by E V Lind
That had been four months ago and, until more recently, she'd been unable to do more than take a breath without consulting him first. Whether it was her clothes, the way she wore her hair or even what she ate—she had to have his approval. And if she disobeyed...he'd teach her another lesson. And another. Until that recent morning—pregnant, battered and bruised and strengthened by Colleen’s support—she'd gone to the police to request a restraining order. And look where that had gotten her.
Beth bit back a moan of distress and clutched the well-washed comforter up to her chin, drawing in a shaky breath, inhaling the soft scents of lavender and fresh air from the bed linen and pushing back the memories. She couldn't let him into her mind. He was too strong, too powerful and way too dangerous. For now, it was enough that a hundred miles separated them. Tomorrow she'd make sure she went farther. Exhaustion finally claimed her, dragging her into a deep and dreamless sleep.
She was awake before the others in her room the next morning and she quietly gathered her things before making her way to the bathroom. Easing the still damp socks and then her shoes over her heels was unpleasant, but necessary. She sent a silent thanks to the girl who'd given her the dressings. At least they cushioned the insistent nagging pain to a level that was manageable. Beth sat on the toilet and counted her money carefully before sliding it back inside the lining of her coat. For now, she'd ignore the growl in the pit of her belly. She needed more distance between her and Dan. Then she had to find somewhere to work, and somewhere to stay.
Sounds of people rising, beginning their day, began to echo through the hostel. She made her way down the corridor she'd come through last night, and into the front part of the old house. Then, with her back and shoulders straightened, she limped from the building.
*
“Ma! For f—” Ryan bit off the curse and winced in protest as, with a blissful smile on her face and her eyes locked on the road ahead, his mother crunched through another gear of his late grandfather’s immaculately restored 1941 Ford pickup.
“Let me drive,” he insisted through gritted teeth.
The windshield wipers swiped across the glass, clearing the steady drizzle for a few moments before their vision was briefly obscured and the wipers did their thing once again. It was driving him crazy. But then everything drove him crazy these days. Including his ever-loving mother, who was only trying to do her best.
“No need to curse, son. I’ve got this. I drove you to your appointment, I’ll drive you home. That was our arrangement if the specialist didn’t clear you and he didn’t. It’s your own fault. You were the one who insisted on bringing the truck.”
“Only because I thought the doc would release me to drive. I didn’t expect to have to wait another week.” he grumbled and unconsciously rubbed his thigh.
Oh, jeez, he swore under his breath as his mother changed gear again. He’d need a new clutch and gear box at this rate. Three tours in Afghanistan and he was reduced to this—being driven around in his own truck by his mother. How the guys would laugh at him now.
Of course, to do that, they’d have to still be alive.
The sobering reality of being the only one left from his unit blindsided him anew and made his gut wrench with an all too familiar pain. He’d failed them. All of them. But most of all, he’d failed Tuck—his best buddy since high school.
“Don’t dwell on it,” his mother said firmly.
“I’m not.”
“You are. I’m your mother. I know these things.”
And she did. Just like she’d uncannily known something was wrong, nearly seven thousand miles away, when the suicide bomber—someone he’d befriended, hell, trusted—had taken out his patrol. Apparently, at zero two hundred hours, Pacific Time, Mary-Ann Jones had begun to call every single person in authority that she could get her hands on to find out where and how he was. By the time he’d been shipped to a military hospital she’d already been there waiting for him. How she’d found the wherewithal to pull her journey together so fast—when as far as he’d known she didn’t even possess a passport—he didn’t know, and wouldn’t ask. Suffice to say his mom worked in mysterious ways. Unfortunately, she couldn’t change gear for shit.
She reached over and patted him on his good leg. “It’ll get easier, Ryan.”
“I don’t want it to get easier.”
And he didn’t. He didn’t want to forget them. He owed the guys at least that.
His mom sighed and from the corner of his eye he saw her slump a little in her seat. He knew she suffered some of the same guilt he did. The guilt that was intrinsically combined with relief that her son had come home—injured, yes, but home—while too many other mothers had been sent flag-draped coffins and a handful of medals.
He felt rather than saw her straighten in her seat.
“Is that someone up ahead?”
Ryan narrowed his eyes and peered through the rain. “Sure is.”
Who’d be crazy enough to be out walking on this road in this downpour? Automatically he assessed the person ahead of them on the side of the road. They walked carefully, as if they hurt somewhere, and as if they were trying not to attract attention. Ryan’s spidey senses went on alert. Something wasn’t right. He looked more closely—realized the figure was most probably female, or that of a youth. Nah, female, he was sure of it.
“It’s a girl!” his mother exclaimed, coming to the same conclusion as he had, but far more instinctively, he was sure. “Oh, the poor soul. I’m going to pull over.”
Ryan knew it was futile to object. Once his mother had an idea in her head, there was no stopping her.
“Well, open your window,” his mother urged and nudged his shoulder with one pointy finger as she slowed to a halt a little ahead of the hitchhiker. “Offer her a ride.”
He fought the urge to roll his eyes at her and, instead, rolled the window partly down. As soon as the woman drew level with the truck, he spoke.
“Where’re you headed? Ooomph!” He winced as his mother’s elbow found his ribs.
“Idiot,” she said. “That’s not how you do it.” She leaned over him and wound the window the rest of the way. “What my son means is, please, jump in the truck and get out of the rain. We’ll take you where you want to go.”
“It...it’s okay,” the woman said. Her eyes skittered from him to his mom before she ducked her head. “I haven’t got far to go.”
She started to walk again but not before Ryan saw the flash of fear and distrust on her face, the emptiness in her eyes. He’d seen that look on far too many faces during his tours. People who’d had the love of life and living it terrorized out of them by harsh climates and even harsher regimes.
“You’ve frightened her.” Ryan’s mom admonished him with another poke at his ribs. “Here, you take the wheel,” Ryan’s mom said and started to get out of the cab.
“I thought I was incapable of driving us home.”
His mother leveled a glare at him that made him bite back the smile of satisfaction he could feel tweaking at the corners of his lips. Finally, he’d get to drive his baby again. He scooted gingerly across the bench seat and took the wheel, cruising up slowly alongside his mom and the stranger, who’d continued to walk on a little faster now. His mom determinedly kept pace and he could see her doing her best to persuade the younger woman to accept the ride. And he recognized, in the way the other woman’s feet stopped moving and her shoulders drooped in defeat, the exact moment his mom won the argument. His mom gently guided her to the truck and held the door open.
SEVEN
Riverbend, OR, September 1941
Dear Diary,
I was at the local store today and he was there also. He is so tall, at least a full head taller than me—and he's built strong. I already knew that from watching him in the fields, but being so near to him so as to even smell him took my breath away—is it possible to smell sunshine on a man's skin? I believe it is. I'm sure I smelled it on him and it made me quiver inside.
I have read of desire—cold, empty words that speak only of the fact that it is wrong, forbidden. A base impulse acted upon with animal instinct—but never until today had I experienced it. My skin flushed warm and my hands grew damp, and that is not all. Even in that forbidden place between my legs there was moisture. If I hadn't known I'd already completed my courses this month I would have thought it that, but it wasn't. And there was no pain, only a tingling need that defies my descriptive talents.
I felt small beside him, yet he did not intimidate me. No, instead he made every effort to be courteous, a real gentleman. He offered to assist me with my purchases but Mamma's friend, Mrs. Mercer, insisted it wasn't necessary. I have no doubt she will hasten to inform Mamma of my public and shameful behavior, even though I did not so much as speak to him.
But I lifted my eyes to his and was momentarily captured by his gaze. His eyes smile even when his lips do not. They are truly the mirror to his soul and his soul is just and true, I just know it.
I want to know him better. Someday, I hope. Somehow.
EIGHT
“Come on, I know he looks big and scary but he won’t bite,” Mary-Ann said with an encouraging smile.
But the younger woman remained wary. Clearly not a fan of being hemmed in between two total strangers.
“How about I get in the middle and you hop in beside me then,” his mom continued when it became clear the woman wasn’t budging.
“Where to?” Ryan asked; his voice a rough bark of gravel that made the hitchhiker start a little as she climbed in after his mom.
It wasn’t his imagination. She all but shrank against the passenger door of the truck. In fact, if she went any further she’d be out the window and onto the gravel on the side of the road.
“Let’s get that window back up, hmmm,” said his mother, gently pointing to the winder. “We don’t need to get any wetter than we already are.”
Still silent, the young woman did as his mom suggested. The only sound over the throaty purr of the truck’s immaculately restored flathead V8 engine was the steady drip of her hair onto what looked and, he sniffed, smelled like a garbage sack which she wore over her clothes. He cast his mom, wedged in beside him, a glance and awaited the instructions he was sure would be forthcoming. He wasn’t surprised.
“Drop us at the café,” she told him.
“Both of you?”
His mom lived over the café and he didn’t trust her not to bring this latest stray into her home. And who knew where that would lead? Nowhere good, anyway.
“Yes, both of us. I need a hot drink and something to eat and I’m sure my guest does too,” she said with a glare, daring him to contradict her.
“You don’t even know if Riverbend is where she wants to go.” He directed his gaze briefly at their passenger. “You have anywhere in particular you’d like us to let you out?”
His mom elbowed him again, but his question prompted a response from the woman.
“Wherever you’re going is fine,” she said huskily.
“The café, Ryan,” his mother repeated, irritation clear in her tone.
“The café it is,” he said grimly.
They’d already shared a big lunch before his specialist appointment back in Portland a few hours ago. He knew damn well his mother didn’t need anything to eat or drink right now. Biting back the words he ached to say, he gritted his teeth and continued driving. He could feel the anxiety pouring off his mom’s “guest” in waves. The stranger’s eyes kept flicking furtively in his direction. He had the sensation he had only to go “Boo!” and she’d be out the cab and running like hell. A rare smile tugged at his lips as he contemplated how mad his mom would be if he did just that, but the imagined pleasure faded just as quickly as it had come. He didn’t deserve happy and certainly not at someone else’s expense.
Ryan slumped against the driver’s door as he drove and glanced past his mom and to the woman. She was kind of pretty, in a bedraggled way. Far too thin for his taste, though, and way too skittish.
As they approached Riverbend he sensed a new tension emanating from her—almost as if she was coiling all her muscles and getting ready to run. Against his better judgment, it made him want to know why, which was stupid, right? He couldn’t wait to see the back of her.
His mother had kept up a steady rambling chatter, barely even pausing for breath as they pulled up outside the café. Built backing onto the river, the Stop A While Café was the hub of Riverbend’s gossip center, which suited his mother perfectly. She could take care of every person who set foot inside its doors by making sure they were well fed and watered and she could find out what was happening in her world, and beyond it, at the same time.
At least the rain had finally eased, Ryan thought as he turned off the engine and felt the tension in the cab ratchet up a couple of notches. He didn’t imagine it. As much as their hitchhiker had been poised for flight a moment ago, now she looked as if she was rooted to the bench seat. She physically shrank away from him and his mom and remained silent and huddled on the seat, her lank wet hair a curtain hiding much of her face. She didn’t even look out the windshield, as if she didn’t care where she was or how she’d got there.
That sense of something wrong plucked at Ryan again and he knew he wouldn’t be in a hurry to leave his mother alone at the café with this stranger. He knew damn well that looks could be deceiving. The girl—woman, he corrected himself as he swept her face with a critical gaze—could have a knife or some other weapon and be all too ready to help herself to the café’s takings for the day. It wouldn’t be the first time his mom had let that happen and he’d be damned if he’d let it happen again now that he was home for good.
“C’mon hon. You can get out here,” Mary-Ann encouraged the woman before turning to face Ryan. “Thank you, darling,” she said, with a loving pat on his cheek. “See you tomorrow?”
He knew what she was about. She thought she could get rid of him so he wouldn’t intimidate her latest stray. Well, she had another think coming. He wasn’t leaving her alone for a second. At least not until he was satisfied their hitchhiker wasn’t a threat.
“After I’ve had that hot drink you mentioned,” he said firmly and stepped down from the truck with a wince.
Mary-Ann slid along the seat behind him.
“We’ll be just fine,” she hissed at him under her breath before sending a reassuring smile back toward the younger woman now standing on the other side.
“You certainly will be,” Ryan replied and crossed his arms.
Mary-Ann shook her head slightly and walked around the front of the truck where she hooked her arm with the other woman’s, and coaxed her guest toward the building. “I’ve never known my son to drink a cup of tea in his life, but clearly he doesn’t trust you. Let’s prove him wrong about that, shall we?”
Ryan felt the unaccustomed sting of a blush heat his cheeks. Nothing like saying it as it is, Ma, he thought. His CO could’ve learned a thing or two about dressing downs from this woman.
“It’s okay. I can go,” the woman protested.
Ryan took note again of the husky sound to her voice, as if she was unused to speaking much or as if she’d had some kind of damage to her vocal chords.
“I’ll hear nothing of the sort,” Mary-Ann brushed her words aside. “I wouldn’t be Mary-Ann Jones if I didn’t make sure you had a nice hot drink and a decent bite of food before you leave, now would I?”
His mom led her reluctant guest into the café where she encouraged the woman onto a stool at the raised bar, then bustled around into the kitchen and grabbed an apron which she tied like a second skin over her generous curves. Ryan settled on a stool a few places over, between their guest and the door. It was clear the woman didn’t trust him, judging by the cautious glances she kept throwing his way. The feeling was decidedly mutual.
The Stop A While Café did a roaring breakfast and lunch trade, with any left-overs usually sold out shortly after the school just down the road
came out. Now it was getting on for four-thirty and Mary-Ann’s staff had cleaned up and headed home at least half an hour ago. Even so, the café was redolent with the combined scents of fried food, fresh baking and hot coffee.
Ryan’s nose twitched. Back in Afghanistan, he’d lie in his bunk and close his eyes and try to recall this exact aroma. To remind himself that here, at home, everything carried on like normal and that a kid coming in the door unexpectedly, or a woman examining the contents of a market stall, wasn’t on reconnaissance for someone else. Or worse, packed with explosives.
“Bacon with poached eggs on potato hash, I think,” Mary-Ann said, mostly to herself as she bustled about the kitchen that was as much a part of her as her big and welcoming personality. “But first, some hot soup for our visitor. Ryan, honey, make yourself useful and get the container of tomato soup from the cooler out back?”
By the time he was back with the soup, Mary-Ann had sliced and buttered rounds of French bread and popped them in the oven. The scent of garlic punctured the air. With a grace born of years of practice, she ladled out the soup into a bowl, set it in a microwave to heat and then whipped the bread slices from the oven and piled them in a small napkin lined basket. Once the soup was hot, she swirled a little cream in the steaming red liquid, sprinkled it with chopped chives and placed it and the bread in front of the woman.
“There you go, hon, wrap yourself around that while I get the real food going.”
Ryan reassumed his seat and watched from the corner of his eye as the newcomer ate, at first slowly, and then with increasing enthusiasm. She was starving, he realized, and he wondered how long it had been since her last meal. When her spoon clattered into her empty bowl, his mom looked at her with pride.
“It does my heart good to see a person enjoy my food,” she said. “That should help to warm you. Maybe you can take that off now?” She gestured to the garbage bag the woman still wore over her clothes.
