by Janet Dailey
“Don’t go yet.” The words escaped Jake’s mouth before he had a chance to consider them. “Sit down. If you’re hungry, we’ve got a few hot dogs left. I can cook you one. Or if you’d rather have a s’more, I know how to toast a perfect marshmallow. One of my many hidden talents.”
She made an effort, at least, to laugh. “How can I turn down an offer like that? I don’t care for hot dogs, thanks, but since you offered, I’ll take a s’more. Maybe I can learn something from your technique.”
“Coming up.” Jake chose a sharpened willow stick from the bundle the students had used and eased a fresh marshmallow onto the point. “It’s important not to squeeze it,” he said with mock seriousness. “You’ll want a nice, round shape that will toast evenly.”
Kira giggled—a sound like a little girl’s laugh. She needed to giggle more often, Jake thought.
“Now you hold it over the coals, not the flame,” he said, demonstrating. “Close, but not too close. And you turn it, very slowly. See that little curl of smoke? That means it’s browned enough on one side and needs to be turned. There . . . see? Perfect.”
He’d no sooner spoken than the marshmallow burst into a miniature flaming torch. By the time Jake snatched up the stick and blew out the fire, there was nothing left of it but crisp black carbon.
Kira was laughing—really laughing. Seeing her in the firelight, Jake noticed how her eyes crinkled at the corners, and how her generous smile made tiny dimples in her cheeks. He’d never thought of Kira as pretty—especially compared with Wendy. But tonight she possessed a different sort of beauty—strong, vulnerable and as elusive as a moonbeam.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said, taking another sharpened willow from the bundle. “Let’s have a contest. You can toast another marshmallow for me, and I’ll toast one for you.”
“Okay.” He passed her the bag of marshmallows. “But what’s to stop you from burning mine on purpose?”
She grinned. “If I do that, I’ll lose. And I don’t like to lose.”
“You’re on.” He speared a marshmallow. When they were ready, they held their sticks above the coals, turning them carefully as the white surfaces darkened to golden brown.
“Done!” he said, raising his stick. “I’d say we’ve got a tie.”
Kira studied the marshmallows with a playful frown. “I could argue that mine is brown on top, and the one you toasted is only brown on the sides. But all right. Let’s call it a tie. Here’s your masterpiece. Let’s make our s’mores.”
A tray on a folding camp table held leftovers from the cookout. Layering graham crackers and squares of chocolate with the hot, melted marshmallows, they carried the messy treats back to the fire, sat down and took the first dripping bites.
“Good?” he asked, licking marshmallow off his lip.
“Mmmf!” She swallowed the mouthful she’d taken. “We do this cookout every session, but I never eat these. I’ve forgotten how decadent they are. Right now, I feel like a ten-year-old kid.”
“Enjoy.” He liked watching her, with a chocolate smear on the end of her nose and a rare, delicious look of pleasure on her face. It was a look he wouldn’t mind seeing more of—maybe from above, with her soft brown hair spread on his pillow. . . .
But what was he thinking? An affair with Kira would be a disaster—there was too much shared baggage between them, too much guilt and pain. He imagined tears, accusations, slamming doors and the open road. No, it was best to keep things as they were now, in a state of guarded truce.
“I’m guessing Paige got her share before bedtime,” Kira said. “She loves s’mores.”
“I think she ate three of them. I hope they won’t make her sick.”
“Three’s about usual for her. She should be fine.” Kira finished eating and licked her lips, stirring the fantasies Jake thought he’d just put to bed. Maybe . . . but no, she was giving him her serious look now.
“When do you plan to tell Paige you’re her father?” she asked.
The question, coming out of nowhere, caught him off guard. He exhaled slowly as the answer came together. “As things stand now, I think she’s better off not knowing. She lost her father once. For her to lose him again when I leave here—that would be cruel.”
“She’s a bright little girl. What will you do if she guesses the truth?”
What would he do? Stay? But he didn’t belong here. Since leaving the VA hospital, his survival had depended on change—new places, new work, new people, as often as it took. When the monsters in his mind threatened to surface, it was time to move on.
With strangers, it had been easier to walk away. But here, with people who had a connection to him, the pitfalls were everywhere, waiting to trap him. So far, he’d managed to keep the depression and anxiety under control—or at least hidden from sight. But he couldn’t do it forever. Sooner or later, his dark side would come out—a side of her father that no child should have to see.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I’m thinking it might be best just to leave now. I could find a job somewhere and send Dusty payments in the mail. Believe me, I’d do it. I don’t like owing anybody favors or money.”
Kira gazed into the coals of the dying fire. After what seemed like a long time, she spoke. “I know you don’t want complications. And the last thing either of us wants is for Paige to be hurt. But the truth is, until Dusty’s on his feet again, I’m going to need your help. Besides, you’ve only been here a couple of days. I can’t imagine you’d have enough money to get very far. You don’t even have a vehicle to drive.”
“I’ve gotten by with less,” Jake said, thinking of the early days out of the hospital when he’d hitched rides, gone without meals and slept in shelters until he could find work. He could do it again if he had to. But Kira was right. She’d be hard-pressed to manage her therapy program alone. And when Dusty came home, the old man would be more likely to get needed rest if someone was here to help with the work.
“I’ll stay,” he said. “For now, at least. But there’s still Paige.”
“Yes. There’s Paige.” Her tone was laced with caution. Jake thought of the little girl, trailing him around the yard, often slipping her hand into his. He remembered the bittersweetness of tucking her into bed and hearing her prayers. For the good of all concerned, those tender moments would have to end.
And he knew why. Even now, he could feel the stirrings that signaled a bad spell coming on.
“I’ll do my best to keep Paige at a distance,” he said. “But I’m going to need your help.”
“You’ll have it.” She laid a light hand on his arm. Her fingers were cool. Her touch penetrated his skin like a gentle electric current. The need for intimate contact—a need he’d too long denied himself—pulsed through his body, awakening hidden hungers. Maybe if he seized her in his arms and kissed her, it would be enough of a distraction to halt the black tide that was creeping over and around him, threatening to pull him under.
But that would only be using her. And if he couldn’t control his demons . . . he shuddered inwardly, fearing he might not be able to stop himself from going too far. He’d committed some hellish acts in Afghanistan, but rape wasn’t one of them.
He stepped back, away from her. “Go get some rest,” he said. “I’ll clean up here.”
“No, that’s fine. I can at least take these when I go inside.” She began to gather utensils and leftover food from the camp table, putting everything on the tray.
“Go now, Kira,” he said. “I need to be alone.”
She turned toward him, the tray in her hands. “I’ll just—”
“Go, damn it! Just go!” His voice had dropped to a tightly reined snarl.
Kira gave him a concerned look. “Are you all right?”
“I will be if you leave me alone. Now go!”
Tight-mouthed, she wheeled and strode toward the house. A moment later, Jake saw the kitchen light come on. She’d be all right, he told himself. It would ta
ke a lot to rattle Kira. But he wouldn’t stand for her treating him like one of her patients. If the shrinks in the VA hospital couldn’t help him, neither could she. The monsters in his mind had unpacked their bags and signed a long-term lease. They weren’t going anywhere.
Crumbling like a mud wall under heavy fire, Jake sank onto a bench and cradled his head in his hands. He’d sworn off hard liquor after the bar fight that had landed him in jail. Alcohol helped blur his memory, but it also tended to make him violent and get him into trouble. Except for the Corona that Dusty had bought him in Flagstaff, he hadn’t had a drop since that night in the bar. But he still craved alcohol. If he had a bottle right now, he’d drink until he passed out. At least it would give him some rest. He’d tried medication, too, in the hospital. It had brought on a merciful numbness, but it made him feel so dull and stupid that in the end he’d refused to take it.
What he needed now was rest. Tomorrow would start early, with Kira and her students needing his help. By then, he would have to be functional and under control. But sleep, if it came at all, could bring the nightmares—so real that they were like living his past hell all over again. He could expect to wake up screaming—or, at least, in a cold, quaking sweat.
Right now he was too restless to sleep. Feeling the urge to move, he stood. The fire had burned down to coals. The house windows were dark, but the motion-sensor light, mounted on the edge of the roof, came on as he moved away from the fire.
Overhead, the Milky Way stretched like a glittering bridge across the heavens. The stars were cold and distant against the dark sky. Jake began to walk, past the stable and out toward the ranch gate. Something cool and damp nudged his hand. He glanced down to see that the dog had joined him. He reached down and scratched the shaggy head. Animals—even horses, he was learning—had a soothing way about them. They didn’t judge or lie, offering only the truth of their being. All they asked in return was to be treated decently. Maybe that was the key to Kira’s horse therapy. Mastering a horse required patience, respect and consistency—traits that were lacking in the troubled kids who’d come here for help. But Jake could already see the progress they were making.
If only things were that simple for him.
He passed under the gate and took the winding trail down the slope to the flat rock where he and Kira had watched the sunrise. Here and there, ranches and housing developments dotted the land with light. In the distance, Tucson glittered like a jeweled beacon. Construction on the valley road below had stopped for the night.
Today he’d been braced for the dynamite blasting and had been able to keep his reaction in check. In his own way, he was making progress, too. But not enough.
How easy it would be just to keep walking—down the trail to a road, and down the road to a highway, where he could catch a ride to anywhere. He’d done it before—simply walked away, without a word to anyone, or even much of an idea where he was headed. Now, as the blackness inside him deepened, he was tempted to do it again. So easy . . . no entanglements, no complications.
But he had promises to keep and people depending on him. It was time to turn back before the compulsion to escape drove him too far. With the dog at his heels, he climbed the trail and passed under the ranch gate. The motion-sensor light flickered on as he crossed the yard to the guest cabin. Attempting to sleep might be a bad idea, but come morning, if he hadn’t rested, he’d be in even worse condition than he was now.
The dog was still with him. When he opened the cabin door, the animal trotted inside and lay down on the cowhide rug next to the bed. Maybe it sensed that this troubled human needed some company. Jake left the door slightly ajar in case the dog changed its mind about staying the night. Then he brushed his teeth, stripped down, crawled between the sheets and closed his eyes.
* * *
Watching from the kitchen window, Kira had seen Jake cross the yard and head down the trail. She knew better than to follow him. He wouldn’t want that. But she couldn’t stop herself from worrying. He’d seemed fine when they were joking and sharing s’mores. Then they’d started talking about Paige, and it was as if a light had gone out behind his eyes. Recognizing the signs, she’d hoped he might open up and talk. But Jake hadn’t wanted any part of talking. Nor any part of her.
Seeing him reappear through the gate, she’d felt herself begin to breathe again. At least the dog was with him, and at least he’d had the sense to return. She could only hope he’d get some rest and be all right in the morning.
But “all right” had taken on a whole new meaning. Jake’s arrival had brought with it a storm of changes—to the ranch, to Paige and to Kira herself. As a therapist, she’d built a wall around her own needs and emotions. But this pain-stricken man stirred feelings she’d long since put to rest. He’d awakened warm, natural urges—like the ones she’d felt with him tonight.
Not that she planned to act on those urges. Jake was like a half-wild animal, scared, hurt and prone to lash out with no warning. The help he needed was beyond anything she could give him here.
Besides, he was still in love with his stunning, flawless wife—the wife he had never truly known.
It would have been better for everyone involved if Jake had never come to Flying Cloud. But he’d already become part of this place and the people in it. Even if he were to go now, Kira knew that nothing he left behind would ever be the same.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Half-veiled by drifting clouds, the moon’s light bathed the desert in silver and shadow. Bats fluttered through the darkness, catching insects in midair. An owl flashed low, snatched a mouse in its talons and vanished into a thicket. From the canyon, the night breeze carried the melancholy sound of coyote calls.
Deep in slumber, Jake was unaware. He had fallen over the edge of memory and into the black pit of a dream.
The night was frigid, the mountain air so thin that every man in his platoon was gasping for breath. Burdened by heavy packs and chest rigs, M240B machine guns, M4 carbines and single-shot grenade launchers, they labored up the rocky slope toward their target—a remote village, situated on a plateau below a mountain ridge. Known to be a Taliban stronghold, the village was little more than a cluster of mud-and-stone huts behind a protecting wall. But the view it commanded made it a constant threat to American troops in the area. Intel had picked up a rumor that a Taliban leader had gone into hiding there. If that was true—or even if it wasn’t—it was time to blow the damned place to kingdom come.
Lungs burning, they bellied over the edge of the plateau. They’d expected to meet some resistance, but the village, a scant fifty yards distant, appeared quiet and unprotected. Strange, Jake thought, but he had his orders, and they didn’t include asking questions.
Right now the wind was in their favor. But its direction could change, blowing their scent to the village dogs. At a barked alarm, all hell could break loose. There was no time to lose. Jake passed the word down the line and gave the order to fire.
Grenade explosions and gunfire blasted the village, lighting up the night like holiday fireworks. Within minutes the place was nothing but dust, smoke and rubble. All that remained for the platoon was to verify the damage and see if the targeted Taliban leader was among the casualties. Weapons at the ready, Jake’s men crept forward, past the crumbled remains of the wall and into what was left of the village. Flashlights came on.
“Oh, my God!” the man behind Jake muttered. Then Jake saw them, too—the burned and blasted bodies of women, children, old people, and babies clutched in their mothers’ arms—all of them dead amid the ruins. This might well have been a Taliban village. But the men and boys of fighting age had gone, leaving their helpless families behind.
There was nothing to be done. Sickened, Jake was about to order his men away when AK-47 fire and rocket-propelled grenades erupted from the ridge above the village. As death rained down on them, the soldiers dived for any shelter they could find. Jake saw three men go down. He and their comrades dragged them along as they retre
ated down the slope, leaving the horror behind.
Jake’s eyes jerked open. The room was dark, with shafts of moonlight piercing the window curtains. Heart pounding, body drenched in nervous sweat, he lay still, struggling to return to the here and now.
The dream had felt so real—he had heard the explosions, smelled the smoke. But he didn’t need a dream to remember the rest of what had happened.
He had lost two men that night—men who’d been like brothers to him. Five more had been so badly wounded they had to be medevaced out. One of them had lost a leg. Then there were the others—the women, the children, the elders. “Collateral damage,” that was the convenient term for dead civilians. But he knew their innocent blood was on his hands. True, he’d acted under orders, and no one had blamed him for the debacle. But he was the one who’d given the command to fire.
Returning to base, he’d reported in and seen to the comfort of his men. After that, all he could think of was calling his wife. He was desperate to hear her voice, calming him, reminding him that there was a better world beyond this hellish war, with loved ones waiting for him to return. If anyone could pull him out of despair, Wendy could.
Still emerging from shock, he’d been about to reach for the phone when he’d remembered. Wendy was dead.
* * *
Something touched Jake’s hand. Fully awake now, he turned his head to see the dog standing with its front paws on the bed. Low, whining sounds quivered in its throat. Seeing that Jake was awake, the creature jumped onto the bed and snuggled down beside him. Its fur smelled like hay and stable dust, its breath like the leftover hot dogs it had wolfed down last night. But Jake had to admit that right now having company, even a scruffy dog, wasn’t all that bad.
Freeing a hand from the covers, he scratched its ears. The dog’s tail wagged ecstatically. “Listen, boy.” Jake’s morning voice rasped in his throat. “Don’t think this is going to be a regular thing. I don’t make a practice of sleeping with dogs.”