LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

unaware, yank him unwillingly back into that wretched moment when he knew his friend was gone. At some point he was going to have to tell Gage the truth, Eli thought, wincing from the reminder. The third member of their “three amigos” crew, Gage Harper had been running a covert mission when Micah had died. Knowing that Micah had been struggling, Eli imagined Gage already suspected the truth but, out of respect or fearful of the answer, hadn’t asked.

      He’d tell him, of course. At some point. In the near future, in all probability. And, God, how he dreaded it.

      He’d become too damned acquainted with dread, Eli thought. In fact, he was so accustomed to it at this point, he was beginning to wonder if he’d know how to function without it, without the disquieting tightening of his gut or the ever-present whisper of uneasiness along his spine.

      A group of men, Carl among them, of course, were busy driving stakes into the ground and pulling string, marking off the dimensions for the gazebo. Eli had yet to see the plans, but had been told the design had been rendered by Micah’s ex-fiancée, Shelby Monroe. He hadn’t quite worked out how he felt about that—had never been able to work out how he felt about her, for that matter. Not that anything beyond passing friendliness was in order—he’d be damned before he’d poach on a friend’s territory—but somehow the prickling of his skin, the inexplicable jump in his heart rate and the unwelcome stirring in his loins didn’t strike the strictly platonic note.

      It was odd, really, how well he knew her without really knowing her. He’d been able to read her from the get-go, had been able to discern the thoughts behind the furrowing of her sleek brow, the upward quirk of her ripe lips, the twinkling or dimming of her pale green gaze.

      That especially sensitive perception had also allowed him to work out some other things, as well. Like the fact that Micah had been more heavily invested in her than she’d been in him. He wasn’t judging. Even now, he wouldn’t. It happened. Micah and Shelby had been high school sweethearts who’d let things cool during college, when they’d both dated other people. They’d reconnected after a bad breakup—hers—and had stuck it out for quite a while. But it had ended six months before Micah’s death.

      Despite being desperately in love with her, Micah had drunkenly admitted after she’d broken things off that he’d taken advantage of the situation. He’d offered her a shoulder to cry on, then pressed his advantage by proposing before she was ready. “Because she would have said no if I’d waited,” he’d explained. “And I just wanted her for my own. She was my It Girl,” he’d said, smiling sadly. “I met her and—” he’d shrugged fatalistically “—that was it.”

      Eli had a grim suspicion he knew what that felt like. Because despite the fact that he’d known that she was and forever would be off-limits, to his eternal shame and chagrin, Shelby had had a similar effect on him. For reasons which escaped him, he’d been judging every girl he’d met against her for the past six years. She’d become the reason he wanted to visit the Hollands and the reason he’d desperately needed to stay away.

      It was bad business all the way around.

      To complicate matters, he suspected that he was partially responsible for the split. The last time he’d come home with Micah had been for his parents’ anniversary party. In honor of their 30th, Carl had rented the old Wickam plantation, then hired caterers, decorators and a band because he’d said he didn’t want Sally having to deal with anything more stressful than the invitations. When she began agonizing over the guest list, Carl had taken matters into his own hands and put an announcement in the local paper, inviting the whole town. Eli grinned. Problem solved.

      The wine and booze had flowed freely, the food had been plentiful and delicious, and the band hadn’t miss a single note. Watching the couples dance, most particularly Carl and Sally, had had the most peculiar effect on him, Eli remembered now. Seeing the love between the two, the affection and familiarity, had made his chest ache and a bizarre sense of...emptiness had swelled in his belly. It had been an odd, mildly troubling sensation because it smacked of regret and loneliness, neither of which Eli had ever allowed himself to feel.

      Regret was pointless and the benefit of the military was the constant company.

      At any rate, Shelby had witnessed his momentary...weakness? Confusion? Hell, whatever it was, mortifyingly, she’d seen it from across the room and even now, he could still remember the slight arch of her blond brow, the question form in her too perceptive green eyes.

      Eli had merely looked away, then proceeded to drink entirely too much. He’d danced with every single woman in attendance—and a few who weren’t so single, he’d later been told—and had pretended that nothing had happened, that he was fine, that he wasn’t envious of his friend or of his friend’s family. He’d laughed, he’d joked, he’d flirted and most importantly, he’d avoided her.

      Looking back, that was his biggest mistake. If he’d simply behaved normally, she wouldn’t have known that she’d seen something he hadn’t wanted her to see. There would have been room for doubt. But he hadn’t. What he’d done, he’d later realize, for all intents and purposes, was wave a red flag in front of bull.

      She’d waited until he’d stepped outside for some air, then made her move. He’d felt the air change, heat and charge. A wind kicked up, rattling the leaves on the hundred-year-old live oaks, bringing her scent closer. A mixture of fresh rain and gardenias. Summer, his favorite season.

      “What’s wrong with you, Eli?” she’d asked, straight to the point as always. Directness was typically a trait he admired, but that night, it had grated on his nerves. “You’re not acting at all like yourself.”

      He’d chuckled humorously, then taken another pull from the drink in his hand. “You think you know me well enough to make that call?”

      She did, damn her.

      She paused, gave him one of those disconcerting considering gazes, then said, “I do, actually. Does that bother you?” she’d drawled. “That you’re mysterious but not necessarily a mystery? Not to me, anyway.”

      His heart had begun to pound, but he’d managed an unconcerned shrug. “Why would it bother me? It’s bullshit.”

      She’d chuckled knowingly. “Oh, I have struck a nerve, haven’t I?” She’d moved closer, as though sharing a secret, then cast a meaningful glance back at the house. “They’re sweet, aren’t they? They adore one another, and are so obviously, achingly in love, even after all these years.”

      Something in the tone of her voice made him look at her and it literally hurt, because she was so lovely, because she was so close, because she belonged to someone else. The night breeze toyed with the ends of her hair, blowing a wisp across the sweet swell of her cheek. Long lashes curled away from her eyes, revealing a wistful gaze that tore at him. She’d hugged her arms around her middle and was staring through the window, watching Carl and Sally take another turn around the room. The pearls Carl had given her gleamed around Sally’s neck.

      “They are,” Eli had agreed, then looked away because, though he loved them, it was painful to watch. “Just think,” he’d said, an inexplicable edge entering his voice. “That’ll be you and Micah someday. Although I have to wonder if the tableau is going to be quite the same.”

      He shouldn’t have said it. To this day, he still didn’t know why he said it.

      From the corner of his eye, he’d watched her attention shift to him, could feel the weight of her gaze, the full benefit of her regard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “Nothing,” he’d said, trying to backpedal, wishing like hell he could draw the words back into his mouth.

      “No, it’s not nothing,” she’d insisted. “What the hell do you mean by that? You think Micah and I don’t have what it takes to make a thirty-year marriage work? Is that what you mean?”

      “I don’t mean anything,” he said, ashamed of himself. “Just forget it. I’m sorry. I’ve had too much to drink.” That, at least, was true, if not a good excuse.

Скачать книгу