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“It was.”
Refusing to soften at the look in his blue eyes, she kept her head high. “I didn’t give that quilt to make someone feel obligated to me.”
“Thankful isn’t the same as obligated,” he pointed out.
“Is that why you kissed me last night? Thankfulness?” Her voice held a nasty edge she didn’t like and could barely even recognize as her own. What was wrong wi
th her? She didn’t talk this way. Didn’t feel this way.
Which was what exactly? Defensive? Bitter? Hurt? She had no right to feel any of those things. Yes, he should have told her the truth about the quilt. But he’d come to thank her. He’d stayed to be kind. Did she really have any right to resent that?
“I kissed you because you told me to.”
Sarah winced. She’d ordered him to kiss her, really.
“But the truth is,” he continued. “I wanted to kiss you, Sarah. Just not because Mrs. Harvey said to or because there was mistletoe, but because I like you.”
Warmth filled her and she disliked herself for it. No, no, no. She shouldn’t feel this way, couldn’t let herself feel this way or read anything into his confession.
“I like you, too.” She sure shouldn’t have made a confession of her own.
“But you shouldn’t.”
Yep. At least they agreed on something.
Growing restless with the non-moving truck, or perhaps a bit agitated at the high emotions in the cab, Harry climbed between Bodie and the steering wheel to press his nose against the window, then whimpered.
“You need out, boy?”
The dog whimpered again.
Opening the door, Bodie let Harry jump out.
“Stay close,” he ordered as the dog took off to inspect a nearby tree. Keeping an eye on the dog, he continued, his voice low, as if he really didn’t want her to hear what he said next. “I was in a bad place when I was given your quilt. Physically, mentally, emotionally.”
The pain in his voice cut into her like the sharpest sword.
“What happened to you, Bodie?”
Chapter Fifteen
Bodie ran his palms over the steering wheel, knowing he had to talk to Sarah about what had happened. Reliving the events that led him to Pine Hill wasn’t going to be easy, but she deserved the truth.
“I almost died.”
Sarah face paled at his words. They were harsh. They were also true.
“I should have.” Parts of him had—or so he’d thought at the time. Lately, since meeting Sarah, glimmers of those parts he’d thought were forever gone had revived, sparking to life.
“No,” she denied, placing her hand on his arm. “You shouldn’t have.”
“You don’t understand,” he started again, forcing his next words from his mouth because he had to confess the truth. “We’d left a small village where we’d been staked out for a few days. All of us knew something didn’t feel right and we were relieved when we got the orders to get out. None of us wanted to be there. We’d not gone a mile out of town when the IED went off.”
“Bodie,” Sarah gasped, her hand squeezing his arm in a gesture meant to comfort.
Back then, nothing had comforted the raw pain inside him. Nothing until he’d been awarded a beautiful work of art she’d made, held her quilt, read her note, and known he needed to recover so he could thank her in person.
“I don’t remember much after that. Just a blinding pain, seeing things no person should see, and then nothing.” He twisted in the seat to face her, to let her see his shame. “No one else survived, Sarah. Just me.”
