Heaven's Touch. Jillian Hart

And had her stepping away from what had to be danger. “Your shirt’s started to smolder again.”

      “I’ve had worse.” He said it as if he walked through flames every day.

      Ben McKaslin was everything dangerous in a man. He was too handsome, too charming, too everything. She’d made sure their fingers didn’t touch as she handed off the crutches. The sticks of aluminum clanked as he took them in one hand, leaning now on his good leg as if the injured one was only starting to pain him just a bit.

      Just like old times. Only Ben could turn a stop for gas into a three-alarm blaze, and it was never his fault. Where there was smoke, there was Ben.

      Although something had changed about him, but she couldn’t place what. Everyone knew he’d joined the military—and not a moment too soon, lots of folks had said. Maybe it had done him good. One could only hope. “They’ve got the flames out.”

      “So I see.” He reached into his shorts pocket, leaning awkwardly on one crutch as he did it. Then he shook his head, scattering short shocks of thick dark hair. “The keys are in the truck, not my pocket. Habit.”

      She took one look at his dimples as he smiled more broadly, deepening them on purpose.

      Right, as if he could actually charm her. She wasn’t even affected. Not in the slightest. She’d learned to be strong long ago. Ben McKaslin was no man to trust. Besides, he wasn’t here to stay. It was as plain as day he was injured on duty and so he’d probably be home for a visit for, what, a couple of weeks? Eight at the most, to heal that injured leg of his, and then he’d be racing back to wherever it was he was stationed.

      Sure, Ben had always possessed great and admirable qualities, despite his flaws, but he wasn’t a stick-around kind of man.

      She was beginning to think they’d stopped making men like that sometime before she was born, because she had yet to meet one man she thought would stick. One who would be responsible and honorable enough to depend on for the long haul.

      Not that she had trust issues, of course, although on many occasions, her coworkers had pointed out that she did.

      Okay, so maybe she did, but her trust issues had never been the only reason he’d left the day after graduation for boot camp. And never looked back.

      Forgiveness, Cadence. It was sometimes the hardest part of her faith. She’d had to do so much of it throughout her life. Maybe the angels were giving her as many opportunities as she needed to get it right.

      So she tried to let her resentment go. She wasn’t the head-in-the-clouds teenager she used to be. No matter how it seemed, Ben had to have matured, too. So it was with as clear a heart as she could manage that she tried one more time. “Let me take a look at your back. You can’t go home like that.”

      “Sure I can. My family wouldn’t recognize me if I didn’t have something wrong.”

      Where he could have said those words flippantly, he was steadier. Lines had dug their way into the corners of his eyes, and gave his face character. It was his eyes that had changed. They didn’t light up. They didn’t sparkle.

      She couldn’t stop the cloying sadness that overtook her. A sense of loss overwhelmed her, and suddenly wrestling to forgive him didn’t seem like such a big problem.

      By the looks of it, he’d had a tough road over the years, too.

      He didn’t look at her as he made his explanations and his attempt at an escape and emotional distance. “I’ve gotta get home. Looks like they’re taking the mother to the hospital. She’s lucky. Goes to show a lot of folks don’t realize the danger when they’re filling up their tanks.”

      “I guess no one really thinks about it. I don’t.” She got the clue. He didn’t want to remember old times. Neither did she. It was sad, the years that stretched empty and lost between them. As much trouble as the teenage Ben had brought into her life, he had brought laughter, too. Where once they had been close, now they couldn’t be more distant. Just two people who stopped to get gas during one summer’s night. They’d keep it polite, the type of conversation two strangers might have.

      She didn’t know what more to say to him. She didn’t know how to broach the past. To ask if he’d gotten married, if he had kids, or if he’d stayed as carefree and independent as he’d always intended to be. What did he do in the military? How had he become injured?

      She was so far removed from the local news. She didn’t live in the same small town any longer. She lived here in Bozeman and went home a few Sunday evenings a month to have supper at her mom’s, but her old life—including an innocent teenage romance with Ben—was so past history, it wasn’t even a shadowed blip on her radar.

      “Goodbye,” she said to Ben casually, as if he’d never been special to her.

      As if he’d never been the man she’d once intended to marry.

      As if her heart were whole and her life as it should be, she walked to her car, climbed in and drove off without looking back.

      Chapter Two

      Cadence Chapman. Wow, that was someone he hadn’t thought about in too long—and on purpose. She could still tie him up in knots, that was for sure. Ben rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as he eased the truck to a crawl.

      The turnout from the paved county road to the driveway was hard to find in the dark. It always had been. Scrub brush, salmonberry bushes and super-tall thistles that had yet to be tamed by a Weedwacker obscured the stake marking the edge of the driveway.

      The tiny red reflector still hung crooked from the stake. It had been that way since he was in second grade. One misty morning while waiting for the school bus, he’d been bored, so he’d tossed rocks at the reflector, knocking it askew until one of the bigger Thornton boys had told him to stop.

      There was a reason he didn’t like remembering. It wasn’t so good coming home. His neck was a tangle of melted-together fibers, his chest a tight ball of confused hurt, which seeing Cadence had caused even after all this time.

      And on top of all that, driving up the road made his guts coil up, negating the fact that he was hungry as all get-out. He had been looking forward to raiding Rachel’s refrigerator. Right now, though, until his stomach relaxed, he couldn’t eat a thing. Maybe he could stay focused in the present moment—that he was just a guy coming home from the front, like so many soldiers. He’d think about the here and now, about Rachel, and wonder if she’d stayed up to meet him.

      But the past reached out to grab him like a ghost in the dark as he bumped up the gravel driveway through the cottonwoods and over the rush of the creek. Images from long ago, grown fuzzy and dim with time—of a happy boy, in the days before he’d been an orphan, wading in the water watching tadpoles and little trout and searching for deer tracks.

      He slid down the windows just to hear the wind and the water gurgling and the whisper of the small green leaves in the night air. He couldn’t stay in the present. Too many memories came with the sounds of the breeze. Darker memories came, of how he’d hidden in the culvert after his parents had been killed in a car accident, and no one could find him.

      No, that wasn’t such a good memory.

      Ben hit the control and the windows zipped up, cutting off the night, shutting off the memories and banishing the past.

      But not entirely. The past was hard to erase. It was tenacious, and it lurked behind him like the shadows. As the truck rolled and bounced up the driveway, he realized the private lane was in terrible shape. It could use a grading and a new layer of gravel. Maybe he’d help Rachel with that. He desperately latched on to any normal thought as the truck careened the last few yards to the lone house on the hill.

      The house was a neat rancher built when his parents had been alive, on a five-acre tract on the good side of town and along the river on the back of the property, within sight of the elementary school and the park. But right now it was nearly pitch-black. The only light