Mary Wilson - Home For A Hero

“Sorry, I need to get a few things,” Luke said through the wooden barrier.

“Oh, sure, of course,” she called. “Just a minute.” She got out of bed, turned on the side light, grabbed her shirt and pulled it on, then pushed her legs into her jeans. As she zipped them, she padded barefoot to the door.

She stood to one side to let Luke in. “Just be a minute,” he murmured as he made his way to the dresser. He opened a middle drawer, took out some socks and then reached to the far side of the large dresser and picked up something that looked like a sleeping bag. When he turned, she saw that his chambray shirt was open and untucked. She caught a glimpse of a strong, smooth chest and a flat stomach before her eyes jerked up to his face. She felt herself blush, and was embarrassed by where her thoughts had started to go.

Her stomach flipped, but for an entirely different reason this time. How could she be looking at this stranger with anything but polite interest, especially right now? She clasped her hands together in front of her, feeling the cool metal of her ring.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” he said, flicking his eyes over her jeans and shirt.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” she said, keeping her eyes determinedly on his face.

“Well, then, good night.” He pulled the door shut behind him.

She hurried to undress and got back into bed before turning off the light and pulling the blankets over her. She took several deep breaths, blocking out what had just happened, then finally closed her eyes. She just wanted to sleep—she was bone-tired—but couldn’t.

The minute she shut her eyes, she could see Luke on the shore, a blurred figure in the fog and night. Then the man who had just left the room, his feet bare, his shirt undone, his chest naked, took his place. She tried to push the image away, but found she couldn’t. She missed feeling warmth at her back, arms around her.

Suddenly she heard a thud from another part of the house, then silence.

She rolled on her side, thinking about Luke’s isolation, and she realized she was just as isolated, only not on an island but in a crowded world.

Closing her eyes more tightly, Shay told herself she was safe and warm here. She wasn’t in the water—or worse. Finally she let herself fall into the coming sleep, past dreams that flitted in and out of her consciousness but made little sense.

“No! Don’t!”

Shay was jarred from a deep sleep by muffled screams. At least she thought that was what had awakened her. “No, stop! Dammit, stop!”

Shay sat up in the darkness and listened. It sounded as if Luke was yelling at someone. His voice was muffled by the door, but loud enough for her to understand most of the words. “I can’t do it again!”

Was he talking to the owner? Had Maurice Evans come to the house somehow? Or was it friend of Luke’s? Were they having an argument?

The words were lower, unintelligible now, but the tone was the same—stressed, almost panicked. She hesitated, then got out of bed into the cold air of the room. She grabbed her clothes and got them on as she crossed to the door. Opening it a crack, she almost jumped back when Luke screamed, “Not again! Not again! I won’t!” The words vibrated through the house.

“No!”

She heard raw, pained fear in the single word and she opened the door farther to look out into the hallway. Right then, a door slammed—hard. She stepped out onto the cold marble floor and slowly walked in the direction of the voices that were quieter now.

She entered the great room, the voice low, almost a sob now. “Please, no, please.” She glanced around quickly, but couldn’t see anyone. A low light was on by the couch, but Luke was nowhere in sight. As far as she could tell, no other person was there. She heard a muffled cry, then another.

She almost retreated back to the bedroom to lock the door, but another sob pulled her forward. It was guttural and filled with agony. She felt the deep chill in the room at the same moment she saw one of the back doors was open. She walked silently toward it, listening, but the voices had stopped. The bedroll was tangled on the floor in front of the doors, and just as she was about to step over it to look outside, she stopped. Something moved to her right, and she looked into shadows alongside the doors and saw Luke. He was hunched over, his head on his knees, his image blurred in the faint light. He was shaking. Shay hesitated, then moved closer, crouching down next to him. “Luke? Luke?” she said softly.

He exhaled, then lifted his face to her. His hand flew out, capturing her wrist. It startled her, but she stayed where she was. “You,” he breathed hoarsely, as if shocked that it was her talking to him and not someone else.

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