Heaven's Touch by Jillian Hart

That’s why every rare visit home was tough. How am I going to make it six more weeks?
    â€œBen? Is that you?” A familiar voice rose among the din of the diner behind him.
    Paige. His throat ached at the sight of the woman who’d been both big sister and step-in mom when he’d needed it most. He hated to think where he’d be without her guidance long ago. Or maybe her guidance had come more out of her desperation, since he hadn’t been the easiest teenage boy to deal with.
    She hadn’t changed much. She’d let her hair grow past her shoulders, although this morning it was swept back out of the way. Her arms were around him before he could register the finer lines that had cut into her face. Tiny ones around her dark eyes and around the corners of her mouth.
    Time. It was passing. Paige was a handful of years older than he was. And although she was somehow lovelier than ever, it reminded him thatthey were all getting older. He’d done the right thing in coming home.
    He’d given the ten-second allotment for acts of affection and he stiffened, drawing back, though he couldn’t deny he liked being fussed over by his sisters. “I’m a Special Forces soldier. I don’t do hugs.”
    â€œSuffer anyway. They train you for receiving torture, right?” She gave him an extra squeeze, which was supposedly more torture, he figured, before releasing him. Happiness crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Oh, you look good. What’s with the crutches? You weren’t tough enough to take a bullet without getting hurt?”
    â€œI could take grenade shrapnel and a claymore that didn’t go off good enough, but I wasn’t impervious to a bullet.”
    â€œAren’t you always saying that you’re about as sensitive and soft as a ton of iron? I just wish you didn’t have to come home hurt, but it is good to have you here, little brother.” The look in her eyes said a whole lot more.
    He didn’t know what to say. He loved his sisters, but he didn’t feel comfortable saying so. He didn’t feel comfortable with a lot of things.
    Amy brought his pancake platter, stacked high with an egg, hash browns and sausage links. His stomach growled. This morning’s swim had honed his appetite, so he bowed his head for grace andthen grabbed the syrup, content to eat so he wouldn’t have to talk.
    But his sisters hovered over him, keeping a close eye to whatever he needed. A few diners, friends of the family, stopped to say hello. Some had loved ones in the Middle East. Some just wanted to say they were glad he was home safely.
    It should have been nice. It was nice. But he was no hero. Just a man who did his job…and hadn’t done it well enough. His leg ached, his future stretched out ahead of him like a big bleak question mark and worst of all, he couldn’t forget Cadence.
    Seeing her again had opened up too many doors in his heart and in his past. It took all his effort to close them tight. He was happy for her and her gold medals. Her fame and glory. Her achievement in her life. He hoped she had everything she wanted. She was a good person and she deserved her success.
    The food seemed tasteless, but he kept on eating. He battled to bury the past, and took the local paper Amy offered him on her way down the aisle. The past was over and done with. There wasn’t a power anywhere that could change it.
    So why did his thoughts keep returning to his morning swim and the woman on guard duty? He’d watched her dive to near perfection over and over again on the grainy little set in the dorm on base. She’d moved like a ballerina, twisted like a gymnastand competed with the poise of a confident, world-class athlete.
    He’d watched later as her lovely face, the one he knew so well he could draw it from memory, had filled the TV screen. Tears had shone on her face when she’d sung the national anthem, a gold disk around her