“It must have been quite a change for you.” She could see the regret in his eyes, although he said nothing for a moment, staring out across the green pasture, deep in thought. Tara swore she could feel Harper wrestling with a lot of sudden emotions.
“I’m afraid Olivia wasn’t prepared for how I’d come home after nine months of combat. It was hard on her.”
“And hard on you, too?”
“Yes, I suppose so. I was afraid to sleep in the same bed with her when I came home. She took it the wrong way, really hurt her feelings and trust in me.”
“You must have had a pretty bad deployment. A lot of combat?”
“Yeah, you could say that. I was waking up fighting, striking out. I was afraid if she slept with me, I’d hit and hurt her by accident. I tried to explain it to her.”
“But she didn’t have the maturity to understand?”
“She tried,” he said quietly. “But yes, age does make a difference, especially in something like a marriage.”
“Did she have a temper?”
“Yes. And mine was hair-trigger, too, because of my PTSD. We both lost our tempers and I would yell at her. And she’d yell back. I wasn’t exactly mature about it either.”
“At least you had a reason,” Tara muttered. “I see you on some days, Harper, when you’re feeling edgy because of the PTSD, get out of our house and go to the barn to work.”
“I learned through my marriage with Olivia not to stay to try to sort it out when I’m feeling like that, Tara.” He gave her a concerned look. “I’d never want to hurt you when I’m in that space. Olivia was my whipping post and I didn’t have the brains to figure it out until it was too late.”
“But she never figured it out either? Was she as defensive as angry when you were? Did she verbally attack you?” Tara knew Olivia was a spoiled, willful child, not a woman who had maturity. She was pretty sure Olivia got her way with her temper tantrums with her parents and, later, she was playing it out on Harper. Tara couldn’t imagine the stress on him if Olivia didn’t grow up and lose her narcissism and selfishness.
“No, she was pretty self-centered. But what teen isn’t? I know I was. I’m sure you could look back and see it in yourself.”
“I don’t know,” she answered, “because my parents taught me early on to care for others. I’ll bet your parents were like that with you, too. They didn’t let you fall into that me, me, me syndrome that a lot of kids do.”
“Yeah,” he said wryly, “my parents were an awful lot like yours: responsibility, duty to others and respect for all regardless.”
“How did her parents respond to you?”
“Not well.” He sighed. “But at the time, I didn’t care. All I knew was that when I was with Olivia, I felt alive. I felt … well … normal. I could hide in her effervescence. She was in love with life and she infused me with it, too, and that was exactly what I needed. I’d seen too much killing and suffering. She was like life, the life I wanted.” Finishing off his coffee, he added, “But it was the wrong reason to marry her. I was running away from everything. Libby Hilbert has helped all of us who are here to see how we try to escape the horrors we’ve seen and survived. I was using Olivia to escape. And now, I realize what I did. It wasn’t fair to either of us really.”
“You didn’t know. But I understand about the hiding. I never used drugs or alcohol to escape, but I loved getting paperbacks from charities like Operation Gratitude and buried myself in novels.”
“Far healthier than what I did,” Harper said, giving her a look of pride.
Tara was finding Harper always looked at the positive side of life, not wanting to say too much about the negative or dark things that haunted him. She understood it was his combat corpsman disposition, and that it came naturally to him. She saw a tiredness in his eyes, realizing that talking about his failed marriage was like an anchor pulling him into deep water again. “Did you and Olivia just sort of drift apart? You were gone most of the time. I’m sure she had her Hollywood friends to keep her entertained.”
“Yes, it sort of disintegrated over time. I wouldn’t sleep with her when I returned from deployment, and that made her furious with me. She just couldn’t or didn’t want to understand that I was in a continual war zone.”
“Most civilians can’t begin to put themselves into what we’ve seen or survived,” Tara said sympathetically.
“For Olivia, I was an old man who was no fun anymore. She wanted to go to parties and I didn’t. I couldn’t handle the loud music. She wanted to go out all the time to five-star restaurants, and we didn’t have the money. In the end,” he said, “she asked for a divorce and I gave it to her.”
“She doesn’t strike me as someone who was very kind.”
“No, that wasn’t a part of her,” he agreed. “Looking back on it, we were like oil and water and never mixed. She was enamored with the concept that the only real man for her had to be from the military. I’m afraid I disappointed her badly on that score. I was no hero.”
“But by the same token,” Tara pointed out, “she idealized you and you would never be able to live up to it.”
“Correct,” he muttered, reaching inside the second saddlebag and pulling out their dessert. Shay had made everyone peanut butter cookies yesterday and brought some over to them. “But I was running and hiding, too. I used her as much as she used me.”
“She probably wounded you with words.”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug, handing her three cookies. “She’s a highly intelligent person and, yes, she had a mouth on her. She’s got a bear-trap mind and thinks faster than most people, including me.”
“So,” Tara murmured, biting into a cookie, “you got the receiving end of a lot of verbal abuse?”
“Any time Olivia was angry, I was blamed for it some way. It was never her fault, and she never took responsibility for her part in our dance with each other. Lack of maturity,” he said, munching his cookie, a look of satisfaction coming to his expression.
Nodding, Tara said, “I avoided getting married. I knew that deployments were changing me, that something inside me was happening and I was different from before. And because I was unsure, scared of it, not getting a full picture of what was going on within me, I didn’t want to get into a relationship. I knew I could hurt someone with my out-of-control temper and the irritation that hit me sometimes.”
“Well,” he said, raising a brow, “you at least had the self-awareness, as Libby calls it, to realize that you were wounded and that you could turn around and wound someone else with your words and actions. Olivia never gave that two seconds of thought before she’d lash out at me.”
“Probably hard to take?”
“In the end, it was really tough. She said some pretty bad things about me, and at the time, it scored my heart and soul. I was raw emotionally anyway from the PTSD. But coming home to her was like getting another dose of combat, just a different kind, was all.”
Aching for him, Tara could only give him an understanding look. Now, Shay’s comments made more sense to her. And it helped her understand Harper in a new way. “And that’s why you’re so tentative about us, what we might have?”
He gave her a sad look. “Yes, it is.”
“I’m nothing like Olivia.”
“No, you’re not. But I still worry about my PTSD. I handle it, I control it, but there’s days or nights when I don’t do very well with it. I don’t ever want to hurt you when I’m in that space.”
“I see you take evasive action every time you’re caught up in it,” she noted gently. “But I’m in the same boat with you, Harper. My PTSD has its ups and downs, too.”
“Yes, and I see you go hide away in your room and shut the door. That’s when I know you’re feeling edgy.”
“At least we don’t take a pound of flesh out of each other. That’s a huge step forward for both of us.”
“We’re self-aware now. We can feel the PTSD starting to stalk us and we know what to do to protect
our partner or the people around us. That’s positive and it’s a healthy step forward, as Libby has often told the group.”
“I really like you a lot, but I’m afraid …”
“I know you are,” he said gently, reaching out, squeezing her hand resting on her knee. “And it’s okay. I understand. I’m no prize myself.”
She gave him a round-eyed look, disbelief in her tone. “Oh, yes, you are!”
Chapter Thirteen
Tara had surprised herself with her unexpected outburst as they ate their lunch. Harper sat back, both brows moving upward.
“Well,” she sputtered, “you are a prize! You’re loved by many people, Harper. Don’t you take them into account, also? Why do you listen to one person’s viewpoint on you, take it to heart and not listen to the many, many others who know you to be a good man?” Her voice was quavering with emotion, but she didn’t care. Leaning forward, Tara poked him in the vest he wore. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that about yourself again. Okay? Because it’s not true! You were a good person before you met Olivia and it sure as hell hasn’t changed after you divorced her. One person’s opinion of you shouldn’t count for more than another person’s. You have so many other people who truly like and love you, Harper. You do so much for everyone else. That’s rare nowadays because many people have become self-centered and selfish, but you aren’t and you never have been.” She sat back, breathing raggedly, staring hard at him, just daring him to refute anything she’d just said. Her hands curved into fists on her knees for a moment and then she forced herself to relax.
Harper studied her beneath his short, spiky lashes. His mouth drew into a wry half smile. “Remind me to hire you next time I need a more balanced view of the world,” he teased.
“I meant every word I said, Sutton, so don’t think this is funny, because it isn’t. You’re hitting a nerve in me. I truly dislike anyone who would put someone else down. I’ve stuck up for myself, and I’ve stuck up for others, all my life. You’re important to so many people. You need to be reminded of that. Olivia’s snarky, self-serving comments that tore you up don’t account for anything. She used you as her whipping post, not the other way around.” She saw his eyes widen slightly, giving her a shrewd look.
“Were you born this way, Tara?”
Scowling, she snapped, “What way?”
“Defender of the poor, the lonely and the helpless?”
She realized he was gently mocking her, but not in an unkind fashion. There was a burning look in his darkening gray eyes that made her yearn for him in every possible way. He was close to her physically, as well as emotionally, in that charged moment. Tara wanted to feel his mouth against hers once more. Since the bear incident, they hadn’t kissed at all. It was as if the PTSD had thrown both into opposite corners and had stunted the intimacy that had sprung up between them.
“Yes,” she said, all the petulance leaking out of her voice, “I do stick up for those people who need support. We all need help at times, Harper. My mom and dad are that way, too. I saw them help many people while I was growing up. I saw their kindness and I wanted to be just like them.”
“Don’t ever lose that quality,” he said gruffly, getting to his feet. “That’s one of many things I like about you, Tara.”
Their time was up. The hour had sped by much too fast, to her chagrin. It felt as if they’d just sat down ten minutes ago. She hungered for deeper, searching talks just like this one with Harper. He was a damned onion, so many layers to him. Peeling one back, she learned something new about him every time. But he wasn’t giving up his layers to her easily, and now she had an idea why. Shay had been right to make her ask Harper about Olivia. No wonder she had called her a bitch. Olivia was a child in a woman’s body, never having to take responsibility for her actions or words.
Harper held out his hand. Tara took it, relishing the warmth and strength of his fingers around hers as he eased her to her feet. He released her hand, but his gaze never left hers. She stood less than two feet away from him. There was turbulence in Harper’s gray eyes, stormy-looking, burning with something, a need she couldn’t translate. But it drew her powerfully toward him and she swayed a little. If only she could get that wall out from between them!
Harper wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. “We need to do more of this type of talking, Tara. Just you and me.”
His gritty, low voice, the intensity in his sharpened gaze dug straight to her heart and then flared throughout her. She swore she could feel him fighting his desire for her just as she was for him.
“But we have a brick wall between us, Harper,” she said, her voice strained.
“Okay, so we’re infected with PTSD.” His mouth flexed and he kept his hand around her arm. “Today? Maybe we took a brick or two off that wall.” His voice lowered and he pulled her to a stop and nudged a few tendrils of hair from her cheek, tucking them behind her ear. “I’m in for the long haul with you, Tara. If this is what it takes, I’m fine with it. How about you?”
Every time she experienced Harper’s raw, honest courage, she wanted to weep over his suffering. Tears she fought, wanting to hide them from him. “I think you know I’m in this for the long haul, too. I’m just scared. And so are you.”
“We are.” He eased the pressure of his fingers around her arm, caressing her shoulder. “We’ll just live with the fear like we did in our deployments, that’s all. It never stopped us from doing our job over there. We kept moving ahead, Tara. You know how to do that. Only this time? It’s personal and it’s between you and me. We aren’t in Afghanistan anymore. The war is over there for us. We’re home now, and we’re safe, even if we rarely feel that way.”
Giving him a steady look, she whispered, “Don’t ever kid yourself, Harper, the Afghan war lives within us to this day, this hour and this minute. The PTSD we got there is the baggage we carry all the time.”
He smiled tentatively and released her shoulder, “I want my life back just like you do. I’m starting to climb out from beneath my divorce from Olivia, and I want to live again. I know the PTSD steals from us, but it hasn’t taken over within us, and it never will. We’re strong survivors, sweetheart. And that accounts for my hope for both of us to keep taking down that wall that stands between us, a brick at a time.”
Sweetheart. The word had been spoken so quietly, but with such emotion, that Tara stood, absorbing it because she needed that sign from Harper, despite their messy lives and wounded emotions. She wanted to cry and looked down at the blanket, bending over and picking up the emptied saddlebags. “Shay said something to me the other day,” she confided, handing them to Harper.
“What was that?”
“Reese and she have the same issues we struggle with daily. She said that the most important thing was that they talked on a personal, honest level with each other all the time. Every day. And secondly,” her voice became hoarse, “she said that when you love a person, that love transcends the PTSD. It doesn’t cure it, but it has helped them live their lives in such a way that it’s good for both of them. Instead of tearing each other up, they know when to walk away and not hurt the other. To me? That’s as good as it can get under the circumstances.”
Nodding, Harper didn’t move. “That’s good advice she shared with you. Garret and Kira, Noah and Dair are going through the same things we are. It’s not easy. It’s the hardest thing in the world from where I stand.”
“But it’s worth it, Harper.”
He dragged in a deep breath, looked toward the hobbled horses eagerly eating grass. Lifting his head, he met and held her gaze. “That only works if both people want the same thing and have the same objective.”
Her throat hurt with unshed tears as she stood and watched him turn and walk toward the two horses. Did she have the courage to continue to deepen her relationship with Harper? Her heart clamored loudly that she did. But her PTSD-soaked brain was pessimistic, answering the question negatively. Gathering up the blanket, she shook it out, then folded
it neatly, carrying it over to where he was putting the bridles on their horses.
In her eyes and heart, Harper looked so strong and steady. He was a cowboy. He was a military vet. He’d saved untold lives in combat, and Tara was sure he’d risked his own life many times in order to save one of his comrades. Silently, she promised him that she did want to try to figure out the morass that stood between them. Having PTSD changed everything and demanded that both people involved find new ways to protect their partner from themselves. It was a terrible risk, but it had to be taken.
Tara didn’t know if she had what it took, but she liked Harper so much that she didn’t see it as a choice she had to make. It was the path she wanted to walk with him. After he bridled the horses, he took the blanket, rolling it up and tying it behind the cantle of his saddle.
A blue jay swept over them, calling raucously as it did so. Jays were good sky guard dogs in Tara’s opinion, and she looked to Harper, who was studying the darkness within the nearby thick grove of pine.
“You think there’s a bear snuffling around in there?” she asked.
“Maybe.” He looked at Ghost, whose ears were also pricked up from the direction the jay had flown and called out a warning. “Let’s mount up and ride up that slope to the fence line. We’ll continue our mending, but we’ll watch our horses for any other signs a bear might be active and in our vicinity.”
Nodding, Tara took the reins, pulling them over Socks’ head. He, too, was fully focused on the interior of the pine grove. “Is there a collared grizzly the Forest Service knows is in this area, Harper?”
He held the reins while she mounted Socks. “Yes. We have a sow and her three-year-old cubs that live in this area. We’ve not seen them on Bar C property, but Shay said she’d seen them in one of the lease pastures after she’d just had the cubs. The Forest Service came in, tracked her and tranquilized her, putting the collar on her.”
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