Soul Scars (Dog Haven Sanctuary Romance)

by Tasman Gibb

  He walked back towards his pickup, and Adoette, the VA chaplain who sometimes sat in on their group sessions, waved him over.

  “How are you, Vince?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Will you be at group on Thursday?”

  “I’m not certain.”

  “Vince, don’t give up because Doc has gone. It’s more important than ever that you stick with us, so that together we can honor and improve upon all that important groundwork you and Doc have already laid down.”

  With that, the emotion he thought he’d dealt with, presumed he’d left at Doc’s graveside, welled in him. He cast a glance back to the copse and saw it for what it was: a bunch of trees at the edge of the road. Like the phantoms that came for him when tired or stressed, he knew that his friends were memories, incapable of manifesting as a group in the trees. He’d known that all along, but when he’d tried to make new friends, tried to set his sights in another direction with Doc so that he could get along with his life, Doc was snatched away, too. Understanding it as a ridiculous superstitious notion, he continued to recognize the part of himself that insisted he was jinxed and that Lulah wasn’t safe because anyone close to him was soon stolen.

  Adoette cosseted him in the warmth of her espresso-brown eyes. “I don’t know if I can carry on with everyone leaving me like this. I’m too scared to love anymore.”

  “I understand you’re recently divorced. Do you have good support around you?”

  “Yeah, I do.” Well, I did until I abandoned it.

  “Vince, I’m one person who you don’t have to tell what you think I want to hear. Okay? You can’t trouble me.”

  He shook his head, an attempt to back her off. “Too soon,” he managed.

  She pressed a business card into his hand. “I’d like you to come to my office, tomorrow, ten-hundred hours. My number is on this card. Vince…”

  He studied the card she’d placed in his hand before he closed his fingers around it. She had stopped mid-sentence, waiting for his attention. “Yes,” he answered.

  “Be there. Don’t disappoint me; we both know you’re better than that.”

  Chapter 29

  “HOW ARE YOU, Lulah?”

  Vince was loading something onto the back of his pickup when she arrived, and now he stood alongside her SUV, holding the door for her. His eyes briefly clouded with concern before he smiled.

  She felt shattered, to be honest. Shocked by the way his words and withdrawal affected her, showing her that she’d offered up more of her heart to him than she ever intended. “I’m okay, really.”

  “You’re not. Please…please don’t protect me.”

  “It’s flying. I hate it.” She swung out of the SUV, reaching the ground as Joker came tearing around the side of the cabin to greet her. The dog’s immense, unadulterated thrill at seeing her filled her with joy she hadn’t known for a couple of weeks and she spent some time greeting him, rubbing him all over, trying to anchor the resolutions she’d set for herself over the past few days. Now she felt strong enough to face Vince with a smile.

  “Joker will be pleased you’re home. He’s been stoic but unsettled.”

  “How about you, Vince. Stoic and unsettled?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  Not even a smile. He stood there, tense arms at his side as if he held everything together within a tight framework. God, when had they become so awkward with each other? “How was Doc’s funeral? Did you manage that okay?”

  “Let me get your bags.”

  She stepped away from the vehicle to give him access. “That bad, huh?”

  “I’m glad it’s over.”

  Lulah headed for the steps to the cabin porch. This edginess rippling through her needed to be dealt with. To be honest, she wanted to shout and rage and strike out at Vince, because this place they’d reached, this pointless polite dance around the border of something too hard to face, was not the way she did things.

  “I have some food for dinner, unless you have plans.”

  She unlocked the cabin door and pushed it open before turning back to him. “Thanks. I don’t have plans, but if we’re going to eat together, we’re going to talk through what happened in that hotel room.”

  He gave her one sharp nod and followed her through the door, placing her bags beside the entrance to her bedroom. “Your bags, ma’am.”

  “Would you like a tip?”

  “Sure.” He sounded uncertain.

  “Those jeans you’re wearing, the way they fit…hot!”

  His mouth widened into a slow grin. “I’ll keep them on.”

  Even hesitant, he embodied such strength and masculinity as if he would slay demons, rescue fair maidens…and who was she kidding? That was a fantasy Vince of an earlier war. The one standing at the door of her cabin ducked in and out of the shadows, his potency caged as if he believed that by releasing it he would cause all manner of destruction. And if that glimpse she’d caught in Vegas was anything to go by, she wasn’t up for the fight. Whoever took that on had to be strong enough to expose his soul, care for it, heal it, and put him back together again. It appeared she couldn’t unleash his passion without letting the destructive side of him loose, too.

  “I’m going over to the Sanctuary to catch up with Marlo and Adam. I’ll be back around six.” She waited for Vince to leave, the door to close, before she took a deep breath and looked around.

  Home. It felt as if the cabin, too, had paused mid-sigh when she’d left ten days ago and, like her, only now exhaled and drew a new breath. Obviously Vince hadn’t used the bathroom or kitchen and she could picture him, monk-like, washing from a basin, eating cold meals. The barn his cell, a place of contemplation where in his solitude and meditation he might hope to discover everything he needed to know.

  She pushed her bags into her bedroom from the place at the door where Vince left them. Their placement in the living room, the common area of the house, made it seem that Vince had withdrawn permission to allow himself into Lulah’s more personal space. She would unpack later. If Vince was going to be here preparing dinner, unpacking might be a reasonable excuse to shift from his presence, because depending on his mood, he was capable of overwhelming her by his proximity.

  Joker kept her in sight on the bike ride over to Dog Haven Sanctuary. She rarely went away, but after the few times that she did, Joker became needy on her return as if sticking close to her would prevent her disappearing again. Marlo was finishing her assessment on two new dogs recently arrived from a dog-fighting ring bust. They were young, without the scars of seasoned fighters, and were mainly suffering from the isolation of being tied out near some woods for most of their short lives. Joker went off to wrestle with Justice, and Lulah followed Marlo up to her office.

  “Tell me, how’s Ray?”

  “He’s coming along. He needs all kinds of rehab. First for his head injury then I want him to go into rehab for gambling, though I haven’t really talked to him about that yet. And let’s face it, he has to be the one to make that decision.”

  “You know we’re here to help, Lulah. You don’t have to take all of this on by yourself.”

  “I know; it’s just that I don’t even know where I’m going to be. If someone else is appointed to run the service dog training here, I’m not sure if I’ll stick around. And there’s…” She waved a hand in the air. She wanted to say Vince, but if she made him part of the equation of where she was going to be in her life, that would be admitting to Marlo something she hadn’t even admitted to herself.

  “Vince?”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” Marlo’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t even start to believe you’d try and deny that.”

  “Things didn’t go at all well in Vegas, Marlo.”

  “I know. Vince talked to us. It seems you hit the first bump in your relationship.”

  “In a relationship we’re not having.”

  “Lulah, you’re both saying the same things, and neither of y
ou sound convincing.”

  Lulah pushed to her feet. “I don’t care how I sound right now. Managing my father is draining the last bit of spare energy from me. I have the feeling that the more he improves in the hospital, the less cooperative he’ll be about rehab. There is nothing left in me for Vince’s dramas. Jesus,” she sat back down, “look at me. I’m surrounded by broken people, and no matter how hard I try not to be sucked into their needs, they’re like this vortex I can’t pull out of.”

  “Perhaps your lesson is in there.”

  “Thank you, wise mistress, that’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

  “Maybe you are the key to their recovery.”

  “Oh no, not this time. I was the whole damned set of keys for Dad as a teenager, until he lied and cheated one time too many. He’s not taking me down, Marlo. I’m not going to allow that again. Vince paid off the debt to the loan sharks. Did he tell you that?”

  Marlo shook her head.

  “Well, he did, and raises new issues, because I’d vowed not to pay Dad’s debt, but I knew I had to after they beat him up. All the while I’m feeling guilty, rotten, half-responsible for Dad ending up in the hospital, and next thing I know, Vince waltzes in and pays the debt. I’ll have to pay him back. Which means I’ve lost my money to buy the cabin. Damn, maybe I should be packing up and moving on.”

  “Lulah. This is one of life’s moments when you’re at a crossroad, but the devil isn’t there. You’re not being asked to sell your soul if you reach for what you want. And there is no hurry; there’s no deadline. Take your time to make any decisions, and when you do, be sure you listen to your head and your heart. Whatever you choose to do, don’t bolt like a frightened animal, okay?”

  The temptation to bolt overwhelmed her. It would be so easy to put Joker in the car and drive, but she wouldn’t do that. That was Vince’s method of operation. The one that drove her nuts. “Vince is over there cooking me dinner right now. Kind of irresistible when he does stuff like that.”

  “I bet he’d like to cook for you or, even better, with you often.”

  The dogs came in to settle in the office with them, and Lulah fiddled with the tags on Joker’s collar. One an ID tag and the other a St Francis medal. Her finger slipped over the Saint’s figure, and as she did, a thought struck her. “This collar…did Vince make it?”

  “Yes, that’s one of the first he made. He attached the St Francis medal, too.”

  “Huh, you know, I never gave it any thought. When I finally realized that after two months of Joker sleepovers I was never going to allow him to be adopted, I didn’t give any thought to his collar and tags.”

  “Vince doesn’t place tags on all the collars. Of course, for Justice he did that lovely engraving on the brass plate.”

  “For someone so closed off, he sees so much.”

  VINCE STOOD IN the kitchen scrubbing mussels when she returned. He was freshly showered, wearing her favorite cologne and the jeans she admired earlier. She paused inside the door, watching for a bit, taking it all in, and with a short glance and smile aimed at her, he let her do that, giving her space as he continued pulling the beards from the shellfish.

  “Looks like I’m in for a treat.” She wasn’t sure if her words were aimed at Vince or the food.

  “Mussels. Always a risk because they’re a shellfish that seem to polarize people. I’m hoping you love them, and if you don’t, I’m trusting what I do with them will change your mind.”

  “You’re safe. I love mussels, and I’m sure your cooking will make me fall in love with them all over again.” Over the past year, she’d learned about his way of treating things that could make you fall in love, then fall in love again, without having ever really fallen out of love in the meantime. Tonight, she would carefully remind her heart that she had done that once already and there was no need to repeat.

  “I bought some wine. Can I pour you a glass now?”

  “I’ll take a quick shower.” Her heart pounded, and she needed to withdraw, to reset herself, because this commotion going on inside of her wasn’t anywhere near close to the composure she wanted for the evening ahead.

  After her shower, out of the bathroom, the smell of the sauce Vince made—tomato, garlic, chilies and fresh herbs—was intoxicating. He poured her a glass of wine and took a dish of fat black olives—pitted and warmed through with cloves of garlic, lemon, and rosemary—from the oven warming drawer. She watched as he mashed the garlic and placed a couple of olives on bruschetta and held it to her mouth.

  “Open wide.”

  She hadn’t been hand-fed since she was a baby and pushed aside a little moment of self-consciousness before opening her mouth. His free hand he cupped beneath her chin to catch any drops, and he placed the food in her mouth until it touched her tongue. She closed her teeth, biting through the crisp toasted bread, enjoying the slippery warmth of the oil, the earthiness of the olives, and the tang of lemon and herbs.

  “I could fall in love with a man who knows how to prepare food like this.”

  His forefinger caught the smudge of oil at the corner of her mouth, and he swiped it, pushing gently on her bottom lip until she opened a little, and he slipped his finger into her mouth.

  “I love preparing food for people who appreciate it.”

  The tension between them was palpable, as if the air had taken on some sort of energized quality. It made Lulah want to take hold of Vince to discharge the energy, and she compensated by reaching for her wine and taking a slug. She had to slow down. It was only Vince; she could cope. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and exhaled. Tension out.

  He responded by placing the rest of the bruschetta on a napkin and held it out to her. “I know,” he said quietly, as if understanding her turmoil, and he turned away to stir the sauce bubbling on the stove.

  This tension and energy were as difficult for him. How easy it would be to forget Vegas, the hotel room, the hurtful words, to put all that behind them and muddle on until it happened again. And that would take the relationship to a similar sort of place as the one she had with her father. Was that her destiny? To have unreliable men who were going to give her the highs until they disappointed her and took her with them to the depths of despair?

  “Ready in five minutes.”

  I’ve been ready for months. She sorted through the cupboards for small dishes to use as finger bowls, filling them with warm water and slices of lemon. Vince warmed two deep bowls for their mussels, and Lulah placed another one on the table for discarded shells.

  The mussels were fabulous, small and tender. Vince showed Lulah how to take one half of the shell to dislodge the meat, slurping juices and using bread to mop up the excess.

  Lulah pushed back her chair when she’d finished. “What a mess. I’m glad we didn’t go for the white linen table setting.”

  “Look at your shirt.”

  She didn’t have to; she knew the stained state it was in. “I feel as though I need another shower.”

  Vince stopped chewing for a moment, the expression on his face difficult to read.

  “Okay, that was a joke,” she added with a short laugh.

  “More’s the pity.”

  “Vince,” she warned, “we need to talk. I’m sorry. I know that’s one of those scary lines women trot out, but it doesn’t change anything.”

  “Sure. Let’s clear these dishes away, and we can get down to business.”

  Lulah claimed the sofa, full-stretch, and Vince settled in an armchair. It illustrated the shift in their relationship, because before Vegas, they’d have shared the sofa or a place on the floor. “I owe you money, Vince. Dad’s debt and my share for the hotel room, so tell me how much.”

  “I’m not taking your money, Lulah—”

  “Hell, it had to be more than thirty grand. You can’t pay that.” I can’t pay that, but you took the choice away from me.

  “I talked them down to six grand. I convinced the LoanStar boss that you were considering filing a civil lawsui
t for them not protecting Ray’s personal details, resulting in him being severely beaten. Turns out the original loan was five grand, and we agreed on them taking the interest back to a grand.”

  “I would probably have paid the whole debt they were claiming. Wow, thanks. But I still owe you.”

  “You don’t. I want you to forget it.”

  “I can’t; that’s wrong.”

  “It was my decision. I wanted to do that for you.”

  “Well, thank you. You saved Dad; I appreciate that.”

  “No problem.” He paused for a moment before speaking. “I’m going away tomorrow…”

  His diluted smile did nothing to stem the inexplicable wave of panic surging through her. What happened in Vegas now seemed unfinished yet final, if that made any sense. She glanced out the window towards his pickup over by the barn. Outside it was dark, so moonless that she couldn’t see if his possessions were loaded on the back.

  “Hey, look at you. It’s okay.” He came to her, crouched down by the sofa and took her hand, cupping it inside his that way he did so she could make a loose ball or a tight fist, but either way, he protected her.

  “Why? Where are you going?” Her voice was high and tight, making her sound needy. Damn, she hated that. She wanted to sit up and take control of herself, but for once, she decided to take whatever came lying down. It felt oddly indulgent, this giving in, and a little bit scary.

  “I met yesterday with Adoette, one of the VA chaplains. I saw her at Doc’s funeral. She’s sat in on a couple of group sessions, so knows what I’m about. She suggested I go on a healing retreat, and found me a place at an organization she works with. To be honest, I wanted to back off all this stuff, this continual focus on me, but this place she’s sending me to is a bit different. Adoette wants me to build on the groundwork Doc and I have already put in place, but she believes I need to heal my soul and make peace with my war.”

  Lulah saw how hard he worked at trying to stay positive about what he told her, but the weight of it, the almost last-chance feel of what he was about to do, showed through the mask he tried to keep in place. “Are you afraid?”