Snowbound - Harlequin.com

JANICE KAY JOHNSON
85
the book? Did it talk about the price soldiers like him
had paid for killing? About the callousness that so easily
encased them? Had she read about the way terror made
your skin crawl and your bowels loosen, how you had
to quit thinking about home, about people you loved,
or you got even more scared that you were going to die?
He started to back up. He suddenly didn’t want her
eyes to open, for her to gaze searchingly at him and
see too much.
The foot he couldn’t help dragging caught on something
and in trying to right himself he put too much
weight on that leg. His hip spasmed and he grabbed for
the edge of the dresser. The mirror rattled against the
wall.
“John?” she said softly, sleepily. “Oh! Are you all
right?”
The agony retreated. He unclenched his jaw. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
He turned. “I’m fine!”
Half sitting up, she shrank back from his anger.
“I’m sorry.”
This was why he stayed away from people. One of
the reasons he stayed away.
“There’s no reason for you to be sorry.” He tested
some weight on the leg, which held. “I was a jackass.”
He hesitated. “I get spasms.”
Hair tousled, she eyed him warily. “I can tell it hurts.”
“It…happens less often than it used to. Regular
exercise helps.”
She was relaxing. “Like chopping wood and hauling
it in?”