She had to look away from the heat in his gaze before she was incinerated.
Then the atmosphere shifted again, growing increasingly awkward with each passing second. What now?
She blurted the first thing that came to her mind. “I’m sorry Patton trashed your bed. Do you want me to help you change the sheets or—” Ugh. Now he was going to think she wanted him to invite her into the clean sheets. Which she did, of course, but…
“No, that’s okay,” he said, turning to drag the top sheet up with a vigorous shake. “I’ll get them later.”
Lizzie noticed then the red area around a tattoo she hadn’t noticed before, on the shoulder without the flag. She reached to touch the undamaged skin next to the art.
He jerked around.
“Sorry. Does it hurt?”
“No. A little. You surprised me is all,” he said, putting his hand over it.
“Can I see?”
He hesitated but then removed his hand and turned to give her a clear view.
It was a dog. She knew it was probably a Belgian Malinois—she still wasn’t sure what made it different from a German shepherd. It was beautiful, at any rate. The dog stood proudly, wearing a doggie Kevlar vest, staring into the distance. Beneath the image was one word: Tank.
“Tank of the cold showers and rocky bedding. Will you tell me about him?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing to tell.” But the slight hoarseness in his voice and the way he ground his jaw spoke volumes.
Lizzie’s heart clenched for his pain even as her frustration bubbled up and out. “He’s just another piece of equipment, right?”
“Exactly.”
Chapter 17
“What’s on the agenda for today?” Talbott asked Adam when he came into the living room the morning of July 4th.
When had he been put in charge of the duty roster? Oh yeah. When he’d agreed to having Talbott and Jake as houseguests.
Talbott dropped the weight he’d been curling with a thud. Patton, who’d been sitting in the sun near the living room window, rose with a start but then sank back to his haunches when he saw everything was okay. “Sorry, dude,” he told the dog. He sat on the window seat and wiped sweat from his face with the sleeve of his T-shirt.
Adam shoved the weight out of the middle of the floor with his foot. “What the hell, man? I’m trying to sell this place. It’ll be a lot easier if there aren’t big dents in the floor from shit being dropped on it.”
“Yeah. I’ll keep that in mind,” Talbott said, looking askance at the pitted and stained hardwood, most of which was covered by D-Day, who, unlike Patton, preferred to lie on his back, limbs spread to the four corners.
“Whatever. Can we just not add to the amount of repair work I’m going to have to do?”
“Ask Jakey to help. He’s out of weeds to whack.”
Both men turned to look through the picture window at Jake, who’d traded his gardening tools for—
“What’s he doing?” Adam asked.
Jake was bent over the frame of an ancient bicycle and seemed to be bolting an old baby stroller to one side.
“I think he’s building a sidecar for a bicycle,” Talbott said.
“Why?”
“To get around. He’s tired of needing us to go everywhere with him.” Talbott pulled on a T-shirt, then barely hesitated before bypassing his boots for easier to slip on flip-flops. Adam suspected the man would only fight his way into boots when he was alone, given how much he’d have to stretch and bend. It was a testament to Talbott’s willpower that he managed to stay in such incredible shape, considering he had trouble even walking some days.
At least Talbott could get where he wanted to go without help. Adam understood Jake’s need for independence. He couldn’t imagine having to rely on his friends to take him every place he needed to go, but—“What’s the deal with the side thing?”
“Balance. He tried to ride the bike by itself but kept falling over. I told him a giant tricycle might be kind of cool, but he rejected that idea. So he’s putting that thing on and planning to let Loretta ride there.”
“Loretta doesn’t need a wheelchair. That leg’s almost healed.”
The dog in question lounged beneath a tree, pups staggering around like a drunken rugby team, able to form a scrum but with no idea where the ball was. Now four weeks old, their eyes had opened, and they were moving around on their own but not near ready to leave their mother.
Talbott shrugged. “He wants to train a homing dog.”
“A what?”
“I don’t know if there’s a formal name for it. He wants a dog to help him find his way to places. Or at least to find his way home if he gets lost.”
Not this again. Adam felt the walls of the farmhouse, which usually seemed snug and secure, closing in on him. He was never going to get out of this town if he kept getting sucked into more projects.
D-Day whimpered and opened an eye to watch Adam, who took a deep breath before he spoke. “I don’t have time for this. You know you’re on your own with Patton, right? You’ve almost got basic obedience down, but you’re figuring out the stability thing and how to confirm service animal status. There are a ton of rules and shit.” He winced, realizing that sounded as though he’d considered it. Which he certainly hadn’t.
“You can do anything if you’ve got the internet,” Talbott told him and dug a folded sheet of computer paper out of the side pocket of his cargo shorts. “Here.”
There, in black and white, was the list of state and federal laws about what constituted a service animal. “Basically,” Talbott explained helpfully, “you’ve got to have a dog that won’t shit in an airplane and who will do at least one cool trick to help his person.”
God help him. “It’s a little more complicated than that. You’ve got to prove you’re disabled to get a dog, and then your dog has to be way more than potty trained. It’s got to be super-extra chill in all kinds of situations and still able to do its ‘cool trick’ to help you. It can take two years to get a dog that well-trained.”
“Aha!” Talbott said. “You have been thinking about it, if you know all that.”
Shit. “I looked it up, because I knew you assholes were going to be up in my grill about it.”
“You could do this for him,” Talbott said, no longer teasing. “I already said I’ll work with Patton, but I’m going to get better. It might take a little longer than I expected, but I’ll get there. I’m asking for Jake. Look at him.”
Adam did. He watched Jake, sweating in the hot Texas sun, chewing his lip as he fought to get the buggy attached to the bike. The scar on his head barely showed, now that his hair was growing. But he rubbed that area occasionally, as if checking to see if the mark was still there.
The scar Adam was responsible for.
“Jake’s getting better, too, right? Who’s to say that he’s going to need help forever?”
“Dude.” Talbott shook his head.
Adam sighed. He’d looked up traumatic brain injury, too. He knew plenty of guys who’d been blown up—multiple times—and had problems stemming from their concussions. Jake was suffering more than memory loss and concentration issues, which were bad enough. He had been more than a little concussed. He’d had to learn to walk again. And talk, too. His speech was still stilted, especially when he was tired. Those issues were improving, if slowly.
It was the getting lost thing that was holding him back—the topographical disorientation. At least it had a twenty-dollar name.
Adam said, “I can train a dog to find things by scent, but I don’t know if that’s the same thing as finding directions or if Loretta would be a good candidate. She’s been through an awful lot, and she’s pretty attached to Lizzie.”
Talbott leapt into the breach with both feet. “How do we find out what to do? What do you need from
me?”
D-Day, who’d been snoring a moment ago, sensed a change in the air. He rolled to his feet and stood leaning against Adam’s leg.
“We’re not starting anything today,” Adam said. “Right now, we’ve got a horse shed to decrapify. When Jake’s done playing Chance County Chopper, he’s on cleaning duty. You’re on inventory management.”
“What does that mean?” Talbott asked.
“It means my grandfather never threw anything away, and I have no idea what’s trash and what’s worth selling. You, Mr. I-Can-Find-It-on-the-Internet, are in charge of figuring all that out.”
Chapter 18
“Elizabeth? Are you almost ready?” Mom knocked and called through the bedroom door. “Can I come in?”
“Yep. I’m fine,” she said, letting her mother in. “I was getting dressed.”
Her mother raised her penciled-on brows and asked, “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“Yes?” She looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door. Even though she could barely breathe, she kind of liked the way the bright-red dress made her waist look tiny, in a retro pinup girl sort of way. Her boobs looked pretty good, too. Of course, her primary objective for the evening was to pin down Joe Chance and get him to help her with the Mill Creek Park project, not to impress anyone with her womanly self. She turned and looked at her reflection from another angle. Although, maybe…
Mom didn’t speak, which had Lizzie rethinking her resolution to appreciate her own curves. Adam liked her body, right? If His Extreme Hotness thought she was sexy, who was she to disagree?
But then Mom walked to the jewelry box on Lizzie’s dresser, started digging, and said, “You know, I do like that dress. It’s patriotic.”
“Good. Thanks.” Lizzie nodded, deciding she’d be brave and wear it to the dance, which was the culmination of the Independence Day celebration, though she’d have preferred to cap off the long day with a glass of wine and an hour sitting on the swing in the dark of her parents’ yard. She’d been up since six this morning, helping with a parade, a picnic, old-time games like a three-legged race and a watermelon seed-spitting contest, and then helped the local social services group make balloon animals for the little ones. Thank goodness she’d been able to refill her water bottle about seventy times, because she’d definitely needed it.
But she’d been playing phone tag with Joe Chance. She needed to get the town council behind her before any of the local businesses would pledge funding. She also had to find out who the property belonged to and convince them to sell it.
“Is Dad coming?” she asked her mother.
“Here. These’ll work,” Mom said, holding up a string of big, fake pearls and the dangly earrings that went with it. Then she said, “No, your dad’s a little tired, so he’s going to stay home tonight.”
A fist of fear clutched Lizzie’s gut, and she said, “Is he okay? Should we call the doctor?”
“No,” Mom said. “I think he had too much pie at the picnic. And he’s too old to play cornhole in the sun like that.”
“Mom, you guys aren’t even sixty.”
Mom smiled. “Thank you. But still, it was hot today, and I think he just got a little dehydrated. He’s going to stay home and drink ice water and watch baseball. He’ll be fine.”
Ah. The Astros were playing tonight. And a little minor heat stress gave Dad a good excuse to skip the dance and watch baseball.
However, the reminder that her dad wasn’t getting any younger gave Lizzie renewed motivation to make this park happen.
“Will you join us in the organizer’s tent for cocktails?” Mom asked.
“Oh jeez. I…” The thought of sitting under that sweltering tent to drink lukewarm whiskey sours with Ms. Lucy sounded horrible. “I’ll try to stop by. I’ve got to talk to Joe Chance first.”
Mom’s face lit up like the sky would later with fireworks. “Oh, lovely! I’m so glad you’ve reconnected with Joe. He’s such a nice guy.”
Lizzie withheld her sigh. “Yep. Joe’s nice.”
“You should make sure you save a dance for him.”
“Oh, I doubt that’s going to happen.”
Mom’s face fell. “I just want to see you meet someone nice here in Big Chance. I hate to think of you using that Tender thing to meet another loser from Houston.”
“Tinder. And that’s not where I met Dean.”
Mom waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever. I worry about you. You haven’t done anything socially since you moved home.”
“Yes, I have,” Lizzie protested, but then realized that her mom probably wouldn’t count training D-Day at Adam’s ranch as a social activity. Still, she hated that her mom worried about her. There was enough to worry about with Dad’s cancer. “I actually have a date tonight,” she blurted.
Mom blinked. “Really? With who?”
“Adam Collins. You know, Emma’s brother?”
“Huh.” Mom’s mouth turned down as she considered this. “Well, bring him by the tent for a drink, okay?”
Why had she said that? Now she had to come up with a date or explain why she didn’t have one. To Mom, Ms. Lucy, and all the other nosy ladies of Big Chance. There were good reasons Lizzie didn’t lie much—she always made things worse.
Lizzie looked at her phone on her nightstand. This was going to be awkward.
She hadn’t really spoken to Adam since the incident in his bedroom. The kiss. The kiss that nearly caused her to spontaneously combust, after which she’d grabbed her soggy clothes and escaped in his sweatpants with barely a goodbye.
She hadn’t been avoiding him exactly, but she’d definitely been keeping herself busy—too busy to work with D-Day much.
She wiped her palms on her thighs or, more accurately, the skirt of the stupid dress she’d dragged out of the closet and squeezed herself into.
Just do it. No big deal. Call Adam, and ask him to come to the dance. He would say no. And she’d wind up trying to avoid being fixed up—if not with Joe, then with whatever other single guy Mom and Ms. Lucy could find.
She already had to find and corner the tragically single mayor to convince him to help her launch a pie-in-the-sky project. In her too-tight dress in front of everyone in Big Chance.
Screw it. Step one: Dial Adam’s number. Done.
Step two: Figure out what to say when he—
“Hello.” He sounded tired. Like she’d woken him from a nap. Great.
“Hi. Hey.”
“Hi.”
“It’s Lizzie.”
“Yeah, I know.” Now he sounded like he was laughing at her with his just-woke-up-from-a-nap voice.
“Of course you do. I programmed my number into your phone myself, like the pushy broad I am. Anyway—”
“Why are you pushy?” He sounded weird, and that made her more nervous. Was he as freaked out by their kiss as she was?
“I’m pushy because I programmed my own phone number in your phone. Don’t you think that’s pushy?”
“Depends on your motives. Were you hoping I’d drunk dial you for a booty call one of these nights?” Now the voice was heavier on the drawl and lighter on the rust. And not Adam.
Oh God.
“Marcus? Is this you? Impersonating a Collins?”
He laughed. “Yeah, darlin’, it’s me. The good sergeant’s in the bathroom with a magazine, and I don’t think it was the kind you read while you’re dropping—Hey!” She heard a scuffle, then Marcus’s voice from farther away. “You were in the can. Who knows if you were jacking off or taking a dump? I was just taking my best guess!”
“I was in the shower, asshole,” she heard Adam say, and then he was live on the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi. Adam. It’s Lizzie.” She took a deep breath and was struck with inspiration. “I’m calling because I wonder if you can he
lp me with something. I’ve been trying to talk to Joe Chance about my thing—the park. He’s always busy, and I know he’ll be at the dance in the town square tonight. So if I go, at least he has to listen to me. But I need some moral support, and since you were so supportive when I suggested it to you—”
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay?”
“Sure. I’ll bring D-Day. He needs to spend time around people besides you, Talbott, and Jake. A trip to town would give you a chance to work with him and maybe find him a new home.”
“Oh. I…” Disappointment flooded her. She wanted Adam to come to the dance. No way could she handle taking D-Day to something with a bunch of people. He’d jump on everyone, terrorize the food trucks, and drag her through the dust, probably make her too-tight dress fly up over her head, showing everyone in town that she was wearing white granny panties, and—
“What time are you going over? We’ll meet you there.”
“Really?” In her revised vision, her dress remained around her thighs, no children screamed in terror, and her mother couldn’t throw her at Joe Chance. Best of all, Adam would be with her.
“Yeah. I’d like to see Joe, too.”
“Oh…okay.”
“So…time?”
“Well…eight?”
“Got it. Meet me near the statue of Emmit Chance.”
“Sure.”
They said goodbye, and Lizzie held onto the phone, staring at it for a long time after they disconnected.
Mom stuck her head back into the room. “Do you need to borrow heels?”
“Heels?” Lizzie looked down at the red sneakers she’d put on. They were okay but maybe not as glam as she wanted to look now. But heels? Yeesh. Adam was bringing D-Day, and if she had on heels, she’d wind up facedown in the grass for sure.
“Yes. If you’re wearing that dress, you should wear heels. I have some red ones you can borrow.”
“You’re right. Except I have something even better.”
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