Hidden: Part 1

by Linda Berry

  “Why’d you pick me?” she asked. “All the hot girls are up front.”

  “They’re too skinny,” he murmured in her ear. “I like a real woman. Hmmm, you smell good, like roses.”

  Her smile widened and he realized he’d misjudged her. When she smiled and her eyes lit up, she was pretty as hell. He spun her around, and they two-stepped side by side, then he pulled her into his arms again. Her eyes glistened in the soft light and she pressed in closer. Justin winced. His chest was tightly wrapped in an Ace bandage, and the pressure on his ribs made his eyes tear up. Likewise, his leg was on fire. He was thankful when the tune ended and he could limp behind her to her booth.

  “Want to join me?” she asked.

  “Hell yeah.” He slid in beside her. She caught the server’s attention and they ordered drinks. When the drinks arrived, he patted his pockets and pretended to have forgotten his wallet. She paid, happily. Tucked away in their dark cove splintered off from the rest of the nightclub, he and Avery spent the next couple hours drinking, laughing, and flirting. He refilled his mug from a pitcher of beer, she ordered sweet drinks; a Cosmo, a white Russian, a banana daiquiri. The music washed over him like a warm river on a summer evening, sometimes gentle, sometimes rocky, steadily heightening his emotions. The alcohol, the music, and Avery’s easy laughter were doing a good job of easing the pain he’d walked in with.

  Over time, she allowed his touch to linger on her hand, her shoulder, her waist, her damp neck, until his senses were filled with the smell of her hair, her rose-scented perfume. He wanted to kiss her, taste the sugary drinks in the well of her mouth. A nice heat coming from his groin spread through his torso, and he started spinning pictures of Avery lying in bed, arms open and inviting. When the blinking lights signaled closing time, he and Avery strolled out into the parking lot knitted as tightly together as Siamese twins. He kissed her under the dim yellow light of a lamppost, pressing her back against her shiny Ford Expedition.

  She pulled away, murmured, “Wanna drive me home? I’m a little bombed.”

  “Hell yeah, I wanna drive you home.”

  She smiled sweetly. “We’ll pick up your truck in the morning.”

  She wants me to spend the night. Justin was immersed in feelings of gratitude. He hungered for a woman’s gentle touch and some down-home genuine kindness. He lifted the keys from her fingertips, helped her into the passenger’s seat, and climbed in on the driver’s side.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Maggie heard Sully whistle his appreciation as he followed her into her spacious kitchen. His eyes took in the granite counters, professional chef stove, oversized cooking island, custom cabinets, and built-in appliances.

  “My mom would love this kitchen. You must be an amazing cook.”

  “Actually, that was my husband. I’ve never used half of these appliances.” Maggie donned mittens, pulled the pan of lasagna from the oven and placed it on the counter. “Voila,” she said triumphantly. “A frozen entrée heated to perfection. This is more my style.”

  “Mine too. Can I help with anything?”

  “You can grab the salad out of the fridge.”

  “Sure, give me the hard job.”

  Maggie smiled. She poured kibble into Homer’s bowl and heard the Lab crunching as she got out plates and flatware and set them on one side of the island. Sully seated himself and she joined him. “Help yourself.”

  “Suddenly I’m starving,” he said, crowding his plate with cheesy lasagna and salad.

  She held out a basket of crusty French bread.

  “Thanks.” He took two slices and slathered them with butter.

  “While Eric was growing up the house was always full of kids,” she said, serving herself. “Seems like I spent every weekend grilling hot dogs, flipping pancakes, and bussing kids to sports events. It’s nice to have someone to feed again.”

  “Happy to oblige,” he said, eating heartily.

  “Would you like some wine?”

  He paused, fork midair. “I’m more of a beer man but I’ll try some wine.”

  “This Cabernet goes great with Italian.” She uncorked a bottle sitting on the counter and poured the wine into two long-stemmed glasses.

  He took a swallow. “Hmmm. Tastes better than the boxed stuff I drank in college.”

  “I hope so. My husband was a collector. This wine has aged in the cellar for years. I figure it’s time somebody started drinking it.”

  “Again, I’m happy to oblige.” They toasted. Sully drained his glass.

  “This isn’t tequila, Sully,” she laughed, refilling his glass. “You’re supposed to sip. Enjoy.”

  “Right. I’ve forgotten my manners. I should sniff first, say something about the fruity bouquet, roll it around on my tongue, and then finally, swallow.”

  “You’re watching too many bad comedies.”

  “Sorry, I’ve been camped out in the dust for too long with foul-mouthed Marines.” His voice held a touch of pride.

  She knew he missed his buddies. Leaving a tightly knit brotherhood behind was one of the hardest adjustments for a returning vet. “I bet you’re a quick study.”

  “Watch me.” He took a dainty sip and delicately patted his lips with a napkin, his little finger straight out.

  They both burst out laughing.

  “Where’d you go to school?”

  “I’m minimally educated. Got an AA here in Bend, at COCC,” he said. “I couldn’t go away to school. My dad needed me on the ranch. I’d competed in rodeo my whole life, so I turned pro. Dad and I took off most weekends, working the circuit.”

  “What did you do at the rodeo?”

  “Rode broncs. Bareback.” His blue eyes flashed passionately. “No high in the world comes close to staying on a bucking bronc for eight seconds. Pays well too, if you’re good.”

  “You were good?”

  “I held my own. I’d probably still be doing it if it weren’t for 9/11. Me and a bunch of cowboys got plastered after rodeo, got a good patriotic head of steam going, and we all enlisted in the Marines. Next day when I sobered up, I was stunned. But I decided to stick to my commitment.”

  “How’d your parents feel?”

  He paused for a moment, chewing. “Mom was relieved. To her, it looked safer than rodeo. I’d had my share of broken bones, sprains, stitches. Goes with the territory. Mom figured it was just a matter of time before I showed up at the kitchen door with no teeth and a steel plate in my head. She hoped the military would set me on a new course. We all thought the war would be over in a few months.”

  “And your dad?”

  Sully’s brows knitted together. His tone turned serious. “That’s a different story. He’d been training me for rodeo my whole life. At twenty-four, I had just ranked second in the world. We were planning on going for the title.” Sully paused and Maggie thought she saw a look of sadness cross his face. “It was tough on Dad.” He shrugged. “Now I’m back and I can do what I really love.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Train reining horses, and compete.” Sully drained his glass.

  Maggie refilled it.

  “Horses are amazing animals. Powerful. Fast. So sensitive they seem to know what you want before you ask.” He scraped the last bite off his plate. “You like to ride?”

  “I’ve never been on a horse,” she confessed.

  “How’s that even possible?” He paused. “I see, you’re more the Mercedes type.”

  “Prius. There’s something to be said for parking your transportation in the garage and forgetting about it.”

  “Amen to that.”

  “I’d like to try riding. I love animals. I volunteer at the Humane Society.”

  “One day I’ll have you out to the ranch. We’ll put you on Sam, a gentle ol’ gelding with no ambition. He can’t do more than walk fast. Let you feel a little wind in your hair.”

  “I’d like that.” Maggie meant it. She picked up the empty plates and rinsed them off at the sink. “Ther
e’s chocolate ganache cake in the fridge, Sully. Dessert plates are in the cabinet next to the stove.”

  “Hmmm. Sounds good.”

  Sully kept Maggie company until the wine bottle sat empty on the counter and he had polished off two servings of chocolate cake. Maggie realized she was enjoying herself. The first tinge of happiness she’d felt in weeks. It pleased her that Sully had managed to push sadness aside for an evening. She found him to be a grounded young man. Smart, with solid values. So much like Eric.

  “I hope I haven’t kept you up too late,” he said, glancing at his watch. His face was flushed from the wine and his eyes stood out like polished turquoise.

  “No worries. I’d just be sitting around drinking warm milk and knitting doilies.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say you’re over the hill. Far from it.” His eyes appraised her. “You’re more like Eric’s sister than his mother.”

  She felt her face warm. “A compliment of the highest order.”

  “Well, I best be gittin’ on home,” he said in a hayseed accent, pushing himself up from his chair. “I take my weekly bath on Friday night.”

  Maggie wrapped the remaining lasagna and cake in foil, placed them in a brown paper bag, and gave it to him. “Lunch tomorrow.”

  He smiled. “Thank you kindly.”

  She and Homer accompanied him out to the driveway as they had for years with Eric. The air held a piercing chill and sleet slanted under the lamplight like slivers of glass. She crossed her arms against the sharp needle pricks of cold.

  Sully got into his shiny white truck, revved up the engine, and rolled down his window. “Thanks for the nice evening, Maggie. It’s the most relaxed I’ve felt in weeks.”

  “Hey, don’t talk like it’s your last visit.”

  His face brightened.

  “Please, come over again for dinner.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Next Sunday?”

  “Good deal. I’ll bring dessert.”

  Coughing out a few clouds of exhaust, the truck backed out of the driveway and she stood watching until the taillights disappeared around a curve in the road. Scurrying back inside, Maggie found herself smiling. A fragile bubble of simple pleasure had bobbed up from the depths of her gloom, reminding her of happier times.

  After drying Homer’s back with a towel, Maggie busied herself in the kitchen, grateful that Sully had appeared during this bleak period in their lives. On a level that words could not describe, they understood each other. Sharing hurt with another wounded person eased the feeling of isolation. She recognized how tempting it was to fill the void left by Eric by mothering his best friend. Sully already had a mother. He didn’t need two. She cautioned herself to keep a healthy perspective on their growing friendship.

  The icy roads were slippery. The wipers were working double-time scraping sleet off the windshield. Inside the warm cab, Sully’s thoughts drifted back over his evening. Seeing Eric’s childhood home in his absence had been a painful pill to swallow. If Eric were alive, Sully would have met Maggie at his friend’s invitation, and the evening would have been one of celebration and laughter. Eric had been one of the funniest guys Sully ever met, and his spontaneous humor had defused a lot of stressful situations when their squad was on patrol in dangerous territory.

  Sitting in Maggie’s living room holding Eric’s possessions in a box had been one of the toughest moments of his life. Looking into her eyes had been like looking into an open wound. He had lost it for a moment, and would have walked out the door and probably never seen her again if she hadn’t called him back. Pushing her own grief aside, she reached out to him, and her words loosened a knot of guilt that had been twisting his gut since Eric’s death. She didn’t hold him responsible. Now he just had to forgive himself.

  Maggie had controlled the entire evening; serving him dinner, pouring the wine, guiding the conversation, gently probing into his history. But it hadn’t felt intrusive. He came away feeling like he’d been cared for.

  From the many stories Eric had told him about his family, Sully knew his friend had been raised on a pampered leash; ski passes to Mt. Bachelor, a car at sixteen, expensive vacations. Sully saw now that the refinement he admired so much in his friend had come from the cultured atmosphere created by his mother. Sully on the other hand, had never been given a free ride. Growing up in the Sullivan family had been a life-long lesson in self-reliance. A man earned his own way. Reward came from hard work, and more hard work. His clothes, boots, rodeo gear, and even the right to sit at the table had been earned by his contribution to the ecosystem of the ranch. Each person relied on the other, and cooperation was the fuel that kept the machine running smoothly. Joe’s word was law. His mother enforced that law, but with a softer hand. Responsibility and resourcefulness had been ingrained into his character like the rings in a tree. There was no waste, no excess, and no luxuries when times were lean.

  Unlike Eric, Sully considered his own manner to be rough, his intellect more grounded, not layered with lofty visions and beautiful ideals. But he didn’t resent his upbringing. It had prepared him for surviving in a war zone and moving quickly into a leadership position, where he was able to protect his men—until the assault that killed Eric.

  As he pulled into the driveway behind the house, thoughts of Monty’s murder crowded into his mind, and the smell of death crept back into his nostrils. A blue TV light flickered from the bunkhouse window. Travis was still awake, probably watching Leno. The ranch house was dark. Sully parked in the garage and made a detour through the hard-driving sleet to the barn to check on the horses. Everything was quiet, the animals calm, dozing. He crossed the yard to the house, pulled his .38 from his ankle holster and stood just inside the kitchen door, listening while his eyes adjusted to the dark. The clock above the sink ticked out fifteen seconds before he cautiously made his way to his room and stripped off his wet clothes.

  He cleaned up in the bathroom, donned a pair of pajama bottoms, and plopped back against the bed pillows leafing through the photos Maggie gave him. All but one had been taken in Afghanistan—a photo of Eric and Maggie standing on the caldera of Crater Lake, overlooking the clear blue water. Eric had the untroubled look of a kid who’d never faced real hardship. When he transferred into Sully’s unit two years ago at twenty, Eric was starting his second tour and had already experienced his share of combat. He’d packed on more muscle and had a steady, mature look in his eyes that came with the weight of a medic’s responsibility. IEDs were the chief cause of injuries to troops and could blow multiple limbs off a man in an instant. As a medic, Eric was the last hope for a Marine who could bleed out in minutes. Life or death lay in his hands.

  In the photo, Maggie looked fit and athletic. She had an unfussy kind of beauty that might be considered plain if not for her expressive sea-green eyes. Her gentleness and keen intelligence attracted him most. She was easy to talk to. She listened. He didn’t have to carefully edit everything he said like he did in his e-mails to civilian friends and his parents. For a few hours tonight, he had escaped the hardships of life. Tomorrow he’d bring his father home and try to talk his mother into moving back to the ranch.

  Sully studied a framed photo on the nightstand of himself riding a spirited bronc named Rowdy. That was the ride that won him second-place standing in the world. Decked out in custom chaps and protective vest that bore the logos of his sponsors, Sully looked every bit the rodeo star. Rowdy had all four hooves three feet off the ground, back rounded, tail and mane flying. Sully was balanced on the horse in perfect form, seemingly floating on air. With a feeling of remoteness, he removed the photo and stuck it in the drawer next to his .38 and 9mm Berretta, then he slipped the photo of Maggie and Eric into the frame. He didn’t feel guilty about lying to Maggie tonight. Eric’s death had not been quick, or easy. Moaning like a wounded animal, Eric clung to Sully’s hand for long tortured minutes in stinking, fetid ditch water that swirled red with his blood. His moans echoed in Sully’s head
.

  Sully positioned the photo facing his pillow. It was the last thing he looked at before turning off his light.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Avery, Justin discovered, was separated from her husband and owned a nice little house in a quiet, middle-class suburb. After living in his camper for six months, a space he couldn’t even stand in, a real home with nice furnishings seemed beyond luxurious. Avery’s homey touches—throw rugs, pillows, plants, framed pictures on the walls—intensified his yearning for a home of his own. Property with acreage, a good barn, quality livestock, grassy pastures. Avery had swept the place clean of a man’s presence, and her sorrowful tone when she alluded to her ex told him she was going through a nasty divorce.

  He waited patiently while she played hostess, offering a drink, which he declined, and finally, inviting him into her bedroom. She turned down the light, disappeared into the bathroom and reemerged wearing a wispy nightgown, her hair freshly brushed, face scrubbed free of makeup. Nice. He loved the smell of clean on a woman. Clean wasn’t easy to do when living in a truck. The grind of driving solo hundreds of miles between rodeos and the continuous exposure to hard men and wild livestock had worn him down. Now the company of a soft woman wearing nothing but a silky concoction brought out his tender side. He wanted to be touched gently. He wanted to touch her gently. But first, it was time to get real. See if his gamble was going to pay off.

  Stammering a little, he told her about being jumped, beaten, and robbed of his prize money in Red Rock—leaving out the gambling and bookie part. Avery sat on the edge of the bed listening attentively. When he removed his shirt, unwound the ace bandage and revealed his extensive bruising, Avery gasped, brown eyes wide with shock. To his relief, she transformed into Nurse Nightingale, jumping to her feet, wanting to get him ice packs and pain relievers.

  “I’ll pass,” he said, sinking onto her bed. “The best pain reliever I can think of is for you to come over here right now.”

  Eyes still showing concern, she sat next to him.

  Breathing in the smell of her skin, he kissed the cove of her neck, his fingers sliding the silky straps off her shoulders. Her breasts were pale and smooth, her nipples as delicate as rose petals. Avery blushed deeply, covered herself with one arm, and turned off the light. He quickly removed his jeans and boots and slipped between the cool sheets beside her.