably be ribbing him about it later, but it was worth it. Neither one of them had a beautiful young woman teary-eyed over their departure.
“If you think I’d miss being here, you don’t know me very well, Jack Callaghan.”
Chuckling, he held her to him, absorbing her strength, memorizing the feel of her in his arms, her scent, her warmth. Those memories were going to have to hold him for a while.
“Five minutes.”
Jack felt her arms squeeze around him. He shot Fitz a warning look over the top of her head.
“Right,” Fitz said, nudging Brian. “We’ll just wait over there then.”
Pulling away only far enough to see her face, Jack curled his index finger and tucked it beneath her chin, coaxing her to look at him. Her emerald eyes were, as he suspected, shiny with moisture. But he hadn’t expected to see the absolute conviction there.
“You will come home to me, Jack Callaghan,” she told him.
“Aye,” he agreed.
She bit her lip and lowered her eyes just a little as she reached into her pocket. “And just so you won’t forget and be tempted by another, I want to give you something to remind you of what’s waiting for you.”
Forget her? Was she kidding? He’d known in the first few moments that there would never be another woman for him, not ever. Maybe he should have done a better job of assuring her of that. There was no time left to explain about croies and soulmates and how he knew she was his, so he leaned over and tried to show her with his kiss instead.
Kathleen melted in his arms as he poured his heart and soul into her in the only way he could. When he finally released her, he was vaguely away of her slipping something into his pocket.
The final call came, a harsh, unpleasant voice magnified over the crappy bus station speakers. It was time to go.
There were so many things he wanted to say, but they all jammed up in his throat. Kathleen smiled and stepped back, smoothing his shirt as she did so. “Go on, now,” she told him. “Be off with you.” Her voice was steady, but the thickening of her brogue gave her emotions away.
Unable to speak, he nodded and joined the others lining up to board the bus.
Kathleen was still there, smiling at him and standing proud when the bus drew away from the station.
“You are one lucky bastard,” Fitz commented beside him.
“Aye, I am at that,” Jack agreed.
“Did she give you anything? You know, for luck?”
Jack remembered that she had tucked something into his pocket. He reached down and pulled out a folded strip. He pulled it apart, his heart stammering in his chest as he looked upon a series of quick-succession poses, the kind that came out of the pull-curtain photo booths.
The first frame showed Kathleen looking seductively at the camera, hands poised at the edges of her button-down blouse. The third showed her blouse hanging off to either side, revealing a feminine, lacy bra accentuating full, firm breasts. And the fifth and final frame made his heart stop entirely. The cups of her bra had been replaced with her hands. Her very small hands.
From the seat behind them, Brian looked over his shoulder and whistled. “Now that’s what I call incentive.”
Incentive, indeed. Jack shoved the strip back into his pocket; those images were for his eyes only. He’d been determined to make it home in one piece before, but now he’d move heaven and earth to get back to her.
Chapter Four
September 2015
Pine Ridge
Michael, now dressed in scrubs, made a quick stop in the waiting room. Six men jumped to their feet. Three of them held phones in their hands, no doubt providing updates to their worried wives back at the farm.
Their eyes landed on him, searching for news in his somber features.
“Well?” Kane asked. Nicknamed the Iceman for his hard, cold exterior, his voice belied none of the worry that Michael (and everyone else there) knew simmered just beneath the surface.
“He’s holding his own.”
A collective exhale was released. “What the hell happened?” asked Ian. The trademark mischief that normally danced in his eyes was notably absent, his face a mask of concern.
“Blood tests and a cardiac catheter confirm a heart-attack. He’s got three blocked vessels, one of them a major artery. The OR is prepping for an emergency bypass as we speak.”