Loving the Wounded Warrior

by Adriana Anders

  “Fancy.” I fired up the stove, put water on to boil, and laid my blanket out beside it.

  She shivered. “I’m sad that we can’t build a real fire up here.”

  “You come up here a lot?”

  “Whenever I can.”

  “Never pegged you for an outdoorsy type back in high school.”

  “Hated it back then, but we went a lot. Guess I took to it more than I realized.”

  “Want tea?”

  “Sure.”

  I settled a couple feet from her on the ground, a little awkward.

  She turned to me and I wished I could see her expression. “I assume you were deployed at some point?”

  “Did a few tours.”

  “Where?”

  “Afghanistan. Couple other places.”

  “You see a lot of action?”

  All I could do was nod. Action seemed like such a puny word for it. Lives lived and lost; things I'd seen and done and—by some terrible miracle—survived.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I met her eyes in the blue glow from the camp stove. “Why?”

  “Must have been hard.”

  “Best time of my life.” Jesus, did I really just say that? “Weird, right? I miss it. Being a civilian’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “That’s the point.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what the military’s for, you know? To keep people safe and ignorant. Maintain the dream.”

  Even in the dark, I could see that the look she gave me was half-annoyed, half-disbelieving. “You saying you went out and risked your life so we could maintain some kind of lie of an existence?”

  I put tea bags in my coffee cup and the top to my thermos, then reached into my pack for the flask I'd carried with me since I started this trip. I had yet to break it open. “Pretty much.”

  “You know how insulting that is?”

  “Sorry.” I shrugged.

  “That’s bullshit.”

  I flashed her a surprised smile. “Guess you’re right.”

  She indicated the flask with her chin. “What’s that?”

  “Bourbon. You want some in your tea?”

  “Sure.”

  I poured her a slug in one mug, topped it off with boiling water, did the same for myself in the other, and put more water on for dinner.

  “Why don’t you go back?”

  And that was the million-dollar question.

  “You know you’ve got a knack for cutting right to the chase?” I kept myself busy over the camp stove.

  “So they tell me.”

  “Really?”

  “No.”

  I shot her a grin, which turned into a double take. The light of the flames washed her pale looks out even more. Her breath mingled with the steam from her cup to make her ghostly and delicate, and my hands twitched with the desire to test one long, slender cheek. Or maybe her neck where it disappeared into her puffy parka.

  “How long have you been walking, Kurt?”

  I flicked my eyes up to her face, hoping she hadn’t noticed the direction they’d taken.

  “Almost a year.”

  She’d been about to take a sip, but straightened up instead. “That’s a long time. How much longer you got?”

  “This is it.”

  “St. Jacob?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then what?”

  I turned away from all that expectation and stared hard into the darkness. It offered up nothing in way of an answer. Behind my eye, the twitch flared up again—funny how it’d disappeared at some point. I hadn’t even noticed.

  “Next question.”

  “I’m not trying to interview you here, I’m just—”

  “I know.” The water chose that moment to boil, thank God, and I set about rehydrating dinner. The smell set my stomach to rumbling, and the twitch simmered down again. “Just messing with you, O’Neal.”

  I’d be more embarrassed about sharing this type of meal with a beautiful woman if I weren’t so damned hungry. I started to hand her a bowl and stopped. “Shit. You’ve gotta be a vegetarian, right? Living around here, with your hiking boots and your junk Subaru.”

  “You think everybody around here’s a neo-hippie?”

  “Is that what you guys are called nowadays?”

  “Nope.”

  “Is that nope to the name or eating meat?”

  “Gimme that.”

  I made a doubtful hmph and handed her the plastic bowl. “Hope you’re a fan of chicken à la king.”

  “Smells delicious. Thank you.”

  “Cheers.” I set my bowl on the ground and raised my teacup, she did the same, and we touched mugs and gazes. Something warm flipped in my belly before I hid my face in my drink. Jesus, when was the last time a woman had sent that zing through my limbs?

  “Whoa.”

  My eyes leapt to hers. Had she felt it, too?

  “Strong enough to fell a horse.”

  Oh. Disappointment swooped in to replace the excitement.

  “Sorry.” I cleared my throat, sure she’d seen the way she lit me up with a glance. “Guess I made it a little strong. Been carrying the booze since I left. Haven’t touched it once.”

  We ate in silence and I was keenly aware of all the sources of heat. The tea, the food, the woman beside me. I couldn’t remember feeling this warm, even with the summer so recently over. Probably just the pleasure of talking to someone. Maybe. Or specifically her. The way she joked with me. The thrill of her.

  “Why’d you ask me to stay?” She broke into my thoughts.

  Cause you’re pretty, I wanted to say, although that didn’t feel true. Well, it was true, but it wasn’t the reason I wanted her here. A bunch of excuses went through my mind, all practical, all silly. None of them real.

  “Lonely, I guess.” The words popped out, again not by my bidding, and I wondered what it’d be like to get back to life, back to reality. There’d be an adjustment period, I reckoned, where I'd have to learn to control my tongue again. Months spent on my own had blurred the lines between thinking, talking to myself, and interacting with others.

  “Glad to be here, then.”

  I reached for my mug and found it empty. Huh. No wonder my insides were zinging so hard. Not a drop of booze in a year and I'd sucked it back in minutes.

  “Want another?”

  She shrugged, and even in that chunky coat, there was an elegance to it. Elegant hippie. I remembered her shorter, thicker, her hair chopped, her face rounder. Aside from that sexy-ass voice, it was the lips that gave her away. The top one didn’t have one of those bowtie shapes. It was just one pert curve. I'd thought about biting it at the ripe age of seventeen, and anyone who said men matured past adolescence would be flat-out wrong, because even in the dark, I wondered how that would feel. I thought of her eyes, too, big and round and a strange dark blue. I'd have figured out who she was eventually, with those eyes.

  “I don’t know, Kurt.”

  I fought to remember what I'd asked her. Another drink. Right.

  We were touching now, just her shoulder to the front of my arm, as if we’d accidentally fallen into a near-embrace. I had no idea how we’d gotten that way, but hell if I'd shift back even an inch.

  “No way I’m driving down this mountain if I have another.”

  I stilled, heart beating like a drum in my chest. It’d be a miracle if she didn’t hear that—or feel it, at the very least. Did it even matter if she did? Were you supposed to show someone your attraction, or hide it? I didn’t know anymore. I didn’t know if I was supposed to be eager or hold back. What the hell did women want, anyway? Assholes ordering them around or a guy who listened? I was pretty sure I was a bit of both.

  “I’ve got a sleeping bag in my pack.” Her words floated up to me, the only movement besides the hot twist of excitement in my belly.

  She was still, too, which might mean something. Or it might not.
I waited to find out, breath tight in my chest in stark contrast to my restless bottom half.

  “You got room for two in that tent?” she finally asked.

  3

  O’Neal

  * * *

  Well, that was one way of doing it.

  Flushed with embarrassment and the heat of attraction, I waited for Kurt to decide my fate. Okay, so maybe fate was too grandiose a way of looking at it. But I sure was anxious as I awaited his response.

  He finally put me out of my misery and said, “It’ll be tight,” which wasn’t a no. Nor was there anything conditional in that phrasing.

  “That a yes?” I breathed, a little shocked at how ballsy I was. Then again, not really. When it came to sexual shenanigans, I was almost always the instigator.

  Oh crap, I’d just made this sexual.

  So why did it feel different?

  Beside me—against me, really—he was breathing hard. For the right reasons, I hoped.

  He cleared his throat and still didn’t budge, which left my right arm and shoulder against him. His body was warm and firm and I bet there was nothing but rock-hard muscle and bone beneath his jacket. He’d been one hell of a football player in high school. I could only imagine what kind of body he’d grown into as a mature adult.

  “There’s room,” he finally conceded, although he didn’t sound entirely convinced. Not exactly flattering. I started to edge away, but he stopped me by lowering his head, twisting it to the side, and catching my eye. Even in the dark I could feel his stare.

  “You sure you wanna open up this can of what-the-fuck I’m dragging around?”

  Of course not. He was attractive and interesting, sure, but the last thing I needed was to get personally involved in this guy’s issues. Right?

  Somehow, though, when I opened my mouth, the word No wouldn’t emerge.

  “Haven’t been with anybody in—” He cleared his throat, hard and low enough to sound painful, and forged ahead. Something about that—the vulnerability, the admission of insecurity from a man this inherently macho made me want to weep. “…Since I walked in on my ex-fiancée getting drilled from behind by some Silicon Valley dipshit.”

  Shock rippled through me. “Oh my God.”

  “Crap. That’s not the kind of thing I’m supposed to tell a woman I’m attracted to, is it?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  He shook his head, a black silhouette in the night, and against every one of my instincts, my body told me I should kiss him. I wanted to. Badly. Not the best timing, probably. Instead, I held out my mug. “How ’bout that drink?”

  With a huffed-out half laugh, he leaned over and relit the flame, refilled the water from his quickly dwindling supply, and sat back.

  The camp stove bathed his straight features in an eerie blue light, washing out the lines and making him look young again. Not seventeen, but somewhere between then and now. He might have looked more like this today, if life hadn’t knocked him around so much. I decided that I preferred the real, bashed-up version.

  “You’re sexier now than you were back then.”

  His eyes widened, with surprise, I guessed. “You coming on to me?” He sounded a little shocked, a little excited.

  Was I? “Guess so.”

  “You guess?” He smiled. “Flattering.”

  “We had kind of a rocky start.”

  “Back then and today.”

  “Look, Kurt, I really didn’t want to—”

  “You apologize again, I’m sending you back down this mountain without that second drink.”

  I compressed my mouth, met his eyes and gave in to the urge to smile. “Smooth talker.”

  “Like I said, O’Neal. It’s been a while.”

  “This okay?” I wasn’t sure what I even meant—the flirting? The closeness?

  He made a disbelieving are you kidding sound. “I like it. I mean, a lot. Course, I’m stinky. Had the same couple of changes of clothes for the past two months. I wash ’em when I can, but… Look, I want you to sleep in my tent, but I’m afraid it’s not what you’re looking for.” He lowered his head and stared at his hands before his gaze flicked up to meet mine again, his eyes two half-moon reflections in the night.

  “I mentioned I’m a terrible driver, right Kurt? Last thing anybody needs is me going home on these scary-ass roads in the middle of the night, bourbon or not.” I sidled right up against him and stared at that hot-looking flame, feeling its thrilling echo deep in my belly. “I’m also enjoying your company. Can you blame me for getting my flirt on with my high school crush?” High school fantasy, more like it.

  “Course not.”

  Rather than dwell on my reasons for doing this, I asked him the first thing that popped into my brain. “So, you walked in on your ex getting her rocks off with someone else, huh?” Nice move, O’Neal. Guys love to rehash their sordid pasts.

  “Oh, we’re going there?”

  “Don’t have to.” If I tilted my head just a smidge, I could rest it against him, and if I turned very slightly, I could catch a little bit of his man smell. “You smell good,” I said, letting his coat cushion my cheek, and enjoying the shiver of excitement at being in this unexpected position tonight with an unexpected man.

  “I bathe when I can. Wear deodorant.”

  “It’s good. You smell…real.”

  “Wow. This is…” He swallowed audibly and after a few seconds of apparent decision-making, wrapped his left arm around me. “This is nice.”

  It took just a slight shift for me to turn it into a hug. His head settled onto mine, and we were entwined. Not quite lovers, but more than two strangers comforting each other. Our parkas made a slithery sound, while the stuffing kept us from getting too close.

  He inhaled, possibly sniffing me the way I'd done him, and I sank into his body, heavier, deeper, more relaxed and easy. The water came to a boil and he disentangled himself to serve our boozy teas, sending spicy vapor curling to merge with the clear mountain air.

  After an audible sip, he started talking into the dark.

  “Met as soon as we got to college. Got engaged the day I deployed. Never even got around to…” He cleared his throat and took a deep pull from his tea, which must have burned. “Thing is, she wanted a football star, not a guy who spent his life on the other side of the world.” Another sip, slower this time. Resentment spiked through me at the notion of a woman marrying this man for whatever glory he brought her, instead of who he was. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I can hardly blame her, you know? She told me she wasn’t happy, but I didn’t hear her. Couldn’t. Not when my life wasn’t about me anymore. She seemed…unimportant? God, it’s shitty, but it’s how you feel when you’re deployed and doing your best to keep your people safe. I came home after that first tour, wishing I were someplace else. Back with my team.”

  For a second, I felt sorry for the ex. Not that I could picture myself engaged to anyone to begin with, but if you did decide to get married, you were supposed to love your fiancée above all else, right? “You weren’t happy to come back to her?”

  “Oh. I was happy. I mean, Jesus, once we got married, I was finally going to get to—” He shifted hard to the right, almost like he’d get up. I was relieved when he didn’t. “Shit. I’ll shut up now.”

  When he did stand, I thought about following, but I'd learned to wait for things to settle before sticking my nose into them. That was one good thing being a small-town reporter had taught me. People talked when you listened.

  Waiting was hard, though, because this wasn’t about work now, it was personal. And I cared about the outcome more than I was willing to admit.

  * * *

  Kurt

  Why the hell couldn’t I shut off the crap boiling inside me? I had a hot-as-hell woman, clearly into me—or at least into the idea of whatever might happen tonight—and I couldn’t let go of the shit lining my insides, couldn’t get that itch in my head to stop twitching. Couldn’t I just relax, for once, suck in
a real breath, and enjoy myself?

  She could get up any second now, grab her pack, and head down the trail. Hell, she didn’t need me or my tent. With her coat and a sleeping bag, she could fold back the seats and camp out in her car.

  That was an idea. “You should go sleep in your car.” I nodded a few times, even rooted around in the dark until I came up with her pack, and handed it to her. “I’m not fit for human…” The only word I could think of was consumption. Which wasn’t right. “Company.” That was it. Not consumption. Jesus, was I wasted from two shots of bourbon?

  “Sorry, O’Neal. It’s been a while since I had a drink. I couldn’t, after…I apparently can’t handle my booze. You need a flashlight? I’ll give you my flashlight. It’s right—”

  She stopped me with a hand to the chest. Just one slender hand, right in the center of my body, where everything was snared up, cramped, and uncontrollable. Emotions writhing like parasitic snakes. I'd been trying to get rid of these alien feelings for a year now. Or at least calm them, but I couldn’t control what didn’t feel like me.

  O’Neal’s hand, though…

  It took me a few seconds to realize I was breathing just fine. Air flowed in and out, effortlessly. And the eye itch was gone—no headache, no pressure, nothing but nerves and excitement.

  “I need to pee. And then I’m going to sleep. In your tent. You don’t get violent in your sleep or anything like that, do you?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Okay.” One decisive nod of her blonde head, her battering ram of a hand disappeared, and she took off into the darkness. One…two…three. I counted out the steps to the tent, toed off my shoes and went in, then realized I'd need to hit the head, too. I didn’t like the idea of entering the tent once she’d already settled, but lying here waiting was worse.

  Much, much worse.

  I crawled out just as she showed up with her pack. We maneuvered awkwardly around each other, and I took care of business before heading back in, nerves and excitement fighting in my veins.

  I found her in her sleeping bag, hair hanging around her face as she looked at something on her phone.