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Chapter 3

“Leave?” Rush echoed, looking both surprised and angry.

Lindy bounded to her feet, her hands clenched at her sides in tight fists. “It’s a perfectly logical question, so don’t snap at me.”

“I’m not snapping.”

“A turtle couldn’t do it better.”

“Are you always this prickly or is it something about me?” He was glaring at her, demanding a response, the look in his eyes hot enough to boil water.

Although his voice was deliberately expressionless and quiet, Lindy knew by the tight set of his jaw that he was getting madder by the minute. Not that she cared. The man drove her absolutely loony. She’d never known anyone who could control his emotions the way Rush did. Oh sure, he laughed, he smiled, he talked, he argued, but in the entire four days that she’d been living in the apartment with him, he’d revealed as much sentiment as a wooden Indian. Even when she’d cut her finger and hopped around the kitchen like a crazed kangaroo, he’d been as calm and collected as though he handled hurting, frightened women every day of his life. Nothing seemed to faze Rush. Nothing.

“Well, you needn’t worry. I’ll go,” she announced with a proud tilt of her chin. “It won’t be necessary for you to ask twice.” She bent down and reached for the strap of her purse, her heart pounding like a charging locomotive. Moving was something she should have done the minute she realized she wasn’t going to have the apartment to herself.

“Damn it, Lindy. I didn’t say you had to leave.”

She blinked. “You didn’t?”

“No. You jumped to conclusions.”

“Oh.” Now she felt like a bloody idiot. It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize. She’d had a rough day; the heel had broken off her shoe and the job she’d gone to apply for wasn’t the least bit as it had been advertised. Although they’d offered it to her, she’d decided against it. Good grief. She wouldn’t have been anything more than a glorified desk clerk. Maybe she shouldn’t be so particular, but after four years of college she wanted so much more than to file papers and answer a telephone.

Maybe she was feeling a little guilty because she’d told Rush she hadn’t had any luck when she’d actually gotten a job offer. And refused it.

They stood not more than five feet apart and his piercing gaze locked with hers, burning straight through her proud resolve.

When Lindy spoke her voice was husky with emotion, and her heart began a heavy muted pounding against her rib cage. “I lied.”

Rush’s eyes clouded, then hardened, and Lindy felt the dread crowd its way into her throat. Rush wasn’t the type of man who would take something like this lightly.

“What did you lie about?”

“I got offered a job today. I turned it down.” With her long tapered nails biting into the flesh of her palms, she explained the circumstances. “I thought you should know because…well, because I plan to rent my own place as soon as I can after I find something. But it looks like I could be around awhile.”

A smile flickered over his lips and he appeared to relax a little. “I can stand it if you can.”

“That’s debatable.”

They were both grinning then, and Lindy felt the uneasy tension seep from her limbs. Now that she’d explained things to Rush she felt much better. In fact, possibly for the first time, she was completely at ease with him. It wasn’t that he intimidated her so much as he challenged her. She felt as if she had to be constantly on her guard with him. Watch her step, keep the peace—that sort of thing.

“You must be hungry.” she said, turning toward the kitchen. “I’ll get dinner going.”

“Lindy.”

She twisted around, her eyes questioning.

“Since it’s Friday and we’ve both had a trying week, how about going out for a pizza?”

* * *

The minute Rush issued the invitation, he was convinced he’d done the wrong thing. His biggest concern was that he was giving Lindy the wrong impression. When the repairs on the Mitchell were finished he’d be leaving, and he didn’t want to give his best friend’s sister the idea that there could ever be anything romantic between them. The circumstances in which they were living were tempting enough, and here he was adding to the tension by deepening the relationship to something beyond their polite but strained friendship.

Hell, he wasn’t even sure why he’d suggested they go out. The last couple of nights he’d purposely left the apartment and sat in a bar on the waterfront, nursing a drink or two. The best way to deal with this awkward situation, he’d decided, was to stay away from Lindy as much as possible. Remove himself from temptation, so to speak. Because, damn it all, Lindy Kyle was one hell of a tempting morsel. Her young, firm body was ripe and it had been too long since he’d had a woman. Every time he was in the same room with her, he felt the charge of electricity arc between them. Until today, he’d been able to deal with it, and now he was purposely exposing them to God only knew what.

He wanted to be angry with her—needed it to dilute the effect she had on him. When she’d admitted she’d lied, he’d felt a reassuring irritation surging up inside him, rough and heated. As far as he was concerned, women weren’t exactly known for their integrity. Although disappointed in her, he’d made a conscious effort to control his ire, knowing it wouldn’t do any good to blow up at her.

And then she’d told him about turning down the job, her clear brown eyes soft and filled with contrition for having misled him. Her eager, young face had been as readable as a first-grade primer. She’d stood before him, so forthright and honest, and he’d felt something deep and fundamental move inside him. Before he’d even known what was happening, he’d offered to take her to dinner.

It was more than that, too. Steve’s letter had finally caught up with him, explaining what had happened to Lindy. The poor kid had been through a lot. Apparently she’d been deeply in love with this Paul Abrams, and she’d been crushed when he’d broken the engagement. Rush had been crippled by emotional pain once himself. He knew from personal experience how devastating letting go of a loved one could be.

After reading his friend’s long letter, Rush’s opinion of Lindy had altered. Not that he’d made any dyed-in-the-wool assumptions about her before the letter’s arrival. The fact was, he chose to think of her as little as possible. But after reading what Steve had written, he’d discovered that he admired Lindy for picking up the pieces of her life and forging ahead despite rejection and defeat.

Something else Steve had mentioned had strongly affected Rush. Throughout everything, Lindy hadn’t shed a tear. Her entire family continued to worry about her because she was taking everything far too calmly, holding up much too well. It wasn’t natural, Steve had claimed, sounding very much like the concerned older brother he was. Almost grudgingly, Rush found himself appreciating Lindy’s courage and unsinkable pride. Not so long ago he’d been left to deal with the trauma of a lost love. He could still remember the pitying looks sent his way after Cheryl. The effort and control it had demanded on his part to pretend nothing was wrong, that losing Cheryl didn’t really matter, had drained him. When all the while, every breath he drew had been a reminder that he’d been a fool to ever have trusted the woman. And worse, to have loved her.

Rush could identify with Lindy’s attitude all too well. He would have walked over hot coals before he’d show his pain to anyone, friend or foe. Apparently she felt the same way. Maybe that was the reason he found himself wanting to spend more time with her, looking for a way to be her friend.

* * *

A Michael Jackson song blared loudly from the pizza parlor’s jukebox and, much to her surprise, Lindy found herself tapping her foot to the music and wanting to snap her fingers. Rush sat across the booth from her, looking more relaxed and at ease than she could ever remember seeing him. A tall, frosty pitcher of beer rested in the middle of the table.

Lindy had already downed two thick mugs of ale and was feeling the dizzying, warm effects of the alcohol. Rarely had she tasted better pizza, and she’d pigged down three enormous slices, astonishing them both. Now she felt content and happy, two states of mind that had been sadly lacking in her life recently.

“If there was a big enough floor space, I’d want to dance,” she told Rush, who instantly looked relieved—no doubt because he’d chosen a restaurant without one. Lindy giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“You!”

“I’m glad you find me so amusing.”

“Don’t take it personally. It’s just that it feels so good to sit back and relax like this.”

“That amuses you?”

“Yes, because you look like you’ve just been granted a pardon from the governor because you don’t have to dance. And something else.”

His dark brows shot up. “There’s more?”

“Oh yes. For the first time since we met, I don’t feel I have to keep my wits sharpened around you.” She said it with a smile, hoping her good mood would cut any sting from her words. “In case you didn’t know it, Rush Callaghan, you can be one hell of an arrogant jerk. Imagine posting a schedule to use the bathroom!”

His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched in mock consternation, and still he looked every inch the sturdy, capable naval officer she knew him to be.

“There are a few truths about yourself I could enlighten you with as well, Lindy Kyle.”

“Perhaps,” she conceded.

He was teasing her and Lindy found herself warming to him. When he chose to, Rush could freeze out an Eskimo with one piercing glare. She hated to think of the men on the Mitchell facing his wrath because, although she hadn’t seen it in full force, she’d witnessed enough to know his anger would be formidable. Discovering this gentler, fun-loving side of his nature had been an unexpected surprise.

Still smiling, Rush stood and threw a couple of dollars onto the table. “Come on, let’s get out of here before someone pushes aside a few tables and starts up a band.”

Lindy laughed and reached for her sweater and purse. Rush’s hand lightly touched the small of her back as he guided her out of the restaurant. “So you really aren’t going to take me dancing?” she asked, once they were outside in the cool June air.

“Not on your life.”

Lindy released a slow, expressive sigh and glanced up into the dark, warmth of his gaze. A small taste of excitement filled her, and some of the heavy feeling that had weighted her heart for so many interminable weeks lifted.

“Would the lady consider a walk instead?” Rush said, his voice oddly tender, indulgent. He lifted his hand and rested it against her shoulder, his touch amazingly light.

Lindy had the impression that he’d rather not have his hand where it was, but that he couldn’t help himself, and she waded through a surge of elation. It was marvelous to feel like a woman again, and she was highly aware of her power, however fleeting.

They strolled toward the busy Seattle waterfront, weaving in and out of the crowds that lingered on the sidewalk. The air was clean and fresh, smelling of tangy salt and seaweed, and although the sun had set, the gentle breeze carried with it a pleasing warmth.

Rush bought them coffee from a seafood bar and they silently walked along the pier, staring at the lights from the ferryboat as it glided across the murky green waters of Puget Sound.

“Can I see the Mitchell from here?” Lindy asked.

“No. It’s in the shipyard in Bremerton, which is all the way across the Sound.”

“You really love the sea, don’t you?”

Rush’s fingers momentarily tightened their grip on her shoulder. “Yes, I do. Did Steve ever tell you I was born on a ferryboat?”

“No.”

“I think my destiny was cast then. My mother named me Rush because they were hurrying to get her to the hospital in time. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how one chooses to look at it, I was born on the water.”

“And have been at home there ever since,” she added in a soft whisper.

He nodded and their eyes met in a brief exchange of rare understanding. Rush continued talking, telling her a little of his youth and his early days at Annapolis. He made a striking figure, leaning against the edge of the pier, Lindy noted. He paused and smiled down at her. His eyes narrowed briefly with appreciation and it was as if they had become two different people for this one special night.

Rush looked younger, Lindy mused, more open. For the first time since she’d arrived in Seattle, she felt that she was beginning to appreciate this complex man. Maybe because he was really talking to her, sharing a small part of himself with her. There was no pretense between them tonight. Somehow Lindy realized how rare it was for Rush to expose this amiable, sensitive part of himself, to let down his guard and throw caution to the wind. She felt as though she’d been granted a rare gift, one that she would look back on years from now and treasure.

They left the pier a few minutes later, discarded their Styrofoam cups and continued strolling down the busy sidewalk until they reached Waterfront Park. Lindy braced her foot against the bottom stair, which led to an observation deck and a museum on the second level.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Rush commented, staring into the sky.

Lindy had the feeling he was about to suggest they head back to the apartment. She didn’t want the evening to end. Everything was too perfect for them to leave so soon.

“Come on. I’ll race you up the stairs,” she called, letting the breeze carry her challenge. Not waiting to see if he was going to follow her, she grabbed for the railing and hurled herself up the concrete steps, taking two at a time.

The wind, which had recently picked up, whipped her hair from her face as she made a mad dash up the stairway, doing her best to swallow her laughter.

“Lindy.”

Rush’s exasperated voice was directly behind her, and not wishing to be outdistanced, she lurched forward.

He beat her easily and was waiting for her, blocking her way when she breathlessly reached the top.

“You little fool.”

Still panting and laughing, she tried to leap around him but almost lost her balance. A look of horror crowded his face as he reached out to grab her, but Lindy quickly darted in the opposite direction. Rush tried to block her there, as well, and she shrieked with the sheer joy of the moment and scooted sideways from him.

“Lindy, stop.”

She dodged to her left and when he followed her, she darted to her right, then triumphantly stumbled past him, running to the railing, her eyes wild with joy.

“I won,” she declared triumphantly, swinging around to face him.

Rush collapsed on the park bench, barely winded. “You cheated.”

“Oh, honestly. Can’t you admit it when a woman outsmarts you?”

“I’d admit it if it was true.”

“My foot, you would.” Lindy slumped down on the bench beside him, her breath coming in uneven, shallow gasps. Good Lord, she was out of shape. She let her head fall back so her hair rushed away from her face, granting her a feeling of complete freedom.

Lindy exhaled, dragging the oxygen through her lungs. “Oh, Paul, I can’t remember a night when I’ve had more fun.” The instant the name slipped through her lips, Lindy tensed. “I meant…Rush.”

The excitement that had galloped through her blood just seconds before felt like a deadweight pressing against her chest. For one crazy moment she was paralyzed. She had trouble breathing, trouble moving, trouble thinking. Scalding tears burned in her eyes, and the huge lump in her throat felt as if it were monumental.

Moisture rolled down the side of her face, burning her skin like acid, and she sucked in a trembling sob.

“Lindy, are you all right?”

Rush brushed away a tear and his finger felt incredibly warm against her icy cold cheek.

“Something must have gotten into my eye,” she lied, turning away so he wouldn’t be able to see the extent of her emotion.

“Here.”

He pressed a white handkerchief into her numb fingers, and she made a quick job of wiping her face dry. “I think we should be heading back. Don’t you?”

“Anything you say.”

He sounded so concerned when it was the last thing she wanted. Suddenly Rush was the last person in the world she yearned to be with. Escape seemed of paramount importance. Somehow she found her way to her feet, although the cement seemed to buckle beneath her shoes. With some effort she managed to keep her balance and rush away from the bench.

It would have been too much to hope that Rush would let her go. But oddly enough he seemed to appreciate her mood, remaining silent as he matched his quick steps to hers. Side by side they started up the hill toward First Avenue.

The climb was steep and Lindy was winded by the time they’d gone only a few blocks.

“I’ll get a taxi,” Rush said.

“No. Don’t, please.” She wanted to walk—needed to wear herself out physically so she could collapse in her bed exhausted. It was the only way she could guarantee she would sleep. The simple act of putting one foot in front of the other, climbing up one street and then the next one, seemed to help her contain her emotions.

By the time they reached the apartment building, Lindy’s lungs ached and her calf muscles violently protested the strenuous exercise. She waited impatiently while Rush unlocked the front door.

He held it open for her, and in that moment she detested him for the small display of manners. Paul had impeccable manners and look what he’d done to her. Look what he’d reduced her to.

Without even glancing in Rush’s direction she paused just inside the living room and said, her voice weak and faltering, “Thank you for dinner.”

He didn’t answer her for what seemed an eternity, and she had the impression he was willing her to turn around and face him. But she knew she couldn’t without dissolving into wretched emotion.

“Anytime, Lindy.” His words were low and as smooth as velvet.

“Good night.” The sooner she got away from Rush the better.

“’Night.” Again his voice was so gentle, so tender.

She made it all the way to the bathroom door before her gaze blurred so badly with tears that she had to stop and wipe the moisture from her eyes. Drawing in several steadying breaths between clenched teeth gave her some relief. She’d be damned before she’d cry over Paul Abrams.

Damned. Damned. Damned.

Without being aware of how it happened, Lindy found that she had stopped and braced a shoulder against the wall, using it to keep her upright, needing its support. She pinched her nose with her thumb and index fingers, willing back the release of torrential tears.

“Lindy, you need to cry.”

The words seemed to come from a far distance, echoing around her in a canyon of despair. She dropped her hand and looked up to find Rush standing beside her.

“No,” she said forcefully. “I won’t.”

“Don’t let him do this to you.”

She tried to push Rush away, but her effort was puny and weak. “You don’t know anything,” she cried. “How could you?”

“I know what it is to hurt.”

“Not like this.” No one could ever hurt this much. No one.

“Listen to me,” he said, and his hands gripped her shoulders. But even his fingers were gentle when she wanted them to be hard and punishing. “Cry. Let it out before the grief strangles you.”

“No.” Still she resisted, wildly shaking her head. “No. I hate him. I hate him.”

“I know, honey. I know.”

The dam broke then, and the tears that had been pent up inside her soul, shoved down and ignored for so long, bled from her eyes. A low, mewing sound slid from the back of her throat, nearly choking her. Sobs overtook her, huge, oxygen-robbing sobs that shook her shoulders and made her breast heave.

Rush didn’t try to hold her and she was grateful because she couldn’t have borne being restrained. Unable to remain upright, she braced her back against the wall and slumped to the floor. She gently rocked back and forth, weeping bitterly for the innocence she had lost, and wailing for the love she had given so freely to a man who didn’t deserve it. She cried until there was nothing left inside her.

Lindy started to retch when her tears were spent, and she knew she was about to lose her dinner. Rush’s hand under her elbow helped her to an upright position and into the bathroom. He stood behind her as she leaned over the toilet. She thought she felt his hand on her back, but she couldn’t be sure.

When she was finished he handed her a damp washcloth. She held it to her face, letting the coolness soak away some of the terrible red heat. Her eyes burned like fire, her throat felt gritty and coarse, and her hands shook.

“Here.” Rush handed her a glass of water.

She felt an abundance of shame at having allowed him to see her like this, and worse, that he should be the one to take care of her. She sank to the edge of the tub, afraid her shaky legs could no longer support her.

“You’re going to be all right now,” Rush told her confidently. “It’s over.”

She couldn’t look at him but nodded because it seemed the right thing to do. Rush had no way of knowing what Paul had done to her. No way of knowing that the man she’d loved and planned to share her life with had married another woman while Lindy proudly wore his engagement ring. Rush Callaghan didn’t know a damn whit about shattered dreams or the pain of a broken heart. He would never allow himself to be hurt this way.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you into your room.”

She stood with his help, and he tucked his arm around her waist as he led her into her darkened bedroom. Gently he brushed the wet strands of hair from her face and lowered her onto the mattress in a sitting position.

“I trust you don’t need anyone to undress you.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“It’s a damn good thing,” he said, and there was more than a trace of a smile in his words.

He started to walk away from her but paused just before he reached the door, turning back to her. “You’re a beautiful woman, Lindy Kyle, and someday there’ll be a man who will love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

Her mother had said almost those identical words to her. At the time, Lindy hadn’t been ready to accept them; she wasn’t sure she could now. All through college there’d only been Paul. Every thought of the future had been linked with him. Every dream. Every ambition. She felt as if fate had sent her tumbling into oblivion, uncaring what ill fortune befell her.

But it wasn’t in her to argue with Rush. Instead she brought her feet up onto the bed and pressed her head against the feather pillow. Her eyes ached unmercifully and she closed them.

“Did you hear me?” Rush demanded softly.

She wanted to shake her head that she hadn’t, but there wasn’t enough spirit left in her to challenge him. “I’m too selfish to pine away for Paul Abrams,” she said, her soft voice trembling. “I’m not willing to be miserable any more.”

Her words seemed to please him. “You’re one hell of a woman, Lindy, and don’t you forget it.”

“Right.” She couldn’t contain the sarcasm. Although she kept her eyes closed, Lindy knew it was a long time before Rush left the doorway. His presence all but filled the room. Only when he’d slipped away did she feel comfortable enough to relax and sleep.

Lindy woke around two, her throat dry and scratchy. Her temples throbbed, and her eyes were red and swollen. She didn’t turn on any lights as she made her way into the kitchen, preferring the shield of darkness.

The drapes were open and the city lights flickered in the distance. Taking the cold glass of water and the aspirin with her, Lindy stood at the window and expelled her breath in a long sigh. She’d made such an idiot of herself in front of Rush. The thought of facing him in the morning was almost more than she could bear.

Fresh tears dampened her face at the memory of the humiliating way she’d sobbed and moaned and rocked with grief. She exhaled a quivering breath and brushed her cheeks free of moisture.

“It’s over, Lindy, there’s no need to cry anymore.”

She whirled around to discover Rush sitting in the darkened room, watching her.

“I’ll cry if I damn well please,” she hissed.

“There’s no need to now.”

Lord, she hated it when men thought they were so wonderfully logical. Everything seemed to be so cut-and-dried for them.

“Who made you king of the universe?”

He chuckled at that.

“I don’t find that the least bit amusing. I honestly want to know what makes you think you know so damn much about human nature that you can decree when enough tears have been shed?”

“I know.”

Lindy slapped her hand against her side in an action meant to reveal her disgust. “So the big lieutenant commander has spoken.” She whirled around and placed the water glass down with such force that the liquid sloshed over the sides.

“How could you possibly know about loving someone and then losing them? You can’t imagine what it’s like to have your heart ripped from your chest and be left with a gaping wound that refuses to heal.” She was yelling at him now, but not because she was angry. The memory of the way she’d broken down in front of him was more than embarrassing. Heated words were her only defense.

Rush was out of the chair so fast that it shocked her. He loomed at her side like a dragon, his jaw as tight and contorted as she’d ever seen it.

“I know more than I ever cared to.” Each word dripped with ice, his message clear.

They stood, their gazes locked in the moonlight, glaring at each other, refusing to look away. She saw his pain then, as raw and jagged as her own. His guard was down. He’d lowered it for her tonight when she’d spilled out her heart, leaving himself exposed and trapped in pain-filled memories.

“Rush,” she whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Slowly, she lifted her hand and touched his shoulder, wanting to offer him comfort the way he had helped her. “I didn’t know.”

He reached for her then, crushing her in his arms, burying his face in the curve of her neck. He didn’t fill in the details. He didn’t need to.