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Sienna lay in her own blood. Her slender body was stretched out on her stomach, her long hair covering her face. Sabella knew she would have to deal with the fallout on this one soon. She had loved Sienna like a sister. Trusted her.
“Sabella.” Jordan said her name softly. “You can’t talk about this.”
She held her hand up, silencing him. “I know the line. I was married to a SEAL. Remember?”
Jordan nodded slowly.
“I don’t know shit,” she whispered tearfully. “Not a damned thing. Now take me home, Jordan. Take me home before I lose my mind.”
From the radio the screams of the dying could be heard. Orders to run, to ambush, curses and cries echoed through the cave as Jordan gripped her arm and they made their way out.
Outside, firelight flickered in the d
istance. Gunfire. The echo of shots sounded, overly loud, causing her to flinch as Jordan helped her into the black SUV he and Rick must have arrived in.
She stared into the night as she buckled up. She held on and rocked with the vehicle as Jordan raced from the canyon. He was barking commands, though she couldn’t see a radio. She glimpsed an insert at his ear though.
“Nik, get your ass out of there,” Jordan was ordering. “I don’t give a shit if you’re a reincarnated berserker. Haul ass!” Then he cursed.
Nik. Her mechanic. She crossed her arms over her stomach and turned her face to the window beside her. And she cried. As they hit the small dirt road that led back to the main interstate, she let her tears fall, and she let the past go.
Her husband was dead. The man in his place wasn’t coming back. She had seen it in his eyes, felt it in his touch. But this time, Sabella wasn’t alone.
She touched her stomach, closed her eyes. This time, she had a part of that love to hold on to. Their child.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Jordan took her home.
Sabella waited in the living room, curled up in the same chair she had sat in the day Jordan and Reno had arrived to tell her of Nathan’s death.
She wasn’t crying. Her head was pillowed in the corner of the wingback, Grandpop Rory had wrapped a quilt around her then pulled his chair close to her and held her hand.
For hours he just sat there. Until Jordan and Rory went into the kitchen and the silence stretched between them.
Finally, Grandpop sighed deeply. His age-ravaged face was filled with sadness, with grief, as he patted her hand.
She lifted her eyes to him. Blue eyes. Wild Irish blue eyes. She wondered if she would ever be free of them.
“He loves you,” he said softly. “He always loved you, girl. From the day you showed up here, till the day he came back.”
Her lips parted in shock as he made a little shushing motion. “We’ll not tell them.” He nodded to the other room. “They know, but what we know is between us. Right?”
She blinked back her tears.
“When I lost my Erin, I couldn’t go with her.” His voice became hoarse, tear filled. “I felt her death in every corner of my soul. But I had Nathan and Rory, and Grant, well, he changed over the years, I guess. Someone had to watch over my boys.”
A sob caught and locked in her voice. “He’s not coming back.” And it hurt. It hurt until she was a mass of pain, worse than it had been when she thought he was dead. More all consuming. Ravaging her insides.
He lowered his head. Shook it. Then stared back at her. “He loves you with all his soul. If he’s not coming back, then it’s for you, Bella. Not for him.” He looked to her stomach. “And he left you life. Don’t be bitter, girl. Don’t convince yourself he doesn’t love you. You know better.”
The sob tore free. Grandpop did the same thing he’d done when he came to the house after the notice of Nathan’s death. He rocked her. Wrapped his arms around her and rocked her against the pain before she drew back and shook her head.
She wiped her tears. She had cried for him the first time. She wasn’t crying for him again. Grandpop, in some ways perhaps, was right. Nathan had always had a sharp, very narrow vision of honor. He would leave her to protect her. She had known that ever since she had realized who he was, that he was hiding, pretending to be dead. If it meant her life, or her sadness, he’d take her sadness gladly. Just as she would have.
But she couldn’t pull herself out of the chair. She waited. She waited until the sun rose high overhead. The phone rang and no one answered it. Finally, Rick arrived.
He looked haggard. Years older. Blood stained his clothes and grief etched his face, but his eyes were hollow.
