and a promise to keep.
Beth wrapped one arm around herself as if trying to hold in her sorrow, her eyes flitting away from him. “I remember you now.” She spoke quietly, grief softening her voice. “I saw you at the funeral.”
Nick wanted to say something to ease her pain, but any words he might have were too small for the moment. So he stood in front of her, hat in hand, letting his silence say what his mouth couldn’t.
Sometimes words couldn’t say it all.
“What…what are you doing here?” she asked, still looking away from him.
He was here because as Jim lay dying in his arms, he pleaded with Nick to keep an eye on his wife, to watch over her and make sure she was okay. While Jim’s life seeped out of him into the desert sand, his eyes held Nick’s with an intensity that branded itself into Nick’s very soul as he pleaded with Nick to take care of his family.
But when Nick looked into Beth’s eyes, he wondered if this was the time to say all that.
“Mr. and Mrs. Carruthers asked me to come for a visit.” He decided to go with the safest reason for now. The visit was true. Bob and Ellen Carruthers had ex tended the invitation at Jim’s funeral when they had found out about Nick’s medical discharge from the army.
“That’s very considerate of you,” she said.
He slipped his hat back on his head, unable to keep his eyes off her, remembering too well Jim’s pictures of her.
In those pictures Beth’s blond, curly hair flowed free, her wide violet eyes looked as if they held some secret and her mouth barely hinted at a smile.
Though her features now held the same ethereal quality, they also held sorrow.
“Jim talked about you a lot,” he added, struggling with his own grief. “He really loved you.”
She took a step away from him, shaking her head and lifting her hand as if pushing him away. “I can’t talk about Jim.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. I’m sure this is a difficult time for you.”
She turned her head aside, hiding her sorrow. “Enjoy your visit with my in-laws,” she said. She moved past him and walked to a small car, got in and started it up.
Nick watched her sitting stock-still in the car, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she stared straight ahead, plumes of exhaust swirling around the car.
He wasn’t surprised at her reaction. She was still grieving. He was still grieving. It had been only eight weeks since his friend breathed his beloved wife’s name with his last breath.
Nick clenched his hands and tamped down the sorrow. He wouldn’t be any good to Beth or to Jim’s parents if he couldn’t control his own grief.
For a moment he cursed Jim again. Had Nick done what he always did—went his own way, did his own thing, kept himself from making friends as he usually did—he wouldn’t have had to deal with this sorrow.
But when Jim burst into their army tent with his big grin and boisterous personality, he also burst through the walls Nick had carefully built around his heart.
Now Jim was gone and Nick was alone again.
Nick slung his duffel over his shoulder, then limped over the packed trail toward the log house.
Toward Jim’s parents and their sorrow.
“And then Jim said to me, I get enough exercise just changing my mind.” Nick leaned back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest, his lips curved in a melancholy smile at the memory. “I tried not to laugh, but I still made him do his twenty push-ups.”
Dinner ended over twenty minutes ago, but neither Bob nor Ellen Carruthers were in any rush to leave the table. Beth saw them eagerly taking in every story that Nick, Jim’s army buddy, had to tell them, drinking in any mention of their beloved son. Throughout dinner their entire attention had been riveted on Nick.
Not that she blamed them. Nick’s bearing, his dark hair, piercing blue eyes and strong features created a presence, an air of command that made a person take notice.
She could see why Jim had attached himself to this man. Nick had about him an air of danger, something Jim had always been drawn to. He also seemed to have a quiet strength.
Something she could be drawn to.
She shook the thought off and turned her attention back to the pie she’d been pushing around her plate for the past ten minutes.
“Oh, that sounds just like him.” Bob slapped his hand on the table, rattling the plates and forks. “Can’t you just hear him saying that, Beth?”
Beth gave her father-in-law a careful smile, avoiding Nick’s direct gaze. “I certainly can.”
“Jim sure loved his practical jokes,” Ellen said quietly. “I’m not surprised that even in that place he found a way to laugh.”
Beth’s heart softened as she saw the sorrow course across Ellen’s features. Once again guilt reared its ugly head, mocking her. She wished she could grieve Jim’s death as deeply as her in-laws did. But she couldn’t.
The Jim she knew was not the Jim her in-laws often talked about and grieved for. Nor was it the Jim that Nick spoke so glowingly of.
The Jim she knew had come home a couple of times smelling of some other woman’s perfume. After pressing him, he had spilled out words of remorse over his infidelity. It was a mistake, he had said. It would never happen again.
And she had believed him. Twice.
The Jim she knew had come back to his parents’ ranch full of promises that being around his parents would remind him of who he was supposed to be.
They even went to church the few times Jim was on leave.
Because of the vows she had made, she let herself believe his promises of a fresh start. She wanted her marriage to work. Her pregnancy was a result of her naïveté.
But she also found out that “never again” had meant “only a few weeks.” Jim’s words, like her father’s, meant nothing.
“He often talked about his family.” Nick’s deep voice broke into her bitter memories and his gaze landed on her. “He especially talked about you, Beth, and the baby. He looked forward to coming home and seeing you again.”
Beth realized this was said for her benefit, and coming on the heels of her own thoughts, the comment was like a knife to her heart.
“He missed you a lot, Beth.”
Beth shot Nick a puzzled glance. Once again a slender wisp of hope wafted through her mind. The same hope that had accepted Jim’s apologies after his infidelities. The same hope that had taken him back both times.
The refrain of an old song spun through her mind. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” Except there was no line for “fool me thrice.”
She
