She never considered moving with me even when they stationed me abroad. Every time I mentioned the inevitable distance, she would mention the wedding. She kept asking when I'd finish playing soldier so she could set a date for the invitations. She failed to understand that I was in the Army to build a career, and I failed to understand that she wanted a husband who would put her first before everything else.
Tabitha Carter is not for me.
Even if the bright sunny smile that lights up her face when she notices me makes my mouth dry and my jeans tight.
Damn this is going to hurt. Rejection isn’t new but the attractive and intelligent woman who came all the way to Colorado to marry me knocks the air from my lungs. She could be my future in another life.
A different life.
One where I didn’t lose my leg to an IED blast and become a veritable hermit. I wait patiently for her to notice my prosthetic. I’ve done nothing to hide it, the leg of my jeans rolled up todisplay it prominently. The eyes of people around us catch on it and linger.
Let them look. I’ve had years to look at it, and it hasn’t gotten any prettier with time. When she sees it, it’ll all be over. She’ll be polite. One thing I noticed in her messages is that she’s always polite. Even when I’m dismissive and curt.
She’ll make excuses, blame herself, and that will be it. I’ll offer to pay for her room at the inn until she can organize a flight home. Or she’ll move into one of the long-term rental cabins close to town. Her career doesn’t have to suffer. Tabitha could stay in Crescent Ridge and do her field work. I’m hardly ever in town so it’s unlikely we would ever run into each other.
I just need to not fuck this up. This isn’t her fault. I’m the one who signed up for that stupid app and proposed to her while I was drunk. This is on me. I won’t let her blame herself for this mess.
“Howdy,” she says with a cheerful wave.
Her smile has only grown wider and the genuine joy in it makes my stomach hurt. I’ll be damned if she loses a drop of that sunshine of hers. Not on my watch.
I should have stopped her from coming.
Chapter Four
Tabitha
His profile didn’t do him justice. Marshall was younger in his Army portrait with a youthful exuberance, but I prefer the way he looks now. He’s older with grey at his temples and a stern expression that makes something deep inside me snap toattention. I worried the attraction that pulled me to his profile would fizzle out in the cool light of day, but it only burns brighter.
The stubble in his photo is now a short dark beard that causes my stomach to clench. I don’t miss the prosthetic resting where his left leg should be. He stands on it comfortably, so it must be an old injury from his service days.
“Howdy,” I say with an awkward finger wave.
Should I introduce myself? The photos I used for my profile are more recent. He should recognize me. I don’t look any different stepping out of the boarding area than I do at work. I didn’t even wear my contacts.
“Hello clever girl.”
The nickname rolls off his tongue with ease. Smooth and confident like he’s used to giving compliments. I’m not used to accepting them and my only response is completely physical. For once my brain betrays me and ties my tongue as heat races through my body to pool low in my stomach. Two words shouldn’t twist me into knots, but they do.
His voice is deeper than I expected with a brisque tone that reminds me of the panel I presented my thesis to in graduate school. They weren’t impressed by the teen who sailed through college, and they grilled me for three hours before allowing me to escape.
I earned their respect then and I already have his. Melissa beat me here by three days and she did some extracurricular recon that I didn’t ask her for. Our relationship might be strictly professional, but it does warm my heart that she checked him out. Whether out of concern or nosiness, I appreciate the gesture all the same.
By all reports, Marshall is a good man. Nothing I didn’t already know but her messages were reassuring that I wasn’t dropping everything to marry an axe murderer.
“Did you get the boxes?” I ask for lack of something better to say.
I mean what do you say to a man you’ve never met in person but are already engaged to? In less than two hours we’ll be married, small talk seems painfully unnecessary.
“Doesn’t my leg bother you?” he asks instead of answering my inquiry.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why should it?” I ask raising one of my eyebrows.
His brown eyes stare at me like he’s analyzing a subpar sample under a microscope. I can’t help but feel that I’ve stepped onto a rocking boat. Every word out of my mouth threatens to send me teetering over the edge into cold fathomless depths.
