The War Hero's Locked-Away Heart

Especially not now she had three weeks and one day until that plane lifted off.

‘Hi. Sorry I’m late.’ The just-a-guy appeared in front of them, dressed casually in a black T-shirt and faded jeans. He slung his leather jacket onto the back of the chair and nodded at her, his lips a straight line, his eyes guarded. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the world other than a small country pub filled with laughter and friendly faces.

Edgy and dangerous and about as far away from any man she’d ever been with, or had wanted to be with before, but everything about him resonated deep inside her.

She swallowed the dry lump in her throat. ‘Adam. Hi. Thought you might have had second thoughts.’

‘Got a code two just before I clocked off.’ Adam shrugged and glanced at Connor warily. ‘That’s a …’

‘Serious threat to life,’ Skye translated. ‘This is Connor. He’s one of the GPs at the surgery. The non-pregnant one, clearly. Connor, this is Adam. New paramedic about town.’

‘Good to meet you.’ Adam shook hands, then took his wallet out.

Connor scraped his chair back and stood. ‘No. My round. By way of thanks for filling in at the last minute. You stay here and save the seats. And watch my phone—Mim’s going to call if she needs me.’

‘She’s due any day now,’ Skye explained. ‘Sorry … what were you saying?’

‘That it was an unlucky break, getting a last-minute callout.’ Adam took the seat across from her, leaving an acre of space between them. He straightened the beermat in line with the edge of the table. Looked everywhere apart from at her face. ‘I guessed everyone would know what a code two was. Being Mad Medics.’

‘Sorry, did I butt in? It’s a bad habit.’ Her cheeks burned. She mentally banged her head against the table. ‘My brothers complain because I have a tendency to—’

‘Finish their sentences?’ His chin jutted upwards. No other muscles moved. Army training, she guessed. A man in control. He had a stillness that unnerved her, where she danced around and fidgeted. Adam was the kind of man who dominated a room, the one you didn’t want to take your eyes off. Not that she could if she tried.

‘Annoying habit, I know.’

‘You’d better tell me how this quiz works. What’s the strategic plan?’ He scanned the groups dotted around the lounge. The aroma of male with a hint of something exotic—cinnamon perhaps—hit her as he leaned close. ‘And who’s the enemy?’

‘Right, er, Sergeant? Corporal? I hope you don’t expect military precision because you’re going to be sorely disappointed.’ She showed him the quiz sheets in front of her. ‘Eight rounds, ten questions each round. Music, geography, current affairs, you know the score. It’s more a case of luck than judgement. Or skill. Or even knowledge really.’

‘I’ll fit in, then.’ His eyebrows rose, creasing the scar down his cheek into tiny broken lines. From here it looked well healed. Obviously old. But it would have been deep, painful. She wanted to reach out and trace it. Stupid idea.

She wanted to ask him about it too, but realised she didn’t know him enough to pry about his injuries. ‘So were you a captain, or a private, or what?’

‘Staff sergeant medic.’ His shoulders squared and his jaw twitched a little. The pale trace of light in his eyes diminished. The shutters came down.

She sensed something tragic had happened to him. She understood, knew how bruised the heart and soul could get. Maybe his abruptness wasn’t lack of social grace, maybe it stemmed from something deeper.

There she was with the amateur psychology again. Still, when faced with pain and lies, she’d read as many self-help books as she could get through.

‘I’m sorry if I seem nosy. Rearing three teenagers consisted of too many questions and never enough answers.’ She flashed him a smile and hoped she could drag him out of whatever sombre place she’d put him with her stupid line of questioning. ‘You know what boys are like, I imagine. There’s enough of them in the army, eh?’

‘Yeah.’ His shoulders tensed. He glanced over to the bar and seemed to relax at the sight of Connor returning with the beer. Either he had a mighty thirst or he wasn’t comfortable chatting with her alone.

She ran her finger round the rim of her glass and gave him her best smile. Trying to work out exactly what she felt for this just-a-guy. She came up with confused. He’d been relaxed with Dan, chatty with Lukas … but with her he gave little away. Other than that brief connection at the beach, he was a stranger to her.

She didn’t want to get closer to him. But she sure as heck wanted to make him smile. His eyes spoke of too much pain.

Story of her life, really. Finding waifs and strays. Trying to make people smile. Putting their needs before hers. Giving up her dreams.

She dragged her eyes away from him and prayed the quiz would start soon to distract her from her wayward emotions, her wired libido and the strange effect of Adam Miller on her sensibilities.

CHAPTER THREE

THE quizmaster tapped the microphone for quiet. ‘Final round. It’s neck and neck. Who’s going to win tonight’s grand prize? Bright Sparks or Mad Medics?’

‘Mad Medics, obviously.’ Adam looked at the other two members of the team, chests puffed with pride, and wondered how the heck he’d got to be here, doing this. Normal things, with good people. For once the ghosts of his past hadn’t spoiled his humour. ‘We’ve got this sewn up.’

‘Is that confidence or just plain cocky?’ Skye leant towards him. He knew she couldn’t help it as the pub had become progressively crowded as the night had worn on. There was barely enough room to move, certainly no space to avoid physical contact.

He scraped his chair back from her, didn’t want to savour the enticing sensations running up and down his skin every time their arms brushed. The heat sizzling between them. He had no business enjoying being with her. Not the way his body was enjoying it anyway. ‘The key is do not entertain the thought of defeat. We will win.’

‘Yes, sir. I love all that who-dares-wins stuff. That’s SAS isn’t it? Green berets or something?’ Her huge eyes stared up at him. Such innocence and interest. For the first time in four years he almost wanted to talk about his old life. Guessed she wouldn’t judge. But words failed him. What if he was wrong?

He slugged back some beer. Better not to open up about anything. Keeping quiet had served him well over the years. It had. It might have lost him Monica, but at least his sanity was intact.

‘So, ladies and gentlemen, what are you scared of? Spiders? Snakes? The number thirteen?’ The quizmaster regarded each table in turn. ‘Scared of losing perhaps, Mad Medics? Or just losing face? Our last round is all about phobias.’

A loud beeping was met with a wall of silence that lasted two seconds. Then shouts of ‘Cheats!’

‘They’re using a phone!’

‘Put it away!’

Connor snatched his smartphone. His voice cracked as blood drained from his face. ‘It’s Mim. She’s having regular contractions. Mim’s having the baby. Shoot.’

He stood as cheers erupted across the room. All eyes were on the father-to-be.

‘Oh, my goodness.’ Skye clambered to her feet too, pale-faced, her body on alert. Primed for action. She clutched the edge of the table. ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘Oh, no. You know what first births are like, it’ll be ages yet.’ Connor’s mouth turned down and he raked a hand over his hair. Adam recognised the jittery voice, the shaking hands of a man half-frightened to death. ‘Okay. Okay. Right. We’ll be fine. You just stay here and win the quiz for us. I’ll call you.’

She slicked a kiss on his cheek. ‘Make sure you do. I want to be first to hear. Give her my love.’

‘Okay.’ Connor nodded, his eyes on Skye but his brain obviously elsewhere. Adam felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. He had a big night ahead. ‘We’ll be fine.’

‘Now we know what he’s scared of.’ Adam watched as Connor pushed his way through the crowd, greeting each pat on the back with a handshake. ‘The whole town seems excited about this birth. Is it something special?’

‘Every birth’s special.’ Skye smiled. ‘But Mim and Connor’s baby kind of belongs to all of us. Those two are the life blood of the place.’

‘As it should be.’ All his life he’d been looking for this kind of community, acceptance, sharing good times. Now he’d found it he didn’t know if he could fit in.

He’d joined up to belong to something and it had worked, for a good part of his time there. Leaving had been the right thing to do, but it had rendered him homeless in too many ways. But the community focus of Atanga Bay had a real comforting feel about it. Maybe he’d chosen the right place to settle. If he could settle at all. ‘For a doctor he looks terrified.’

‘For an about-to-be father I think that’s probably right. How exciting.’ Skye sat down, her eyes glowing. Colour rushed back into her cheeks. She had a pretty mouth, Adam noticed for the hundredth time, full lips hidden underneath a swathe of lipstick. Red. Not as dark as the other day. But glossy. Kissable.

No. She’s leaving. On a jet plane.

Skye had plans. They didn’t involve him. Couldn’t. And he’d sworn off any kind of long-distance relationship. What chance would he have with a woman he hardly knew if his five-year marriage hadn’t survived the fallout of his injury?

He didn’t want to find out. Not with Skye. Even if everything about her called to him on a deep level. Had lit something inside him that he struggled to extinguish every time he spent five minutes in her company. And that appeared to be threatening to set blaze to his rationality.

She gave the pretence of biting her fingernails. ‘What a night! A labour and the quiz. No pressure, huh? Calm under fire, right? Let’s bring this victory home, soldier boy.’

‘Sure. No pressure. I’d rather be here than watching a woman in labour. I’m not brave enough for that.’

But now it was just a team of two. He was duty bound to stay even though every part of him strained to leave. But he couldn’t leave her in the lurch and let them lose this silly pub quiz. Her black-gelled spikes tickled his head as she pored over the list of top ten most common phobias, in Latin. The lace on her top framed her pale collarbones, revealing a sweet dip he imagined running his finger along.

No. First she’d intrigued him but now it was torment just being next to the woman.

He inwardly counted to ten, scraped his chair back a fraction. Putting all thoughts of attraction to the back of his mind. Right there, out of harm’s way. At the back.

She just continued her chatter, unaware of the weird sensations running through his body. Damn. Would his body stop now? Please?

He forced himself to relax, to allow the luxury of softened muscles, deeper breaths. ‘Okay. Focus. What do you know about phobias?’

‘Not a whole lot to be honest. Some of the names are dead giveaways. But some … I couldn’t even guess.’

She pushed the list towards him. ‘Look, the first three are easy. Spiders, snakes and heights. But pteromerhanophobia? Like pterodactyl? Fear of dinosaurs perhaps? Or would that be Flintstone-o-phobia? How can you be afraid of something that’s extinct?’

‘It’s a fear of flying.’ Knowing it didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

Her eyes widened. ‘Really? Are you sure?’

‘Yes. Absolutely sure. Pteromerhanophobia, or aviatophobia.’ It didn’t matter which fancy name they attached to it, it all boiled down to the same thing. Terror. Falling through nothing. The screech of metal. Death.

Adam’s mouth dried as adrenalin rushed through his veins. Hell, did his body have some kind of grudge against him? First his unbidden reactions to Skye, now this.

Damn. He’d got over this. The shrink had diagnosed it as PTSD, had said he’d work through it and that time healed. He was running out of patience.

Pull yourself together, Miller.

He focused on the pain in his ankle, controlled his breathing, flexed his foot on the floor. Hard surface. The pub’s solid foundations beneath his feet. Reminded himself he needn’t fly anywhere soon. Ever again, if he could help it.

Semper quietus. Always calm. Whoever had thought that motto up hadn’t taken a skydive from a burning chopper without a parachute.

When he looked over at Skye she was blissfully ignorant of his discomfort. Her forehead creased as she pored over the questions. A study in concentration. A study in sensuality as she tapped the end of the pencil against her cheek. The black of the graphite stark against the pale cream of her flesh. Sense took over. They had a time limit on this round.

Concentrate. He hauled in a breath of beer-soaked oxygen and took hold of the pencil to stop his hand from shaking, filled in the gaps on the form. ‘Yes, it’s definitely a fear of flying. You’re right, named after the pterodactyl I presume, the dinosaur bird thing.’

‘Wow. Well done. Any others?’

He settled into a change of subject. ‘Trypanophobia is a fear of needles.’

‘And you know that because …?’

‘We had a lot of new-recruit fainters. Wanted to learn how to kill a man with their bare hands but couldn’t stomach a tiny needle in their arms.’

‘I’m impressed. Go you. So, cynophobia … any ideas?’ She pointed a slim finger at him. ‘We’re so close to winning this darned thing.’

‘I haven’t a clue. I guess everyone’s scared of something. What other things are people afraid of? What about you?’

‘Me? Oh … nothing.’ For once her smile slipped. Her mouth puckered as she thought. From the hesitant look in her eyes he knew there was a lot more to it than that. He recognised a hedged answer when he saw it.

‘Oh, come on. There must be something. The dark? Creepy-crawlies? Monsters?’

‘Nothing. I can’t think …’

She’d been hurt somehow—by that man in Auckland, no doubt—and she might believe she hid it well, but that sunny smile didn’t fool him.

He knew how to put on a brave face like the rest of them. When everything around was crashing down. When even silence was unbearable. When you didn’t think you could stand the pain any more. But you had to. Because at least you were still alive. Then when the physical pain stopped, the guilt rose like black smoke, filled the gaps.

She shrugged. ‘Okay. My phobia? Clipping my wings. Staying in Atanga Bay for ever. Not seeing the rest of the world before I die. I don’t want to be hemmed in. Is that claustrophobia, then? You?’

‘Is there such a thing as pub-quiz-ophobia? I’m getting real close to that.’ He watched the smile on her face grow and enjoyed the jolt of pride for putting it back there.

‘Time’s up. Now I’ll do the marking.’ Mike collected the paper.

‘Excuse me.’ Someone tapped Adam’s shoulder. He stood, snapping his heels together, almost to attention. Then eased off. Some habits took too long to die. Four years later and his body still locked on command. He almost laughed. He was face to face with a surfer in a pub, not on parade. ‘You’re the guy from the other day, right? The beach? You pulled me out?’

Adam’s heart lifted at the sight of Lukas, his arm in a sling and a bandage round his head. ‘Hey, mate. You were bleeding like a stuffed pig. We saved you from being some shark’s dinner. Good to see you. You okay?’

‘Great.’ He lifted his sling. ‘Broken arm and ten stitches to the head. Can I buy you a drink to say thanks?’

‘If you insist.’ Within minutes three pints sat in front of him courtesy of Lukas, Lukas’s father and the pub owner, Lukas’s uncle. Adam stared at the drinks in dismay. ‘Seems such a waste. I’ll never drink all these.’

‘They want to show their appreciation, it’s our way.’ Skye waited for the next round of handshaking to diminish before speaking. Surprised to see the cool and calm soldier ruffled under the spotlight. ‘You’re quite a hero, Adam. Wallow in it for a while.’

‘I said before, I’m no hero. Seriously.’ His voice rose slightly. She’d heard that hitch before, seen that look in her brothers’ eyes more than once. For the loss of their mother. For a mate killed in a car crash. Hurt hidden deep. What surprised her was how much it affected her.

She’d only known him a handful of hours over the course of a few days, and yet his pain reverberated through her soul. Met her hurt head on. They had a shared loss, she sensed, understood each other at a deep level, even though neither had the means to admit it.

She fought an instinctive urge to put her hand on his. To wrap him in her arms and soothe the pain with touch. But he wasn’t her brother. Her lover. She had no right to touch him.

He took a long drink and seemed to will himself to relax. ‘Sorry, that came out wrong. I meant I was just doing my job.’

‘Well, you did it well. You know, you should focus more on the positives.’

‘Is that what your perennial smiling’s about?’

‘I try. No point being glum.’ She nodded and beamed at him just to prove her point. ‘We have to make the best of things. Life’s way too short. Seize the day. And any other glib clichés you can think of.’

‘Is that why you’re so keen to go off travelling?’

‘It’s a long story and I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say, I need a break.’

‘Then take it.’ The way he nodded at her, like he understood, was disconcerting.

‘Everyone else has all but begged me to stay. Especially my brothers. Who will cook? Clean? Remind them to do stuff?’

‘How about they do it for themselves?’

‘I hear you. I’ve been telling them that for years. Falls on deaf ears.’

‘Shout louder. Or just keep on talking. You appear to be very good at that.’ His mouth twitched. ‘Do whatever it takes, but go on your adventure.’

‘No one else understands why I need to get away. I just want to have the same kind of fun every other twenty-something has.’ She’d had her time to nurse, to grieve, to parent far too young.

She could see in his eyes that Adam knew how it felt to want to run away from responsibility. But he was tightlipped as ever. ‘For as long as I stay here I will be needed. I don’t want to be needed any more.’

‘You’re a nurse, you’ll be needed for as long as you practise.’

‘Like you, I guess. First a soldier and now a paramedic. You have such a worthwhile job that will make a huge difference to people’s lives.’

‘Now you’re making me sound like the Dalai Lama.’ The corners of his mouth turned up. Just a little. Stretching muscles that looked lax from lack of use. Then, like butterfly wings unfurling after a long incubation, a slow smile spread across his lips. It looked like it was something his face wasn’t used to doing. Like he’d forgotten how. Even in her darkest moments she’d made herself focus on the good things, had never forgotten how to smile.

But it turned his features from granite to something more … beautiful. Alluring. Interesting. Transformed him from unconventionally attractive to insanely sexy. ‘Maybe I should become a monk.’

‘No. You wouldn’t suit the orange robes. So not your colour.’ A celibate monk would be a terrible waste of such a sublime man.

She leaned back and watched the puzzlement on his face. The shadows lifted but a little frown line indented his forehead. He was delicious to observe. Especially when he grappled with her humour. Tingles ran the length of her spine. Amazing that a fledgling smile could do that. Make you forget everything. Make you want things out of reach. ‘And you’d have to live in a cave like a hermit. In silence or something. With no facilities. Or in a monastery with lots of hymns. Very dull.’

‘But imagine, no one to force pints on me. No pub quizzes. Very tempting.’ Then he laughed. It was like setting something free. His face transformed into a boyish picture of unhaunted innocence. His head tipped back and a deep resonant rumble came from his chest. A soulful sound that reached down to her heart and squeezed.

‘See, smiling works. Don’t deny you feel better.’

‘My mouth hurts.’ He grimaced, then his smile softened. He ran a hand along his stubbled jaw. It was almost as if he was feeling the strangeness of his stretched features, and for some strange reason her eyes followed his fingers closely, every movement. Transfixed by the haunting beauty of his hewn face. The scar that drew her gaze and made her want answers to the many questions buzzing round her head.

Who are you? The reluctant hero, the stubbornly serious and obviously haunted man. A man who could warm her with one look of his hesitant gaze. But a man who could laugh too. It had taken time, but he had started to soften. Maybe only just a little, but there was potential there. And she sure as hell wanted to see that face light up again, and soon.

A loud bleeping made her jump. Skye grabbed for her phone. ‘It’s a text message. From Connor.’ Fear and excitement mixed inside her stomach. ‘Oh, God, they need help. He says: “Baby’s coming. Midwife delayed. Mim needs you.”

‘I’ve got to go.’ She stood, picked up her bag then had another thought. ‘Do you want to come?’

‘Will they want me there? What about the quiz …?’ But he’d already grabbed his jacket. Despite his denial about being any kind of hero, she knew him well enough that he would never turn down a chance to help out in an emergency.

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