A Handful of Heaven

"Nice plaque," he said finally.

"Yes, isn't it."

Again the silence. The awkward, yawning silence that was a slap in the face to everything they'd shared. Devon pressed her hand to her stomach, forcing herself to remember why she was going. How noble her reasons were.

Right now she didn't feel noble. She felt cowardly and lost and alone. She swallowed hard, keeping the tears at bay by sheer force of will. "I guess I've got to go . . ."

"Guess so."

"Are you going to walk me to the ship?"

He looked pointedly at the shadows huddled just outside the flaps. "Looks to me like you've got a whole bunch of escorts. One more wouldn't even be noticed."

She forced a shrug. "Guess not."

He pulled a small brown package out from under the couater. "Here," he said gruffly, "this is for you."

"I didn't get you-"

"Just take it." He looked away quickly. "You've given me plenty."

He handed her the gift. She untied the knot with shaking fingers and ripped off the brown paper wrapping.

Her breath caught in her throat. It was a framed photograph of her dented Campbell's soup can full of wild poppies. The picture wobbled in her hands; the flowers blurred. She swallowed hard. "It's perfect. Thank you." Even to her own ears her words sounded horribly stilted and distant.

"You're welcome."

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"Well," she said awkwardly, "I'd best be going."

He nodded.

She tried a lighthearted smile and failed."I'd say I'd write, but a letter would never find you."

"Nope."

"So, I guess this is good-bye."

"Good-bye, Dev."

She meant to walk out the door, to walk away. But she didn't. Instead some deep, instinctive need drew her to him.

He didn't back away. He just stood there, waiting for her. The minute she stepped into the circle of his arms, he hugged her with a fierceness that left her breathless. She fitted her body to his, reveling in the wonderful, welcome feel of him. The achingly familiar smell of him surrounded her. His heart hammered beneath her cheek.

"I'll miss you," he said above her head.

His words, spoken in a broken, whisper-ragged voice, severed her final shred of self-control. That was it; the only declaration of love she'd ever get from him. He'd miss her- but not enough to ask her to stay. God help her, it wasn't enough.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, burrowing into the corners of her mouth. She wrenched out of his embrace. Clasping the photograph to her breast, she rushed headlong out of the tent.

She pushed through the flaps and landed smack in the middle of the crowd. The men squished in around her, cutting off her every avenue of escape. The thick, pungent odor of unwashed bodies clawed at her nostrils. Panic seized her.

An arm curled around her waist, squeezing. "It's all right, lass. Take a deep breath. Relax."

She sagged against Father's small, comforting body, letting him protect her. Concentrating on each breath, she felt some small amount of control return. "Sorry, Father," she said with a trembling laugh, "I don't know what came over me."