Because now that she was face-to-face with him again, even after all this time, there was no denying that watching Gabriel Taggert do anything was and had always been one of her favorite activities.
She wanted to laugh at herself, as she had for so many years. She’d put girlish memories away, shaking her head in wry amusement whenever she thought of him and her own silly fantasies. But what she’d been able to do before, when she’d thought she’d never see him again, seemed impossible now that he was standing in front of her, all the six-plus feet, lean muscles, near-black hair and light-hazel eyes of him.
But she had laughed, back then. What else could you do when you realized you were a walking, breathing cliché? The only thing she hadn’t been sure of was which cliché was the worst, falling for a man in uniform…or falling for her best friend’s husband.
Not that she’d ever done anything about it. It wasn’t in her. For the most part she played by the rules, and always had. She’d gotten more adventurous as she’d gotten older—oddly, her daring streak had begun about the time Hope disappeared—but the basic code never faltered: there were just some things you didn’t do.
She’d known instinctively that it wasn’t in Gabe, either, to betray his wife or his vows. Not that he ever would have for her, anyway, even if he had been that kind of man. Not for the quiet, withdrawn little girl she’d been; no man would have cheated with the likes of her.
But even if she’d been some gorgeous, chic, supermodel type, Gabe just wasn’t that kind of man. Which, she knew, had been a big part of the attraction for her in the first place.
The problem now was, all the things she’d consoled herself with for the last eight years had been blown to bits.
It was a stupid kid thing, she’d told herself repeatedly. You just wanted what you didn’t have. It wasn’t Gabe, not really. You just wanted what Hope had, not the exact person Hope had.
She’d told herself that again and again, until she’d almost sold herself on the idea.
Until now.
Uh-oh, she muttered inwardly. She hadn’t seen Gabe Taggert in years, and yet within five minutes the old feelings were as strong as ever.
At least he doesn’t know, she told herself. She was spared that humiliation. She’d done that, at least, kept her silly feelings hidden from the man she could never have.
And you’ll keep it that way, she ordered herself sternly. Hope is still here, between us, and she always will be.
She made herself focus on the present, watching as Gabe’s face, tanned and attractively weathered from years on the water, changed as he looked at the postcard. The shock she had expected; it mirrored her own reaction. The envelope it had come in hadn’t given a clue to the jolt that awaited, and the letter of apology from the U.S. Postal Service had been wryly amusing. But then she’d turned over the colorful mountain scene, wondering who had taken some long-ago vacation she was only now learning about, to see the handwriting that had once been nearly as familiar as her own. The energetic and wild scrawl had made her heart leap before she even realized why, before she saw the postmark and her mind jumped in with the explanation.
“That looks like Hope’s writing,” she’d said aloud at the time.
And then, seeing the signature crammed tightly in on the side edge of the card full of bursts of words that read like Hope’s chatter, realizing it was Hope’s handwriting, had made the bottom drop out of her world.
Thanks to Hope’s parents Gabe had known this was coming, had known what she was handing him, but his shock seemed no less great; she understood that seeing it was different than simply knowing it existed. It was the difference between knowing something in your head and in your heart.
“Two miracles in one week,” he muttered, and Cara knew exactly what he was reading, the last lines of scribbling that wrapped around the rest in typical Hope fashion; planning her writing space ahead had never been her style. The excess of exclamation points had.
Two miracles in one week, Cara!! I can’t wait to tell you! I will as soon as I can, I promise. I would now, if Gabe were only here instead of out on that damned boat.
She remembered those words as clearly as if she were reading them again now.
He lifted his gaze to her face then. Those gold-flecked hazel eyes focused on her and she fought down the instinctive leap of her pulse.
“Do you have any idea what she was talking about?”
Cara shook her head. “All I know is how excited she sounded in that phone message, the day before she…disappeared.”
He looked at the card again. Read the words again, and then again. Cara tried to imagine what it must feel like for him, to see this message from the woman he’d loved, to hold something she’d touched, after all this time.
“I’m sorry about the jab,” she said. “About you being gone, I mean.”
Gabe looked up at her, gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It doesn’t matter. I know how she felt. I got used to it.”
“I never understood that,” Cara said softly. “She knew what your career was, and yet….”
Gabe’s mouth quirked. “She wouldn’t be the first woman to fall for a uniform, and then find the reality of military life too much to handle.”
“But she loved you, not the uniform,” Cara exclaimed.
“Maybe,” Gabe said.
There hadn’t been a trace of self-pity or bitterness in his voice, only the lingering uncertainty of a man who had pondered the question for a very long time.
Cara couldn’t imagine what that was like, either, to have to wonder if the person you loved really loved you back, or just an idea you represented. She wanted to hug him, but knew quite well he wouldn’t welcome the gesture.
And knew even better that it would be the worst thing she could possibly do for her own equilibrium. Just standing here with him was taking a toll on her stability.
He looked back at the postcard once more. Turned it over, stared at the picture for a moment, then flipped back to the side with the address and message.
And then his expression changed again. Cara saw his eyes narrow. He moved the card slightly. And muttered something under his breath.
He’d seen it.
This time his gaze shot to her face. “The postmark,” he said.
“I know,” she answered. “That’s the main reason I wanted you to see it.”
“The date.”
“Yes.”
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. His reaction, that sudden, tense alertness, told her that her own response hadn’t been out of line.
Hope had mailed this postcard from a small mountain village that, as far as she knew, Hope had never been to or even mentioned.
And
