A Reason To Live (Reason #3)

by CP Smith

  “I know who you are,” he bit out, taking a step back

  “I just wanted to thank—”

  “I don’t want thanks, not from you, not ever. Especially not today,” he growled.

  “We got a problem?” Max asked when he walked up beside him.

  “None whatsoever,” Shane answered, trying to hold it together. “The lady was just leaving,” he continued then turned on his heel and headed for his truck as his hands shook and adrenaline pumped through his veins.

  ***

  “That’s the problem, I can’t go home,” I whispered as I watched Shane retreat.

  “Why can’t you go home?”

  I turned at the question and found a beautiful older woman with long gray hair braided down her back. She was trim, smartly dressed in jeans and a lightweight sweater, and she shrewdly assessed me, looking back and forth between the retreating Sergeant and myself.

  “I, ah, sorry, can you excuse me for a moment?” I answered then took off after Shane.

  Something wasn’t right with him, and after years of dealing with abused kids and their emotional baggage, I had a bad feeling I knew what.

  “Wait!” I called out, but he kept walking at a fast pace. So I kicked up my own and caught up with him.

  Grabbing Shane’s arm to halt him, I gasped when he swung around. There was obvious pain written across his face when he turned, but he quickly wiped them clean of emotion and began to glower.

  “Oh. My God. You blame yourself for Emma’s death, don’t you?” I spit out quickly.

  “Go home,” he ordered again.

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Go. HOME,” he roared.

  I jerked back, my hands rising out of habit to protect myself when a man raised his voice, but I pulled myself together and straightened my back against his anger. I couldn’t allow this man to blame himself.

  “Sergeant, just as words have greater power than any blow a man can throw, this guilt you’re carrying over Emma’s death only has power because you allow it to. You have to know deep down that her death wasn’t your fault.”

  “Stop talking,” he forced out between his teeth, his tone almost begging as he held on to what was left of his control.

  “But I want to help—”

  In a move I’d experienced many times before by my stepfather, Shane crowded into my personal space in an attempt to intimidate me. However, it accomplished the opposite this time and I didn’t cower. I knew what type of man he was from Emma’s letters, so his attempt to scare me off backfired. Instead, his nearness caused my breath to hitch and my knees to grow weak. He was so close and undeniably male, my body tingled with awareness. And the worst part was he caught my reaction. His expression softened minutely when I gasped and he scanned my face as if he was searching for an answer to an unknown question. When I licked my lips, nervous at having him that close, I swear his attention settled on my lips and grew hungry. There was a moment of pause as we stared silently at one another. His size and strikingly handsome face stirred something deep within my bones and the need to comfort him was strong. Without thinking, reacting solely on instinct, I raised my hand to his face and placed it gently on his cheek. His eyes closed at my touch. My own moved to his lips as they tightened in response, and I found myself whispering, “You’re lost, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t answer at first. Then he mumbled softly, “Yes.”

  “You feel unworthy of happiness.”

  “Yes.”

  “You blame yourself for Emma’s death,” I concluded and he mouthed, “Yes,” without a sound spilling from his lips.

  “Please don’t blame yourself. I don’t.”

  His expression changed from bitter sorrow to disbelief in a blink of an eye. Then, without warning, he clipped, “Not another word or so help me God,” on a short growl, crowding me backward as he spoke.

  I liked to think I was good at my job because I’d been one of those kids who’d hid beneath the bed when their stepfather had been drinking. I didn’t like the loss of control or the frustration that came along with it. And this man, who had been kind to my sister, who had looked out for her while away from her family, had lost control and was suffering because of her death.

  “I’m a counselor, Shane, I know how guilt works. Which means I also know it’s sent you spiraling down a dark hole. You’re off balance, Sergeant. You need something concrete to hold on to, a reason to live, something to steer your focus away from your guilt so you can gain back control. You need to—”

  Shane moved suddenly, stopping me mid-sentence. I took a startled step back, flinching, hands raised again out of habit, and bumped into the bed of his truck, which allowed him to pin me against it. He was breathing hard trying to gain control. His attention dropped to my lips again, then moved to my hands pressed to his chest, and he mumbled, “Fuck.” Then, without warning, he bent at the waist and tossed me up and over his shoulder like a child. I was stunned silent, afraid to move. It had been a long time since someone had physically compelled me to do anything against my will.

  Shane walked back to where his friends stood and lowered me gently to my feet. When I finally opened my mouth and tried to argue his caveman treatment to my person was out of line, he pointed a finger at my face and ordered, “Stay.” There was something in his rough voice that suggested he expected me to obey without question. And for some odd reason, I did until I came to my senses.

  “I’m not a dog,” I muttered under my breath as he walked away. Too many years of cowering to my stepfather had taught me to stand my ground, so when his stride hesitated at my reply, I took satisfaction in knowing he’d heard.

  “She’ll do . . . and about damn time if I say so myself. Wouldn’t you agree, Mia?” the gray-haired woman oddly said when he walked away.

  I was just as stubborn as he was pigheaded, though, so I moved to follow him. I had to reach him somehow, to help him, but a warm, soft hand grabbed my arm, halting my progress. I turned toward the person, ready to argue, and found a gorgeous, black-haired woman with crystal-blue eyes wearing a quirky T-shirt and huge black glasses.

  “I couldn’t agree more, Maxine,” she said. “Come inside and have a drink. I think Maxine and I need to hear your story.”

  “But I need to talk to Sergeant—”

  “Shane isn’t going to listen to you right now,” the older woman interrupted. “If you want to help him, then let him be for a while.”

  “Help him with what?” a seriously hot mountain of a man with green eyes and longish, brown hair that looked like he tugged at it regularly, rumbled low.

  Lord, men grew big and gorgeous here.

  “Seriously, Max? How did I raise a man who’s that obtuse?”

  The man she called Max narrowed his eyes at his apparent mother and growled, “Pain in my ass,” if you can believe it. He turned to the stunning black-haired woman after glaring at his mother and grabbed her neck, kissed her hard, then turned and marched off inside the bar.

  “I’m Maxine,” his mother said as I watched Max stomp inside, linking her arm with mine. Then she turned me toward the bar as well and started walking. I looked back over my shoulder and watched Shane drive out of the parking lot, aching to help him. “This here is my daughter-in-law, Mia Hunter, and the thunder God that just stomped off is my son, Max,” she explained, breaking into my thoughts.

  “Um, Sage Sloan.” I introduced myself, looking back and forth between the two women. There was something familiar about them. “Wait, you’re the bear lady, aren’t you?”

  “That she is,” Maxine stated with pride. “Great name, Sage, makes me think of a green meadow during springtime . . . Anyhoo, now that we have the introductions out of the way, tell me everything you know about Shane.”

  “Oh, um, not that much, I’m afraid.”

  “Yeesh, Maxine,” Mia chided. “Sorry, Sage, you’ll have to excuse my mother-in-law. What she is trying very tactlessly to ask you is, are you and Shane lovers, former lovers?
Also, why is he so angry and determined to see you leave?”

  “You call that tact?” Maxine asked, then oddly mumbled, “Watch out for that rock,” as Mia opened the door to Last Call.

  “The direct approach is always better than beating around the bush, don’t you think?” Mia replied, but managed to stumble on the rock despite the forewarning.

  “I’m not sure I should—”

  “Trust me, it’s best to give in now. You’ll lose the battle, I can assure you,” Mia stated as they led me to a table. “Max hasn’t won a fight in thirty-two years.”

  I believed Mia when she said they’d wear me down. There was also a look on both women’s faces that said they cared a great deal about Shane. So, twenty minutes and a thousand questions later, both women sat silently pondering all I’d explained. I scanned the bar, taking in all the local color while Maxine and Mia sat stunned when my eyes fell on a calendar behind the bar.

  “Is today the 18th?” I turned and asked them both.

  “Yeah,” Maxine answered.

  “Oh, God. No wonder he said not today. I lost track of what day it is traveling here.”

  “What’s significant about today?” Mia asked

  “Emma Jane died the 18th of July. Not only did I catch him off guard, but I also brought up all his feelings of guilt on the very day of her death.”

  Mia groaned and sat back in her chair, covering her face with her hands. Maxine turned toward the bar while I contemplated all the ways I’d screwed up, and shouted, “Maximilian! Shots. STAT.”

  “I should go,” I told them and started to rise. “I should try and find him and make things right.”

  A bottle and four shot glasses landed on the table before I could leave, then Max took a seat next to his wife.

  “What are we toasting?” he asked as he started filling the glasses.

  “Not what, but whom. Private Emma Jane Sloan, United States Army,” Maxine answered, then grabbed a shot glass and raised it.

  I turned to her in shock. Tears welled as we stared back at one another. With a nod of appreciation, I reached out and took one for myself. Then I raised it and mumbled in a broken voice, “To Em,” as a tear trailed down my cheek.

  “Who’s Emma?” Max asked softly.

  “My sister. I’m Sage Sloan, by the way. My sister was in Sergeant, I mean Shane’s unit in Afghanistan. She died one year ago today, and he blames himself for her death.”

  Max looked at his mother then closed his eyes slowly, muttering, “Jesus.” He stayed that way for a moment then he opened his eyes and turned back to me, clinking his glass to mine. “To Emma,” he stated with emotion. Mia and Maxine followed suit, then we all threw back our shots.

  Max stood immediately after, pulling his keys from his pocket, asking Maxine to take Mia home. Then he kissed his wife sweetly and marched out of the bar with a determined look on his face.

  “Now that we have the four-one-one on Shane, how about you tell me why you’re afraid to go home?”

  “I’m sorry?” I replied, stalling.

  “Don’t give me that ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ look.”

  “What look?” Mia asked. “Are you in trouble, Sage?”

  “Um—”

  “You’re staying with me. I’ve got an ax under my pillow.”

  “I don’t think—a what under your pillow? “

  “An ax. You know, sharp edge, used for chopping. I won’t take no for an answer, so don’t even try,” Maxine warned.

  I stared for a moment then decided she was joking. An ax? Funny woman.

  “But I’ve already rented a cabin outside of town and planned to look for a job tomorrow if I decide to stay. I’d just be in your way.” However, after my encounter with the Sergeant, I knew I wasn’t staying long. I’d have to leave Trails End so I wasn’t a constant reminder to him of Emma Jane.

  “What danger?” Mia asked again.

  “It’s not smart for a woman to be on her own when trouble is following her. Just ask Mia.” Maxine pointed to her daughter-in-law, and I remembered reading about her brush with a killer.

  “How on earth did you know?”

  “Easy. When Shane said, ‘go home,’ your face lost all its color. The thought of returning scared the shit out of you.”

  “What trouble?” Mia fairly shouted.

  After dealing with the two women for close to an hour, I figured out quickly it was easier to give in than to try to stall. Besides, there was no harm in telling them the truth if I wasn’t staying long.

  “I’ve been receiving threatening gifts and letters for the past six months. I work as a liaison between Child Protective Services and the courts back home. I counsel children in abusive or neglectful environments and help determine who is awarded custody. It’s clear someone out there doesn’t like a decision we made and now they’re threatening me. So, I packed up my life, took a leave of absence from my work, and told my mother I was going on a three-month cruise so she wouldn’t worry. I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I came here.”

  “You came here hoping Shane could help you, didn’t you?”

  This woman was too shrewd for my own good.

  “Honestly, I’m not sure why I came. But the fact that Emma said he was a good man, one of the bravest men she’d ever met, I guess made me hope he could help me. I see now that was a foolish thought.”

  Both women’s faces softened, and I lowered my gaze.

  God, I’m an idiot for coming here.

  “What do the police say?” Mia finally asked.

  “Their hands are tied until this person makes a move against me,” I answered with a shrug.

  Maxine scoffed in disgust.

  “Well, fear not, young lady. We take care of our own here in Trails End. Once I tell Maximilian what’s what, he’ll make sure Chester keeps a close eye on you. My boy is on the city council and a leader in this community. When he bellows, people listen,” she stated proudly. “Now then, let’s get Mia home and check you out of that high-priced cabin so you can relax. I’ve got a hot tub on my deck if you brought a bathing suit, and Mia can tell you from personal experience it does the trick when you’re stressed.”

  “Um, I’m pretty sure staying with you is a bad idea.”

  “Pish posh, you’re staying with me and that’s final.”

  “Is it worth arguing with her or should I throw in the towel now and accept my fate?” I asked Mia.

  “I told you before; Max hasn’t won an argument in thirty-two years . . .”

  “Fine, I’ll pack my bags,” I replied, throwing my arms in the air in surrender.

  “What about that bathing suit? Did you bring one?”

  “Um, no, I don’t think I brought one.”

  “Excellent . . . I mean, no problem, no problem at all. If my memory is correct, and it usually is, Mia didn’t have one either, and it served her well. Right, daughter-in-law?”

  I looked across the table and caught Mia nodding in agreement with Maxine. I don’t know why, but something told me there was a story there, one I needed to hear.

  Two

  Hot Tub

  The sharp crack of Shane’s ax bounced off the valley as it split cleanly through the wood. Fatigue had finally set into Shane’s biceps after an hour of splitting logs, but he kept going. He’d burnt off most of the adrenaline that pumped through his system from the confrontation with Sloan’s sister. Now, each rise and fall of the ax was more about keeping hold of his control as he digested her words.

  Just as words have greater power than any blow a man can throw, this guilt you’re carrying over Emma’s death only has power because you allow it to.

  He’d spent the last year trying to come to terms with his guilt, and in the course of an hour, both Maxine and Sloan’s sister had unraveled his hard-won progress.

  Reaching down to grab another log, Shane paused when his thoughts drifted to Sloan’s sister. He closed his eyes and saw her face as she’d fought with him. He’d been an
gry at first, had crowded her to get her to stop talking, but she’d licked her rose-colored lips, drawing attention to her full, generously curved mouth that tempted a man to take, to taste, and he’d all but forgotten his name.

  When her voice had softened, nailing with pinpoint accuracy the way he felt, he couldn’t speak. After fighting the darkness, having it laid bare in the simplest terms was almost a relief. But the moment was lost when she’d offered her blind forgiveness. She'd feel different if she knew the truth, and the thought of those pale-green pools that drew him in and made him feel weak staring back at him with hate, had sent him over the edge. He’d lost it then and cornered her, but the sweet scent of flowers hit him square in the lungs, and for half a second he’d wanted to kiss her rather than send her away. Her hands at his chest, pushing him back, had broken the spell she had him under. So he’d done the only thing he could before he made the biggest mistake of his life, short of not transferring Sloan, and removed her from his space before he kissed her.

  Shaking off the memory of soft curves and hair so silky-looking he wanted to wrap his hand in it while he took her mouth, Shane raised his ax and swung hard, splitting the wood down the center. Tossing the two halves onto the growing pile of firewood, he paused when he heard tires kicking up rocks on his drive.

  Shane’s house, located a few short miles from town, was his childhood home. His parents held on to it for him after they’d moved to the lower forty-eight for a warmer climate, knowing he’d want to return to Trails End once he discharged from the Army. He loved his childhood home, but one day when his life was sorted, he planned to build his own cabin high up on the ridge overlooking the town.

  Turning toward the drive, he watched as Max pulled up and parked. He’d been waiting for him to arrive since he left Last Call. He knew Maxine would get the truth out of Sloan’s sister and sic Max on him, but he was surprised it had taken more than an hour for him to arrive. This either meant Emma Jane’s sister could hold her own against Maxine or Max had been avoiding the hens as they interrogated the woman. The more he thought about it as he watched Max peel out of his truck, the more he knew the answer. Max would avoid a headache that came along with dealing with his mother for as long as possible.