Deadly Game (GhostWalkers, #5)(111)

Mari put her hand in his and reluctantly followed him to the solid door, trying not to show fear. “How do you keep this house warm when it’s snowing?”

“We use wood heat. We have very efficient fireplaces in the bedrooms, great room, and kitchen. We can close off each wing of the house so it’s private and separate, or open them and have one large home.”

“And Briony lives here year round?” She latched on to that. She wanted to see Briony—just once. One time. She had lived with memories and fantasies about her twin for so long, she wanted to see her.

“We wouldn’t leave her here alone if we were gone on a mission. Jack would never allow that.” The words slipped out before he could censor them.

Mari glanced at him sharply as she stepped across the threshold. “Allow?”

“When it comes to Briony, we’re very safety conscious. I imagine you will be as well. She’s carrying twins, and Whitney has made several tries to take her. His last try cost us part of the house and one outer building, but the son of a bitch didn’t get her.”

Mari looked around her. She could see a woman’s touch in the home, and her heart did a funny little somersault. Her sister. Briony was really alive and well and living right here, in this house. Her sister whom she hadn’t seen in years, but had thought of every single day.

There were thick quilts lying across the backs of well-made furniture, the kind of quilts Mari knew were made with love, by hand. Stained glass was cut above each of the windows, the work intricate and beautiful, colors swirling together to form fantasy pictures undoubtedly chosen, or made, by her sister.

Mari walked through the empty rooms, hearing the echo of laughter, feeling the bond of love woven into the very walls. By the time she reached Ken’s bedroom, tears burned in her eyes and clogged her throat. She couldn’t do this. Why had she thought she could? She wasn’t in the least bit feminine. She couldn’t decorate a house, or be any kind of a wife or partner. She didn’t know about anything but fighting a battle. She should have gone with her sisters—the ones she knew, the ones different in the way she was different. They’d never lived in a home and didn’t know the first thing about living in a relationship.

Briony lived here, and Briony knew exactly how to be a wife and mother. She obviously cared for both men, not just Jack. Mari would never be able to live up to her sister. And she was happy for Briony—she really was. She was just sad for herself and feeling like a complete fool to have thought she could be someone she wasn’t.

Ken’s heart nearly stopped when he walked into his bedroom. Mari stood in the middle of it, weeping. “What is it, honey? What’s wrong?”

She held out her arms as wide as she could. “Look at this place. I don’t know what to do with all of this room. My clothes fit in a locker at the end of my cot. I don’t know how to cook, or take care of a house, or even be in a relationship. What was I thinking?”

He swept her into his arms, holding her close. Her body trembled against his, and he cupped her head in the palm of his hand, pressing her face against his heart, sheltering her as best he could with his own body.

“Listen to me, honey. Neither of us has ever done this. We’re bound to panic, but it doesn’t matter. You hear me, Mari? It doesn’t matter. This is us. The two of us. What is normal for everyone else doesn’t matter. We’ll build our relationship brick by brick, and it will be so strong no one will ever tear it down. I’ll never walk away from you. Never. If there is one thing you can count it, it’s me standing by you. There aren’t mistakes here. We’ll just work it all out at our own pace.”

“But Briony made this place a home, not only for Jack, but for you. I can see that she did. She’s every bit as much your family as Jack is.”

“She lights up Jack’s world, Mari,” he said, trying to follow her train of thought. “Don’t you want me to care for her?”

“Of course I do. You should, but I can’t be like her. I have no idea what to do. I don’t even have clothes, Ken. I’m just here with absolutely nothing.”

He lifted her chin and brushed her soft mouth with his. She sounded so distressed that he felt distressed. “You don’t have to do or have anything. I want you, Mari, not clothes or a servant.”

“Shouldn’t I be putting flowers in a vase? Or pretending to cook dinner?” She looked totally alarmed. “I have no idea how to cook. I’ve never cooked. Never. This isn’t going to work, Ken.”

He realized she was totally panic-stricken. She was staring at the bookshelves and the cases of music. Ken kissed her again. “Do you think that matters? And you can’t put flowers in a vase if I haven’t gotten them for you, can you? Tomorrow we can go into town and get you enough clothes to fill the closet and dresser if that’s what you want. And I’ll buy flowers and a vase, and we’ll put the damn things in it together. None of it really matters to me.”

“Maybe not now, this minute, but sometime you’ll want me to know how to run a household.” She felt totally inadequate thinking about all the things she didn’t know how to do—but that her sister did. Her sister was a stranger to her, had lived in a loving family, not a military barracks. Cami! I need you. Oh, God, what have I done? Panic was new to her. She hadn’t panicked when she was captured. She hadn’t panicked when she was shot, but standing in a real home surrounded by everything unfamiliar to her . . .