Harlequin Special Edition July 2013 - Bundle 2 of 2: The Widow of Conard CountyA Match for the Single DadThe Medic's Homecoming

by Rachel Lee

  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 something. 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.<
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  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 wasn’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.

  As the traffic grew a little heavier, so did his state of wariness. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, though. Not nearly. He drew the deep breaths they’d taught him and settled down. He hardly noticed the charm, or lack of it, as they passed through the center of Conard City, because he was focused on staying calm.

  Ridiculous, he told himself. There was absolutely nothing about this place that should rake up any memories or bad reactions. It had to be the closed-in feeling.

  At last, Sharon turned them onto a large gravel parking lot outside a huge lumberyard. Hambley’s Lumber, for Home and Ranch, a large sign said. The sign looked weathered, and a small corner was missing. He had to make himself walk beside Sharon into the interior, but a sense of ease overcame him unexpectedly as he smelled fresh wood. It was as if the smell took him back to a good time, and he was able to relax a bit and look around, taking things in.

  Sharon made a beeline, evidently knowing exactly where she wanted to go. He noted the way she smiled and said hello to everyone they passed, as if she knew them all. And maybe she did. That increased his comfort level even more.

  He saw the paint counter just ahead, but before they arrived, Sharon was stopped by a tall man of about thirty-five, wearing a green bib apron over jeans and a checked shirt. The apron was stamped “Hambley’s” on the front.

  “Sharon, it’s been a while.”

  “Ed! How nice to see you.” She gave the man a brief hug. “I’m just here to buy paint and supplies. Lots of paint.”

  “Gonna red the place up, huh?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Then the man’s dark eyes tracked to Liam. “Got yourself a handyman?”

  “Actually,” Sharon said, turning to Liam with a smile and extending her hand to encourage him to come closer, “this is Liam O’Connor, Chet’s army buddy. He’s been kind enough to offer to help me.”

  The response was instantaneous. Ed looked at him, then looked at Sharon and there was no mistaking the shopkeeper was attracted to her. Liam’s response was equally swift. He felt a surge of protectiveness toward Sharon. Maybe even possessiveness.

  The strength of the feeling took him by surprise, and he tried to rein it in, even as he reached out to shake Ed’s hand. He had no right to feel possessive or even protective about Sharon. No right at all. But as he met Ed’s smile, he recognized the competitiveness there.

  Ed had his eye on Chet’s widow and didn’t like a stranger moving in, especially one with ties to Chet. Some instincts were primal enough that not even a TBI could erase them completely.

  Then he stomped down on that train of thought, asking himself how he could be sure he wasn’t just imagining it all. Uncertainty was his constant companion these days.

  Ed turned back to Sharon. “So what are you painting?”

  “House and barn. You’ll have to help me estimate how much paint I need.”

  “And you’re the teacher,” Ed said with a wink.

  “There’s awfully dry wood in some places,” Sharon retorted with a laugh. “Rough, too.”

  Ed put his hand on Sharon’s shoulder and guided her to the paint counter. “There are easy ways to handle this.”

  Liam clamped his jaw, irritated by th
e familiar way Ed touched Sharon. He took another deep breath and tried to plaster a pleasant smile on his face, reminding himself he had no claim whatever on this woman.

  “Pick your colors,” Ed was saying. “But you don’t want to pick up too much of it today because it’ll start separating. What I can do, though, is make a delivery every time you need more. No need for you to take it all at once, or cart it out there yourself.”

  “I have help,” Sharon said, flashing a smile at Liam. “But I can see what you mean about the paint separating, and stirring it is no fun.”

  Stirring paint might be just the kind of activity Liam needed, but he didn’t say so. Painting would keep him even busier.

  “Well, then, which do you want to start with and what color?”

  Sharon looked at Liam. “House or barn?”

  She was asking him to decide? He’d gotten used to making very few decisions since his injury, but now he wondered if that was mostly because he hadn’t been allowed to or because he couldn’t. Either way, it was on him to answer, and hesitating too long might make him look stupid to Ed. “Barn,” he said decisively, though he was far from feeling decisive.

  “I agree,” Sharon answered promptly. “It needs it more than the house.”

  “I’d suggest staining,” Ed said, “but as I recall, there’s still some old paint on the place. The wood’s pretty weathered, though. It’s going to be thirsty.”

  Gallons of primer headed the list. “This,” Sharon said, “is what I get for neglecting it for so long.”

  “You could have called me. I’d have brought the boys out.”

  Liam felt again that powerful surge of possessive protectiveness. God, he needed to put a damper on this. It probably qualified right alongside the anger they’d helped him work on. Unwanted, and potentially dangerous.

  “Thanks, Ed,” Sharon answered, “but there was a plan in place. That kind of...changed.”

  Changed? A nice way of putting Chet’s death. Liam felt the whisper of old grief, for himself and Sharon.

  Once the order was placed, Liam carried several gallons of primer out to the truck while Ed followed with painting tools and a heap of rags.