by V. Vaughn
She had a small stack of photos of her Daddy’s boys. Men he had lost and who he said had no families to grieve or remember them. She looked at them on Memorial Day and said a little prayer for Perez, Dodge, Morelli, and the others.
Once they had looked like intrepid, battle-seasoned warriors to her. Now they looked like the brash, young boys they were underneath their dress uniforms and fatigues. But someone had to keep their names in mind, now that their sergeant was himself a ghost.
Zeke was an officer — he didn’t just give orders, he made decisions about what those orders would be. Had to be hard if you got it wrong, and your buddies didn’t make it. Only a real hard case wouldn’t blame himself. Even though hindsight was the only kind that was in focus.
Probably he did have PTSD. But she diagnosed grief. She wasn’t a big believer in taking drugs to stop sadness. Sadness was appropriate when you had losses. Great losses meant great sadness. She didn’t know if Zeke had been taking meds. She hoped not. They were addictive. They changed your brain. And not in a good way.
And most of all, they inhibited the grieving process. Take anti-depressants and you never got to that place where the hole in your heart still hurt, but you were used to having it and could function. She was never going to be over losing Daddy. Never. Nor was Mom. But they had grown accustomed to living with their grief.
They remembered Daddy, told stories. Laughed. And very often cried. But forgetting him seemed worse. The only thing she never dwelt on was Daddy’s death. She had his citation on her wall, but she had read it only the once. She knew how brave he had been, she didn’t need to rehearse his death over and over.
She wanted to remember her father as the big, bluff bear who could pick her and her sister up and carry them, one on each shoulder, even when they were great girls of twelve. That was the man she told her brothers about — because inevitably they had forgotten the parent who had died when they were only six.
Treating PTSD by talking about the horror seemed all wrong to her. Well-meaning but all wrong. Retelling burned those awful memories deep. And when that approach blew up, as it so often did, the drugs made things a thousand times worse. And shifters reacted badly to psychiatric meds anyway.
What Zeke needed was a pet. A nice big dog who would love him unconditionally and keep him company. And force him to rouse to take care of it. And some hard work to focus on. If he had winter clothes she’s set him to chopping kindling.
He hadn’t mentioned his family beyond that one reference to his cousin Laura. You had to wonder why he had chosen to camp in the woods in a deluge instead of spending Christmas with his relatives. There was probably another horror story there.
13
Jenna’s bedroom was pitch black when Zeke woke up. He had dreamed of his team. But this time he could not recall the details. Just as well. He felt restless and sad, but his heart was not racing in terror tonight.
Jenna’s bed was soft and warm and his angel lay softer and warmer beside him. Her fragrant, pillowy form was pressed against him and he was harder than an iron spike. He lay beside her savoring the serenity that enveloped him in her presence.
She seemed to have a knack for calming him. Maybe because she came from a military family. Turned out the bronze star on the wall was her father’s. And those socks she was knitting were for her brothers who were serving marines. She had flat out said she had no man. She didn’t seem the kind to cheat, but he should know better than to think any woman, even this angel, was above that.
At any rate she had made him think about his men and what he ought to be doing for their survivors. He was a rich man. His trust fund ought to be able to make the children of his dead buddies comfortable, even if he couldn’t bring their fathers back.
He didn’t know why it had taken six months for him to realize that he should be helping out his buddies’ families. He hadn’t been thinking any too clearly for damn sure. But something about Jenna had cleared the fog from his brain.
Too bad his own family didn’t understand him as well as his angel. His father thought he should just retire from the army and go work for B and B Oil like Patrick, and Calvin. Trigger Granddaddy Clive’s full bequest. Make himself richer yet.
Damn Granddaddy Clive. What the hell business did he have leaving his billions in such a way as to set the whole family fighting like cornered rats? There was poor Laura finding out, after she had spent ten years running the ranch, that it wasn’t completely hers unless she married and had a baby before she turned thirty-five.
And if she didn’t marry, the ranch went to Petal and Nolan Belington who had barely done more than visit the ranch occasionally. It like Clive to penalize her for loving the ranch. Didn’t matter that Laura had put Granddaddy first for years. If she hadn’t met a man and married, who had kept her in Success, using up her youth managing the ranch?
There was his own bequest, conditional on his working for the company. He and Pat and Cal were all supposed to ditch the military. There ought to be a law. Not to mention that if he decided to spend his days in Denver in the B and B office block, that automatically reduced the legacies of the other great-grandkids.
Well, if Great-granddaddy thought he could involve Zeke in a battle for money with his own family, he was flat-out wrong. As dysfunctional as his clan was, it was still his family, and he wasn’t engaging in a legal brawl with his cousins.
He was still sure he wasn’t much good to a wonderful woman like his angel. But he was rotten to the bone, because he was going to stake a claim and keep her. Whatever it took he would do it. Fate had landed him in paradise, and he was going to dig in and hold his ground.
He reached for Jenna and pulled her even closer, burying his nose in the hollow of her throat to enjoy the bouquet of her personal scent. She stirred and woke. Her arms went around him and she sought his kiss in the darkness.
She was really only half awake he thought. He hadn’t asked or even hinted at birth control. Maybe she was on the pill, though she sure didn’t smell like it. He had never in his whole life, not since he discovered the pleasures of sex as a randy boy, been as careless as he had been with Jenna.
When your family was B and B Oil you took pains not to open yourself to a paternity suit. But he could only hope that his sweet, luscious angel could be caught in a baby trap. Because she would find that in addition to a sweet, innocent baby or two — they ran to twins in his family — she would have snagged herself a great, big, ugly papa bear who wouldn’t let her go.
Jenna’s mouth opened beneath his and he stopped thinking to concentrate on pleasing his own personal angel. Her tongue tangled slowly with his and he slowed his rampant need to match her gentler pace. She tasted of woman and sex and life and her kisses were like water in the desert that was his soul. Holding her felt like bliss and he planned to keep her happy for as long as he could.
It was probably wrong to woo an angel with carnal temptations but he was damned anyway. What was one more sin on a soul already weighed down with graver crimes?
Jenna came slowly out of sleep to find Zeke nuzzling the patch of neck left bare by her flannel nightgown. His big hands were pulling her closer to his hard naked torso and his third leg was a steel rod pressing into her belly. She wound her arms around him and lifted her mouth for his kiss.
She was probably a fool to be trying to win a man with bed sport. She had no experience at this, no secret wiles or fancy techniques. All she had was instinct and a strong sense of homecoming. As if this hard-bitten Ranger was her man, home from the wars at last.
She had done nothing to prevent a pregnancy. Plainly she had decided that she was going to have this bear’s babies. If he took off on her, she would have nothing to blame but her foolish heart. She knew he was still recovering from exposure. She knew he was the walking wounded. But every strand of her being seemed to resonate with his. She wanted this man. She wanted his babies.
She had never heard that love or sex could cure mental trauma. Probably because it never had. And yet her inne
r bear was telling her to offer this soldier comfort. But likely that was just her biological clock telling her it was time to breed. Whatever. She was going to be reckless and gamble on a husband and family, even if the odds were worse than bad.
Zeke’s big fingers were fumbling with the tiny buttons that closed the pin tucked bodice of her thick flannel nightgown. His tongue was gliding gently against hers, tasting, sipping, as if they had all the time in the world. When he got the buttons unfastened, one big hand sought her breasts and stroked them lightly.
He plumped the yielding globes and kneaded them before circling the puckered nipples. He chuckled and lightly pinched one straining tip between thumb and forefinger. A spark shot straight down to her pussy and it began to throb and ache.
It was too dark to see his face, but she touched the hard planes of his face and his kiss deepened. He plunged into the tender recesses of her mouth and urged her tongue to mate with his. Her breasts grew tight and heavy and so did her buttocks and sheath. She moaned rapturously into his questing mouth.
As if her moan was a cue, Zeke pulled his hand out of her bodice and both hands pulled on her gown seeking the hem. He took his mouth away from hers and yanked the nightgown over her head and tossed it away. His mouth went lower to claim the prize of her bosom. Hot kisses rained over the plushy slopes and he pulled the aureoles into his mouth to suck them hard until they distended painfully.
Jen ran exploring fingers over his hard arms, tracing the bulging muscles and wandering back to his furry chest. She hunted for the nipples buried in his chest hair and pressed them with a daring finger. He must have liked it, for he growled and used the edge of his teeth on her nipples. Her pussy spasmed and she climaxed with a squeal of delight.
There was something triumphant in the way he seized her hips and pulled her underneath him. A thumb pushed hard at her clit while the other hand was still lifting her buttocks to meet his sword. He parted her and rammed himself home. He thrust hard and she shrieked again as she came once more. But he wasn’t done. He set a hard and steady pace. His back beaded with sweat and his tongue imitated the love rod he was pistoning inside her.
Jenna wound her legs around his waist and opened herself wider to his penetration. Her world shrank to the electric sensation between her legs. She pressed her heels into the dimples above his butt and levered upward to meet his plunging tallywhacker like the wanton he had made her.
He bellowed like an exultant conqueror. She felt his seed gush hot and wet at her core. Immediately the walls of her channel began to pulse and she shot into an orgasm more intense than the previous ones. Her head fell back and her eyes closed in sleep. Zeke’s heavy body pressed her into the mattress.
Zeke woke to discover his angel was lying beneath him soft and boneless. His one-eyed monster was wide awake and ready for more action, but he rolled sideways and groped for the quilt. He covered them up against the chill of the night, and settled himself close to her heavenly curves. He had pleased her. Maybe even started a baby. He should let her sleep like the innocent she had been.
14
Zeke was still deeply asleep when Jenna woke to another grey dawn. He was warm under the bedclothes, and sleep had smoothed the grim planes of his face so that he looked less forbidding. But he still wasn’t fighting fit by a long haul. She didn’t know how long he had been chilled and exhausted before he got to her place, but she suspected it had been several days at least.
Why hadn’t he taken bear? It seemed incomprehensible to her, but Zeke clearly hadn’t been firing on all cylinders for months. She had tried to work out a timeline from his anecdotes but it wasn’t easy. Of course, he was limited in what he could tell her about the mission that had gone so terribly wrong. Rangers were part of the Army’s special forces. The guys who handled the deadly, secret operations. Even after a mission was over — especially if it had failed — it could stay classified for decades.
She dressed herself in the chilly bedroom while contemplating the convalescence of her wounded lover. He needed to be kept warm and his brain needed rest. But his body needed exercise and hard work, and while she thought he had labored long and hard in her bed, they couldn’t stay in bed all day.
The radio had no good news. The storm was moving southeast and petering out. The State of Washington was still asking citizens to stay off the roads. Power had been restored to one hundred and fifty thousand residents, but twice that number were still without electricity.
Jenna’s cell was fully charged but still had no signal. Thanks to the generator, her computer fired up but the internet was down. No surprises there. The guys who would fix the towers were the same ones who would repair the downed power lines, plow the roads, get the bridges open, and check on the folks like her who lived in isolated homes. Could be days before she had any way to communicate with anyone.
The Hanover Free Clinic had been closed since noon on New Year’s Eve. Two going on three days since Yakima Ridge had had access to medical care. The residents were hardy pioneer stock who could look out for themselves, but three days was long enough for genuine emergencies. Pioneers were self-reliant, but in the bad old days, women died in childbirth, babies died of mysterious fevers, and if you had a heart attack they buried you.
Frustratingly, there seemed to be no way for her to get to the clinic and start doing her job. Even if she took bear, she couldn’t drive from Jack and Hannah’s until the roads were plowed. And she couldn’t show up naked to a freezing cold building without power or heat. Assuming the patients could even get there. Likely folks were as stuck as she was. Best to put it out of her mind for another day and keep busy.
The pale morning revealed that the wind had sculpted the snow into fresh mounds that blocked her back door and shrouded her windows. Her wood pile was shrinking but she had enough indoors, without having to wade through the drifts to the cord wood stacked by the garage. Although, now that it had stopped snowing, clearing a path to the garage and using her snow blower on the drive would probably be wise.
She was gone when he woke up. Panic briefly set in until Zeke heard the clink of china against metal. Jenna was making breakfast. He got up, noticing his head had stopped aching for the first time in months. The sweater and socks she had lent him had been replaced with his army issue socks and a plaid blanket. And a bright blue fleece vest that didn’t zip up. Hadn’t started life as a vest either. Someone had taken scissors to a jacket and cut out the sleeves so he could put it on.
He looked in the mirror. He looked like an idiot. A great, hairy, outsized buffoon. He had grown tired of the too small sweater, but this vest was worse. And his own socks were not as comfortable as the pair Jen had lent him. Holes were opening at the toe and the heels were thin. The plaid blanket looked like some sort of deranged kilt. He’d be better off wooing Jen in his birthday suit. Except that it might shock her, and the cabin seemed cold this morning.
He thought he had made a good start with Jenna last night. He had pleased her in bed — not that she was hard to please. A little fondling, and the woman came apart in his arms. Of course, maybe she was that eager and responsive with all her lovers. And just like that his gloom was back.
Jenna looked up when Zeke emerged in his new togs, but her pleasant smile died when she saw the scowl on his freshly shaven face. Her flinty warrior was back. He took his seat at her table with barely a grunt of greeting and sat there glowering, waiting for his breakfast. She nearly dumped his porridge over his head, but that was no way to snare herself a husband. She poured his coffee and set his bowl in front of him.
This morning’s mush smelled just as good as yesterday’s. Zeke spooned it up and chewed and nearly gagged. Jen was sitting across from him looking as trim and tidy as always. Her beautiful, plump features were looking expectantly at him. Her angelic blue eyes were innocent and sweetly expectant. He chewed up the raisins and swallowed the nasty things.
He looked down. Big brown raisins lurked like swollen and spongy bugs in his oatmeal. He was car
eful with his next spoonful and managed to avoid the pulpy fruit. Jenna was eating her own bowl with evident enjoyment. Charming. He should be charming. He conjured up an image of his twin’s smile. The one that made women swoon. He and Patrick were brothers. They looked alike. He could produce a charming grin.
“Are you feeling alright?” Jen asked solicitously.
So much for charming. He was a charmless bastard. Always had been, probably always would be. “I’m fine,” he said as sweetly as he could. He drank coffee. Hot and black and strong. Just the way he liked it. He set to work to finish his porridge.
Jenna was staring right at his bowl where the pale brown, sluglike raisins sat in a slimy pile. He couldn’t read her face. Was she horrified at his bad manners? Did she think he didn’t like her cooking? Well, he had practice doing what he didn’t want to do. Time to take a bullet for the team.
Jenna watched her lover playing with his oatmeal. Apparently he didn’t care for raisins. He had pushed them to one side like a sulky toddler and was trying to hide them under his spoon. She kept her smile to herself and busied herself drinking her coffee.
Zeke shot a glance at her, squared his shoulders and filled his spoon with the discarded raisins. He chewed manfully and swallowed. He drained his coffee and refilled his mug. He drank without pause and gave her another of those peculiar smiles. He really must be feeling worse this morning, she thought.
“Are you up to an omelet?” she asked as she picked up their bowls.
“Sure am,” he said. No one would put raisins in eggs. Would they? He remembered his manners. “Thank you.”
Jen made a note to omit raisins from Zeke’s food in future and started beating eggs.
Jen let him dry the dishes and watch as she made pastry for the pie she planned to make later. He sat on her three legged stool and followed her with lustful eyes. She should have been offended by the way he stripped her sweater and jeans from her body, but her willful heart just soared with happiness. A gentle humming started vibrating through her whole body.
