27
That night, Zoë snuggled against Ethan’s side after yet another incredible love-making session. His prowess and endurance were admirable and, as always, she was completely satisfied. With her head on his chest, she stroked her hand over his thigh, her fingertips tracing the deep scars there.
“You can ask about them,” he told her. “I don’t mind.”
Keeping her hand on his thigh, she shifted onto her belly to see his face. “Okay, how did you get them?”
“It happened on the worst day of my life. Turns out it was also the luckiest.” Intrigued, she waited for more but received nothing more than a slight twitch of the corner of his mouth. Then he shook his head. “I said I didn’t mind talking about it, but I guess I do.”
“Then don’t, really, it’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t. Truth is, I want you to know about me. I want to share things with you.” He chuckled. There was zero humour in it. “You know, the one-sidedness of this—whatever this is between us—is hard to deal with, but I meant it when I said I wouldn’t press you to confide in me.”
A lump strained her throat. He wanted to confide in her, even when she refused to do the same, when she’d rebuked his interest, disregarded his offer of help. Feeling about as low as she ever had, she examined his face carefully, looking for signs of—what, exactly? Indications he was falling for her? It was a ridiculous notion. He was too shrewd to trust a woman who wouldn’t trust him back, something made painfully clear the first night they shared.
“Did it happen during an international policing mission?” she asked, certain it had, but eager to divert attention from his mention of how unfair their union was to him.
“Yeah, it did. Boone was with me, and our unit was supporting a police force during a transition in government. We were on border checkpoint that day, something we’d done before. Really it was a normal day there. A teenager approached the gate and, well, there was something odd about the way he walked but I couldn’t figure out what. He got closer and, shit, he was just a kid, twelve, or thirteen at the most. I thought I saw a vest under his clothes but wasn’t sure and then Boone yelled ‘Get down!’ I tried to turn to dive but didn’t have enough time before the bomb went off.”
He issued a stiff shrug that pulled at her heart. How difficult it was for him to relate the story was visually apparent, and she wanted him to stop. “I got hit. Hard. I hit the ground and I was certain my leg was on fire. It burned so bad. Boone grabbed me and was yelling at me not to move but my leg burned so bad I wanted nothing but to put it out. I tried to roll, I remember that part so clearly, trying to roll to put my leg out even though I knew it wasn’t actually on fire.”
He paused. She could do nothing but continue to stroke his leg as she reached her other hand to caress his cheek. Again, she wanted him to stop his relation but wouldn’t tell him to. He needed to tell her and, even as she felt unworthy to hear it, she remained quiet.
“I was certain I’d lose my leg. Bits of metal were sticking out of it and there was so much blood. Boone tied a tourniquet around my leg and I begged him to stop. It hurt that badly. Then I guess I blacked out. I remember bits of the helicopter ride, then a doctor asking me something I couldn’t understand.” He blew out a long breath and then nodded, perhaps assuring himself he’d gotten through the worst part. “Boone saved my life. If he hadn’t tied that tourniquet I would’ve bled out before the medics got there.” He glanced down at his leg, and then met her eyes again. “You can see how bad an injury it was. When I woke up after surgery, the doctor told me I’d come precariously close to losing my leg. Shrapnel had nicked my femoral artery, but not severed it. He said if the damage was even slightly worse he probably wouldn’t have been able to repair the damage and he would’ve had no recourse but to amputate my leg. So, you see, it really was the worst but luckiest day of my life.”
Another shrug followed a few rapid blinks of his eyes. “As soon as I could be transported, I was brought back here, to hospital in Calgary. I had a long recovery. It was painful, full of physio treatments I could have done without, but I trudged through them and eventually I got back full use of my leg. Long before I was fully recovered, I’d decided to retire from the RCMP. My parents were so grateful I was still in one piece and, even as they’d planned on retiring a few years from that time, they encouraged me to take possession of the ranch then. I wasn’t sure at first, thinking they were rushing a stage of their life just for me but, you know, they’re damn happy doing all the travelling they do, and I’ve never regretted a single day on this ranch. I love it, I really do.”
He smiled, not happily, and then delivered a comment that pricked her badly. “You know, you’re the only person I’ve ever related that entire story to. I mean, Boone was there, so he knows, but I never told my parents just how precarious the situation had really been.”
Unable to respond to that, she rolled onto her back and patted her belly. He snuggled against her side, placed his head on her abdomen, and then cupped a breast.
“I like this position,” he murmured.
“I bet,” she returned.
He chuckled. She couldn’t even smile. As she dragged her fingertips through his hair, she could think of nothing but his admission he’d never told his parents the entire story behind his injury. Sparing them the full brutality of his pain made sense, but telling her didn’t. Not if he only wanted sex from her. He wanted more from her, and a realization that should have elated her did nothing but crush her. She wanted more from him, too, but couldn’t have it. What was a perfect arrangement had become so unfair to him, but she had to stick to her resolve. It was more unfair to endanger him, and she wouldn’t, not under any circumstances, see harm come to him.