“Her medication was fucked up and she hasn’t been eating. I’ll be able to give her the morning medications and Doctor Wheeler and I will probably be here daily to help her start to get a grip on everything that happened to her.” Adam leaned back and stared at the sunset that was casting beautiful orange and gold hues across the valley in front of John’s porch.
“Okay…” John had yet to figure out what this had to do with him.
“I can’t give her the evening medications and be at home. Keelee will talk to Amanda and then things will tumble downhill. Frank and Amanda will be the wonderful people they are and they may press Shae to come to the main house to stay. Neither Jeremiah nor I believe that will be helpful. I’d like to leave her meds here every morning and have you take them over to her at night. It wouldn’t hurt if you made her eat something, too.”
John stroked Cat’s mangy fur as she clawed his chest in a rhythmic fashion, the squeak of the hitch in her purr becoming a consistent sound in the silence that spread between the two men. John put the cat down. “You need to go home before Sasha comes looking for you.” The cat meowed and rolled onto its back, still purring. John ran the scenarios through his mind before he nodded. “I’ll agree under one condition.”
“Whatever it is, you’ve got it.” Adam didn’t hesitate to agree.
John chuckled as he saw Sasha bounding over the field between the houses. “There will be nights I won’t be able to be back in time. I’ll need someone to call.”
“Call me. Occasional absences I can deflect. Every night? Not so much.” Adam stood and pointed toward the door. “Okay if I leave her meds here in the kitchen?”
John laughed and watched Cat slink down to try to pounce on Sasha as the dog pranced up the stairs. “Let me show you a safe place where this monster or that little poof of a mutt won’t get into things.”
“Never figured you for a cat or a poof person,” Adam quipped as John almost tripped over Cat.
“I’m not. I can’t get rid of either one of them.” He nodded at Sasha as she trotted up the stairs.
“Yeah, doesn’t look like you’re trying too damn hard.” Adam followed him through the spacious front room of his home into the kitchen.
John turned on the light in the kitchen and laughed when Cat jumped up into her chair and sat down, eyeing him expectantly. Sasha sat down next to the chair and waited. Hell, he didn’t try too damn hard to get rid of the animals.
“This cabinet is where I keep my Tylenol and vitamins. If you leave her meds here, I’ll take them over. What time do I need to get them to her?”
“Right now, between six and seven.” Adam leaned back against the counter and stared at the hardwood floor for a moment. “She’s gone through hell. Unfortunately, I think she’s stuck there. Physically, they were able to bring her through the trauma.”
John leaned against the counter across from Adam and crossed his arms over his chest. “I get that. It took me a long time to work through what happened before I came here.” He wasn’t going to elaborate, but he still fell into the old grind of blaming himself for Lori’s death. If he’d only acted faster. He shook his head to clear the swelling memories. “I’ll do what I can.”
Adam nodded and stood up, extending his hand. “Thank you. She won’t say it now, but eventually, she’ll thank you, too.”
“Not doing it for recognition. Frank and Amanda took me in when there was no other place in the world I would be safe. If I can help, I will. Frank asked me to visit with her if I saw her out and about, but I haven’t seen her. Guess I should have just stopped by.”
Adam shook his head and put his hands on his hips. “Nah, she wouldn’t have responded well to that. Jeremiah will remind her that you are coming tomorrow night. The new scripts will help. I hope.”
John walked the doctor to the door and shook his hand again when it was proffered. “Come play poker with us one Thursday evening.” Adam’s invite took him by surprise. He’d never been a regular at the game, never felt the need to be around people.
Cards. Not unless he couldn’t avoid it. His past screamed up from the buried past at the mention of the game. He shrugged. “I’ll consider it.”
“No, you probably won’t, but the offer is there nonetheless.” Adam lifted his hand in a wave as he dropped off the porch and turned the corner heading back toward the main house.
Cat meowed loudly and wound around his boots while Sasha sat there, cocking her head like she was a bobblehead doll. John reached down and picked Cat up, starting the rumble-squeak symphony again. He headed back to the kitchen to get her and her mentally-challenged sidekick some food. He glanced at the darkened drover’s cottage and sighed. He wasn’t sure he was the right person for the job, but if it meant he could help out Frank and Amanda, he’d try.
Shae stared at her therapist. He held out a towel and soap. “Go take a shower. I’m not moving from this house until you do. You smell. I know that is not the gentlemanly thing to say, but woman, I’m being honest. Shower and I’ll air out this place.”
The dense fog of her past medications had been lifting slowly. She was perceiving more and more of her surroundings, and having Biker Doc here in her home without anyone else wasn’t terrifying. It was almost as if the ever-present fear that thrummed through her body had been dialed back a notch or two. She still felt it and knew that the anxiety was boiling under the surface. Her eyes locked on the fluffy white towel and bottle of body wash.
“I made sure there was shampoo in the shower. Please, for the love of my olfactory senses, get some water and soap going.” The huge tattooed man extended the towel again. Shae reached for the towel and then looked at the small bathroom.
“I’m going to open the windows and doors then I’ll sit outside under that big cottonwood tree. It is a beautiful spring morning. I’ll give you thirty minutes and I’ll knock and announce myself before I come back in.” He immediately turned and started unlocking the windows and throwing the old sashes up. He headed to the back door and opened it, leaving the screen door in place. It took him four steps to reach the front door and open it. He turned and lifted his wrist, glancing at his watch. “Thirty minutes. Go.” Jeremiah pointed to the bathroom and then turned to walk out of the house. Shae watched as he settled under the huge cottonwood tree that the cottage was nestled under.
“Bossy, isn’t he?” Shae murmured to herself. The sound of her own voice bounced off the walls. She lifted her arm and sniffed her pits. Oh, fuck. She did stink. She couldn’t remember the last time she showered… maybe… hell, no… there was no recollection of it. She padded into the small bathroom and shut the door before she stripped and turned on the water. She avoided the mirror and gathered a towel from one of the cabinets. She lifted the towel in front of her face and draped it over the damn thing. Shae stepped under the warm water and sighed at the blissful sensation. But the feeling was fleeting and replaced with a wave of dread. She closed her eyes and tried to block out the building swell of emotion. She grabbed the shampoo and made quick work of washing and then conditioning her hair. She scrubbed her skin with a washcloth, trying to remove the layers of filth that clung to her. Not the physical filth—no, it was the contaminated sensation she felt every time her mind reached back to that pit, every time the memories broke through the haze of the medication. She shut off the shower and wrapped her hair in a towel before she dried off. It was only then that she realized she hadn’t brought any clothes in with her. She cracked open the bathroom door and peeked out to see if Biker Doc was in the house. He wasn’t, so she headed to her suitcase that she still hadn’t unpacked and grabbed some clothes.
By the time she exited the bathroom a second time with clothes on and her hair combed out, Biker Doc was back in the house. He had two breakfast sandwiches in front of him, another on a plate for her with a huge cinnamon roll in the middle of the table. Shae smelled the unmistakable aroma of cinnamon and coffee. Her stomach clenched at the smell and she felt a wave of nausea pass over her. She
was hungry for the first time in forever and she wanted to eat.
“Good morning.” Jeremiah poured a cup of coffee out for her and pointed to the seat. Shae padded across the tiny front room with a hesitant gait. She pulled out the chair and sat down, keeping her focus on the buttermilk biscuit.
“How are you feeling this morning?” His question took her by surprise. She shrugged and tore a small piece of fluffy bread away.
“Just FYI, shrugging isn’t going to work for me. I require answers. You don’t have to be verbose, but if we want to make progress you need to talk.”
Shae put the biscuit in her mouth and almost swooned at the wonderful, soft, buttery goodness. She picked another piece off and glanced up at him. “I’m hungry.”
Jeremiah lifted an eyebrow at her before she dropped her eyes. “I take it you weren’t hungry before?”
Shae shook her head and peeked up at him. “No.” Slowly, she nibbled on the food until she’d eaten a quarter of it and he’d devoured his. The food warmed her in ways the blankets she’d layered on her couldn’t. It was better, but she still wasn’t… right? Shae knew her emotions were stopped behind a wall of medicine. She understood they were there, but she was relieved that she didn’t have to deal with the entirety of what—
“Have you ever thought about hurting yourself?” His question startled her. Shae jumped up and rubbed her hands over her arms. She moved back to her bed and sat down on it, only then noticing that the bedding had been changed.
“Shae?” Biker Doc’s questioning voice was jarring and demanding, even though it wasn’t loud. His presence was jarring. He needed to leave. She wanted to find oblivion in sleep again.
He turned in his chair and leaned his forearms on his knees. “It is all right to admit it if you have. I’m here to help you understand and deal with the thoughts that are running through your mind.”
Shae dropped her head into her hands and admitted, “Sometimes I think it would be easier for everyone if I wasn’t here.”
“Do you feel that way now?”
His question forced her to think. She shook her head. “No, not right now.”
“Okay. I want to make a deal with you. If you ever get to that place where you feel that way, you will reach out to me, or Doctor Cassidy, or Mr. Smith. We will be here to help you if things ever get to that point. You are not alone, Shae.”
She nodded. Logically she got that, but her mind sometimes shouted lies to her. Sometimes? Hell, almost constantly.
“Come on. We are going to go outside and take a short walk. We can talk or not, it is up to you, but you need to start regaining your strength. Sunshine is a wonderful form of medicine.”
Shae looked up at the hand he offered. “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to kill myself. But I’m scared. Sometimes it seems it would be easier.”
Biker Doc dropped his hand and squatted down in front of her. She glanced up and met and held his eyes for a moment before she dropped them again. “That’s real good to know. I understand what you’re going through, and I can help you find your way out of the labyrinth you think you’re lost in now. It will be hard work, but I know you can do it.”
Would she? God, she hoped so. Today, she only knew she didn’t want to die. She sniffed back tears at that thought.
“We will take it day by day, Shae. We will find a way for you to deal with the hand that was dealt to you.” Jeremiah stood and offered his hand again. Shae couldn’t deal with the thought of physical contact. She shook her head and pushed up. Biker Doc stepped back, seeming to understand she wouldn’t take his hand.
Her unsteady gait made for a very slow stroll to the cottonwood tree. They took a break there where she leaned against the trunk of the tree and rested. She gazed over to the house across the driveway and down the road a bit. A dark-colored cat walked along the top rail of the house. Shae focused on the animal as it maneuvered around support beams as if it was doing an acrobatic act. They talked about plans, what to do if she felt one way or another. The doctor spoke and she listened. His words provided her a respite in the storm of emotions that seemed to swirl constantly.
The doctor glanced at his watch. “Sorry to keep you for so long today. I’ve been here nearly four hours, but I think we’ve made some solid plans. I’m available any time you want to talk. Adam said you were given a cell phone with all of our numbers programmed in it.”
She nodded. It sat on the counter, untouched. Doctor Wheeler continued, “We’ve removed several of the medications that were not supposed to be prescribed together. You should be feeling better. I’ve kept you on an antidepressant and kept the dosage pretty high but lower than what was originally prescribed. We will taper that off as we progress. I need to know how you’re feeling now so I can gauge whether or not to change the dosage.”
Shae threw a quick look at him. She drew a deep breath. “I’m tired. I don’t feel anything except fear. I’m afraid all the time. But even that seems… distant.”
Biker Doc nodded. “Did you sleep well last night?”
Shae shook her head. The drugs didn’t knock her out as they had previously, but she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
“Dreams?”
Shae shook her head. “Images. Thoughts. Feelings. Nothing like a dream, just a mash-up of a host of things.”
The man nodded again. He motioned toward the house. “Let’s go back in. Today was a good start. We’ve agreed you won’t hurt yourself today and if you ever get to a point where you think you might you’ll call me, or Adam, or Mr. Smith.”
Shae glanced back at the house down the way. She nodded. She wasn’t going to hurt herself today. She wouldn’t do that, not today.
“Words, Shae,” Biker Doc reminded her.
“I’m okay today and I’ll call if I’m not.”
Jeremiah nodded at her. “Good.”
John shook his head for the fifth or sixth time since wrapping a plate in tinfoil and grabbing Shae’s medicine. Cat had decided to play dog and the dog had decided to go home. Cat was trailing beside him as he made his way over to the drover’s cottage. He’d fed the darn thing—again—so she wasn’t trailing because she was hungry. He stopped at the door and knocked lightly. There was a shuffling from inside the darkened cottage before a light turned on in the living room. He waited for the door to open. The woman who opened the door in no way resembled the bruised and battered human they’d rescued from that bastard. The bruises had faded, and her eyes were… brown, beautiful, and filled with apprehension. She was rail-thin and hunched in on herself.
“Hi.” John had never felt so damn awkward in his life. She peeked up at him with another split second of a glance and nodded. He figured that was all he was going to get out of her. “I brought you dinner and medicine.” Cat darted into the cottage and wound herself around Shae’s ankles. The woman jumped away from the contact. “Shit, I’m sorry.” John let himself in the cottage and set her food on the table along with her meds. He bent down to pick up Cat and throw her out of the house.
“Don’t.” Shae’s single word stopped him in mid-motion. “I like cats.” John lifted Cat into his arms, which started the rumble-slash-squeak machine hiding somewhere within the little animal.
Shae reached a hesitant hand out, stopping shy of touching the animal. John didn’t move and waited for her to continue. Her hand dropped away without stroking Cat’s fur. “She’s nice, but she can be a demanding taskmaster. If you don’t give her enough attention, she’ll start with the meowing. She knows I’ll do almost anything to keep her from that yowling.”
He motioned toward the table. “Go ahead and sit down. We’ve already eaten. I’ll grab you some water so you can take your meds.” He dropped Cat and headed into the kitchen. Hell, he was rambling on like a schoolgirl. He grabbed a glass and filled it from the tap. The well water on the ranch was pure and delicious. When he turned around, he paused. Shae was sitting on the floor with Cat in her lap. The damn animal was playing with a stran
d of her brown hair, which the woman was dangling over the furball. John stepped back to the table and sat down to watch the two of them. Shae glanced up at him, and he wasn’t sure, but he thought maybe a small smile pulled at the side of her mouth.
Cat noticed John and rolled languidly from Shae’s lap, stretching before she wandered over to him and rubbed up against his leg. Shae lifted up slowly. She limped forward and carefully sat down at the table. John pulled the tinfoil off the plate. He’d grilled a massive steak and cut some up for her before he demolished the rest of it. He had corn and a bit of fried potato alongside the meat and a generous portion of homemade bread that Aunt Betty delivered on a routine basis. Of course, he’d slathered the bread with ranch-made butter because the butter was the best thing for miles.
Shae picked at the food, barely eating, but she took a portion of each. She pulled pieces of the bread away and nibbled on it.
“What is her name?” The question snapped his attention away from the way she was eating back to the person in the room with him.
John laughed as he responded, “Her name is Cat. She’s not mine, just a royal pain in the ass that always shows up when there is likely to be food.”
Shae’s eyes darted up to him and a shocked expression flashed across her face before she lowered her eyes again. “Have you no imagination? She needs a better name.”
The whispered words forced a bellow of bitter laughter from him. His life up to coming to the ranch had been nothing but his imagination. He’d built lives for operatives that included minute details such as a scar on their chin. He used his vivid imagination to engineer elaborate lives for deep-cover agents that were impossible to breach. Some of his covers were currently entrenched on Capitol Hill, the Kremlin, Tel Aviv, and various countries of the Middle East. That was the reason he was hunted, and why he was ‘killed.’ As the architect of the covers, he was the only one to know each agent from the diverse organizations that utilized his talent. He’d been outed. His sister and father had been murdered, and if anyone knew he was alive he would once again be a hunted man. Oh, he had an imagination, all right, and it was his imagination that had cost him everything.
John (Guardian Defenders Book 3) Page 5
