Heaven's Touch by Jillian Hart Page A

neck.
    You got what you wanted, he’d thought. He’d stopped watching after her first medal, on the ten-meter platform.
    All this time, he’d done his level best not to think of her. He’d been fiercely in love with her once, when he wasn’t good enough to kiss the ground at her feet. He’d been nothing but trouble back then, a disaster waiting to happen, and he knew it. Pushing her away then had been the right decision.
    She’d gone on to glory and dreams, and he’d found his niche in life, carrying an M-203 and fast roping from helicopters. It was for the best. And that’s the way it would stay.
    â€œBen?” Amy caught his attention, holding on to a tall man. “I want you to meet my fiancé, Heath Murdock. I know you two are going to really get along.”
    Ben blinked. He took in his baby sister’s beaming smile, how she lit up inside when she looked at the quiet man, who had a spine-straight, feet-braced-apart stance that shouted “military.” So this was Heath? Reserving judgment, Ben wondered how any man on this planet could be good enough for Amy.
    She seemed oblivious to the dark frown he was giving both her and her betrothed, and kept talking. “Heath used to be in the marines.”
    â€œOnce a marine, always a marine,” the stoic stranger commented. He held out his hand. “Good to meet you, Ben.”
    â€œYou, too.” And if you hurt my sister, I’ll make you sorry. He couldn’t help being protective. Lord knew he hadn’t been around when Amy had really needed him before, when her life had taken a painful turn. He shook Heath’s hand, liking the fact that he had a solid shake and a good hard stare. Only time would tell about this stranger.
    Amy seemed to be pretty sure, judging by the adoration that seemed to radiate from her. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes from Heath. The front door opened, a gust of hot wind swept in and she went to greet the newcomers, but her gaze kept returning to the man in the aisle.
    Ben recognized the sweetness of Rachel’s voice and then the pounding footsteps of a little boy run-walking down the aisle.
    Amy’s son shouted, “Uncle Ben! Uncle Ben!”
    Amy called out, reminding him to walk.
    Ben’s throat filled. The last time he’d been home, Westin had been a little guy. Here he was, bigger and older and with the long-limbed energy of a seven-year-old. His cowlick stuck straight up, and he wasout of breath, wheezing a little. The boy had inherited Ben’s childhood asthma, but he looked as if he was doing well.
    â€œUncle Ben! Are you comin’ to my game? I’m gonna hit the ball and everything!”
    â€œUh, sure, buddy.”
    Time. It was changing this place and these people. His sisters were older. His nephew was older. Regret tugged hard in his chest, leaving Ben unable to speak as his nephew climbed onto the bench seat on the other side of the booth.
    His heart gave a little twist. The tyke looked so much like Ben at that age it was like staring at the little boy he’d been before his parents’ car crash. Before his world had fractured into a zillion pieces, never to be made right again.
    It still wasn’t right. His appetite gone, he shoved the plate aside and opted for the full cup of coffee. Across the table, Westin rocked back and forth, barely containing boyish energy.
    For Ben, the memory of his childhood broke apart and time fell back into sync again. He heard pots clatter from the direction of the kitchen. The ca-ching of the old cash register. The busy chatter of voices as families gathered together for a Saturday-morning meal.
    He was the only one who hadn’t changed. The only one who’d remained the same. It was as if life were passing by and he hadn’t been part of it.
    And never would be.
    The coffee tasted acrid on his tongue, even after he added more sugar. Then again, maybe that was just life, bitter