distance, the changes wouldn’t be so noticeable.
He got out of the truck, then winced when he took a step. His stump ached. He’d done too much, too fast, ignoring the advice from his doctor and therapists. He was supposed to get used to the prosthesis over time, to use crutches or a walker. Not that he would.
He limped over to a big rock and sat down, then pulled up his jeans and unhooked the plastic and metal replacing what had once been flesh and bone.
His knee was all banged up, scarred and still red in places. The field surgeon in Afghanistan had done his best to save Mitch’s leg, or at least what had been left of it. For that Mitch would always be grateful. Not happy, exactly, but grateful.
He hurt everywhere and on the days when he didn’t want to bother getting out of bed he reminded himself that, compared to a lot of soldiers, all he had was a scratch and he needed to get over it. His buddy, Pete, had risked his life to drag Mitch to safety and had gotten shot for his efforts. So Mitch owed him, too. There were…
The sound of steady hooves caught his attention. He started to stand, remembered too late he was missing a foot and nearly fell over. He grabbed for the rock and managed to stay upright. But before he could strap his prosthesis back in place, a horse and rider joined him on the rocky ledge.
Mitch stared at the one person in all the world he never wanted to see again. Did it have to be now? With him holding his fake leg in one hand? Did he have to look like the cripple he was?
Anger welled up inside of him. Living, hot anger that wanted to explode and burn and destroy.
“Get the hell off my land,” he growled. “You’re not welcome here.”
“Hello, Mitch,” she said, not acknowledging his order. “I just heard that you were back.”
Skye Titan drew her horse to a halt, slid from the saddle and onto the ground. She pulled off her cowboy hat.
Despite the years that had passed, she looked exactly as he remembered. Her dark red hair contrasted with her pale skin. Eyes the color of spring grass stared into his. She looked good. Too good, all curves and temptation.
“How are you?” she asked.
He motioned to the prosthesis. “How do you think I am? Go away. You’re not anyone I want to talk to.”
She wore jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, one that hugged her breasts in a way that irritated him even more.
“I don’t think I’m leaving just yet,” she said.
His gaze dropped to her left hand. He didn’t see a ring. “What happened to husband number one? Daddy tell you to dump him?”
“Ray died,” she said, her gaze never leaving his.
“Living life as the rich widow or has Jed married you off again? Who is it this time, Skye? An old tycoon or some international banker?”
THE MITCH CASSIDY Skye remembered had been a funny, easygoing guy who rode like the wind and could kiss her senseless in a matter of seconds. He laughed as hard as he played and Mitch had loved to play. She knew war changed a man, but she hadn’t expected him to be a cold, mean stranger. His crack about a second arranged marriage hit close and hard. She took a step back.
“I’m sorry about your injury,” she said.
“I’ll sleep better knowing that.”
“Is the sarcastic bastard act specifically for me, or are you sharing it with everyone?”
He turned his back on her.
She supposed that was an answer of sorts, even if she wasn’t sure of the specifics.
She’d missed him, she thought sadly, staring at the familiar broad shoulders. His dark hair was military short, which suited him. The scar on the side of his jaw wasn’t one she remembered and she remembered everything about Mitch’s body.
He’d been her first love, her first lover and there had been a time when she would have walked through fire to be with him. But she hadn’t been willing to defy her father. Had that been a mistake?
“I wish things had been different,” she said, before she could stop herself. She meant the past, but then he spun toward her, his eyes narrowed, his mouth a thin line, she realized he thought she was talking about his leg.
“I don’t need your pity,” he growled. “I don’t need sh-”
He lost his balance and started to go down. Skye reacted instinctively, springing toward him. She grabbed him around the waist as he reached for the rocks. The prosthesis dropped to the ground.
He was heavier than she’d anticipated and the weight of him knocked her sideways. Her foot slipped. She scrambled to stay upright, then they were both falling.
The ground was hard. She landed on her back, him on top of her. Rocks jabbed her but that didn’t matter. She couldn’t draw in air.
Mitch was off her in a second. “Breathe,” he said, propped up next to her. “You’re fine. Just breathe.”
She sucked in a breath, then another.
“What’s wrong with you?” he demanded. “You’re too small to hold me up. What did you think you were doing?”
He looked furious, which was oddly better than cold and sarcastic.
“I’m not weak,” she told him. “I could so kick your ass.”
“On what planet?”
“Zorgon.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “Don’t, Skye. Don’t try to make this okay.”
Because it wasn’t or he didn’t want it to be? “I missed you, Mitch.”
The humor faded and the coldness returned. “You should have thought about that before you dumped me.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Sure you did. Daddy asked you to jump and you got out the ruler to make sure it was high enough.”
She sat up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“How much did I get wrong?”
Nothing and that’s what annoyed her most. “Mitch, please.”
“Please what?”
They were both sitting, facing each other. She could see all the colors that made up his irises, the individual hairs of his lashes. The scent of him was familiar, as was the heat rising inside of her.
He was so different, yet she recognized every part of him. It was as if the nearly nine years between them vanished and there was only this moment and the man she had once loved with a desperation that had left her weak.
“Mitch,” she said, then grabbed him by the front of his shirt, closed the space between them and kissed him.
For a moment, there was nothing. Just the feel of his lips against hers, but no reaction. She pressed harder, wanting him to want her, wanting him to respond. When he didn’t, she knew she’d made a mistake. That whatever she’d been longing for, it had been on her side alone. He hadn’t missed her at all.
She drew back.
Heat climbed her cheeks. She released him and started to get to her feet.
He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down next to him. He leaned over her until she was forced to sink onto the ground.
“There is no way this is going to happen,” he told her.
Then he kissed her. His mouth moved on hers, all desperation, taking and claiming.
He kissed with a need that stole her breath far more effectively than her recent fall. His arms wrapped around her, she clung to him and everything was exactly as she remembered. It was hot and hungry and perfect.
He thrust his tongue inside of her mouth. She welcomed him with darting strokes. They teased and danced, relearning, discovering.
She ran her hands up and down his back. He was stronger than she remembered, the muscles thicker. He’d filled out even as he remained lean. He shifted closer, his body bumping hers. She turned toward him and felt the
