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  But he wasn’t saying anything, and she’d suddenly lost the ability to speak.

  The boy she’d loved and lost had turned into a man, with haunted blue eyes and brown hair that had darkened with age. There was a shadow of a dark beard on his jaw. His body was different, too. The awkward teen who’d felt her up in the back of his black Ford Ranger was gone.

  No, Cam had definitely changed. Transformed was more like it. His shoulders were wide, his legs thick and strong. She wasn’t going to think about everything else. Especially the everything else she was trying not to notice.

  Maybe she wasn’t trying hard enough…

  “Hey. My eyes are up here.”

  She flushed and dragged her gaze away from his body and up to his face. A half smile teased at the edge of his lips.

  But his eyes. They drew her attention and held it, refusing to let her go.

  She swallowed hard as he pulled the towel around his waist. She’d gotten over him a decade ago, but damn was it good to see him.

  “Hi, Hayley.” His voice was deeper than she remembered. Harder.

  Like the man.

  She held her breath as he descended the stairs with deliberate slowness.

  And then he was standing in front of her. Right there, close enough to touch after all these years.

  The dark hair on his chest was matted with water and a single drop hung from one of his impossibly dark eyelashes.

  He slid his hands over hers, surprising her so much that she nearly dropped the dish.

  The dish. That’s why he was standing in front of her. That’s why his hands were covering hers.

  Not because he wanted to touch her. Because he was taking the baked oatmeal she’d stupidly brought him. Once upon a time, it had been his favorite.

  “Is this what I think it is?”

  Dear God, his voice was sex on a stick.

  She slipped her hands from his. “I wasn’t sure if you still liked it. You don’t have to eat it.” She would have taken a step back but there was nowhere to go. His bag was behind her. His body in front.

  “I haven’t had this since I left.” He met her gaze and it was enough to send heat spiraling down between her thighs with an intensity that stunned her. Cam smiled. “Thank you.”

  “I can put it in the kitchen for you. While you, you know, put on some pants.”

  His lips quirked at the edges of his mouth. “Not the first time you’ve seen me naked.”

  She flushed again. “Yeah, well, it’s hard to engage in polite conversation with someone when they’re not wearing pants.”

  She took the dish and moved around him, unable to avoid brushing against him. He was as solid as he looked. Warm and hard and damp from the shower.

  She flushed as she looked over her shoulder, then moved to the kitchen bar. She turned back and sucked in a breath.

  She couldn’t look away. Pitch black tattoos traced over raised, ragged scars that spanned his broad back. A gothic black rose ripped across his shoulder, the vine twisting down his back and over his right hip. Each scar was covered with thick black lines, as though he couldn’t decide on whether he was hiding the scars or accenting them. She pushed out a hard breath, trying not to stare as he dragged his jeans up over his hips, going completely commando.

  She cleared her throat when he turned around and caught her staring. “So,” she said, “what have you been up to for the last decade or so?”

  Cam glanced down at his hands before he answered, retrieving the towel, draping it over one tattooed shoulder, and walking toward her. Slowly, so slowly, until he stood in front of her again. “Couple of vacations in Iraq, courtesy of Uncle Sam.”

  Both the Warrens and the Arsenaults had family members in the Army who’d seen combat. Hayley’s sister was still in Afghanistan.

  Cam was close enough that Hayley could see a bead of water resting on his clavicle. She was mesmerized, watching him watch her.

  “I like your hair,” he said quietly.

  She licked her lips and tried to remember how to breathe. She shouldn’t have shown up without calling. She shouldn’t have cared.

  But she did. She’d never stopped. She’d just been able to ignore it while he’d been gone.

  Now that he was back?

  She’d need something to distract herself from the man standing in front of her. Reminding her of…everything. Everything she’d thought she’d had. Everything she’d lost.

  A single drop of water slid over his skin, dipping into the hollow near his neck. She wanted to touch it. Touch him. To see if he was real.

  But she didn’t.

  “So you’re home now?”

  Her question felt foolish. Kind of like coming here.

  “Yeah.”

  He stepped around her and lifted the edge of the foil. “This may be the best housewarming gift I’ve ever had.”

  He wasn’t looking at the baked oatmeal.

  He was looking at her.

  She took the coward’s way out. She pulled out one of the tall wrought-iron stools and leaned on the bar that separated the kitchen from the rest of the great room.

  And Cam, God bless him, took the hint. “Sorry. Forgot how to entertain. I can offer you water. And water.”

  She smiled. “Water would be great.” She glanced around the log house. “Your parents fixed the place up, huh?” She needed mundane conversation, because she didn’t want to talk about the war. Or his scars. Or the fear that rose up from the dark, thinking about her sister in Afghanistan or her dad’s funeral. War, past and present, had brought too much pain into her life already. She didn’t need to go looking for any more.

  So why the hell was she here?

  “They did a good job.” He filled a couple of mason jars from the faucet before handing her one. “Still wish they gave this place to Ben, though.”

  She sipped the water and frowned at the faint taste of iron. “Ben was more than happy to have the camp out on Wheaton’s Pond.”

  “Yeah, well…” He glanced over her shoulder as a cuckoo clock announced that it was nine a.m. “Speaking of my family, I’m due for breakfast at my parents’ in a little bit. Want to come over?”

  She shook her head, taking the escape the invitation offered. “Sorry. Maybe some other time. I’ve got to get to work.”

  He tipped his head, fresh curiosity in his eyes. “What are you doing these days?”

  “I own a veterinary clinic. Woodville Animal Hospital.”

  He raised both eyebrows. “So you went to vet school after all, huh?” The question was laced with memories, most of them bad. She’d refused to submit her application after her dad died.

  And they’d fought about it. Cam had said that her dad would have wanted her to get an education.

  She’d refused to use his life insurance money to pay for it.

  Ghosts stood in the room between them now. Ghosts and too many memories, not all of them good.

  She cleared her throat. “Yeah.”

  “Do you like it?”

  Her lungs were tight and tense. “That’s an odd question, considering I spent five years in school studying it.”

  “You didn’t answer the question,” he said.

  She didn’t argue. He was so different from the boy she’d known. Such a serious man, when the boy had been full of laughter and always ready to get into mischief.

  She’d wanted to be a veterinarian for as long as she could remember. She’d almost given it up when her dad took his own life.

  Back then, Cam had steadied her. Held her. Let her lean on him when she couldn’t stand on her own. Made her believe that he would always be there for her.

  But when she’d finally gotten back on her feet, Cam had left her, too.

  How had she forgotten how he’d ripped her heart out? He’d left it on the steps of the high school the day he’d climbed into the recruiter’s car and drove away.

  She swallowed hard and looked away. She needed to get out and get back to her reality.

&nb
sp; A reality that did not involve Cam Warren.

  Chapter 4

  CAM WATCHED HAYLEY go. His hands shook as he tightened them into fists, trying to keep them steady.

  Dust rose up behind her truck as she headed down the long drive, and Cam couldn’t take his eyes away. Hayley Arsenault had grown up into a hell of a stunner, with legs that went on for days and tapered into rounded hips. But the thing he’d noticed most was her hair.

  She’d always hated her curls as a girl. As a woman, it looked as if she’d embraced them. They tumbled halfway down her back and he’d wanted, with all the desperation of a man who’d spent too much time away at war, to touch her and see if the golden strands were as soft as they looked.

  Seeing her had been one hell of a welcome home.

  But what had he been thinking? He was in no shape to be around his parents, let alone Hayley Arsenault.

  Shit.

  Long after the dust from her truck settled, Cam reached out and closed the front door. He stopped, staring at his truck and the beer inside it, rapidly heating in the morning sunlight.

  He dug his nails into his palms and left the house. The gravel dug into his bare feet, but he made it to the truck and grabbed the beer from the passenger’s seat. Still cool.

  He snapped a can open before returning to the house and sliding the rest of the case into the fridge.

  He’d have to brush his teeth again. His mom was going to freak out if she thought he’d been drinking before 9:00 a.m.

  Hell, she’d freak if she knew he had more than two beers a night. He dragged his hand over his face as he finished the can.

  Then he felt that slow slide through his veins as the Klonopin mixed with the alcohol. The ragged edge of his panic sank away and he sighed like an addict getting a hit.

  He crunched the beer can and threw it in the trash.

  In the kitchen, the scent of cinnamon surrounded him. A warmth spread inside him like the heat from a fire, caressing the ice around his heart. He’d been human, once upon a time.

  He’d been a boy in love with a girl. A girl who’d needed him.

  A girl he’d left.

  A girl who’d grown into the woman who’d just brought him his favorite food. Of course she’d cooked it herself. She had always been funny about things like that. She’d always wanted to do things on her own.

  That had been the source of their biggest fight.

  Cam padded over to the counter, peeled back the foil, and sampled a bite. The baked oatmeal was still warm, the taste of vanilla and cinnamon blending with the pop of a burst raisin. It was heaven. And it transported him back to life before the anxiety and the war. Before he had turned off his ability to feel.

  He ate a little more, then dug a T-shirt out of his bag and popped a mint into his mouth.

  The drugs were just temporary—just until he got his feet underneath him again. They had to be.

  Grabbing his keys, he headed out the front door. His family was waiting. He’d kept them waiting for more than a decade.

  Cam pulled in the paved driveway in front of the house his parents had fixed up a few years after he’d joined the Army. The house was like something out of Coastal Living, even though it was a centenarian farmhouse.

  A few miles to the east and you’d be in one of the richest zip codes in the country—wealth from the city had expanded up the Hudson River. In their part of New York, though, there was a strange mix of old and new. Professionals like the Warrens had left the city years ago to make their own life—a good life—for themselves and their children.

  Cam wasn’t really ready for this. Not by a long shot. It was a long minute before he climbed out of the truck.

  He walked quickly, scanning around each car as he approached the wide gray porch. He focused on the white front door with the dark gray trim.

  When he got there, he glanced behind him before he pushed it open. Just to make sure.

  But his anxiety retreated as he was pulled into an unexpected embrace.

  Mom. He closed his eyes and breathed her in, sinking into the softness of her shoulder and the familiarity of her scent: Johnson’s baby shampoo mixed with a hint of jasmine. Just like always. For a moment, there was quiet in his head.

  And then it ended. His mom leaned back and cupped his cheeks.

  “You’re not sleeping.” It wasn’t a question.

  Cam scrambled for an excuse to hide his nightly trauma.

  “Just tired from driving, Mom.” He kept the edge out of his voice. Kept the tone easy. Teasing.

  “Well, you’re not eating enough. You’re skin and bones. Come on. I made pancakes.”

  “Blueberry?” he asked hopefully. He’d dreamed of his mom’s pancakes during those long months of MREs in the desert sand. The very thought of the cheese spread and stale crackers he’d lived on made his stomach threaten revolt.

  “Of course. And apple cinnamon.”

  He draped his arm around his mom’s shoulders, painfully aware of how small she seemed. Beneath the extra weight that made her easy to hug, her bones seemed frailer. Older. “I’m surprised the rest of the family isn’t here,” he said, sliding onto a bar stool in the kitchen. “Where’s Dad?”

  “Outside with Ben.” She poured a cup of coffee and slid it toward him, then poured the pancake batter into the wide, round pan. He watched in fascination as she tilted the pan, spreading the thin batter across it.

  He was even more impressed when she flipped it effortlessly with a flick of her wrist. “When did you learn to do that?”

  “A few years ago,” she said, focused on the task. “Don’t make any plans for Friday. We’re having a potluck supper at the fair to welcome you back properly. Fifteen dollars a plate.”

  “Who on earth wants to see me badly enough to pay for it?” He was distracted. The idea of people paying money to see him…it stank of cheap thank-you-for-your-service genuflection.

  “Don’t get all excited. We’re working with the town council to raise money to update the veterans’ memorial in town. It should include Iraq and Afghanistan.”

  He frowned once more. “Why can’t the town pay for it?”

  His mother looked up at him in shock. “We don’t have that kind of money lying around in the town budget. There are a lot of folks who think there are more important endeavors.”

  He wasn’t sure what to say to the idea that some folks back home would be…antisoldier. That was new. Or at least it was new to him.

  He set those thoughts aside for the moment as his father and brother stepped into the house. The kitchen was suddenly filled with the family he’d avoided since he’d left.

  Not because they’d changed.

  Because he’d changed.

  And he wasn’t entirely certain if the man he’d become would ever fit back in with the family he’d left behind.

  Chapter 5

  LATER THAT DAY, Ben walked out to the truck with him. “Heading into town?”

  Cam nodded. “Yeah. Need to get some real food. Something more substantial than pancakes and baked oatmeal.”

  Cam realized his mistake the moment the words were out of his mouth. Ben sighed heavily and tucked his hands into his pockets. “So Hayley already stopped by.”

  Cam didn’t want to fight. He really didn’t. But Hayley had been a sore subject between them since Cam left.

  So Cam settled on a simple admission. “She has.”

  Ben said nothing for a long moment.

  Cam found himself hating the silence. Hating the Army that had lured him away. Hating that he felt like an alien where he’d grown up.

  He hated the coward that he’d been. He’d left the girl he’d loved behind, chasing dreams of guns and glory.

  “You hurt her when you left.” Ben tucked his thumbs into the belt of his uniform.

  Something tight wound around Cam’s chest, squeezing his lungs. “Why don’t you mind your own damn business?” he said mildly, trying not to sound as bitter as he felt.

  “It is
my business. She’s my friend. And I don’t want to see her go back to the place she was in when you left her.”

  It hurt hearing those words from his brother. Even more because they were true.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not really looking to get involved with anyone.” He pushed out a hard breath. “I need to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.”

  Ben glanced over at him, easing his stance a little. “Staying for the fair after the supper Friday?”

  Cam toed a pebble with the edge of his boot. Guess this is what counts as small talk these days. Back at Hood, they used to only talk about who had gotten in trouble over the weekend or what stupid things other soldiers had blown their pay on. “I have no idea.”

  “Well, think about it. The whole county comes out for it. You know how it goes.”

  He used to. But he didn’t anymore.

  Cam said nothing, just walked away from his brother and hopped into his truck. He needed a damn beer.

  He was glad to see that the local grocery store had gotten its liquor license. He picked up a case of beer and set it in the cart. Then he grabbed a bottle of red wine that looked nice, wondering idly what Hayley liked to drink.

  “Cam?”

  He jerked at the unexpected sound of his name. Nisa Arsenault peered up at him, her eyes squinty behind her bottle cap glasses.

  “Hi, Ms. Arsenault,” he said, pasting the mask back on. His cheeks felt like they’d crack beneath his strained smile.

  He supposed he’d be lucky if Hayley’s mother didn’t knee him in the balls; he was rather partial to them. Maybe she wouldn’t hate him after everything he’d done to Hayley.

  Instead, she pulled him into a generous hug that smelled like patchouli and lavender. He smiled as the scent drew out memories—good ones—from their long-dormant hiding place. She hadn’t changed a bit.

  “Did you know Ashley’s in Afghanistan?” She tipped her head at him in almost an exact replica of Hayley’s gesture.

  “Yeah. How’s she doing?”

  “She’s good. She’s in Kandahar right now. She’s doing something with gas.” Nisa Arsenault’s voice rang with pride for her daughter.