Darkness shrouded her hotel room. Daisy sat cross legged on the bed, the covers tucked around her waist. In an unending loop, the display she’d witnessed earlier between Rafe and the chic mystery woman played over and over in her mind. Sleep eluded her as the vision of her husband with the other woman tortured her. 

She hadn’t considered the possibility that Rafe had found someone else in the four years since they’d parted. His attitude toward the woman hadn’t seemed especially lover-like, but nonetheless, a warm relationship must exist between them. The woman had made their rapport obvious for anyone to see. The likelihood that her husband might no longer love her had never occurred to her. Now, the prospect daunted and left her feeling hollow. 

The memory of the last time she’d seen Rafe four years ago seared her soul. She recalled the episode in their hotel room after a parade in which her husband, being one of the Army Air Service’s top aces, had been hailed as a celebrity. 

The scene flashed through her mind, as fresh as though she’d experienced the incident yesterday. 

“I’m no fit husband for you, Daisy. You’d be better off without me.” Rafe had stood tall and stiff across the Denver hotel room. He still wore his flyboy’s belted olive-drab tunic and buff wool jodhpur pants tucked into high boots. The long white aviator’s scarf worn by all of the flyboys wrapped about his neck. One end dangled over the front of his uniform tunic. 

She’d stared into her husband’s lean face. Who was this cold-eyed stranger who’d come home from the war in place of the teasing, tender man she’d married? Where was the Rafe Wild Wind who’d loved and courted her despite her lack of pedigree? She, the maid of a New York socialite, had somehow captured the heart of the handsome Rafe Wild Wind, half owner of a Colorado uranium mine and one of the heirs of the Slash L ranch. Where had that man gone? 

She’d managed to croak a reply. “What. . . what do you mean?” 

Rafe had gestured toward the hotel room’s window, which overlooked the street down which the triumphal parade had just marched. Decked out in full military uniform, Rafe had been one of the flying aces honored in the parade. “That farce out there. . . people cheering and waving, making heroes out of us. We’re not heroes. If they only knew the truth . . . we’re killers. Aerial warfare is nothing more than mechanized slaughter. How many young men died in the skies over France? Or in the trenches? And for what? What did we accomplish with all our killing?” 

Speechless, Daisy had stared into her husband’s taut face. She circled the bed and crept toward him. “Rafe, the war is over. The killing has stopped.” She laid her palm on his chest. Beneath the tunic’s wool fabric, his muscled chest felt firm and warm beneath her splayed fingers. 

He flinched at her touch. His dark eyes burned down at her. “It’s still in my head. It’s all in my head. I live it over and over again. The machine gun fire, the screams . . .” 

“You just got home. The war is still fresh. I’m sure that in time, it will fade.” 

Rafe spun away from her, and her hand dropped to her side. She stared at his wide shoulders and the back he now presented to her. He tossed his next words at her like a hand grenade. 

“I’m flawed, Daisy. I’m no fit husband for you. You’re so sweet, so gentle. I don’t deserve you.” 

She darted around to his front and gripped his upper arms. Shaking him a bit, she forced him to meet her gaze. “Rafe, I’ve changed, too. I’m not the same girl you married. Don’t forget that I’ve been there, as well. I was a nurse on the front lines. I’ve experienced war and seen what trench warfare does to men. You’re not the only one who’s changed.” 

For a heart-breaking moment, she thought he wouldn’t reply, but then he spoke in a flat monotone. “You didn’t kill anyone. You saved lives.” 

“You only did your duty. You fought for America, for freedom, and to defeat the Hun.” 

A heavy silence settled between them before he replied. “I found out one thing. I am my father’s son.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“My father was a feared Dog Soldier. He was very good at killing people. And so was I.” 

“Rafe, our country was at war. Killing the enemy isn’t like murder. You only did what you had to do.” 

His mouth clamped in a tight line. “I’m damaged, Daisy. I don’t think I’ll ever be whole.” With gentle fingers, he pried her hands from his arms and put her away from him. “I don’t know what I’ll do next, but I’ll do it alone.” 

Was he telling her that he was leaving her? Chills rippled across her skin. “Rafe, what are you saying?” 

“Live your life, Daisy. You’ll be happier without me. I don’t even know who I am anymore.” 

Desperation overcame panic. She didn’t want to lose her husband now, after he’d survived the Great War. “No, I won’t be happier without you! We belong together. We’ll work together to help you heal.” 

“I’m an empty shell of a man who would snuff out your joy. I’m dead inside with nothing to offer. You have so much to give. You’re kind, and giving, and you love nursing. You can help many people with your skills.” His face tightened, and he stared at her with empty eyes. “I’m tainted. Living with me would contaminate you. I’d drag you down to my level.” 

Daisy stepped right up to him. He held himself still, erect, and threw up an emotional barrier she couldn’t breach. “Rafe Wild Wind, you weren’t reared to quit. I know you’re not a quitter. Don’t quit on me, on us. We can work this out.” 

He shook his head. “It’s too late for us. The war destroyed the man I was.” 

She stared into his face while numbness crept into her limbs. He meant to leave her. She made a last, desperate attempt to change his mind. She’d grovel, she’d beg. She couldn’t hold onto foolish pride at this moment. “Rafe, don’t you love me anymore?” 

At her words, his expression softened. His gaze roved over her features, touching each one with tenderness. “I don’t know. I loved you once, Daisy, and your love made it possible for me to keep going, to get into my plane and take off on each mission.” He spoke in a tone so gentle, her heart broke, and he palmed her cheek with one large hand. “But the war and the killing snuffed out any feelings I once had. I’m just a hollow husk, and I don’t want to drag you down to where I am. I’m sullied. I’m no good for you.” 

She clung to his shoulders, trembling, and turned her face into his palm. 

“When you decide what you want to do, set up a bank account and send the information to me at the mine office. Each month, I’ll deposit enough money for your expenses. Or go to the Slash L and stay with my family. They’ll be happy to have you there.” 

He smoothed her blonde hair away from her face and sifted his fingers through her tresses. As though committing her features to memory, he seared her with a hot perusal before he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Good-bye, Daisy.” 

He released her and stepped around her. The door closed behind him. The snick of the latch sounded absolute in its finality. She stood alone in the empty hotel room. 

Scalding tears sprang to her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She tottered to the bed they’d shared the night before and collapsed on the coverlet. She’d known Rafe had been struggling with inner torment when he hadn’t touched her. In the few days they’d been together since they’d both returned to the States from war-torn France, he hadn’t touched her as a husband should. He’d been distant, aloof. Though she had a war’s worth of loving stored inside waiting to be shared, he’d shut her out. She’d yearned to be loved as he’d loved her during the few short years they’d had together before the war had separated them, but he hadn’t touched her. 

Without Rafe, her world fell in ashes at her feet. 

Men’s voices and hoofbeats drifting through the open window from the street below jarred Daisy from her memories and back to the present. The memory of the scene with Rafe dissolved as the hotel bedroom assumed reality’s solid features. The blankets snuggled warm and soft about her. Through the gloom, a mirror atop the dresser just beyond the foot of the bed threw back a dim reflection of herself. She wasn’t in the Denver hotel room of four years ago. She was in Summit. The year was 1922, not 1918. 

After seeing Rafe with the woman on the street and experiencing his coldness toward herself, Daisy’s resolve faltered. Could her marriage be restored? Perhaps moving to Summit and hoping for a reconciliation with her husband had been a fool’s errand.