Tanner stroked her hair back from her brow as the morning sun rose, officially ending their Christmas together. He spoke, even knowing full well she wouldn't answer. "I love you, Kathleen O'Connell."
Chapter 18
"Will you promise to love him," the military chaplain filled the base chapel with his resonant baritone. "Honor him, keep him in sickness and health as long as you both shall live?"
"I will," the bride answered without hesitation. Kathleen had never considered herself the cry-at-weddings sort, but the Clark, candlelit nuptials were sorely testing her on that one.
I love you, Kathleen O'Connell. Tanner's words from two days prior echoed through her brain, her own silence echoing afterward.
Kathleen sat in the pew of the Charleston Air Force Base Chapel and wondered if her answer, or lack thereof, would be any different, now that the world had returned to normal?
She could still feel his disappointment, but she hadn't been able to make herself speak. Not while her emotions were still so raw, so tender, not unlike her well-loved body. She'd used their rescue as a much needed escape.
As a cop-out.
After two hectic days of questioning by military authorities, she'd been cleared and released. Quinn had been captured the minute he'd landed, thanks to the tracking beacon Tanner had sent up. Quinn was in custody, awaiting deportation back to the States. The planes with his faulty part had been grounded. Even Randall faced charges for his negligence.
Kathleen had completed her debrief and caught the first plane back to Charleston with only minutes left to dash to her town house and slide into her full-dress uniform for Grayson Clark and Lori Rutledge's wedding. Kathleen hadn't even known if Tanner had returned in time.
Then she'd seen him stride in during the processional, watched him now as he stood beside Grayson as best man.
And, Lord have mercy, what a best man Tanner made in his full-military-dress uniform. Only a slight crease remained on his temple from the gunshot wound. He hadn't even needed stitches, just a tetanus booster and a butterfly bandage.
Medals gleamed across miles of chest. His blond hair glistened as if he'd just stepped from a shower—or had perspired from making love to her.
Kathleen shifted to safer, more church-worthy thoughts.
Hundreds of ivory candles reflected off the stained-glass windows, showering multifaceted blessings on the small grouping gathered round the altar. Lori stood serene and glowing in a princess-cut satin gown, regal as ever with her hair swept high, interwoven with tiny white flowers and velvet ribbons. Wearing his full-dress uniform, Grayson held her hands, his voice steady and confident as he repeated his vows.
Matron of honor, Julia Sinclair, in midnight velvet held the hand of flower girl Magda, Lori's adopted daughter from the Sentavo rescue mission. The little girl's honey-brown curls danced around her face, a circlet of flowers pinned on her head.
A small wedding party, no doubt, but with their priorities in order. Love and certainty shone from the bride and groom. Not like during the circus of a ceremony Kathleen had let her mother plan. Lori and Grayson's marriage would be blessed with the support of friends wherever the Air Force took them.>Because she knew he wouldn't have.
She strained to see, although not much was visible, with cloud cover muting the moon and stars. She'd landed right back in the desert again, twice in less than forty-eight hours. Except, this time she was alone.
Fear poured over her with each gust of sand-laden wind. Not fear for herself. She could take care of herself until a rescue plane tracked the beacon on her chute.
But she was scared spitless for Tanner. She'd seen the gleam in his eyes, the need for revenge powered by an overwhelming sense that he could make it happen through his will alone.
Ego. That invincibility he'd needed to carry him through combat could be the very thing that brought him down.
Then she heard it. A reverberating thud and grunt about fifty yards away.
Tanner.
Was it her imagination, or had the ground shuddered under her feet when he hit the desert floor? Or maybe it was sheer, earth-shattering relief rocking her from her toes to her teeth.
Kicking free of the pool of parachute nylon, she stumbled toward the sound.
"Tanner? Tanner!" she shouted, running toward him. Medical training marched gory scenarios of shattered bones through her mind. Parachuting was dangerous, especially in the dark. And he'd already been injured protecting her. "Tanner! Answer me, or I'm going to ground your butt until the next millennium!"
A blur took shape in front of her. A big, broad-shouldered shape. Tanner bent over with his hands on his knees, his parachute lying in a pile behind him.
"Hang … on … Athena." He straightened, slowly, wonderfully tall and whole. "Just trying … to catch my … breath."
She sagged with relief. It had to be relief. She was too close to tears to consider it could be anything else without totally losing control.
The final ten yards between them closed in seconds. She slammed against him. He was alive. They both were. In a day that could have ended so differently, they'd made it, worked together, flushed out Quinn and lived to tell about it.