At Your Command

Becky twisted, trying to free herself. He’d never hurt her before. Not once. Not even in fun. So what was the deal?

“Zach…” But her protest died at the face frozen above her. Staring straight over the top of her head. Her own warning jets fired and she quickly glanced behind her. “What is it?”

Families. Marines. Flags. Laughing. Crying. Hugging. Nothing weird.

No one watching.

Becky turned back to the blankness chilling his eyes. “Big guy?”

Grooves deepened beside his eyes and mouth, twisting his features into a frown. His nostrils flared with a deep, stuttering breath. What was happening here?

Becky skipped curiosity and moved straight to concern. She nudged at his chest, then reached up and caught his jaw between her hands, giving him a little shake. She uttered his name with more force. “Zachariah!”

He blinked and his eyes blazed back into focus so suddenly she thought she might have imagined the whole weird disconnect.

Except Becky Owens wasn’t given to idle imaginings. “Where did you go?”

He shook his head as if confused by her question. “I’m right here.”

“A second ago, you were a million miles away.”

“Fatigue, I guess.” Zachariah seized her wrists and pulled her hands from his face. “I’m pretty wiped out, adjusting to the time differences and all.”

“Are you sure? It seemed like more than that.”

If it weren’t for the almost tentative restraint in his normally confident touch, she might have believed the cocky grin that slid back into place. “It’s good to see you again,” he said, without explaining anything to her satisfaction. “And to touch you.” He brushed the tip of her nose with his finger.

Okay. Nose tapping aside, she’d go along with the diversionary tactic instead of following up with a more probing question. After all, she couldn’t very well force the husband she barely knew to unburden his secrets to her if she wasn’t ready to do the same for him.

But she could care. She did care. Putting her desires on the back burner, Becky slid her arms around his waist. She walked into his chest and hugged him tightly, offering him something a little calmer, a little saner than the healthy lust that zinged like perpetual lightning between them.

After a moment’s hesitation, Zachariah folded his arms around her shoulders and hugged her back. “Hey. What’s this for?”

She turned her nose into the crisp, starched scent of his uniform. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better letter writer, and that I didn’t e-mail you more often. I’m sorry I’m not a better…” Oh, crud. The word was sticking to her tongue. “Wife.”

“Hey.” She felt him nuzzle the crown of her hair. “There’s no blame here. It wasn’t like I was a devoted penpal. Besides, there’s no guarantee I would have gotten your messages. Not where we were.”

“So where were—” His hold on her tightened, derailing Becky’s question. Deliberately? Had something changed between them? Or was he drifting again? Just what had Zachariah and his men been doing that he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—talk about it? The APO address and military domain name that he’d sent her several weeks after his departure had told her as little about his location and assignment as his brief messages had. Outside of the base headquarters where his unit had reported in between missions, he and his comrades seemed to have disappeared for weeks, even months, at a time. “Are you okay?”

Captain Somber here was so not playing into the let’s-recapture-what-we-had-but-I-really-need-to-keep-it-light-so-I-can-walk-away-without-either-of-us-getting-hurt scenario she’d planned for this weekend. Was he normally this moody? She hadn’t seen any indication of a darker side to Zachariah Clark back in D.C.

Beyond the military information he couldn’t share, taciturn and evasive were hardly words she’d use to describe her conversations with Zachariah back then. Not that they’d had any deep heart-to-hearts. He’d been so refreshingly up front about what he wanted from her that Becky had found his lack of an agenda as much of an attraction as the breadth of those muscled shoulders and chest. He’d been blunt. He’d been bold. He’d worn his thoughts and emotions on his sleeve, and Becky had responded to his easy forthrightness.

The Zachariah Clark who’d gotten off the bus this morning was too complex for her to read, and that left her at an unfamiliar disadvantage. Becky couldn’t be sure he would understand, much less welcome, the things she had to say and do—not if he was feeling down or preoccupied like this. And her concern about whatever was troubling him complicated her own promises to hurry back to the people who really needed her, people she could actually help.

This was supposed to be a welcome-home celebration. Escaping for a weekend frolic with her…um…husband.

Damn. Even thinking the word pinched at her conscience.

Oh, yeah. This reunion was going really well.

Zachariah gave her a quick bear hug before pulling away completely, beyond arm’s reach, distancing himself from her questions as well as her touch. “I suppose if we’d had time to go through the newlywed training, we’d have done a better job of keeping in touch.”

Becky arched one eyebrow. Did she know anything about Zachariah’s life? “There’s newlywed training?”

“Yeah. So the new spouse knows what to expect when the husband or wife is deployed. Where to find support groups. How to contact us if there’s an emergency. Familiarizing each of us with what can be said in a message and what can’t. Stuff like that.” He lifted his cap, scratched his fingers over his ultra-short, fawn-colored hair and wedged the cap back on. “Sorry. I guess I cheated you out of all that by gettin’ hitched so quick. I kind of ran off and left you in the dark.” He turned his left hand back and forth, studying his splayed fingers as if seeing them in front of his face reminded him of something he didn’t like. “Hell. I never even took the time to buy us rings.”

Two small boys, darting around the fringe of a family welcoming home the father, accidentally bumped into the back of Zachariah’s legs. He tensed instantly. His hand fisted and his shoulders seemed to expand in a way that made Becky think he was about to turn and attack. Only the Zachariah she knew didn’t have a temper.

The boys must have sensed the brewing volcano, too.

“Sorry, mister,” the little one chirped.

“He’s a captain, dork-butt. Look at his collar.”

“Sorry, Captain.”

“Thanks for all you do for our country,” the older one said, in a well-rehearsed voice.

“Yeah, thanks.” The younger of the two boys stepped between Zachariah and Becky and craned his neck, squinching his mouth into a thoughtful frown as though he was perplexed by how far he had to look up to see Zachariah’s face. “Do you know my dad?”

Zachariah blinked away whatever had seized him and looked over at the family gathering before lowering his chin and mustering half an apologetic grin for the boy. “Yeah. Sort of. He’s in our support unit. We couldn’t do our jobs without—”

“C’mon, Eric.” The older boy put a hand on the young one’s shoulder and pulled him away, apparently not trusting Zachariah’s size or mood. “Dad’s waiting for us. We get to carry his duffel bag.”

As quickly as the boy’s curiosity had surfaced, it disappeared. He chased his brother back to their family. “I get to carry it first!”

“Uh-uh!”

Zachariah scrubbed his palm down over his face and muttered a curse as he watched them disappear back into the crowd. “So how bad do you think I scared those kids?”

“Not half as much as you’re scaring me.” Becky propped her hands at the waist of her denim skirt. “You’re acting like Zachariah Clark’s evil twin. Are you going to tell me what’s bugging you or not?”

His green eyes were the only thing that moved as his gaze bored into hers. “Like I said, I’m beat.” Leaveit alone. She understood the message clearly enough—didn’t like it, but understood. An echo of silence passed before he shook loose his shoulders and twisted his neck from side to side, forcibly relaxing his posture if not convincing Becky he had truly relaxed.

“Then maybe we’d better get going,” she suggested, not knowing what more she could do, even if he were willing to share. She pointed toward the fence. “I’m parked in the visitors’ lot. I can drive until we can get your truck out of storage.”

With a nod, he heaved his duffel bag up onto his shoulder. After holding back for a moment, he lengthened his stride to fall into step beside her and settled his hand at the back of her waist. “Sorry. All the way home I was thinking about falling into bed. With you. I guess it was stupid to think nothing about us would change after eighteen months apart. This marriage thing takes a little getting used to.”

“I know what you mean.” It shamed her to think of how she’d kept the news of her “gettin’hitched” tucked away like a secret weapon in her back pocket—waiting until the moment was right to tell her parents, until now the secret weighed like an anchor around her neck. It was becoming more and more clear that there was more to making a marriage than a legal document. “It’s as though we have to get reacquainted all over again.”

And there was only one way they’d really known and understood each other, even back in D.C.

“I thought I was doing the right thing—making you my wife—in case something happened to me, or I got you pregnant. I just wanted you to know that what we had meant something to me.”

Becky halted in her tracks. “I’m a big girl, Zachariah.” She snagged his hand as he walked past. At that slightest of tugs, he stopped and looked down over his shoulder at her. “That week meant something to me, too. But you don’t have to take care of me. You just have to…be with me. While you’re here. While we’re together.” Her own plans, which she’d stewed over for months, were changing even as she spoke. “We’ll figure out whatever we’ve missed in each other’s lives later. For now, let’s just try to stay in the moment, shall we?”

He considered the bargain, then altered his grip to lace his fingers together with hers and pull her to his side. “In the moment. Sure. I can do that. Now take me to your car.”