SEAL of My Dreams
Page 5
“I’ll know soon. Probably a week or so, then I have to get back to my life.”
“Where is that?”
“Not here,” he said with a bite to his voice. “Hopefully somewhere exotic and exciting.”
He couldn’t have made it more clear that nothing of interest was happening in Sweetness. “You said something about being in town to do a favor for a friend?”
“That’s right.” But he averted his glance and didn’t offer details.
“Where are you staying?”
“Porter was good enough to let me stay in the bunkhouse with the workers while I’m here.”
She nodded, recalling that all the Armstrong brothers had military backgrounds . . . of course they would extend themselves to a fellow soldier.
“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, already heading toward the door.
Lora was accustomed to her patients being happy to see an end their PT appointments, but a small part of her was disappointed that Barry seemed so eager to be out of her company. “Yes, same time tomorrow,” she said.
But he was already gone.
As he closed the door behind him, Barry sagged with fatigue. Frustration crowded his chest—he didn’t like appearing weak in front of Lora and he really didn’t like the push-pull of attraction he was starting to feel for her in such a short time. He attributed it to the undercurrent of tension he felt concerning the way he and his friends had treated her when they were younger. There was so much in the news lately about peer pressure and bullying; he’d listened to the reports with a sanctimonious attitude, wondering how kids could be so thoughtless, with zero recollection that he’d done the same thing, and to someone who’d probably grown up to do better things with her life than most of the people who’d teased her.
She was obviously well thought of in town—that evening he spotted her running down the same road he’d driven in on and everyone she passed waved and honked. And the next morning when he arrived for his appointment, she was in the lobby giving parting instructions to another patient who hung on her every word.
“Thanks, Ms. Jansen,” the man said, rotating his arm from the shoulder. “I haven’t felt this good in years.”
“The credit’s all yours, Mr. Pennington,” she returned. “You’ve been faithful to your exercises and put in a lot of hard work.”
But the man beamed at her. “You’re a godsend, Ms. Jansen.”
She thanked him and winked. “I’ll see you next week.”
“Sure thing.”
Barry squashed an unreasonable pang of jealousy and decided he needed to unburden himself before these feelings of guilt tricked his heart into thinking it felt something that wasn’t real. So after Lora had put him through an arduous set of exercises with a weighted vest that forced his shoulders back, he stopped and blurted, “I’m sorry.”
Lora looked confused. “But you’re doing great.”
Suddenly this didn’t seem like a good idea. “I meant I’m sorry about . . . when we were kids.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“The name calling . . . I’m sorry.”
A flush climbed her face, and she grew flustered. “It wasn’t your fault . . . it was just a stupid nickname.”
“It was mean, and I’m sorry.”
She searched his face, then gave a curt nod. “Apology accepted.” Then she angled her head. “But if you think now I’m going to go easy on you, you’re sadly mistaken.”
Relieved at her good humored response, Barry laughed, then waited as the guilt drained away to take with it these confusing sensations were Lora Jansen was concerned.
A few seconds later, the guilt was gone . . . but to his dismay, the confusing feelings remained.
Chapter Five
A few days later, the feelings for Lora hadn’t dissipated, but Barry had identified where he’d felt this sensation before—just before a free fall parachute jump over Kandahar.
“How’s it going, Seaman?”
Barry looked up from the lunch counter in the diner to see Porter Armstrong standing there.
Barry smiled and extended his hand. “Fine. The accommodations make me feel right at home, although I have to say, the showers are nicer than what I’m accustomed to.”
Porter grinned. “I remember . . . sometimes we got one a week. And the rest of the time—”
“—a giant baby wipe,” Barry finished, and the men laughed in a moment of camaraderie. Then he sobered. “Listen, Porter . . . I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I hadn’t planned on spending this much time in Sweetness.”
Porter looked rueful. “I guess we were hoping you’d decide to stick around.”
Barry blinked. “In Sweetness? No, sir, I’m going back to the field.”
Porter raised an eyebrow. “Surely that isn’t possible.”
“I’m relying less on my cane,” Barry insisted. “I’ll be back up to speed soon.”
“Thanks to your physical therapy with Lora Jansen?”
Barry smirked. “I see word still travels fast in this town.”
“Yes . . . but if the PT is working, all the more reason to stay.”
Barry lifted his coffee cup for a drink. “I can continue PT at Bethesda. I’m sure Lora will forward my exercise plan.”
Porter nodded. “I’m sure she will, but I have it on good authority that Lora might be sad to see you go.”
Barry choked on his coffee.
Porter gave him a wry grin. “Nikki—Dr. Salinger—might’ve mentioned that she noticed some chemistry between you two.”
Barry had heard Porter and Nikki were a couple, had seen them together around town. “Dr. Salinger must’ve been seeing things,” he said casually, “because I have too much on my plate right now to think about . . . chemistry. And while my SEAL days are over, I’m not ready to leave the Navy.”
Porter looked dubious, but inclined his head. “I understand you’re eager to get on the road, but we still need more time to make arrangements for the ceremony. How about Friday?”
Barry tried to hide his frustration. Two more days seemed interminable, but he nodded. “If you don’t mind, though, I’d still like to keep this private.”
“Sure thing.” Porter clapped him on the shoulder, then said goodbye and walked away.
With Porter’s comments churning in his brain, Barry paid his bill and pushed to his feet, noting with satisfaction he didn’t need the cane to stand, and recalling with a start that he hadn’t taken a pain pill today—he hadn’t needed to. The realization cheered him immensely.
Several people spoke as he left the diner—the faces were becoming familiar, and he knew a few names, too. The men in the living facility they called the barracks were a congenial group, and many were ex-military. Everyone had made him feel welcome.
He borrowed a four-wheeler to explore the town. The area outside the city limits was still in disrepair, but progress was slowly extending to the valleys and ridges where most of the former townspeople had lived. Barry’s family had lived on Clover Ridge, where the Armstrongs and many other families had made their homes before the twister changed the landscape and the trajectory of everyone’s life. But even as nostalgia pulled at him, he was starting to feel confined and itchy from idleness. He needed to re-engage his mind and his body, and he couldn’t do it in Sweetness.
No matter how tempting Lora Jansen had become.
He tightened his grip on the handles of the four-wheeler and descended from the ridge slowly in deference to the broken and weed-choked asphalt. About halfway down, a noise caught his attention. He cut the engine, ears piqued. It was the whine of a dog, in distress. Barry’s pulse spiked. He glanced at the rugged terrain, then back to his cane—if he fell, he could injure himself further. But neither could he ignore the animal.
He pushed to his feet and gingerly picked his way through the tall grass, calling out soothing noises to the dog that was now barking. It took him several minutes to locate the animal, a male German Shepherd mix whose feet w
ere caught in the remnants of a barbed-wire fence. He looked to be around six months old. He was scratched and bloody, but appeared to have no broken bones.
“How did you get up here, boy?” he murmured to the dog, which attempted a few intimidating barks as Barry drew closer, then submitted to his rescuer, too weak to fight. It took Barry several long moments to free the animal, and he got a few deep scratches of his own for his trouble. He hoped the dog wouldn’t run away when it was freed because he had no illusions of being able to chase it down. Instead, the dog wobbled over and leaned against his prosthetic leg, turning trusting eyes up to Barry.
His gut tightened and he wanted to walk away, wanted not to get involved. But the dog clearly needed medical attention. So he leaned down and scooped it up with his right arm and slowly made his way back to the four-wheeler, relying heavily on his cane, but recognizing his overall balance had improved dramatically in just a few days. The dog didn’t put up a fight, waiting patiently while Barry got them both settled on the all-terrain vehicle. He fired up the engine, held the trembling dog against his chest under his coat, and headed back to town.
He had to get out of Sweetness . . . the longer he stayed, the more complicated things became.
Chapter Six
Lora was walking out of the clinic with her lab coat folded over her arm when Barry rode up on a four-wheeler. Her heart cartwheeled at the sight of him, but she schooled her face into a professional smile. Until she saw the blood on his hands and coat.
She gasped. “You’re hurt.”
“Not me,” he said, opening his coat. “My friend here was caught in a barb-wire fence. Can you help?”
At the sight of the scratched and bleeding fur ball, she melted. “How bad is it?”
“Superficial cuts, but he’s weak.”
“I can treat him in the utility room of the clinic.” She gathered the whimpering dog in her arms. “Follow me.”
“Unless you need a hand, I think I’ll take off,” he said.
She looked up, surprised. “I can handle him, but he’s your dog.”
He lifted his hands, stop-sign fashion. “He’s not my dog. I found him, and I’m handing him off. See you later.”
Barry drove away and Lora stared after him, perplexed over his abrupt demeanor. She’d selfishly hoped his unexpected apology over teasing her when they were young would pave the way for them to become friends. Instead as he’d progressed in his physical therapy, he’d withdrawn more personally.
“Let’s get you patched up,” she murmured to the dog.
Thankfully, the stray’s wounds required no more than cleaning and a few stitches. The poor thing was dehydrated and malnourished, so she fed him and gave him water, then took his picture and printed flyers for Dog Found and posted them all over town. Even though Sweetness was off the beaten path, it wasn’t unheard of for stray animals to be dropped off along the state road leading to the town and somehow finding their way to civilization. Until she found an owner, she received permission to keep the dog in her room at the boardinghouse.
The next morning at Barry’s PT session, he was more pensive than normal. In fact, his overall mood seemed antsy and distracted.
“How is your pain level?” Lora probed.
“Fine,” he said. “Better, even.” He pursed his mouth. “How’s the dog?”
“Healing. I’m trying to find him a home.”
“I saw the flyer at the diner,” he said, his tone clipped. Then he proceeded to throw himself into his exercises with more zeal than necessary.
Lora was gratified to see him walk the length of the room many times without his cane. “Your alignment is much improved. How does it feel?”
“Awkward,” he admitted. “I have to concentrate.”
“It’ll be second nature soon,” she assured him. “Why don’t you give the steps a try?”
He walked to the set of four steps up and four steps down girdled by a handrail. Slowly, he maneuvered them, using the rail only occasionally. “Why did you come back?”
She looked up from where she was making notes on his file. “Pardon me?”
His expression was curious. “Why did you come back to Sweetness? You couldn’t have great memories of living here.”
He was referring to the bullying again. She gave a shrug. “School was tough, but otherwise my parents made sure I had a happy childhood.”
“Where did you go after the tornado?”
“To Chattanooga. My father got a job there.”
“Did you like it?”
If anything, the teasing at her new school had been even worse. “It seems that kids are the same everywhere.”
His mouth tightened. “And after high school?”
“Classes at the University of Tennessee, then my PT training.” She smiled. “A fairly uneventful life.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
Lora’s pulse picked up, but Barry’s tone was casual. In fact, he was focused fiercely on descending the stairs.
“Uh . . . no,” she offered, trying to match his tone.
“That must be by choice,” he said, still not looking at her.
Lora frowned, not quite sure where the conversation was going. “What makes you say that?”
He shrugged. “There are a lot of single men in town.”
He stumbled on the last step. Lora lunged forward and put her arms around his waist to stabilize him. He steadied, but it left their faces mere inches from each other. Lora blinked and before she could pull back, he had closed the space and captured her lips with his.
If she said she hadn’t thought about what it would be like to be kissed by Barry Ballantine, she’d be lying. In truth, she’d thought about it a thousand times while sitting behind him in sophomore English, and a few hundred times this week alone while lying in bed. But in her wildest dreams, she hadn’t imagined it would be this good, that his lips would be gentle, but firm, that his tongue would coax hers into a sensual dance, that—
He abruptly pulled back. “I’m sorry.”
She released him and struggled to pull breath into her lungs. Her mind raced, trying to assemble an appropriate response when her body screamed for more.
“That was wrong of me,” he said, descending the last step heavily.
Her throat convulsed and she glanced at her watch to regain her composure. “That’s probably enough for today,” she agreed.
But long after he’d made his escape, his kiss kept her occupied even as she went through the motions of therapy with other patients. That evening, the found dog was a welcome distraction because while his furry little body hadn’t full recovered, his spirit certainly had. He was playful and congenial and bright, judging by the way he caught on to the game of fetch, and she was able to teach him to sit with only a few minutes of training and a few snacks. At first he wasn’t crazy about the collar she put on him, nor the leash she attached to it, but he acclimated quickly.
Lora was nervous about seeing Barry the next day for his appointment, but as she watched the puppy play and run, an idea formed in her head. The next morning when Barry walked up to the entrance of the clinic, she was waiting for him in the parking lot with the dog on its leash.
“What’s this?” he asked warily.
The memory of his kiss hit her full force, but she rallied. “I think you’re ready to maneuver around obstacles outdoors. I thought we might take a walk up to the school and back.”
He glanced up to mentally stake out the distance. “That looks easy enough. Is the mutt coming, too?”
Lora was surprised at the irritation in his voice. She had hoped the man and animal would bond—keeping up with a pet would be good for Barry’s continued mobility. “I was hoping you’d take his leash.”
An odd expression crossed his face, then he shrugged and reached for the leash, extending the cane to her in trade. “No one’s claimed him yet?”
She took the cane, knowing Barry had just passed a mental hurdle by relinquishing it to her. “No. I th
ink he might’ve been abandoned. It’s a shame—he’s energetic, but he obeys so well.”
“German Shepherd mixes are usually smart,” he offered, but he clasped the leash cautiously.
“Do you have pets?”
“No. And I don’t want one.”
The man apparently preferred to travel light, she presumed. His SEALs deployment probably had curtailed attachments . . . she wondered if that extended to women. “What are you going to do when you leave here?” she asked.
His jaw hardened. “I’m still in the Navy. I’m hoping they’ll find a place for a cripple.”
Lora frowned. “That’s not a very nice term. You’re far from being incapacitated. Did you have a specialty?”
He was quiet for a long time, staring at the leash he wound and unwound around his hand. “Actually, I was a dog handler for our platoon.”
Her mouth opened in surprise. “A dog handler?
He nodded. “Silky was our war dog for two years, a Belgian Shepherd . . . strong, smart, loyal. He could detect explosives or set remote cameras. He did whatever I told him, even if it meant running straight into danger.”
She caught the past tense verb, remembered the wooden box in his Jeep that first day he’d come into town, and the favor he had to do for a friend.
“You mentioned there were other injuries when you lost your leg,” she said. “Did Silky die?”
Barry nodded. “He alerted me to an explosive, then we came under sniper fire. In the confusion, he misinterpreted a signal and advanced instead of retreating.”
“And you followed him?”
He nodded. “But he took the brunt of the explosion.”
Suddenly, his aversion to the stray dog made sense. “I’m sorry, Barry.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “I brought Silky’s ashes with me back to the States. Sweetness was the only place that ever felt like home to me. I contacted Porter Armstrong and he offered a plot in the cemetery on Clover Ridge to bury the ashes.” He looked up at her. “You probably think that’s silly.”