“You’d better,” Marin said, then stepped back, tugging his arm so he’d turn to face her. She was smiling when he did, though it was a familiar sad smile that made his heart give a painful squeeze.
“Don’t worry,” he said, trying and failing to suppress the urge to gather her in against his chest and not let go. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I know.” She sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist again. “That doesn’t make it easier and it’s not going to stop me from worrying. I know that you guys are going to be careful and I know you’re going to do everything you can to make sure you come home—and my gut knows that. It’s just the state you’ll be in when you get back that concerns me.”
Thom frowned, pulling back just enough that he could look her in the eye. “Did you—?”
Marin shook her head. “No. Nothing solid, nothing that I can say for sure was this time, this trip, for sure, for real…but I can never know. I never do know. That’s the worst part about our gift. You can think you’re sure, but there’s always the doubt that creeps in.”
He kissed her forehead and stroked her cheek. “We’ll be okay.”
“Right.” She squeezed him, then stepped back, glancing at the pack horse, then toward their friends, each in the middle of their own similar private good-byes. She sighed quietly and leaned against him.
“This won’t be the last time this happens,” she said softly.
“No doubt,” Thom agreed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “But we’ll always come home, Mar. I promise.”
“Except for when we don’t,” she whispered.
Thom couldn’t suppress the shiver that worked its way down his spine. The cold certainty in her voice was unmistakable.
Someday, sometime—they wouldn’t make it home.
But not this time.
