Light of Day (15 page)

“I’ve heard something like that,” he said, tongue in cheek.

“It’s a tactical miracle!” She slumped against the wall, her pale eyes glittering, alive with a distant vision. “All those ships and planes and men and tanks. It’s just incredible that they were able to coordinate such a huge invasion. Imagine!”

He chuckled at her wonder. “I would never have thought you to be an admirer of military maneuvers.”

“Are you being a snob again, Mr. Bashir? Women don’t like things having to do with the military?”

He raised his eyebrows, half in confirmation, half in apology, for that had been exactly his thought. Spreading his hands, he smiled. “Guilty.”

“History, especially in this century, cannot be understood without a thorough grounding in the wars that have been waged. And the World Wars, in particular, are just amazing in terms of sheer numbers.”

Her chin lifted, but the point of her pink tongue flitted out to contain the forgiving grin on her lips. “But I also have a brother who is a fanatic. He can cite the stats for every major battle in any American war you care to name.”

He laughed.

Lila felt her heart constrict at the sound of the rich notes. Something within her knew it had been a long, long time since this man had allowed himself the freedom of laughing. The awareness warmed her. After standing up, she bent to pick up the stack of books she’d collected. “I found something for you,” she said, pulling out a worn paperback edition of
Dandelion Wine
by Ray Bradbury.

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “The man of wonder.”

“Yeah. And I found something for myself.” She showed him a copy of essays by Einstein. “I flipped through it. Very interesting character.”

“And this?” He tapped the fat volume she’d been reading.

She laughed. “Oh, I’m hopelessly addicted,” she said, showing him the cover,
Great Battles of the Twentieth Century.

“I see,” he murmured.

And as they made their way toward the front of the store, she knew his simple words signaled his comprehension of her need to keep herself occupied somehow rather than embarrass herself by trying to seduce him again. To that end she also purchased a deck of cards, since there was no chess set to be had. When he insisted upon paying for the books, she wandered over to a table of assorted goods. A pair of horseshoes, joined together by two short chains, rested amid the enamelware. Grinning to herself she grabbed it, the chains and a loose metal ring jangling as she hurried over to the counter. “Do you know what this is?” she asked Samuel.

“No.”

“Good.” She gave it to the clerk. “We’ll take this, too.”

“What is it?” Samuel asked.

“You’ll see.”

They stopped at the grocer’s on the way out to replenish their supplies, then walked in silence down the bluff to the beach. At the sight of the phone booth, sitting isolated in the parking lot, Samuel’s face hardened as if he’d suddenly been reminded of something grim.

As they reached the shore, walking along the lapping edge of the waves, she finally took his arm. “I know that you aren’t free to talk about your work, Samuel,” she said, keeping her eyes trained high on the bluffs. “But I’d like to help you. At least I can listen.”

“There is not much to tell.”

“Is Hassid going to kill you?”

“He has already tried,” he said ruefully. “He will try again.”

“Isn’t there something you can do? Some place you can go?”

“Not now. A year ago, perhaps I might have been able to. Now I am needed.”

She swallowed. Back in Seattle his dangerous aura had been exciting. Now, with his strong arm below her fingers and the particular scent of his cologne in her nose, she couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to him. A twist of foreboding wrenched her heart, and with it came anger.

“Let me get this straight,” she said, stopping suddenly. “Once you leave here, someone’s going to kill you—or try. And you aren’t going to do anything about that because of some duty?”

His face went stony, his eyes as hard as obsidian. He said nothing.

“And,” she continued in the same sarcastic tone, “I’m supposed to go back to Seattle when this is all through and just pretend everything is perfectly normal.”

“I tried to keep you out of it, Lila.”

“But even in Seattle the trouble was the same as it is now.” She took a step closer and raised her hands to his face. “Your mouth says one thing, and your eyes say something else.”

Samuel clenched his fists in an effort to avoid touching her. A wind whipped her curls around her face, the dark strands accenting the passionate light in her green eyes. Her small fingers were chilly against his jaw, and the supple, inviting curves of her body were bare inches from his own. Behind them the sea rhythmically pounded, echoing the roar of feverish disquiet within him. An ache rose in his belly, and he tore himself away from her gentle touch. “I cannot help what I feel,” he said harshly, “only what I do.”

“Samuel—”

“No!” He whirled. “I tried to keep you out. I told you to drive away from the airport, and you did not. Now, within a day or two, someone will notice that you are missing and your house will be searched. It will only be a matter of time before someone remembers where this little place is.”

“No one knows. Only Allen, and he would never tell.” Her voice weakened under the fury of his, and the sound pained him. “No one else has been here with me.”

He nodded, his mouth hard. “Well, then perhaps we have a day or two longer.” He moved suddenly and took her arms in a violent grip. “But it will not be long, no matter how long it is. Don’t ask me to risk your life.”

There were a dozen protests she wanted to make. But how could she, when the story was not clear to her? Seeing the torment in his eyes, she knew his demons were very real. Until he confronted them, there would be no hope for the love she felt growing between them like a vigorous young plant. Gathering her breath, she asked him one more question.

“When this is over, Samuel, will you find me?”

He let her go abruptly, shaking his head. “I cannot even make that promise, Lila.”

Dipping her head to hide the piercing blow his words had delivered, she said quietly, “At least you’re honest.”

“Come,” he said, and in his well-disciplined face, no emotion showed. “I am hungry.”

Lila shifted her backpack on her shoulders. How had she, the bohemian and carefree Lila Waters, who believed in hope and faith and all things airy and light, fallen in love with the one man whose demons she could never exorcise, the one man who could offer her nothing, not even an empty promise?

It seemed doubly tragic that he would not allow himself even the few moments of time they could share. But she would respect his wishes.

Instead of her love, she would offer quiet and peace in which he might rebuild his soul. Perhaps then, when he left her he would be strong enough to fight his enemies.

For if he lived, he might reconsider. It was all she had.

For the rest of the evening, a grim quiet lay between Samuel and Lila, one that disturbed and upset her. She didn’t know if Samuel was angry with her, or if he had simply glimpsed the truth about her feelings for him and now thought it kinder to keep her at a distance. Whichever it was, she found herself reluctant to offer anything to start a conversation with. Somehow, it was easier to be silent.

It was no small feat given the confines of the cabin. They occupied the same room for most of those hours, drawn by the warmth of the fire, and yet the only communication between them was limited to the questions and answers needed to perform tasks. Samuel read the book she’d brought him, or stared out the window at the grayness beyond, smoking restlessly.

That night, he declined wine with his dinner and retreated upstairs as soon as the dishes were done.

Sitting by the fire with Arrow at her feet, Lila tried to read her book of great battles, but it was impossible to concentrate. Her mind and heart were focused on the man upstairs who was as restless as she, if the pacing she heard was anything to go by.

It was odd that he kept himself aloof from her, when before he couldn’t seem to resist holding her hand or touching her arm. He’d even kissed her. Whenever he looked at her, his eyes glowed with warmth and appreciation and happiness. She knew she made him happy.

Irritably, she stood up and walked over to the window, a heavy sigh coming from her lips. She wanted to make love with him. Wanted to lie with him, kiss his neck and arms, his palms and lips. Her hunger to hold him was fierce and unceasing, no matter how she argued to herself that she needed to let go of it.

She was under no illusions about herself. No war would ever be waged on her account, an unsophisticated woman from the Midwest, with freckles and a certain distaste for revealing clothes. A strange fortune had brought Samuel into her life, a man from a culture and country and lifestyle alien to her. It had to be as much of a surprise to him as it was to her that they had found themselves falling in love.

It wasn’t just a sexual feeling. Her mouth curled wryly. That was part of it, of course. But it was deeper than that, both for her and for Samuel. He longed to hold her in the same manner, wanted the melding only making love would bring—she would swear to that. She’d read it in his eyes, and in the tender smiles he’d bestowed upon her. Instinctively she knew that he did not reveal himself to many people as he did to Lila.

And yet he resisted her, allowing only the smallest of touches between them. Very few men would have exercised the same discipline.

If she had any guts at all, she’d march up the stairs and seduce him very properly. She shook her head.

That might be what another woman would do under the circumstances. Not Lila. She wouldn’t be able to bear his drawing away the next morning. If they were ever to be lovers, he would have to come to her of his own accord.

So throughout the next morning, she let him be. Left him alone to brood and pace, left him alone with his demons while she straightened and cooked and walked for a time with Arrow.

But by lunchtime, she missed him. Over soup and bread, she looked at him. “Truce, all right?”

He met her eyes. His expression was blank.

She rushed on. “It’s none of my business what you do, and I had no right to make judgments about it yesterday. I’m sorry.”

His mouth tightened briefly, then he reached over the table to take her hand. His voice was soft. “It is not you who should apologize.”

“Well, then, neither of us will. Let’s just forget it and go on like we were. You’ll be here a little longer, I assume, and we may as well be friends.”

“All right.” He released her fingers.

The rain had stopped, and while there was no sun, it appeared they might be able to go outside for a time. “I think you need to work on building your strength. Let’s go for a hike this afternoon.”

“I’d like that.”

So after lunch, they bundled up once again in coats and scarves and set out. This time, Lila led them in the opposite direction from town, over a slender path in the woods. Fallen pine needles made it treacherously slick, but the air was crisp and scented, giving Samuel’s face a healthy glow of color that satisfied her. “You’ve got good wind for someone who smokes as much as you do.”

He shrugged. “Good health.” As they gained the top of a rise, he paused to glance around. “This is beautiful country—the sea and the hills. So quiet.”

Lila looked at his face rather than the scenery, at the black eyes shining as they took in the view, at the heaviness of his brow and the sharp planes of his cheekbones and jaw. In spite of everything, it was a face far more at peace than the one she had first encountered. Perhaps that was all she had been needed to do—give a moment’s respite to this man who had grown so dear to her. She sighed, but without the struggling sense of futility and anger she’d felt yesterday. By now she thought she had learned how impossible it was for anyone to have any true control over events in their lives. Kissing him would have satisfied her more than looking at him, but sometimes that was the way things went.

His sudden words sounded loud in the quiet woods, and yet he spoke very softly. “Why did you do it, Lila? Why did you come back to the airport?” He looked at her. “Why did you bring me here?”

She bent to pick up a stick, hiding her discomfiture. What kind of answer did he really want? “I don’t know,” she said slowly, her eyes trained on the sea thrashing in the distance. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”

He studied her silently.

Lila endured it a moment, then looked at him. “What do you want to hear?” She smiled to lighten her words. “That I’d fallen madly in love with you and couldn’t bear to see you go away?”

“You scoff,” he said, eyes twinkling, “but you must remember how women faint in my arms.”

She laughed, relieved they had returned to their former ground. “Spare me,” she said dryly, turning to head farther into the forest. “How’s the arm?”

“Better, I think. I am better. That’s something to be thankful for.” Arrow had been running ahead and now he returned to trot beside them. Samuel patted the dog’s head absently, then with a characteristic switch in conversation asked, “Have you never been married, Lila?”

Lila sucked in her breath, then let it out on a sigh. “No. Have you?”

He shook his head. “Never found any reason to marry, or anyone I would have taken as a wife.”

“Even with all those fainting women?” She shot him a teasing glance. “Surely there was a suitable one somewhere.”

“Suitable?” He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps there are men who marry for such reasons, but I am not one of them.”

It was a dangerous subject, but Lila couldn’t resist. “Well, then why would you marry?”

“There is only one reason. Passion.”

“But passion dies away, and then what do you have?”

He didn’t answer for a moment. The leaves crunching underfoot were the only sound. “A grand passion doesn’t die, Lila. A true passion lasts always, through mornings in curlers and arguments and illness.” He paused. “I am not speaking of the passion of the body, but the passion of the soul.
That
is the only reason to marry.”