She was just as gorgeous as I remembered.

I couldn’t believe that it was really her. That she was standing there as we pulled up, like the sexiest welcoming party you ever saw. Her ample curves were displayed to full advantage in a 1950’s style green sundress, her generous bosom, her wide hips and long, long legs. She had always been more Marilyn than Audrey, a voluptuous siren rather than an elegant waif. Just the way I liked a woman, lots and lots to hang onto.

Her green eyes were hesitant, however. I could see her stiffen as I got out of Betsy and walked toward her.

“Lance,” she said, after I had greeted her. “It’s been so long, it seems a lifetime ago.”

I had to acknowledge the truth of that. The days at Clear Creek High seemed like they had happened to another man. I had been out in the world, caught up in my missions. I knew the ranch would be there for me, when I wanted to go back, but I always put it off.

Another mission, and then another. Until the last, when it had all gone belly up and exploded like fireworks in my face.

“You’re looking good,” I told her now, my eyes slowly raking over her. She hadn’t cut her hair, it was still the mass of long, golden honey curls it had always been. I had a sudden vision of my hands in that hair, pulling it backwards, snaking fingers through it…

“Thanks, Lance,” she answered, but her eyes were still wary. She looked at me as if I were a grenade that might trigger at any moment.

“Come into the kitchen and I’ll get you coffee,” she said now, walking back to the main house. “You must be tired after your trip.”

Yes, indeed I was, more tired than I could ever remember. But something about being back here, in the pure mountain air of Wyoming, on the ranch, it had given me a second wind. I felt like I could start preparing for a new mission, I was suddenly so energised. Could run 200 miles and swim half the ocean.

I tried to ignore that the feeling probably had something to do with seeing Gemma as well.

We sat at the kitchen table, Gemma pouring coffees for Hank and myself. The old ranch hand had joined us. I had a feeling they wanted answers, and had much to say themselves. I could feel myself tensing.

“So,” Gemma sat down opposite me. “Tell me… Jack?” Her voice had a fine tremor in it.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair, what there was of it.

“What do you want me to say, Gemma?” My voice when it finally came, was rougher than I intended. She stiffened.

“I think we deserve to know a little more than the official version,” she spat back. “All the O’Grady’s got was ‘Killed in Active Service.’ How do you think that feels, for them? And me, as well?”

“It is what it is,” I responded. “You have all known the drill for a long time now. It’s part of being a SEAL. We do covert operations, and we get that things can go wrong at any time. Men die, Gemma.”

“But what happened to Jack?”

“Jack was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I finally responded. “Shit, you know I can’t give you details of the mission. It’s so classified even the goddamn vice-president probably doesn’t know anything about it.”

She looked down, studying her coffee cup. “Was it quick, or was he tortured?”

“It was quick,” I said. It had been no such thing, but she didn’t need to know that. None of them did. How could it help their grief, to have all the intricate details of how a man can die at war?

Her lip started quivering. Shit, she was about to burst into tears.

“Hey.” I reached for her hand across the table. She pulled hers back as if my touch was tainted with poison ivy.

“I don’t want platitudes, Lance,” she whispered. Her eyes were swimming with tears. “You both said you’d look out for each other, that you would have each other’s backs through it all. Why didn’t you have Jack’s?”

I flinched, as if she had struck me. “I did my best, Gemma.” Keep it together, I told myself. “I tried to save him. It all just went to shit, very quickly. I couldn’t get there in time.”

I felt like the words were being pulled out of me by draught horses. Why was she probing this pain? Didn’t she realise that Jack was like a brother to me, that I would have given my life for his? That I couldn’t sleep at night, as I replayed it over and over in my head. Trying to figure out how I could have saved him.

And another thing was becoming obvious, too.

“I didn’t realize that you still loved him,” I said. “I thought it was all over between the two of you.”

She looked at me, then slowly got up from the kitchen table, walking away.

I looked down at my hands, trying to stop the shaking.

She still loved him. Still mourned him like they were going to end up walking into the sunset hand in hand.

But I knew.

I knew that he had never satisfied her. That she was constantly asking for things that he couldn’t give. Those emails had laid all her cards on the table.

How could she still love him, after everything?

If only she knew how much I could give her. How I could satisfy all the secrets in her heart. And body.