The Asset

by Anna del Mar

  Ash sat up. “Sounds like somebody somewhere is getting his ass kicked.”

  “How does your leg feel?”

  “A lot better, actually.”

  “Good.”

  I rubbed his thigh, just to take off the sting of the stretches, but it didn’t quite work the way I expected. In the neighborhood of my hand, the bulk between his legs rose to notable proportions. The worst part? I was curious. I really wanted to know how he would feel to my touch.

  He caught me looking. My face burned. I prayed for someone to please pluck me out of the moment and spare me from those eyes full of questions.

  He cleared his throat. “Lia?”

  I stuck out my finger. “Not a word from you.”

  “But—”

  “Nope,” I said, collecting my cell and my pad. “Don’t want to hear it.”

  “There’s no need to get upset.”

  “I’m not upset,” I said as I got to my feet.

  “Talk to me,” he said, reaching for his crutches, struggling to get up. “It’s what adults do.”

  Steady. Breathe. Cope. Or run. Run like hell.

  “Wait,” Ash called after me. “Lia, damn it. Stop!”

  Talk about a pair of obedient feet. They halted at the sound of his voice. I turned around slowly.

  Ash stared at me with unbearable intensity. “Where the hell are you going?”

  “I’ve got an important phone call from the VA coming in,” I said in my best business tone. “I’m going to take it at the house. After that, I’m going to work.” And after that, I might have to find my way to the moon in order to avoid the glare he leveled on me.

  “Lia...” I couldn’t read the emotion in his eyes. Skepticism? Frustration? Anger? “You can’t run away all the time.”

  I stuck out my chin. “Who says I’m running away?”

  “You’re bailing.”

  “No, Ash, I’m busy.”

  “What about our previous conversation?”

  “What conversation?”

  “The one we were having when the gunny called.”

  “Oh, that one.” I turned on my heels and marched down the dock. “Consider it finished.”

  * * *

  Like most Friday nights, Mario’s bustled with a rowdy crowd, faithful locals who drank by the gallon during the weekend, plus the gas company’s field crews, a handful of permanent employees from the nearby ski resort and a few truckers detoured from the highway.

  I wove between the crowded tables and the bar, heaving full trays of oversize mugs brimming with tap beer. It wasn’t my dream job, but it paid cash and it took care of the bills. It allowed me to feed my rescued animals and have a place of my own, both great sources of joy to me. Besides, I really liked Mario and the majority of the townies who frequented the bar.

  At the mike, Jimmy Martin—looking like a young Bob Marley—rasped on his guitar like a cat scratching a pole, hurling his folksy interpretation of “Story of My Life” above the noise, fitting in my name every few lines. It didn’t rhyme, but what the heck.

  “Marry me, lovely Lia,” he added at the end of the song, á la Elvis Presley.

  I lifted my hand in the air, encouraging a group response.

  “Not tonight,” the crowd intoned in unison, mimicking my usual reply. “But maybe tomorrow.”

  The place dissolved into laughter. I smiled. The regulars got such a kick out of my little trials and tribulations.

  I plunked down the mugs on the VIP table. “Here you go.”

  Sheriff Wilkins tipped his hat. “Thanks, Lia.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Jordan said. “Put it on my tab, will you?”

  “This round is on me.” The diminutive Reverend Martin took out his wallet.

  “Be quiet, all of you.” Gary Woods, the owner of the local gas company, slipped a twenty into my apron’s pocket. “It’s my turn.”

  Ouch. The pinch of a bruising set of fingers stung on my butt. I whirled around to confront Charlie Nowak, Wood’s foreman in Copperhill. He sat behind me on his usual stool, belly spilling over his belt, staring at the ceiling.

  God, he made me so mad! I sizzled inside. He was well into his cups, but it was beyond me how he managed to pinch me with such stealth in front of everybody. I took my vengeance and poured half his beer on his lap.

  “Oops,” I said and I wasn’t sorry. “I’ll get you some napkins.”

  “Never mind that.” Gary’s wife, Barb, a busty blonde with a preference for big hair and neon-red lipstick, threw a whole stack of napkins on Charlie’s lap, then turned to me. “Is it true that Ash Hunter is back in town? Rumor is he’s staying at your place.”

  “Is that so?” Charlie shifted his bulk on the stool, suddenly interested in the conversation.

  Crap. The last thing I wanted to do was draw attention to myself by becoming the target of Barb Wood’s enterprising rumor mill. Never one to miss a chance to make a point, Jordan waggled his fair eyebrows. Amusement twinkled in his eyes.

  “It’s no rumor,” I said. “He’s renting out a room at my place while he tackles his grandmother’s affairs.”

  “How long will he be staying with you?” Barbara said.

  “Not long,” I said. “A few weeks maybe?”

  “Is it true he’s wounded?” she said. “Somebody said he’s lame, scarred and deformed. He might be a little off too.”

  This time, when Jordan’s stare met mine, he leaned back on his chair and flashed me a smug smile that blared I told you so.

  “Jesus, Barb,” Gary said. “There you go again, wagging your tongue.”

  “Gossip is a delicious sin,” the reverend put in.

  “I talked to Ash the other day on the phone,” the sheriff said. “He sounded perfectly rational, like his old self.”

  “He called me too,” the reverend said. “He’s a kind soul. He takes after his grandmother.”

  Ash had talked to the sheriff? And to the reverend as well? What about?

  None of my freaking business. I should be glad he had reached out. Ash was getting better every day, but so far, he showed little interest in venturing beyond the cottage, accepting my company but otherwise keeping to himself. His medical appointments were finally coming up. He’d have to leave the cottage for sure then.

  “Wynona did a great job with the boy,” the sheriff said. “He was always a bright one, a real winner. Unlike you, Nowak.”

  Charlie let out a laugh. “I bet I can hunt elk just as good as that SOB.”

  “In your dreams,” the sheriff said.

  “Well?” Barb demanded. “Is he lame, scarred or deformed?”

  “Of course not,” I said a bit too sharply. “He’s recovering from his wounds—that’s true—but he’s fine. He’s doing really well.”

  “When do we get to see him?” Gary said. “I’d like to talk to him, if I could.”

  “Maybe we ought to drive to your place,” Barb suggested. “A visit may cheer him up.”

  I imagined Ash’s displeasure at finding Barb on our stoop.

  “Oh, no, really,” I said. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Give the boy some time,” the sheriff said. “He’ll be out and about when he’s ready.”

  “Hot tamale,” Barb said, squinting toward the door. “Who’s that? I don’t think I’ve seen that hunk around here before.”

  I turned around. A stranger scanned the room at the door as if looking for someone. His temples were streaked with white but he was lean and fit, and he wore a designer sports jacket that said both urban and moneyed. My mind’s alarms screeched a lot louder than Jimmy Martin’s chords. My belly sank to my feet. I ducked behind my tray and scrambled away, tracking the stranger all the way until I made it to the back room. Tucked behind the wa
ll, I studied the man unseen. The fear. God, it tore into my guts like a rusted blade.

  The man whose name I’d tried to erase from my mind had the means to hire people that looked just like this stranger—wealthy, competent, alert.

  The newcomer settled on a stool, ordered a beer and struck up conversation with Mario. I couldn’t hear what he said over the loud music, but it was obvious he asked a lot questions. Not a good sign. I hesitated in the shadows. I couldn’t hide all night, but I didn’t want to show my face either. I was trying to decide what to do next when Mario came around the corner and startled me.

  “You okay, hon?” he said. “You’re jumpier than a mountain goat tonight.”

  “You took me by surprise, that’s all.” I wrung my hands together. “Who’s he?”

  “You mean the looker in the mucho-money jacket?” Mario’s dimples deepened with his smile. “Is that why you don’t pay attention to our guys? You like them rich urban types instead?”

  “Oh, no, it’s not that. I mean—”

  “Don’t get so flustered.” Mario chuckled on his way to the cellar. “I was joking. You’ve got the right to like whoever you like, and I do hope you like someone nice, someone who deserves you, Lia. But this one’s asking about Ash and nobody’s telling him anything.”

  Ash? I was relieved but also instantly curious. Was he with the Marines? No, Gunny Watkins had already straightened all of that out. I breathed a little easier. At least he wasn’t after me.

  I lingered in the back room until the guy got a call on his cell, finished his beer and left without further trouble. By then, my customers had grown really thirsty. I jumped back into the fray even though my nerves felt like jagged shards of glass. Terror spin. That’s what strangers did to me. My life pitched up and down like a wild roller coaster ride. These days, I lived on hope, luck and faith. I needed an awful lot of all three to remain free and alive.

  Chapter Six

  I sat in the waiting room at the VA hospital with Neil at my feet, sipping on my fifth cup of coffee, bundled up in my coat despite the fact that the room was quite warm. Occasionally, a drop of sweat trickled down my back. I wore my hat and my big sunglasses and kept my back to the security cameras the entire time. I didn’t think anyone would recognize me here, but I didn’t take any chances.

  It had been a long morning. After innumerable phone calls, a week’s wait and an hour-and-a-half drive, Ash faced a grueling schedule that included multiple appointments with several specialists. I’d nearly told Ash about his visitor at Mario’s a dozen times. But every time I opened my mouth, I thought about how anxious he was about going to the hospital. I couldn’t get the words out.

  I’d accompanied him to most of his appointments, including the one with the orthopedic surgeon, where I’d seen the X-ray of Ash’s leg for the first time. The femur had fractured in half, snapped in two as if it was but a toothpick. The tibia and the fibula showed two breaks, healed, thank God. The foot was the worst. It had been shattered in the explosion and rebuilt with plates, pins, mesh and wires. It was a miracle that the doctors had been able to reconstruct it in the first place.

  “The marvels of modern medicine.” The doctor had said as he turned from the screen to examine Ash’s leg. “From one to ten, what’s your pain level?”

  “Two,” Ash said.

  “Eleven,” I put in. “If he were human, he’d tell you. He doesn’t take the pain meds, so he hurts a lot. And by the way, the leg cramps all the time.”

  “There’s the honest answer,” the doctor said.

  “Tattletale,” Ash mouthed.

  “Damn IEDs have done their share of damage,” the doctor said. “It’s like stepping on barbed wire every time you put your foot down.”

  Ash snapped. “How the hell would you know?”

  I squeezed his hand and chastened him with my best “watch your temper” look.

  The doctor sighed and, pushing off from his stool, lifted up the cuff of his pant to display a futuristic prosthesis springing from his shoe.

  “Sorry,” Ash muttered. “I’m such an asshole. Where?”

  “Fallujah,” the doctor said. “Are we good now?”

  “We’re good,” Ash said.

  “I gave up the limb to live pain free,” the doctor said. “You may not be ready yet, but remember, you have options. There are no guarantees that your leg—especially your foot—will hold up for long-term daily use. I don’t know that it can stand the additional wear and tear that a full return to the service would entail.”

  The doctor went on to rattle off a long list of possible complications that could require surgical interventions and amputation, including stress breaks, faulty calcifications and more infections. The spiel was enough to make me frantic with worry. I started to bite my pinkie nail, but Ash shook his head and I dropped my hand, at least for the moment.

  After that, Ash went to do his mental health evaluation. He was now attending the last appointment of the morning with the orthopedist while I got copies of his medical reports. Sitting in the waiting room, I ruffled through the thick folder and took a deep breath. I’d be happy when we got out of the city and returned to the relative safety of my little valley.

  A very pregnant woman plopped down next to me. “Husband? Brother? Sister?” she asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Are you here waiting for your husband?” She pulled out a set of needles and some yellow yarn from her quilted bag.

  “Oh, no,” I said. “He’s not my—well—I guess he’s my boyfriend.”

  “Aw, how sweet.” The woman knitted as she spoke. “I’m waiting for my husband. Afghanistan. Where did your guy get wounded?”

  “Afghanistan too, I think.”

  “Helmand, Kandahar or Kunar province?”

  I had no clue.

  “Don’t take it personally,” the woman said. “It’s hard for them to talk about these things.”

  Any additional attempts that I’d made to talk to Ash about his time abroad had been met by silence and gruff. I didn’t push him. His silence seemed fair, since I didn’t want to talk about my past either. Besides, we were getting along. Some days, he didn’t even ask too many questions.

  “Is this your first time at the VA?” the woman said.

  “Yep.” I folded and refolded Ash’s leather jacket on my lap.

  “It’s going to be okay.” She eyed my jittery foot. “Try to relax.”

  I tried to repress the impulse. “I’m super caffeinated.”

  “If it gets you through the day, caffeine is better than drugs and alcohol.” She knitted furiously. “Our guys, they survived. We’re the lucky ones. The rest is just gravy. Think about all of those who didn’t make it back home.”

  My own problems had insulated me from the pain and hardship of families like hers. A war fought so far away seemed like a movie on TV. It was easy to forget the sacrifices of these men and women when one didn’t have to worry about improvised explosive devices in the streets or terrorists in one’s backyard.

  “There he is!” The woman put away her knitting needles and, flashing a dazzling smile, got up to meet her husband. He balanced on prosthetic legs, wore dark sunglasses and carried a white cane, but his face lit up when he wrapped his arm around the woman’s waist. She gave me a little wave. I waved back. My gaze lingered on them as, together, they made their way out of the clinic.

  “Hey.”

  Ash stood before me, wearing blue jeans and a plaid snap front shirt, looking incredibly tall, strong and whole by comparison.

  I jumped to my feet and hugged him.

  He looked startled, but he hugged me back. “What was that for?”

  “For surviving.” I wiped a tear from my eye. “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for your service.”

  His eyebro
ws drew close together. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” I stepped back, a little embarrassed. I was probably PMSing. “Where are your crutches?” I asked, belatedly noting their absence.

  “Gone.” He showed me a cane. “I graduated to this plus a brace instead. I’m cleared to drive and I’m cleared for a round of rehab too.”

  “Awesome news.” I high-fived him. “I feel like we just won the lottery.”

  The smile on his face could have illuminated the whole of the Front Range. There I went again. Rules, I had rules. No ogling or gawking allowed. No dreaming or fantasizing either, and no cheesy metaphors, period.

  That was how smart, competent, independent women dealt with inconvenient—not to mention dangerous—attractions. Sure, Ash was cute and he had a strange, powerful effect on me, but he wasn’t part of the plan. Step one, heal him. Step two, send him on his merry way.

  I set a course toward the parking lot. “Time to go home.”

  “How about pizza?” he said, taking his coat and Neil’s leash from me and leaning on his new cane. “I’m starving.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t have spare change to buy bread, let alone for eating out.”

  “It’ll be my treat,” he said. “We got up at the crack of dawn. We’ve been here all morning and you must be hungry too.”

  I hesitated, torn between hunger and caution. “I don’t want you to waste your money on me.”

  “After everything you’ve done for me, the least I can do is buy you lunch.”

  He waited patiently for me to make up my mind. Being out and about wasn’t easy for him. He’d adapted nicely to the cottage, but the city and the clinic put him on edge. His eyes scanned the spaces around him constantly, as if tracking some invisible enemy.

  “Are you sure you want to go a restaurant?” I asked.

  “The shrink says I need to be out.” He sighed. “She says I need to make an honest effort. So I’ll be damned if I don’t try.”

  His determination to get better impressed me. Besides, he deserved the little splurge.

  * * *

  The restaurant was cozy, but the red silk rose adorning the table had to go. I banished it to another table when Ash went to the bathroom. I hated roses. Roses reminded me of the monster I wanted to forget. I had the sense he was always watching me, reading my mind, monitoring my heart. Sometimes I imagined that if I let my guard down, he would see through my eyes, target the people I liked and strike yet another devastating blow to my life.