The Return of Brody McBride

by Jennifer Ryan

  “But today, they’re all mine. I’m not sure I’m ready to share. I’m not sure they’re ready for Brody.” She fell into the chair in front of her father’s desk. “Everything will change tomorrow, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Running from trouble was never your way. I know you’re scared and uncertain, but you know Brody better than anyone. You know your girls. You’ll know what’s best when the time comes. And no matter how hard it is, I know you’ll do right by those girls.”

  Pop watched her while she sat contemplating just what might be the right thing for her girls. And wouldn’t you know, Pop knew just what she wasn’t thinking about.

  “While you’re brooding over Brody and those girls, you might find some time to think about what it is you want for yourself. You gave up a lot to raise them. If Brody helped out on the parenting duties, you could get back some of what you lost.”

  “Think Brody will babysit while I go on a date?” She teased, just to show her father some of her spunk was still alive and well. It would serve Brody right to leave him with two little girls while she went out on a hot date. Too bad she didn’t know any hot guys. Life sucked.

  “If he’s still the Brody we know, he’ll kill any man who comes within ten feet of you.”

  “He’s not like that.”

  “You just never wanted to see it. You only had eyes for him. Face it, you gave him your heart nearly ten years ago. As I see it, this is your chance to either get it back and move on, or see if you still hold his as well and make something out of it.”

  “Well, aren’t you just full of love and wisdom this morning? What’d you stir your coffee with, Cupid’s arrow?”

  Pop laughed, stood, and came around the desk, pulling her out of her seat and into his arms. Ah, safety and warmth wrapped up with the smell of engine grease, oil, and coffee.

  “I love you, Rain. But as your father, I am going to belt Brody one for leaving you the way he did. Then, I’ll stand behind whatever decision you make. It’s your life.” He kissed her on top of her head like he always did, and she felt better for it, despite thinking she didn’t need to be coddled like a child. Okay, maybe she did. Just once, she’d like someone else to make the hard decisions. Never a follower, she wasn’t about to start now.

  When Brody showed up tomorrow, she’d be ready for him. He’d do right by their girls. No two ways about it.

  She did think of them as their girls. And that said it all, now didn’t it.

  Well, shoot.

  She walked into the garage bay and set up to rebuild a carburetor. Damn if she didn’t hate it when her father was right. She was still in love with Brody McBride, Dawn and Autumn were their babies, and damn if her mind was sprouting all kinds of happily-ever-afters.

  Cranking the wrench over a bolt, not concentrating worth a damn, it slipped, nicked her knuckle, and blood welled out of the wound. She sucked on it for a second, then cussed Brody for being the devil, always doing as he pleased, when it pleased him.

  Well, not this time. This time, she was ready for him. And she had the mother of all surprises.

  BRODY KNEW BETTER than to skip taking his pills. He got through most of the morning without any trouble. But halfway through Walmart his leg acted up. He ignored the pain, had done so often enough when he was in combat, hurt and needing rest and time to heal. The pain he could control. Lock it away in his mind somewhere and focus on something else. Like what color sheets should he buy for the bed. White or blue? What would Rain like? Both, and the white ones with the leaves. She’d like those.

  His hands shook, sweat broke out on his brow and down his back. He reached the checkout counter, every noise amplified in his ears. He needed to get out of there. Get home and take his anti-anxiety meds. Quiet his mind, so he could think straight. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. They wouldn’t understand what it was like to have a war raging in his head, guns going off, explosions, blood, men dying before his eyes, and none of it real. At least, not here.

  Deep, even breaths he told himself and followed through, just like the shrinks at the hospital told him to do. In time, he’d be better able to cope. Time and distance, a normal life would dull the memories and make them seem less real. He prayed for that day.

  Mindy, the checkout girl, bagged his items and refilled his cart to overflowing. He’d managed to restock the house with kitchen supplies, including a coffee pot and big can of coffee and cream for Rain. He’d bought new towels, blankets, pillows, anything and everything he needed to settle into the cabin and make it comfortable for both of them.

  He refused to let his mind go to that place where Rain told him to go to hell and never spoke to him again. If he had everything ready when he found her, she’d eventually come around and be with him again, right?

  Nothing’s ever that simple.

  Flexing his hands, rolling his shoulders, breathing deeply, he tried to relax and focus on the total lit up on the panel of the little box he needed to slide his card through, punch in his code, and tell the little machine to pay the bill.

  “You all right, Mister?”

  “Fine.” He managed to slide his card, but it took him a second to remember his PIN. He got it on the second try, only adding to his anxiety.

  Outside, he scanned the rows and rows of parked cars, trying to remember where he parked. He took a second to find his truck near the end, two rows over on the left from the front doors. Before he stepped into the street, he stopped and tilted his head enough to scan the roofline for snipers. They weren’t there, of course, but he felt compelled to check all the same.

  The best thing to do was head straight home. He had deliveries lined up all afternoon. A new refrigerator, new furniture for the living room, a new washer and dryer for the mudroom off the back of the cabin, and the all-important brand new mattress set for the old iron bed upstairs.

  The landscapers were coming to tame the wild landscape around the cabin. He hired a road crew to grate and gravel the driveway. A contractor was coming to discuss and draw up plans for an addition to the cabin and get started on the necessary repairs that couldn’t wait.

  But he needed groceries to go in that new fridge. He’d already promised not to go into Fallbrook today, and he needed something to eat at the house. He tried desperately to concentrate on the here and now, the normal, and drove cautiously to the supermarket.

  An hour later, his truck filled with new amenities for the house and enough groceries to feed him and Rain for a week at least, he headed home a lot worse for wear, and not because his bank account was several hundred dollars lower.

  His leg throbbed, his head pounded, sweat lined his back, making his shirt stick to his skin. His stomach ached and he wished he’d remembered to grab one of the bottles of water out of the case before shoving it in the back of the truck under the tarp. Breathing hard and steady, he rounded the curve before he reached his driveway and everything closed in on him. Just when he was almost home, almost safe, the war came back with a vengeance.

  Hunkered down beside his men on a rooftop, M4 held firm to his shoulder and aimed at the enemy several buildings to the north. The rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire signaled the start of the fight, smoke hung heavy in the air with the smell of burnt gunpowder. The whiz of a rocket-propelled grenade rang out right before it exploded to his left.

  “Move! Move! Move!” he yelled, directing his men to pull back and take cover. Bullets exploded on the walls nearby. They’d go around the other side and take on the enemy from the other direction, while another team moved in behind them. Gunfire erupted from the right as one of his men shoved him from behind, sending him to the floor. His helmet got pushed back, and he cracked the side of his head on some loose debris, blood trickled into his eye.

  He wiped it away, opening his eyes, he saw the driveway to the cabin through billowing smoke. Disoriented, everything went black.

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  OWEN LEFT WORK early, picked up a six-pack of
beer, and headed over to Brody’s place to see if he could get a read on what Brody really planned for the rest of his life. He hoped to work children into the conversation, and see if he could gage Brody’s desire to have a family. Wanting a relationship with Rain again was a good sign his wild-at-heart brother was ready for a quieter life, but kids might not be in his plans. If that was the case, Owen wanted to give Rain a heads-up before she introduced Brody to the girls and they received a bad reaction from Brody.

  He rounded the bend and spotted Brody’s truck half in a ditch. The tires screeched to a halt behind the truck. He jumped out on the run, hoping Brody wasn’t hurt. The blood on the window frightened him. He pulled open the door and found Brody passed out, leaning heavily to the right. The seatbelt held him upright just enough to make him look really uncomfortable. Blood trickled from a small gash next to his eye and ran over his face, dripping onto his shirt.

  “Man, are you all right?” Owen gave him a shake and pulled him upright. “Brody.” To his relief, Brody started coming around. He pressed both hands to his eyes and forehead before looking around confused.

  “Brody, you had an accident. Are you okay?”

  “Owen?”

  “What happened?”

  “I got caught under fire. Hit my head.”

  Owen grabbed Brody’s face and made him look at him. “Brody, man, you’re in Colorado. You’ve been in an accident. It’s me, Owen.”

  “I know who the fuck you are, asshole,” Brody yelled. “My head is pounding.” He closed his eyes against the pain. “I need my meds,” he whispered.

  Owen got the picture. Brody hadn’t taken his medicine, and he was suffering some kind of anxiety attack. “Okay, man. Let’s get into my truck, and I’ll take you up to the cabin.”

  Brody slithered out of the driver’s seat. The truck sat at an odd angle, pitched in the ditch, and Brody had to jump down further than usual. Unsteady, Owen grabbed his arm to keep him upright. “You got it.”

  “I’m fine,” Brody snapped and pressed the heel of his hand to his head. He squinted his eyes and opened them again.

  “Yeah, you look it.” Owen nudged him toward his truck, sticking close to make sure Brody didn’t take a nosedive into the ditch himself. “Come on, let’s get your meds.”

  “Grab the groceries. They’ll spoil if you leave them in the truck.”

  Owen wanted to make a smartass remark, but Brody wasn’t in the mood to joke. Pale, sweat beading across his forehead and trickling down the side of his face, the shaking hands got to Owen the most. His strong, kick-ass-and-take-names brother needed help. Owen had no problem putting whatever animosity they’d held on to over the years in the past.

  Stowing the groceries and whatever other bags he could fit into his truck, he jumped in and took off for the cabin. Brody sat quietly with his hand braced on his forehead, elbow propped on the door.

  Neither spoke until they reached the cabin. A large delivery truck sat parked out front. Two men wheeled the old washer and dryer out of the cabin and up into the back.

  “Damn, Brody. You smashed your truck and now they’re repo-ing your shit.” He made sure to look properly appalled.

  Brody turned slowly, looking pissed off and mean. “Seriously?”

  Owen busted up laughing. After a moment, the corner of Brody’s mouth tilted up in half a smile. Satisfied Brody was starting to relax, Owen got out of the truck and hauled in the groceries, leaving Brody to follow at his own slow pace. He limped heavily on his left leg.

  Owen dumped several bags of groceries in the kitchen next to the brand new stainless steel refrigerator. The cupboard held two intact glasses. Rinsing one out, Owen filled and left it on the table by the bottles of pills, and headed out to bring the rest of the bags in. Brody eased up the steps, his skin a sickly shade of green.

  Owen stood among the weeds, pulled out his cell, and called Eli.

  “Hey, it’s Owen. Can you come out to the cabin? Brody had an accident. His truck is in the ditch on the road just before the driveway.”

  “Anyone hurt?” Eli asked, concern laced in his deep voice.

  “Brody’s a little worse for wear, but that has more to do with being a soldier than the accident.”

  “How bad is the truck?”

  “The front right tire is blown, not sure about the rim. I think the radiator is busted. Other than that, I didn’t really have time to check it out.”

  “Okay. I’m on my way. We’ll get it fixed up tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Eli. I know he’s not your favorite person . . .”

  “If he’ll be driving my granddaughters around, he’ll need a safe, reliable truck,” Eli answered without giving his opinion on Brody.

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  Eli hung up without a goodbye. Owen wasn’t sure how Eli felt about the accident, his only expressed concern for Dawn and Autumn. Owen had to admit, he was worried about Brody’s condition and whether or not he’d be able to take care of the girls on his own. He’d get that answer before he left tonight. Brody might not want to talk about his messed up head, but he would, even if Owen had to tell him about the girls.

  Owen entered the cabin loaded down with bags. He put away the groceries. The refrigerator wasn’t quite cold enough, so he left the perishables in the ice filled cooler Brody had packed them in. Brody sat at the table, his head down, a wet cloth pressed to the cut on the side of his head.

  “Listen, Owen, I . . .”

  “Go up and take a shower. I’ll take care of things down here,” he interrupted. The delivery guys hooked up the new washer and dryer in the mudroom off the kitchen. He noted the other delivery truck pulling up outside and cocked his head in their direction. “I’ll take care of that, you get cleaned up.”

  Brody hesitated, so Owen pushed. “Give the meds some time to work.”

  “They’re supposed to haul away the old couch, the kitchen table and chairs, and mattresses upstairs.”

  “No problem. Go,” Owen ordered, knowing full well the stairs alone would be tough for Brody to manage. Brody didn’t need an audience as he hobbled up one step at a time, the pain etching lines around his eyes.

  BRODY SUCKED IT up and went upstairs without a word. Owen directed the guys downstairs on what to do. He took a minute to strip the bed, sending the old sheets over the banister to join the pile of debris below. He’d meant to spend today getting the cabin livable. He’d have to settle for getting the shopping done. Over the last few months, he’d learned some days you had to accept the little victories. He wasn’t dead. He didn’t crash his truck into another vehicle, or hit someone walking on the road.

  Owen was a lawyer, but he didn’t ask a hundred questions. In fact, he’d remained calm about the whole damn thing. Brody was grateful for that. Pulling his dirty, sweat-soaked shirt off over his head, he stepped into the bathroom wondering if Owen would call Rain and tell her to stay clear of him. Might be best for her, but it’d be the end of him.

  He kicked off his boots, pulled off his socks and jeans, and stepped into the shower’s stream. The heat worked its way into his body, numbing his mind to just the sound of the water beating on his head, drumming out the war and the tension.

  By the time he stepped out, Owen had left him a cold soda and a new towel sitting on the counter beside the sink. The towel was one of those extra big ones, thick and soft, unlike the thin, threadbare ones that survived the years and party squatters.

  It pleased Brody to see the new plastic-covered mattress on the old bed. It wasn’t hard to imagine Rain stretched out, her fingers wrapped around the wrought-iron headboard, sunlight pouring through the window, highlighting her beautiful golden skin as he drove himself into her again and again. Now, that was a daydream he could sink into and get lost in.

  The place still smelled like stale beer, dust, and some musty smell that just seemed to hang in the air. His brother must have had a hard time dealing with the smell, too. The front door and all the windows on the first floor stood wi
de open, a soft breeze working its way into the rooms, billowing the cobwebs strewn across the corners and ceiling. He wished it was that easy to clear out his muddled mind.

  “You look almost human again.”

  Brody stepped off the last stair, his leg supporting his weight a lot better after the hot shower and pain-numbing meds. “Getting there. Listen, Owen . . .”

  “The washer and dryer are hooked up. I tossed in the rest of the new towels and sheets to get the stiffness out. That washer is so big, you could wash a cow in there.” Owen continued to stir the pot of canned chili on the stove with his back to Brody. “Put the groceries up for you. The fridge is cold enough now, so I left the cooler out back to dry out. I have to say, man, the place looks better with the new leather couch and table and chairs. Nice flat screen. The other furniture should clean up well enough. All you need is a cleaning crew to come in here and disinfect the joint, and you’ll be good to go.”

  “Someone will be here first thing tomorrow.” Brody took a seat at his new table, watching Owen ignore the elephant in the room. He looked around the kitchen, noted his new coffee pot was set up, coffee can sitting beside it, along with his bottles of pills. Owen had taken the time to wipe down the counters.

  Brody scrubbed his hands over his face, noting the scratch of his beard, vowing to shave tomorrow morning before he went in search of Rain. He let out a gust of air in frustration.

  “Don’t you want to talk about my truck and what happened?”

  “Sure. Eli came and took the truck to his garage. You’ve got a blown tire, cracked radiator hose, busted oil pan, and maybe some other minor damage. He’ll fix it up, probably charge you double for the labor, since he thinks you’re a prick for dumping his daughter the way you did, and all should be right with the truck day after next.”

  Owen dumped canned chili into two new bowls. The party people had used the old ones for skeet shooting and target practice in the backyard. Thankfully, their grandmother’s silverware was still in the drawer. Owen grabbed a couple of spoons, shoved them into the thick mix, and set the bowls on the table with a thump before grabbing the cornbread out of the oven. “He hopes you’ll be a hundred percent when you come to get the truck . . . so he can kill you,” Owen finished around a bite of chili.