Reckless

by Ruth Wind

  “Yeah, right.” He rolled his eyes. “You know, Desert Storm wasn’t like Vietnam or World War II or Korea. We didn’t lose thousands and thousands of our men. It didn’t drag on for years. We kicked the enemy’s butt, got out fast and came home heroes.” He felt his jaw tense, his throat tighten. “No big deal.” She inclined her head again and nodded, and it suddenly made Jake furious. “Don’t play counselor with me, damn it. Don’t start thinking I’m some pity case just because I can’t sleep.”

  “Jake, did you like being a soldier?”

  “Is this some trick question?”

  “No.” Her voice somehow managed to soothe the anxiety her questions and probing raised. A gift, that calming voice, part of her healer’s bag of tricks. “I’ve never approved of the army, actually. I don’t believe in war.”

  “How nice for you.”

  “Hear me out.” She leaned forward. “I don’t disapprove of the choice someone makes for his or her life. We have to make our way in the world, and we do that as well as we can, but there’s such a gap between a healer’s mind and a soldier’s mind that I’ve never been able to understand why someone would choose that life. Didn’t you always want to be a soldier? I’d like to understand that.”

  Her words spun into him, stinging like hornets in a hundred raw places, buzzing and burning against his open wounds. Memories rushed in. He saw himself raking Harry’s leaves when he was twelve, listening in rapt fascination to Harry’s battle stories. The noise, the action, the bonding of men. He saw himself chortling when the letter from West Point came and his dream was so close. When he’d actually entered those hallowed halls, his heart had swollen so large in his chest he’d almost passed out.

  And though he tried to stop the rest—the tormenting visions—they all came in a tumble, too. The dun-colored sand and the smell of burning flesh and the noise that meant children had died, and the tanks and—

  “Damn.” He clamped his hands over his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this,” he said in a raw voice. “Leave me alone.”

  He bolted for the door then, but Ramona stopped him, grabbing his arm before he got through the door. “Take the prescription,” she said. “At least you can get some sleep.”

  Without thought, conscious only of his urgent need to flee, Jake grabbed the slip of paper from her hand and escaped.

  Chapter 4

  Louise took one look at her son’s face and abandoned all attempt at faking a sprained ankle. His expression reminded her of when he was twelve and furious with himself for falling short on some standard he’d set—generally way too high—for himself.

  When he came out of Ramona’s office, he shot his mother a single, blazing look and growled, “Let’s go.”

  Louise glanced over her shoulder at Ramona, who only shook her head. A sword pierced Louise’s chest, but she wisely said nothing as she followed Jake out to his lowslung red Miata. She said nothing as he unlocked the door or as she buckled her seat belt. Nor did he.

  Maybe this time she had overstepped her boundaries. Jake was not easily directed. He listened only to some voice inside of him, a voice she suspected echoed the authoritarian bark of her late husband, Olan. No matter what Jake had achieved as a child, Olan had only pushed him harder—and Jake had learned to do the same for himself. In his own estimation, he was never strong enough, smart enough, good enough.

  All that, in spite of his astonishing record. In school, he had always scored highest on tests, and graduated valedictorian. If he played sports—and naturally a boy like him had to play—he had to be captain of the team. He’d set his sights on West Point and gotten it. He’d determined to attain the rank of major by the age of thirty and had achieved that, too.

  He was the most driven man she had ever known. All of his life, Louise had worried about it. Experience had taught her no man could keep up that hard pace without eventually collapsing.

  Oh, she’d tried to counteract it. When he’d achieved a goal, Louise encouraged him to revel in it, to take pride in the new achievement, but Jake was always heading for the next pinnacle. Always striving, always looking ahead to the next challenge.

  She didn’t see anything wrong with ambition. Ambition and drive were good things, but like everything else, they were only good in moderation. Jake never seemed to get any joy out of his accomplishments.

  Four years ago, he’d abruptly resigned his commission with only a handful of years to go to retirement. Upon hearing the news, Louise had immediately suspected all was not well with him, but she hadn’t been able to see for herself until he came home last fall. Once the neatest of her three children, he hadn’t had a haircut in months, and it was plain he hadn’t shaved in at least a few days. Looking at him now, she noted with concern the blue shadows under his eyes, the grimness of an expression held in check to hide everything going on inside.

  She pressed her palm to the sick place at the top of her stomach. “Jake, I’m sorry for buttin’ into your life, but you can’t expect me to sit back and watch you waste away into nothing.”

  His hands tightened around the steering wheel, but he stared straight ahead. “I’m fine, Mama.”

  “Fine, my foot! When was the last time you ate a real meal? When was the last time you slept all night? Can you even remember the last time you enjoyed yourself at anything?”

  “As a matter of fact, I had a great meal at Lance’s reception, and I really enjoyed myself, too. Does that make you feel better?”

  “That was almost a week ago!” she protested, thinking of the food.

  Jake gave her a half smile. “Mama, this may come as a great surprise to you, but a good many single men and women don’t eat full-course meals three times a day.”

  “Just because they don’t, doesn’t mean it’s healthy.”

  He gave an exasperated sigh. “What do you want, Mama? You want me to be back in the army? You want me married and goo-goo-eyed like Lance? You want me to cut my hair and wear clean shirts like old Harry? What? Just tell me.”

  “I just want my Jake back,” she said quietly. “I want to see that spark in your eye again. I want to see you really living instead of just drifting like this.”

  He pulled up in front of her house and put the car in Neutral, but didn’t turn off the ignition. He stared at the house with a singular lack of expression. “The old Jake is gone, Mama. I’m sorry, but he’s not coming back.”

  Louise opened her mouth to protest, then thought of Ramona’s warning. Jake had to be ready. “All right, son. I’ll try to accept that.” She opened the car door. “You’re welcome to come eat anytime. You know I can’t stop cooking.”

  He caught her arm. “Ramona gave me a prescription for sleeping pills. I’ll try them, all right?” He kissed her cheek quickly. “Just mind your own your business, will ya?”

  “I’ll try.” She patted his cheek and winked. “I’ll try real hard.”

  And in fact, it was nearly miraculous what those pills did for him. Jake didn’t know if he was simply just too exhausted to think or even ache anymore, but the pills put him to sleep in minutes. For the next few weeks, he didn’t exactly sleep blissfully through the night and wake up refreshed—his nightmares were a little too energetic for that kind of rest—but he at least got enough rest that he could function again. He went back to work and started experimenting with a low-fat sauce for artichoke hearts. When his cook broke both legs and a wrist in a climbing accident, Jake cheerfully took his place, playing rock and roll on the radio as he juggled orders.

  Because of his pinch-hitting, he was late going to see Harry one Saturday evening. He’d called to leave a message, but it still bothered him—Harry counted on Jake. It was almost dark when he got to the hospital, but Jake found Harry in his usual place, looking out the windows toward Mount Gordon.

  “Hey, Harry,” Jake said, “sorry I’m late. Did you get my message?”

  Harry nodded. “I did. You know you don’t have to wait on me, son. I got by without you before you came home. I
’d get by without you again. You got something to do, you go on and do it. Don’t put anything on hold for me, you hear?”

  Jake chuckled and grabbed the handles of the wheelchair. “You want a sweater or anything? It’s cool tonight.”

  “I guess I do. There’s a jacket in my room if you want to go and fetch it for me.”

  “Will do. Don’t go anywhere.”

  Harry didn’t smile. He didn’t answer. Just sat facing the windows. Jake saw the purpling mountainsides reflected in Harry’s round glasses and noticed the yellowish look of the old man’s skin and the deeply etched lines in his face.

  “Are you all right, man?”

  “I’m old,” he said, and coughed heartily. “Nothing a good Winston won’t cure.”

  “All right. I’ll be right back.”

  Jake wasn’t in the home much this time of day, and it was different. He waved at old soldiers in their beds, thinking it seemed lonely here tonight, with the sounds of canned television laughter unable to completely drown the mechanical whooshes and beeps of health support equipment. Fluorescent tube lights gave everything a cold greenish cast. Jake thought absently that the rooms should be painted more cheerful colors. Maybe some warm blues and greens, or stripes in bright primaries.

  He ducked into Harry’s room and quietly opened the narrow closet, careful not to awaken Harry’s roommate, who slept with his mouth open, snoring robustly. He found the light cotton jacket Harry favored and crept back out to the hall, closing the door behind him.

  A woman’s laughter spilled into the hallway. It was a warm, life-giving sound in the quiet of the home, sexy and utterly female. Jake smiled, thinking of all the men who would turn to that sound and grin to themselves, or maybe yearn to hear it in response to one of their jokes.

  A man’s voice murmured just a couple of rooms down, and the woman laughed again. Low and husky, somehow very rich. Nice. He thought it belonged to a young woman, and his dulled libido perked up. He’d been too tired even to do much automatic flirting the past few weeks. Maybe he’d peek in to see who it was. A lot of these guys had children and grandchildren in the area.

  Just as he neared the door, however, the woman came out, looking over her shoulder to offer a slightly ribald joke to the old man in the bed.

  Ramona. Jake stopped, clutching the jacket in his hands. For one brief moment, he wanted to duck into one of the rooms along the route so he could avoid her. He didn’t like the astuteness of those clear, steady eyes.

  But for once, her hair was down, and she had on something that actually flattered her coloring and figure. It was a pretty, springlike dress made of some floral fabric, very light and airy—and kind of transparent, like those old dresses from the forties.

  Beneath the red-and-blue fabric, she had on some kind of dark slip. He saw the straps on her shoulders and followed the line of the slip over her breasts.

  She didn’t see him until she nearly ran right into him, swinging out of the room with her dress fluttering around her legs and her hair tumbling down her back. He caught her arm to keep her from bumping into him.

  “You really do have long hair,” he commented.

  Her eyes showed a flare of pure womanly pleasure before she managed to don her professional manner. “Jake! It’s good to see you.”

  “Yeah?”

  She gave him a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Yes. You look a lot better. Did the sleeping pills help?”

  Annoyance rose in him. He didn’t want to be her patient. He wanted to slide his hands over that slippery dress and feel the way her flesh gave against his palms. He let his gaze wander over her body, and his sex gave a small, approving shout. “Nice dress,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she replied as if she hadn’t noticed his perusal. “It’s one of my favorites.”

  There was a long, long row of tiny buttons from the demure neckline to the hem. “Must be hard to get on and off. You’d about have to use tweezers on those buttons.”

  She took a step away from him and crossed her arms. One breast swelled prettily against a red fabric petal. “Cool it, Jake,” she said.

  “Cool what?”

  “The seductive act. You don’t have to flirt with me.” She smiled. “I’ll be nice to you anyway.”

  “Sorry,” he said, and realized he meant it. “Habit.”

  “I know. But it isn’t necessary with me.” She inclined her head. “How are the pills working?”

  “Actually, they help a lot. Thank you.”

  “Good. Maybe in a few weeks, you can think seriously about contacting one of the counselors, huh?”

  “Maybe.” He wouldn’t, and she probably knew that. It was her job to suggest it and he didn’t blame her.

  “Are you here to visit Harry?”

  Jake lifted the jacket. “Yes.”

  She nodded, and her smile was very sweet. “He really looks forward to seeing you, you know. His children only come once a month.”

  “I know.” The children all lived in Denver. “It’s a long drive, I guess.” He looked at the khaki jacket folded over his arm and knew Harry would be anxious to get outside for his cigarette, but Jake was somehow reluctant to move.

  But he also couldn’t think of anything to say. He raised his head and met her wide brown eyes, and his breath caught in his chest. “I guess you have a lot going on, huh? Things to do when you finish here?”

  “Not really.” Her voice blew like a warm breeze over his nerves. “This is my last stop.”

  Still no words came to mind. He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to tell her. He only knew that he wanted to spend a little more time with her, maybe just listening to that peaceful voice and letting himself drift in the softness of her eyes. “Can I buy you some supper or something?”

  She hesitated, and Jake felt an unfamiliar embarrassment wash over him. Women didn’t turn him down as a rule. In fact, he really couldn’t remember the last time.

  She took a breath. “This is hard for me to say, so don’t laugh, okay?”

  He gave her a puzzled frown. “Okay.”

  “I know I’m not your type, and you aren’t really mine, but there does seem to be an...a...” She paused, sighed quickly and met his eyes. “There’s something pretty physical between us.”

  He grinned as wickedly as he was able. “I was afraid you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I noticed. But my point is, I think it would be a very bad idea for us to be involved sexually.” Only a tiny hint of color betrayed her discomfort. “But I wouldn’t mind being friends.”

  It was rare that anyone, man or woman, could so frankly confront such a subject, and although Jake felt a slight urge to reciprocate and turn the tables on her for her rejection—however well-meant—he wouldn’t demean her honesty by pretending he wasn’t attracted to her.

  “Okay.” He grinned again and let his eyes sweep over her luscious curves. “But I can’t promise not to speculate about what I might do if you’d let me.”

  “I mean it, Jake. I would enjoy matching wits with you again, but I don’t want any complications. We’re just too different.”

  He sobered. “I mean it, too, Ramona. It would be nice to have a friend.” To his amazement, he was sincere. “I’d better get back to Harry. Think about where you want to eat.”

  “Okay. Take your time with Harry. I’ve got rounds to finish, and I’ll wait for you in my office. Ask one of the nurses where it is.”

  Ramona couldn’t help a shiver of anticipation as she walked out into the cool night with Jake Forrest at her side. She had meant what she said about a sexual relationship. It would be disastrous. Aside from the very real problem of his PTSD, Jake brought an intensity and a kind of wildness with him, and she didn’t have the time or the inclination to deal with that personality.

  As he opened the car door for her, however, she couldn’t halt the rush of awareness he aroused. Standing there bathed in the weak white light of a gibbous moon, his hair shone fiercely, and his face was an allu
ring arrangement of planes and shadows. One high, arched cheekbone and the bridge of his elegant nose caught edges of moonlight.

  She paused, remembering a moment when she was sixteen. She’d been late for class and had rushed to her locker for a forgotten notebook, then rounded a corner at a run. There, in a secluded hallway, had been Jake and his girlfriend, making out. Jake’s hand had covered the sweatered breast of the girl, and she had a nearly delirious expression on her face as he kissed her neck. Petrified and shocked and aroused all at once, Ramona had stared at them for a long minute, mesmerized by those long fingers stroking and teasing and moving over the girl’s flesh.

  Finally, ashamed, she had hurried away, her face burning.

  The memory had lost little of its power over the years, and Ramona felt a familiar heat flood through her.

  As if he noticed nothing amiss, Jake said now, “How about the Moon Café? I hear they have a pretty good Celtic trio. You seem as if you’d be the sort to like Celtic music.”

  She smiled. “I do, but it doesn’t strike me as your kind of thing.”

  “Oh, really?” He raised a brow. “What would be my kind of thing?”

  Ramona shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it. Something loud.”

  He gave her a pained look and closed the door, then climbed into the driver’s side. “That makes me sound so uncivilized.”

  The car was small and Jake seemed to fill every inch of it. Ramona smelled the same cologne he had used at the reception and inhaled appreciatively. “You do smell good.”

  “Thanks.” His smile flashed in the darkness, and Ramona reminded herself that he was quite practiced with women. The car, the cologne, the easy, knowing smile. His confidence showed even in the way he drove—too fast, but very much in control—as if the machine were only an extension of his body.

  “So what kind of music do you like?” she asked.

  “I think you should guess. No more stereotypes.”

  “Stereotypes?”

  “You assumed I’d like something loud.”