by Rachel Lee
She joined Liam at the table, putting one mug in front of him. “It’s hot,” she said automatically.
He nodded and wrapped his big hands around the cup. Another crack of thunder resounded, loud and hollow, rolling across the sky. This time Liam didn’t wince, but his eyes darted a bit nervously.
“Tell me about your rehab,” she said, figuring a distraction might be wise.
“What about it?”
“Well, I don’t know anything about it, so I’d like to hear. Didn’t Chet tell you I’m as curious as a cat?”
That brought a faint smile to his lips, and he seemed to relax at last. He sipped cocoa. “That’s a big subject.”
“So start wherever. Did you think it was good?”
“It was probably better than a lot of guys got. Mainly because I was so messed up. They either had to help me with the basics or keep me in a hospital forever.”
She parsed that into separate topics. “Messed up? How bad?”
“I was like a freaking baby in a lot of ways. I couldn’t remember whole, big patches of my life, I couldn’t feed myself, I couldn’t walk. It was like a lot of stuff just got erased.” He patted his leg. “This one is still trying to remember. They said it should, eventually.”
“But you got back your memory?”
“Most of it, I think. I’m not aware of too many holes, but if I can’t remember, how would I know?”
There was suddenly a sparkle in his unusual eyes, and she gathered he was trying to joke. She gave him a laugh. “Good question.”
“Basically, I remember enough to know who I am and who I was.”
That hit her, causing another pang. “That’s hard, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I know I used to be able to do stuff, but damned if I can figure out how to do it now. It’s weird. Like the door. I knew I should know what to do about it, but I couldn’t remember how.”
She nodded, trying to imagine it and failing. “God, that must be frustrating.”
He didn’t deny it. “So anyway, my memory started mending. They taught me how to do the basics physically, and they put me through some therapy to deal with the frustration and anger. Then when they felt I could control my outbursts and take care of my basic needs, I was discharged.”
“That’s it?”
“What more could they do?”
“What about learning to read and write again, little things like that?” She was beginning to feel angry.
“Sharon...” He hesitated. “They don’t have the time or resources to teach everyone everything. There are too many of us. And some don’t even get as much help as I did.”
She didn’t want to know why. At that moment she felt angry enough to explode.
“Are you going to go ballistic?” he asked.
“I’m trying not to.”
“Chet said you have a temper.”
“I do,” she admitted. “Some things just make me livid. So how were you supposed to get by? Just tell me that.”
“I could walk and talk and behave reasonably well. It could be worse.”
Of course it could. But it was a small leap from thinking about his case to thinking about how she would have felt if Chet had been the one sitting across the table from her telling her this.
“Not even any job training?”
“Once I decide where I want to stay, I can probably find a local group to help with that.”
“Oh. Really.” And how was he supposed to decide where to stay? Damn, she just couldn’t imagine it. How many others were there like him—thrown out of care and onto the mercy of friends and families or even strangers, without some of the most basic skills? Another loud rumble of thunder shook the house, and she dimly heard the rain begin to fall. She hoped it would be a good soaker.
But she needed to stop asking questions right now, for both their sakes. This couldn’t be comfortable for him, and it was certainly infuriating her. Let it go for now, she told herself. Take it minute by minute.
She drew a deep breath to calm herself, and tried to sip cocoa as if everything were ordinary and normal. Racking her brain, she came up with something positive to say. “You know what I bet? I bet you remember more than you’ve had an opportunity to find out. I mean, you’ve been out of rehab only a short time, but you navigated your way here. There are probably a lot of things still there that you just haven’t called on yet.”
“Maybe.” He smiled faintly. “Chet also said you were an optimist.”
“It serves me well. But think about it. You were the one who came up with the idea of simplifying that diagram with a bunch of different colors and a key. I’d bet there are bunches of stuff you just haven’t had time to run into that you can still do.”
He thought about it. “I hope so. I guess I’m going to find out.”
“I’m almost positive I’m right. Rehab is basically a sterile environment. You do certain things, learn certain things. And there’s a whole bunch of other stuff you never encounter. I think you’re in for some pleasant surprises.”
His smile widened. “I can see why Chet loved you.”
She froze, astounded but not offended. Then he cussed.
“I told you I just say whatever comes into my head sometimes. Sorry.”
He started to push back from the table, but she shot out her hand and stopped him. “Don’t. I was just...surprised. You talk about Chet so easily. None of my friends do. They try not to mention him at all anymore.”
“They’re afraid of hurting you.”
“It hurts more to act like he never existed. That was a nice thing to say.”
“So it’s okay if I talk about him?”
“Absolutely. We both loved him. And that gives me a thought. How would you feel about meeting some of his friends from around here? Not immediately, but when you feel more settled in.”
He ruminated a few moments. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
She realized she still gripped his forearm and forced herself to let go. But in that moment of awareness, she felt something deeper, something exciting. Something she hadn’t felt in way too long.
Be careful, she warned herself, even as heat tried to pool between her thighs. She’d been alone too long, and while she didn’t especially want her sexual urges to reawaken, she could understand why they might. They might also get her into a lot of trouble.
Damn, she was sitting here across from a virtual stranger, feeling longings that had once been utterly reserved for Chet. She didn’t think he’d blame her for that, but she felt guilty, anyway. Chet’s best friend? Oh, man, that didn’t seem right.
“Sharon? Something wrong?”
Whatever else he’d lost, he hadn’t lost his ability to read people. Or maybe she was just the open book some people claimed she was. Sometimes her friends teased her that every thought in her head was written on her face.
There were advantages to that, though. She almost smiled as she thought of the way her students always seemed to realize when they were pushing her too far, or annoying her, without her saying a word.
“I’m fine,” she lied, hoping he believed her, hoping the thought of her students calmed her expression. Apparently it did because he relaxed.
Another rumble of loud thunder rattled the window, and rain began to fall in earnest. Sharon realized the room had grown dark, and she rose to turn on a light.
It revealed a handsome man who was staring down into his mug as if he might find answers there. Then he said something that took them in a totally different direction. “Chet really wanted to keep wolves?”
“I don’t think we could,” she admitted. “Wolves often travel fifty miles in a day. I think they’d go nuts enclosed in a space as small as ours.”
“Maybe.” He stood up abruptly. “I need to get busy with somethin
g. A walk doesn’t seem like a good idea.”
“Doing anything outdoors doesn’t seem like a good idea right now,” she agreed. She wondered if he needed physical activity or just something to occupy him. For all she knew, he was trying to straighten out something in his head, or just answer a need. No way to know. “Any ideas? With the weather, I’m kind of stymied.”
“Plans,” he said. “I need a plan.”
“In what way?”
“I need a list. I need to know that I’ve got something to do.”
She bit her lip, hesitating, uncertain.
Then he spoke with painful honesty. “I’ve got to be occupied. I need to know that the next hours aren’t empty. I need to focus. It keeps me from building a head of steam. Anything you want done?”
So keeping busy helped him stay level. She understood that perfectly. In the months after Chet died, the only thing that had saved her had been keeping busy. At times she had become almost frenetic with activity. Sometimes she still did.
“You want a long list or just a single task?” she asked.
“A list would be better, but a task will do for starters.”
“Let me think a minute. There’s a lot of stuff that needs doing outside, but inside not so much.”
He cocked his eyes toward the window. “It looks dark as night out there.”
It was a good storm, all right. The windows rattled again, and this time the thunder seemed to rumble through the ground, as well. She watched him and saw the inevitable tightening at the sound. She’d seen Chet react the same way and wondered if vets ever got so they could stand certain types of sounds again.
“The dryer hose needs cleaning,” she said, calling him back just as he seemed about to be going elsewhere in his mind. “I hate that job, and it’s been too long.”
“That’s a start. I’m pretty sure I can manage that. Anything else?”
“I’ll be thinking.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “You do that.”
But she wondered what she was going to come up with. All her own frenetic activity had pretty well kept the interior of this place in top shape. White-glove inspection shape. Plenty of compulsion had driven her.
But at least now she had a way to connect with what Liam was experiencing, and that felt like a major step.
Chapter Four
Sleep was still hard to come by, but the harder Sharon worked Liam, the easier it was for him to find. It also helped that he did know how to do some things, like painting.
Two days after the storm, when she had announced she needed to go to town to buy exterior paint for the house and barn, he almost didn’t go with her. He still found groups of strangers to be threatening, but he told himself to get the hell over it. He wasn’t at war any longer, and God willing, he never would be again. Besides, it seemed downright asinine and ungentlemanly to let her go to town and pick up all that heavy paint alone. If he was good for anything at all anymore, he’d make a damn fine beast of burden.
So he clenched his teeth and climbed into the pickup cab with her. Back to civilization. Damn it, he’d done harder things.
She smiled as he joined her in the truck and put it into gear. “If you start to feel like it’s too much, let me know. There’s nothing on my list that can’t wait. Or you can stay in the truck.”
“You don’t have to coddle me.”
He realized he was doing it again— snapping at people who were just trying to be nice. Damn it. That was one of the most annoying things about his new self. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she forestalled him.
“I’m not coddling you,” she retorted just as sharply. “I’m just letting you know it’s okay with me if I can’t finish everything today. Just being polite.”
Yup, just being polite. Something he seemed to have forgotten. He could feel her simmering beside him as they jolted down her long driveway and then onto the pavement of the road into Conard City.
“I know I’m not easy,” he said finally. “If you want, just drop me out here and I’ll walk back.”
“Did I say that? Did I even suggest that? The thing is, Liam, at some point you have to understand that I have a temper, too. You’re damn well not alone in that, and I’m going to snap at you as often as you snap at me. I’m not perfect, so why should you be?”
Good question. He watched the rangeland roll by, the mountains slowly shrinking into the background.
“Do you still want to do the painting?” she asked.
“Hell, yes. I said I would.” He’d paint every inch of her ranch including the fields if she wanted because getting back on the road with nowhere to go didn’t make sense, and because he felt he owed it to Chet. And because he needed the work she was giving him.
And not least of all because he needed not to be alone. She kept him from being alone. When the noise inside his skull got too loud, he could count on her to drown it out with some conversation.
It was a dependency. He didn’t like it, but there it was. But then, when had he ever really been independent? Hadn’t he always relied on his buddies?
And where were these questions coming from? Maybe he was getting back some of his brain power, actually thinking about something besides self-control.
He glanced at Sharon, who was staring down the road. “Are you still mad at me?”
“No. I may erupt, but staying mad is a waste of time and energy.”
She didn’t sound angry and even flashed a smile his way.
“Chet liked your temper,” he told her.
“He said that?”
“Yeah. He said he never had to wonder if you were upset or about what.” He watched another smile dawn on her face and felt relieved that he hadn’t put his foot in it again. Maybe he’d get the hang of this conversation business, after all. Eventually. “But he also said you never really blew up.”
“Not often.” She bit her lip. “Did he talk about me a lot?”
He realized that she must be thirsty to know about the times when he was away from her, the places she couldn’t share with him. Even now. Maybe especially now, because he’d never come back to tell her himself.
“Often enough, when we’d be sitting somewhere all alone. Especially when it was dark. Times like that, I knew I had to pay extra attention.”
“How come?”
“Because his mind would be back here with you. Somebody had to keep an eye out. But I enjoyed listening.”
“You must have been bored, really.”
“If I was, I don’t remember it. He was really crazy about you. I think he’d want you to know that.”
“Thank you.”
He almost sighed with relief. Okay, he’d done it right. Of course, he was telling the simple truth, but at least he hadn’t managed to put his foot in it somehow.
It struck him then that he’d arrived here just a few days ago like the loose end in somebody else’s life, but he wasn’t feeling quite so much like a loose end anymore. He felt an unfamiliar smile stretch his face.
“Something funny?” she asked.
“No. I’m just feeling good.” He savored the feeling, and hoped it wouldn’t disappear the instant they got to town.
Then she said something that let him know he’d gone and said exactly the wrong thing again.
“When...when Chet was shot, he, um, wasn’t distracted, was he?”
“Distracted?” Then he made the connection with what he’d said about how he had to pay more attention when Chet was talking about her. He cussed himself. “Hell, no! We were in a firefight. He wasn’t thinking about anything except that.”
“Okay.”
He hesitated, trying to find words, but as they sometimes did, they slipped away like eels. All he knew was that he had to find a way to make her feel better. “He wa
sn’t careless, Sharon.” Did that make enough sense? He wasn’t sure. “He wanted to come home. He wanted all of us to come home.”
She nodded without taking her eyes from the road. Was he imagining it, or did she seem tenser? Tighter? “Did he... Did he say anything?”
Oh, crap. “Last words? No. He didn’t have time. It was that fast.”
“Thank God!”
Her reaction, and the vehemence of it, startled him. It was his turn to stare down the road and try to put the pieces together. He guessed she was just glad it had been quick. Well, he could understand that. Not everyone was so lucky, especially in the days of body armor. He just hoped she didn’t ask for details.
The next ten minutes passed in a chasm of silence he didn’t know how to cross. He could only imagine what roads her mind might be traveling, and he feared the roads he might follow in his own thoughts. Not because they were unfamiliar to him, but because they were so damn upsetting at times. Taking a trip back to some of the worst experiences of his life didn’t seem like a smart thing to do. On the other hand, worrying about some kind of future he couldn’t even begin to envision didn’t seem a whole lot better.
He felt like he was in...what was the word? Limbo? Wait, wasn’t that a dance? He hated the way a word could do that to him, leaving him uncertain as to whether he understood it. He tried again. He felt like he was in...a no-man’s-land. That worked.
Trapped in a moment. A little section of time. He knew there was a past to it, and he vaguely remembered that he’d once had ideas about a future, but right now it was all dim and sometimes even felt as if it belonged to someone else.
The houses were starting to show up more frequently, many of them closer to the road. They were approaching town now and a new kind of tension began to build in him. He wondered if populated areas would always cause him problems, although it seemed kind of ridiculous to him when he thought how some of the worst troubles he’d encountered had been in seemingly isolated mountains.
He glanced in the side mirror and saw the mountains, still receding behind him, and wondered if he shouldn’t take the bull by the horns and hike up there. He was certainly going to have to take the whole town thing by the horns. Repeatedly.