He worked to think abstractly about that night. To analyze motives instead of reliving moments.
Putting his life on the line hadn’t been a problem for Tatum because death was a peripheral concept—something so far off in the distance that he couldn’t make it out.
That shot had erased his sense of invulnerability.
A bullet, weighing less than ten grams, made him think about what his death would do to his parents for the first time.
They would break. His mom would sob. They would call the pastor, pray, use their faith to get them through. Every trip home from college, his mom said goodbye as if it were their last, using long hugs and standing at the end of the drive until his truck was out of sight. After he enlisted, her hugs got longer.
His upbringing—a mix of hard labor and unconditional love—was his foundation, his shield against the evil he fought and faced on a daily basis. No matter how many bad guys he went up against, he knew there were a hundred and fifty-one acres in Wyoming where God’s goodness could be found.
Homesickness stabbed at his heart.
His phone signaled an email. He read the instructions from Nelson twice before setting the phone aside. He paced, hoping to shake off the blues.
His trip down memory lane was Neese’s fault. She had him talking about things he was better off keeping behind locked doors. Talking about his home. Sneaking out like a couple of kids headed to the swimming hole didn’t do his concentration any good.
A smile played at his lips.
Her sense of adventure was refreshing. He didn’t remember women being fun, like his buddies. She’d probably strap on a backpack and hike the Tetons with him. He brushed his hair off his forehead. He hadn’t thought about that bucket list item in a long time.
“Forget the girl and get to work,” he said. Checking his watch, he got dressed to meet the princess.
Even though he was making the contacts and on schedule for this trip, his mind was on Neese. She might be at the café, and because of that, he trimmed his beard, pressed his slacks, and used an extra dash of body spray.
Then he called himself an idiot and headed for the door.
Chapter Eight
Nyssa sipped her orange tea, grateful for the aroma of home that floated from her cup. She’d spent the morning combing through ebooks, looking for information she might use when talking with the Secretary of State the very next day. Besides their oranges, which she found sold for an obscene amount in America, Zimrada had a few amenities she could offer to share with their new allies should the need arise.
Her attention traveled to the large window, where she had a view of several apartment buildings and the gray sky.
So far on this trip, she’d seen the interior of the ballroom, the interior of the hotel room, and the view from the limo window as they drove from the airport to the hotel. Not exactly the introduction to America that she’d been hoping for, but today was set aside for sightseeing. The sight she was most anxious to see had brown hair and silver eyes, a straight nose and the most delicious lips …
Her phone blasted a trumpeter’s royal announcement. “That would be my mother,” Nyssa muttered as she snagged the phone off the nightstand and swiped to answer the video call. Her mother never used the video chat option on the island, but Nyssa goes to America and she’s suddenly a pro.
“Hello, Mother.” Nyssa settled back into her chair.
Mother’s phone sat on the lower table, angling slightly up. It must have been propped against the tea kettle, because Nyssa could see a familiar scene from home. Her mother was dressed all in white, the billowy fabric rustling in the morning breeze. Behind her, the palace’s pink stucco soaked in the sun. Nyssa missed the sunshine. DC was under cloud cover.
“Hello. I scheduled a date for you with Prince Marius for Friday.” Mother set her teacup delicately into the saucer.
Nyssa scrunched up her face. After the lengths she’d gone through to avoid the prince the evening before, she couldn’t believe he was thrust in her path once again. Her mother was relentless as a matchmaker. Nyssa had thought it was funny when she was arranging meetings for her older brother. Now that he was safely settled in an official courtship, the queen moved on to her second-born.
Nyssa frowned. She’d been so wrapped up in Tatum, literally and figuratively, that she’d had a morning free of any thoughts of Marius.
“Is something wrong?” asked Mother.
An irritation she was unfamiliar with worked its way up Nyssa’s spine. “Not a thing. I swoon every time a man asks my mother for a date. It’s so romantic.”
Mother sniffed. “Romance can come later, my love.”
“When? When we are expecting our first child and I’m the size of a whale? Or, perhaps when I am changing a diaper he’ll swoon at my swaddling abilities and we’ll be unable to control ourselves.”
Mother stared. “It’s possible. My mother told me love is woven into your life in small threads until, one day, you look back and see the beautiful tapestry the two of you have created.”
When she said it like that …
