Angel's Peak (Virgin River #10)(15)

“Are you all right?” she asked him.

“I’ll live. Can I get you anything?”

She lifted her cardboard coffee cup. “I’m fine, thanks.” And then she took a deep breath while he went for his own coffee. When he sat down across from her, she asked, “How bad is it?”

“I have a headache,” he said irritably. “It’s probably just a minor skull fracture with brain damage.”

She struggled not to smile. “Did you have that xrayed?” she asked, indicating his hand with her eyes.

“Sprain. It’s bruised and sore, that’s all. You’ll probably be very disappointed to know I’m going to completely recover.”

“Hm. Good. Well…I think we should both concentrate on not letting things get out of control.”

“You first,” he said. He took a sip of his coffee and jerked his chin up, pinched his eyes closed and moaned deep in his throat. When eyes opened both were watering; he’d burned his mouth. Oh, Sean was having a rough couple of days. Franci’s hand covered her mouth so there wouldn’t be even the hint of a smile.

And she immediately thought, Crap. She didn’t want to find him cute and funny! She wanted to be repulsed by him! Furious and bitter! Completely unaffected, except maybe with some hatred. She remembered what had hooked her in the first place—he was so good-looking and he made her laugh. Then later, when they were alone, he could make her beg. He could be darling and fun; he could be passionate and powerful. And she did not want to remember that!

She gave him a moment. He was probably blaming her for his burned mouth, too. “So, Franci,” he finally said. “What’s up with the uniform you were wearing?”

“I work for an emergency medical airlift unit, assigned to their helicopter transport.” His eyebrows lifted. “I’m a flight nurse.”

“I guess that’s why I couldn’t find you at any clinics or hospitals,” he said, blowing on his coffee.

“You were looking for me at clinics and hospitals?” she asked. “Since when?”

“Since I ran into you in Arcata and you said you’d prefer to never speak to me again.”

“I didn’t exactly say that, did I?”

“Close enough. I found your address right away because you bought a house, but decided I’d better take it slow, since you’re obviously still pissed off. I thought it might irritate you if I showed up at your front door. Back when I knew you, you had a gun—you were a military officer flying into a war zone. I was willing to brave that. That’s how much I wanted to see you.”

She sat back in her chair. “I no longer have the gun. But when did you decide you wanted to see me again?” she asked. “We bump into each other after years and everything changes for you?”

“Here’s how it went,” he said without even thinking about it. “We both walked away mad back then. I distracted myself by going to a new aircraft, a new training program, a new base and squadron, but after a few months of that, I couldn’t leave it alone anymore—we ended badly and I couldn’t believe it was what either one of us really wanted. So I called you. You didn’t call back, so I tried again—the cell phone was shut off. Your e-mail bounced back—undeliverable. After another few months of licking my wounds I called your mother’s house to see if she’d put us in touch with each other and she was gone. Phone disconnected. House sold. Moved away. None of your best girlfriends were around at Luke AFB anymore and I couldn’t remember their last names, so I had no one to ask.”

“You couldn’t remember their names?” she asked.

He grimaced. “Last names. Shoot me. I didn’t know there’d be a test. So, you didn’t respond and had disappeared. I thought maybe you got married or something. I quit looking. But it never felt right—the way we broke up. It shouldn’t have happened like that.”

“Oh?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

“We were both too stubborn. Angry. I wanted to find you and tell you that we should talk about our situation some more. Sanely.”

“Have you changed your mind about commitment? About family?” she asked.

“I was committed before,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, definitely annoyed. “I didn’t need some document to prove that. That’s why we should talk.”

She sat back in her chair. “I can’t see what there is to talk about,” she said, exasperated. “That’s why we went our separate ways. I want the document. I want a family—you don’t.”

“I wanted another chance,” he ground out. “I wasn’t happy with you forcing the idea of getting married before I felt ready, before I felt it was my idea, too. But I was a lot less happy once you were gone.”

“Then why didn’t you say that in your messages?” she asked.

He tilted his head, gave her a hint of a smile and lifted the eyebrow over the good eye. “The messages you never got?” he asked.

Oh, he was good. Great choice for a spy-plane pilot. He was quick and cagey. “Okay, I got them. They were so generic, there was nothing to respond to. Not, ‘I’m sorry and I want to try again,’ or ‘I can’t live without you,’ but just, ‘Shouldn’t we keep in touch? Babe?’”