What Doesn't Kill Her (Cape Charade #2)(69)

“Between you and me, we destroyed her operation and put her away. She would love to hurt us both.”

Kellen confessed, “Sometimes I find myself looking over my shoulder for her. Then I think I’m being paranoid. But maybe not.”

“A sociopath and a serial killer. Yes. Let’s put Mara Philippi high on the list of suspects, and I’ll use my connections to make sure she’s still in custody and not extending her talons toward my family.”

Kellen put her hand on his thigh. “You’re brave and smart, and I love your connections.”

He swerved a bit. “You’re in no condition to have sex.”

“I am, too. Anyway, I merely touched your thigh. That’s not hinting for sex.” No one else drove along this narrow two-lane road, so she inched her fingers a little higher.

He put his hand over hers, pressed it briefly, removed it and placed it firmly in her lap. “We have to get you checked out by a doctor.”

“We can’t do that at Yearning Sands Resort.”

“I also have connections with a Virtue Falls doctor.”

She laughed. “Do you have connections everywhere?”

“If I don’t, someone in my family does.” He wasn’t bragging; he was making a flat statement of fact.

But he worried for no reason. There was nothing he could do about her eventual fate, and it was fruitless to agonize. “Max, for the moment, I am well. I shouldn’t probably bump my head again, that’s all.”

He nodded judiciously, his gaze fixed on the road. “Once you’ve had the doctor’s okay, I’ll make sure we don’t move too close to the headboard.”

“Where I would thump my head continuously?”

“Maybe not continuously. But frequently.”

“You, sir, are obnoxiously sure of yourself.” She would let him thump her against the headboard anytime.

“Obnoxiously?” He had a hint of a smile around his mouth.

“That’s the word.”

Abruptly, he was serious, watching the road while talking intently. “You know I’m Catholic. Fairly devout.”

He was going to talk to her about raising Rae in the faith. “I know. I’m going to take classes so Rae won’t be confused. I’m glad to do it—if there’s one thing being in a war zone teaches, it’s faith and prayer.”

“That’s great. But actually, I’m talking about this thing we Catholics do called marriage.”

“What?” What?

“It’s when two people—say, me and you—lust after each other... We do, don’t we?”

She crossed her arms. “Yes, we do that.”

“And love each other.” Eyebrows raised, he shot a look at her.

“Yes. Yes, I love you.” Way to finagle it out of her.

“Then we go in front of our friends and relatives, make vows and become one heart, one soul.”

She should have known he wouldn’t give up on the marriage thing.

He gave her about thirty seconds and a quarter of a mile. “You’re speechless, aren’t you?”

She might be speechless, but she could glare.

He seemed unworried. “For all the above mentioned reasons, shall we be married?”

“No!”

“Why not?” Now he pulled over onto the shoulder of the road, turned off the engine, unsnapped his seat belt and faced her, arm across the back of the bench seat.

“You know why not.”

“The bullet thing?”

“Of course, the bullet thing.” He’d seen her unconscious, lost to the world. How could he doubt it? “When I was wounded in a bomb blast, I was unconscious and the Army discovered the bullet. They said I was a walking time bomb and discharged me. Surgery to remove the bullet was unlikely to succeed. I would go into a coma and die. And that was the good part. The other was—I’d be unable to move, to speak, to think, to be. I’d have to be on a ventilator, fed intravenously. The Army said... I didn’t have long.” The clock was ticking. It had always been ticking, but in her mind, the sound grew louder and louder.

“I know.”

“Then why do you want to marry me?”

“I love you. I’ll live a lifetime every moment we’re together.”

“But with so little time—”

“No one lives forever, and I’ve already lived without you. It sucked.”

She liked that. Blunt. Honest. Male.

He continued, “When happiness is offered, grab with both hands. If you marry me, all I can promise is an arm to hold when we walk together, one lifetime of love in each season that is given us, warm nights and long days, and a child—our child—to love you, too.”

So much for blunt and honest. That was poetry, sentiment, yet still male and damned if he didn’t make her see things his way. Maybe he was right. And really, wasn’t she already up to her eyeballs in the quicksand of this relationship? She took a breath, let it out, took another and said, “If you really feel that way, then... I would be honored to marry you.”

He hugged her, suddenly, fiercely, holding her close enough to absorb her skin, muscles, bones into his. He tilted her head up and looked into her eyes. “What exactly is the name of the person I am marrying?”