Heaven's Touch

His M.O. always was to stay a few days, and then he was gone. Whether he was visiting here or on a quick break in his duplex at Eglin Air Force Base, he was always rushing off to strife in some part of the world, where strong men with guns kept this country safe. He was proud to be one of those men.

I’m anxious to get back, God, he prayed, studying the velvet tapestry of the night sky. Please heal me up quick.

He hauled out his crutches—he hated the dumb things—and tried to keep their clattering to a minimum. If he couldn’t go back to his work, he didn’t know what he’d do. He’d spent the last and best part of his life as a pararescue jumper, a PJ, stationed on bases around the world—Japan, Korea, Italy and, of course, the Middle East.

And since special ops was his thing, he did a lot of work beneath the night skies. Somewhere under a sky like this, his team was at work without him, pumped full of adrenaline, fast roping from a Blackhawk or checking gear in preparation for a high-altitude jump. Then they’d set up and secure a perimeter, and proceed with their mission. Often rescuing a downed pilot behind enemy lines or liberating captured American soldiers.

I miss it, he thought as he opened the club cab door. He’d been out of the field for six weeks—one in the hospital and five hanging around his duplex looking out at the Gulf of Mexico. Watching other soldiers gear up and head out, leaving him behind.

I’d give anything to be dodging bullets. His being ached with the wish, but he’d learned a long time ago wishes got you exactly nothing. Only hard work did.

And that’s why he was here. He leaned heavily on his crutches. The silent glide of an owl winging across the span of sky was awesome. He waited while the bird disappeared behind the tall maples.

He felt the change before he heard the faintest sound. Instinct had him whipping toward the front porch, where the doorknob began to rasp as it moved.

Then came a light step—a woman’s—and the scrape of the solid wood door over the threshold. The hinges gave a tiny squeal, and he knew it was Rachel before she stepped into sight. The single sconce fixture showered light over her like liquid brilliance.

It’s good to see you, little sister. She had a sweetheart’s face, big blue eyes and cheekbones that supermodels would envy. The breeze brought her faint scent of vanilla fragrance and the intake of her surprised gasp when she spotted him behind the pickup.

“Is that a no-good burglar lurking out on the driveway?” As pure as spun sugar, Rachel hurried toward him wearing her big baggy pj’s and slippers—in summer. She was always cold, it seemed.

Her long brown hair hid part of her face as she swept toward him, the shuffling of the fabric beneath her feet distinctive on the aggregate concrete walk. “Oh, wait, it’s just you. My hero of a brother!”

“That’s not me. A hero? No, you must be talking about someone else.”

“You’ll always be a hero to me.” She held out her arms, rushing toward him for a hug.

It was impossible not to adore her and, truth be told, she was his favorite sister—not that a guy was supposed to have favorites, but Rachel could steal even his heart made of stone.

He pulled her close, feeling how much he liked being her big brother. And when she bounded back to get a good look at him, shadows settled into her face and deep in her gaze.

He shivered, because Rachel had a knack for seeing too much. “You’re a lovely sight for these sore eyes, darlin’. You cut your hair since Christmas.”

“Just trimmed it a little. Look at you, all banged up.” Her words were light, but the steady appraisal she gave him was anything but. Sheer sisterly adoration lit her up.

And humbled him. “I’m not all that, little sister. I dodged left when I should have dodged right, and look at me.”

“Sporting a fashionable cast and two aluminum sticks. Are you in any pain? Let me get that bag for you—”

“Take the smaller one. Lift the rucksack and you’ll pop a disk. It’s heavy.” He could have predicted she wasn’t about to listen until she grabbed hold of the sack’s heavy-duty handles and heaved with an unladylike groan. The bag didn’t budge.

“See? I told you.”

“All right. I’ll take the smaller bag, but don’t think I’m going to let you out of this so easily. You told us that you had minor injuries. Minor injuries, my foot! Look at you!”

“These are minor injuries. Compared to the other guys.” The truth was his job was about as dangerous as it got in the military and he’d been eerily lucky to haven gotten out of that particular situation with his leg intact.

As he hefted the heavy sack from behind the seat, he took a second to silently give thanks again for what could only have been divine intervention on that mission. It had been as if an angel had nudged him the few extra inches out of harm’s way, saving his leg but also his life, his career and his sanity. What were a few weeks in Montana compared to that?

“Well, there are no bullets here, tough guy. I’m just glad you’re home.”

She led the way along the walk, glancing over her shoulder constantly to check on his progress, her sharp eyes watching for any signs of his pain. She held the door wide for him, after leaning inside to flip on the light. “I knew you were coming, so it’s no excuse, but the house is a mess. I apologize.”

“You’ve gone from not picking up your room to not picking up your house?”

“Something like that.” Eyes twinkling, she waited until he was in the entry hall before closing the door tight and throwing the bolt.

The big house seemed to echo around them, all darkness and empty-sounding rooms. She carried his bag down the hall, but he couldn’t seem to follow her. Memories threatened his well-defended perimeter, but he managed to battle them back. Rachel had made a lot of changes to their childhood home over the years, but still, he remembered.

All he had to do was to look at the fireplace of smooth gray river rock that reached for two stories toward the vaulted ceiling, and he saw the past. Once Dad’s animal trophies had been proudly displayed there. The five-point buck and the three-point elk were long gone, replaced by clear twinkle lights Rachel left up all year round. But memory was a fluid thing, and he blinked back the past.

I’m tired, that’s all, he told himself as he let the awkward rucksack slide from his shoulder and smack to the carpet. He propped his crutches against the wall of stone and dropped into the sectional. Dozens of little frilly throw pillows nearly suffocated him.

“Do you have enough of these frilly things?” He tossed a half dozen of them across the cluttered coffee table into the deep cushions of a big overstuffed chair.

“Sorry, you’re in a girl zone, remember? It might be a hardship for a big tough guy like you. It’s not camouflage or military motif, but trust me, eyelet, lace and ribbons won’t hurt you.”

“I can’t relax around this stuff.” He sent a pale pink pillow with a satin heart sailing across the room. “You’re up late. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Ah, find me the secret to time travel so I can go back to this morning and start over,” came her response from down the hall.

Yeah, she worked too hard, and he didn’t like it. She was gone a suspiciously long time for just dropping off his bag. “You’re not doing stuff for me like making up a bed, are you?”

“Oh, no, I already did that. I can’t imagine how tired you have to be. I’ve got a plate keeping warm in the oven. I thought you might be hungry.” Rachel waltzed into sight.

You are the one who looks exhausted, little sister. He hated the dark rings beneath her eyes, but she managed a real smile.

“You’re tired, Rache. Go to bed. Stop worrying over me. Stop doing things for me. You have enough to do as it is, and I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, I know, you’re a big tough Special Forces soldier. But you don’t know how worried we’ve all been. Ever since we were told you were missing in action—” The lovely soft pink in her face disappeared, and in the faint light she looked snow-white. Pain twisted across her face. “I was scared for you.”

Just like that, she got behind his steel defenses. He hated the fact that she’d been worried. “I wasn’t missing. Not in the true sense of the word. I knew exactly where I was.”

“Yes, but we didn’t, hence the ‘missing’ part. And I did miss you. I was worried to death.”

“No, I was misplaced for a while, nothing more.”

Rachel wasn’t fooled. Her eyes filled with tears and she was suddenly in his arms—his sweet little sister who’d always seemed so fragile, and here she was crying over him when he was perfectly fine. Over him, when there had been so many others who hadn’t come out of the ambush alive.

“You’re wasting your tears, you know.” He tried to be gruff.

She swiped the dampness from her cheeks and pushed away from him, leaving him with a hole the size of the state of Montana in his chest. Wishing he knew what to do or what to say. Wishing he knew how to stick. He was a horrible big brother, and he was at a loss as to how to fix it.

He’d do anything to protect and provide for his sisters, but the truth was simple: he wasn’t good at relationships. He was better at bailing out—staying away—than at being here. He liked to keep an arm’s distance from intimacy, and he never shared the real Ben McKaslin. Not with Rachel.

Not with anyone.

He kept relationships simple and on the surface. It was easy to do when he lived so far away. All he had to do was send quick letters with funny anecdotes, e-mail with jokes, that kind of thing. But here in person, when he had to relate face-to-face, that’s where he felt how closed off he’d become. He didn’t know what to do about it or how to fix it.