What could she say? Nothing that would help. She knew how hard people tried to make you feel better with words when your world had imploded. Words that usually just didn’t work, didn’t soothe or cure. She tightened her hold on his hand and leaned her head against his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Me, too.’ His tongue slicked across his bottom lip. ‘The worst of it? He knew he’d be dead before he got home so he wanted to stay on base with me. But I insisted he went, hoping beyond belief that he’d somehow make it to see his wife and boys. Who knows? Maybe I could’ve saved him. Or at least held his hand and talked with him.’ His voice trailed off. His eyes were focused somewhere thousands of kilometres away, seeing something she’d never see.
‘You’re blaming yourself for something you couldn’t prevent.’
‘I mightn’t have been flying that damned plane but I should’ve been able to hold him together long enough to get to a major hospital.’
‘In another country.’
‘It’s why I became a doctor. To save people.’ His voice sounded clogged with tears.
‘You’re the man who once told me we can’t save them all.’ Charlie rubbed her fingers back and forth across his hand.
‘I should’ve been able to save my closest friend.’
‘We can’t save them all,’ she repeated quietly yet firmly. He mustn’t go on blaming himself. This could destroy him if he let it. Lifting her head, she kissed his neck, his cheek, his lips.
Marshall gripped Charlie’s hand, held on. Her lips were soft, sweet, caring. Touching him deep inside somewhere around his heart. Warming the cold place locked in there, no matter how many months had gone by since Rod had been loaded onto that flight.
Her touch was totally in contrast to the harsh reality of his life, of what he’d told her. Why the hell had he spilled his guts? It was the last thing he should be saying. He didn’t do heart-to-heart stuff. Never had, never would. Except that’s exactly what he’d just done.
A stone banged against his knee and rolled down his leg to his foot. Aimee stood on his other side, holding out her empty hand, grinning that cute grin that got to him every time. ‘Hey, my girl, come here.’ Wrapping his free arm around her, he tucked his daughter in against his side. Aimee on one side, Charlie on the other. The perfect picture, a family portrait. Alien. And the reason he had to keep surviving in the next place the army posted him to. And the next. And the next.
He’d be gone by the end of next week and he didn’t have a clue when he’d be able to get to Taupo again. Charlie would be hurt. But not half as much as she would be if she thought they had a future together and then he got himself killed. He’d do what he could for Aimee, mostly the small stuff. But a full-on, day-by-day commitment? Not likely. These two were better off without him.
*
Charlie didn’t sleep much that night. Tossing and turning, throwing the bedcovers off because she was too hot, pulling them back when the sweat on her skin chilled. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the anguish on Marshall’s face, heard the pain in his voice as he’d talked about Rod.
Used to him always laughing and joking, she’d been shocked that he’d opened up at all. But she’d also been grateful because it meant they might be able to forge a deeper friendship, something strong enough to carry them through the months and years ahead.
Forget that she loved him. Yeah, right. Like how? Okay, her love wasn’t going to vaporise or leave her in peace, but she had to take her time with that. First things first. Give Marshall the space to fall in love with his daughter. Because no matter that her own heart was his, Aimee had to take precedence.
The morning finally dawned, rays of sun sneaking around the edges of her blinds just after five. Long before Aimee cried out or the alarm beeped, she crawled out of bed. A cool shower might wake her up and refresh her head, which felt full of cotton wool. Sodden, heavy cotton wool.
‘Hey, you look like something the dog buried.’ Marshall stood outside his bedroom door, watching as she shuffled along the hall yawning so hard her jaw ached. ‘Didn’t sleep?’
Shaking her head, she pushed the bathroom door wide. ‘Too hot.’
Those all-seeing eyes bored into her, filled with concern. ‘You’re not worrying about anything, are you, Charlie?’
Only how I’m going to get through the day on very little shut-eye, how Aimee will react when you leave us, how I’ll cope if you don’t stay in touch. ‘Thinking about one of my patients.’
She lied because now wasn’t the time to tell him the truth. He would hate it if she put pressure on him, asked him exactly what he thought he might do about seeing Aimee occasionally. Or more often. Then there was the biggie. Would he sign papers accepting responsibility for Aimee in the worst-case scenario? Hopefully the untruth wasn’t glittering out at him from her tired eyes. She’d have looked away but it was as though his gaze had locked onto hers, keeping her in place.
Annoyance flickered over his face. ‘Really?’
Had he guessed she’d fibbed? Or did he want her to have been worried about the situation after all? Guilt gripped her. Everything seemed too hard this early in the day. She needed a shower, a mug of tea and something to dull the pounding behind her eyes.
‘Going for a run?’ she asked, in a vain attempt to move him away, to stop that questioning look searing her.
‘Shortly. You joining me?’
‘I should, I know, but…’ She didn’t have the energy. Plain and simple.
‘Go have a shower and I’ll put the kettle on for you before I go. You do look exhausted.’
His thoughtfulness only ramped up her guilt. He mightn’t know for sure why she got so tired but he was prepared to help her out. ‘Thank you.’
As she stripped off her nightgown and waited for the water to warm, she stared in the mirror, trying to see what Marshall might see when he looked at her. Nothing like the happy doctor he’d had a short fling with, that’s for sure. Did he wonder where that woman had gone? He’d probably put the dark shadows staining her upper cheeks and the short and curly, easy-to-handle hair all down to motherhood.
Soaping the night’s sweat off her skin, she smiled despite the weariness dragging at her muscles. Marshall looked as delectable as ever, as sexy as any hot-blooded woman could imagine. During the night, whenever she woke up, her thoughts immediately went to him, sleeping three rooms down from her.
The temptation to go and slip into bed with him was huge, but she managed to hold onto a thread of reason, knowing it was the wrong thing to do at this stage. They’d never get to talk and plan for the future if they went back to that steamy sex life that had produced Aimee in the first place.
But how long would she be able to hold out? What would she do if Marshall made a serious pass at her? Her body warmed at the thought of it, an ache of need centring at the apex of her legs.
It isn’t going to happen, Charlie. It mustn’t.
Sluicing the soap from her belly her hands paused over her hysterectomy scar. No more babies. That hurt. Hurt even more now that Marshall had come back into the picture. She didn’t have the right to ask him to forego having more children.
Leaning her aching head against the glass wall of the shower, she fought the urge to have a damned good howl. Which only went to show how tired she was. She didn’t do tears, remember?
*
Marshall watched the bathroom door close behind Charlie. Her feet were dragging this morning. What was with all this tiredness? Motherhood and a demanding career were obviously taking their toll on her, but he still had the feeling he was missing something. Like what?
He filled the kettle, got out the cereal she liked, sliced up some fruit into a small bowl, and set everything at her place at the table. He enjoyed doing little things for her. Made him feel as though he was contributing to the family. His family. Whether he lived with Charlie or not, he now had a family of his own. Aimee Hunter-Lang was his family and by association so was Charlie.
Goddamn, Charli
e had stunned him when she’d shown him Aimee’s birth certificate. His name had stood out. Hunter. Okay, Hunter-Lang, but he was more than happy with that. Thrilled, if the truth be known. He’d never planned on having kids. But he’d become a father without knowing it, without being hauled up to the line and made to decide, and, damn it—he liked it. That should surprise him, scare him away. But it didn’t. Unfortunately. Because he really needed to put space between himself and those two females dominating his mind, his time and just about everything he did at the moment.
It was time to start talking to Charlie. Really talking. Because he might like it that he was a dad but nothing had changed. He still had to go away, might not be back for up to a year, and then only for a few days at a time. And Charlie needed to understand that.
A loud cry erupted from down the hallway in the vicinity of Aimee’s room. ‘Coming, my girl.’ He grinned. His daughter didn’t do delicate, or shy, or quiet. Everything about her was full on. Just like her dad. Like her mum had been.
‘Morning, Marshall.’ Brendon stood outside Aimee’s room, looking from him to his granddaughter inside.
Guilt hit Marshall. Brendon probably did the morning routine with Aimee and since he’d arrived the guy hadn’t got a look-in. ‘I’ll go and make you a coffee.’
‘Don’t be silly, lad. Your daughter wants up.’ Brendon slapped his shoulder lightly as he passed him. ‘I’m over wet nappies.’