“No, dogs can’t eat chocolate,” Laney said. “It’s bad for them.”
“Can I have his piece?”
“No.”
Sam’s arms fell away from Bertie’s neck and dropped stiffly to his sides. “Why can’t I have two pieces?”
“It’s not your cake. Mr. Ransom is kindly sharing it with us. You can have one piece.” She waved the plate gently in the air. “Or you can have none.” She hid the plate behind her back.
His bottom lip started to jut out but Laney gave him a steady look that helped his decision. “One,” he said as if he’d thought of it himself.
“Good choice. Wash your hands.”
“Where’s the bathroom?”
She looked questioningly at Caleb, who pointed the way, and Sam skipped off in that direction.
Laney considered following and assisting him, but knew she needed to give him a little bit of leeway without hovering. When she heard the sound of water running, she turned back to the kitchen table.
As soon as she did, Sam broke into a loud, off-key rendition of the alphabet song.
She winced. “Sorry. There’s something about running water that always makes him want to sing. I taught him the ABC song and told him he had to sing it all the way through while washing his hands. That made him love water, I guess. He would live in the shower if I’d let him.” She pressed her lips together as she realized she’d shared way more than he could possibly want to know.
Caleb’s eyes were steady on her face. “He’s quite a kid.”
She rolled her eyes. “You have no idea. I sometimes have the horrible feeling that he’s already smarter than I am.”
Caleb smiled; a lift of the lips that curled up more on the left. Laney realized that the scar must have changed the way he smiled, stiffening the right side of his mouth. It was crooked and endearing. Her heart gave an unaccustomed flutter.
Disconcerted, she turned away. Sam shut off the water and quit his song in midsyllable. He dashed into the kitchen and clambered onto a chair. “I’m ready!” he sang out as if the world had been waiting breathlessly for his return. “Can I have some of that?” he asked, pointing to the beer. “Uh, please?”
Taken aback, Caleb said, “No.”
“Samuel John!” Laney said.
The little boy divided a confused look between them at what he clearly considered to be an overreaction. “What can I have to drink?”
“I’ve got lemonade. It’s powdered.” Caleb gave Laney a questioning look.
“Lemonade would be great,” she said, not able to imagine having beer with cake.
Caleb took two tall glasses from the cabinet, looked at Sam’s small hands, put one glass back and removed a plastic juice glass. After filling both glasses with ice and lemonade, he brought them to the table, stopping to give his chili a stir.
When Caleb joined them, Sam picked up his fork and said, “My mom makes cake real good. But you have to use a napkin to wipe your face. It’s rude to lick off the frosting. I used to do that when I was a little kid.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at Caleb. “You’re not gonna lick off the frosting, are you? ’Cause that’ll make my mom mad. You don’t wanna see her get mad.”
“Sam...” Laney said in a warning tone.
He gave her another questioning look, wondering what he’d said wrong this time.
“I’ll remember that,” Caleb said, his eyes meeting Laney’s. He picked up his fork and took a bite of cake. “He’s right. It’s good.”
Pleased, Laney ate her own piece. The three of them sat in companionable silence. She thought this was a very domestic scene for three people who had been at odds a couple of hours ago.
“Are you settling into your house okay?” Caleb asked awkwardly. Small talk was clearly not his forte.
He reminded her of one of her freshmen students, giving a presentation in front of the entire class for the first time. She decided to take pity on him since teachers are accustomed to taking charge of a conversation.
“Yes. We lived in a small apartment before, so we didn’t have much to move in and it was easy to get settled. There are still some things I want to do.” She launched into a description of her plans for her house, which she realized couldn’t possibly interest anyone but her, but as she talked, she saw him relax.
“We’re gonna put pictures of cowboys on my wall in my new room,” Sam announced. “Can I put your picture on my wall? You and Bertie?” He glanced down at his new best friend, so he missed the look of consternation that flashed across Caleb’s face.
Laney couldn’t imagine what had caused their new neighbor to look like that. She felt as if she was picking her way through booby traps, careful not to get caught by one or to let her son get hurt. And yet there was something about the way Caleb looked at Sam that told her he would never hurt the boy—a sort of sad longing mixed with regret. And it clutched at her heart to see that Caleb could only look at Sam for a few seconds before glancing away.
“We’ve got plenty of cowboy pictures, Sammy,” she said. “If you’ve finished your cake, why don’t you take your plate to the sink so I can wash it before we go?”
Sam hopped down to do as she asked, then hurried back to Bertie, who had pulled himself to his feet. The dog walked into the living room with Sam trotting along behind.
She turned back to their host, whose haunted eyes followed her son. This was a troubled man. It was clear to her that coming here had been a mistake. She had done the neighborly thing, but it was over now. From this point on, she and Sam would keep their distance.
She stood and said brightly, “Sam and I had better be on our way. I’ll wash these dishes up before we go.”
“No, that isn’t necessary. I’ll take care of it.” Caleb surged to his feet, his right leg twisting awkwardly. His breath hissed from between his teeth and he reached out to grab the back of his chair, but it skidded away from his grasping fingers. He would have fallen if Laney hadn’t leaped to his side, wrapped her arm around his waist and braced herself against him.
There was nothing for Caleb to do except put his arm around her shoulders. She heard his ragged breath rasp in his throat as he tried to gain control over the surge of pain she knew must be racking his body. His arm spasmed and his hand gripped her shoulder. When she looked up, she saw that sweat had popped out on his face.
Turning carefully, she reached for his chair and pulled it close so he could sit. It took him a minute, though, because he had to rest all his weight on his left leg as he stretched out his right. A tight, pale line appeared around his mouth when he clamped his lips together—probably to keep from crying out in pain.
Turning, she grabbed another chair, pulled it close and then bent to lift his leg. Holding the back of his knee with one hand and his ankle with the other, she gently raised his leg to rest on the chair. She knew he probably would have protested if the pain hadn’t obviously stolen his breath.
“Thank...thank you,” Caleb said when he could get air back into his lungs.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked, stepping back because she instinctively knew he would hate it if she hovered.
He shook his head, his eyes avoiding hers.
“Then I suppose Sam and I had better go. I have to read him Goodnight Moon and then half a dozen books about cowboys before he goes to sleep...” Her voice trailed off. The man clearly wanted to be alone and she was only prolonging things. “Well, good night.”
Caleb’s eyes finally turned to her, guarded and full of pain. She fought the urge to bustle around getting him an ice pack or a hot compress for his leg—to do something to help. She mustn’t, though. He didn’t want her help and he certainly didn’t want her pity.
“Thank you,” was all he said.
She didn’t know if it was for the cake, the visit, for catching him so he wouldn
’t fall or because she was finally leaving. Feeling as if she was abandoning him, she turned, crossed into the living room and collected her son, scooping him up from his place beside Bertie and setting him on his feet.
“Time to go, sport,” she said brightly, capturing his hand. “Say goodbye.”
“Aw, Mom. Me and Bertie was gonna...”
“Say goodbye,” she repeated, sweeping him toward the door.
“Goodbye—”
The word was barely out of Sam’s mouth before she whirled him out the door and closed it behind them. She hustled him across the porch and down the steps to the Jeep, lifted him inside and strapped him into his booster seat. She jumped in behind the wheel, fastened her seat belt and had them on their way within seconds.
“Is somebody chasing us, Mom?” Sam asked. He tried to twist to look behind them. “Is it the bad guys?”
She laughed and hoped it sounded genuine. “No, of course not. It was time to go, that’s all.”
“Oh, okay.” He sat back. “I love Bertie,” he said with a sigh of happiness.
“Okay, but you don’t go visit him without being invited.” She didn’t know how to tell him that such an invitation almost certainly wouldn’t be forthcoming. All she could do was hope he’d forget about Bertie if she kept him busy with other things.
Her neighbor wanted to be left alone to deal with whatever was bothering him. She would respect that and she would do her best to make sure Sam understood.
As she turned into her drive, though, she wondered how recent the injury to his leg was and how it had happened. Although she was pretty sure it hadn’t been that long ago, the faint scar on his face wasn’t new. What on earth had the man been through?
* * *
CALEB’S EYES JERKED open with a start, his right hand flying out to search for his rifle. When his hand didn’t close on the familiar stock, he came fully awake, his heart pounding as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He didn’t need his gun. He needed to find that kid—the little dark-haired boy with the big grin who’d invaded his dreams. He shook his head, trying to free himself from the image of the child waving then disappearing in the flash of a fireball. He groaned, trying to orient himself.
Home. He was home at his own place, not on guard or on patrol in Afghanistan, not sleeping on the ground beneath a Hummer with O’Malley’s stinking feet near his face.
He started to turn over, but a strong twinge from his bad leg had him falling back against the pillows with a sharp breath whistling between his teeth. After several minutes the spasm passed and he was able to sit up, massage his tortured leg for a while, then turn to put his feet on the floor and sit with his elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands.
When the pain subsided, he lifted his head to glance at the clock. Midnight. He’d only been asleep a couple of hours. It was those blasted painkillers. Whenever he had to take them, as he had right after Laney and Sam had left, they knocked him out, but then he’d jerk awake too soon, sure he was back in a war zone. He’d be half off the bed, looking for his soldiers, before reason would kick in and he’d know where he was.
Most of the time he could keep the memories at bay, but often they’d plague his sleep, coming in nightmare form, seeping under his defenses like smoke curling beneath a closed door. He knew if he opened the door, the memories would blaze up in a flash fire to consume him.
Taking a painkiller before he slept almost always triggered the nightmares, but they came more often when he took nothing at all.
Caleb rubbed his palms over his face, shoved his feet into the worn-out slip-ons he kept next to the bed and then stood cautiously, waiting for his leg to become accustomed to his weight once again, before walking through the house to work out the stiffness. Down the hall, past the two empty bedrooms, he moved into the living room, where he stood in front of the big window—uncurtained because he had no clue how to go about buying drapes and had no desire to learn.
As he stared out at the yard, he heard coyotes, the bothersome pack that roamed the area and had probably been responsible for the disappearance of many domestic animals. No doubt, the predators had dens in the nearby Mule Mountains, where they hid out, waiting for some unsuspecting cat or jackrabbit to happen by—
A sudden scream split the air, sparking a shiver up Caleb’s spine. That sound wasn’t made by a coyote, but he didn’t know what had made it since he’d never heard it before.
It came again, high and sharp. It wasn’t human, but it ignited a memory of a fire fight, of Mack, wounded, fallen, clutching his side as he tried to swallow cries of anguish that would attract more enemy fire to their position.
Memories overwhelming him, Caleb rushed to the door, grabbing his rifle on his way out. He didn’t know where the attack would be coming from, but he was ready. Crouching, moving stealthily, he slipped off the porch and hunkered down into a shooting stance as far as his bad leg would let him. His gaze swept the yard then the area beyond.
He saw something ahead of him, moving through the low bushes, too fast and steady to be a man doing the belly crawl. What was it?
The creature turned its head. Caleb saw the flash of yellow eyes. It wasn’t human. But what was it? Confused, he stepped forward. The crack of a stick breaking under his foot snapped in the air and jerked Caleb back to reality.
Whatever he’d seen in the yard disappeared with a gentle whoosh of sound.
He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, working to recall why he was standing out in the yard in his underwear. He glanced down. He held a piece of one-by-two-inch board, the one he used to prop open the living-room window.
Hands falling to his sides, he stood for a minute, concentrating on his breathing, letting his waking nightmare dissipate as he shoved the memory back into the mental vault where he kept it under lock and key.
His gaze moved out past the yard and the barn to the pasture where he’d encountered Sam and Laney earlier, then beyond to their house where a porch light speared the darkness. He couldn’t even see the outline of the house, only the glow of the light, a faint beacon of reassurance.
Reassurance? He didn’t need reassurance. He needed to be left alone.
He lifted the board, holding it up in front of his face. He’d thought it was his rifle; that he was going to protect his home with it.
No. He couldn’t be a neighbor. It wasn’t time yet.
He turned back to the house with a sound of disgust, returned the board to the sill of the window, which he double-checked to make sure it was closed and locked.
Bertie, asleep on his favorite rug, raised his head as if willing to commiserate, but then apparently decided that Caleb was doing a good enough job of being miserable on his own. He dropped his head on his paws and sighed.
Caleb looked down at the old dog. “Yeah, buddy, that’s how I feel.”
He wandered into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. Leaning against the sink, he drank it down, grateful for the miracle of clean, good-tasting water, so unlike the filtered, never-quite-right stuff they’d had in Afghanistan.
Like all the other military personnel, they’d consumed bottled water by the gallon, along with electrolyte drinks. When he’d come back to the States, he’d never been able to get enough clean water into him and he still drank more than he ever had in his younger years. He set the empty glass down and stood with his hands gripping the edge of the sink. The memories were close tonight and he couldn’t seem to shove them away as he usually could. He’d been back for more than a year and a half, but as his mother had said, he’d left the war but he’d never really come home.
Pushing away from the sink, he wandered back to the living-room window and stood, arms crossed over his chest, staring into the darkness while he thought about his new neighbors.
“What do you think, Bert? You think she ever had a husband
?”
He glanced down. Bertie’s gentle snores told him that this man’s best friend couldn’t have been less interested.
In spite of that, Caleb continued with his speculation. “Did the guy abandon her and Sam? Didn’t care that he had a wife and kid?”
Caleb’s eyes narrowed as he thought it over. “Maybe she was impossible to live with.” He straightened, his arms dropping to his sides as another thought came to him. “Or did she always want to be a single mom so she got some clinical assistance?”
He ran his thumb along the stubble on his chin. “Nothing wrong with that, Bert. But, nah, I don’t think so. I think...that I’m losing my friggin’ mind.”
Caleb admitted he was out of his element and had been for a while.
At one time he’d had an unerring sense of direction, a built-in compass that could point him the right way even if it was pitch-black outside and only safe to move a few inches. Now he tried to defend his home from night noises with a stick and stood staring at his neighbor’s house.
And he didn’t even care about his neighbors.
He turned, headed back to bed, giving in to the twinge in his leg that told him he’d been on it too long and ignoring the one in his gut that told him he was a liar.
* * *
BY THE NEXT afternoon Laney thought she may have convinced her son that he wasn’t to visit Caleb, or Bertie, until he was invited. She had left him inside to play with a building set he was using to make a replica of Caleb’s place.
Sam had only seen the yard and the house, but in his imagination it contained endless corrals made of snap-together pieces of plastic fencing, as well as a barn of cardboard and masking tape.
With a few minutes to herself, she decided to take a break from organizing her house and get her turn-outs ready for the coming fire season. During the summers when school was out, Laney was a wild-land firefighter, a member of Fire Team 8, currently an all-woman group that fought wildfires during the summer. There had been men on the team in the past and there probably would be again, but right now, it was all women who, like Laney, had families and additional jobs. The money from fighting fires paid for both necessities and luxuries.
Her Lone Cowboy Page 3