by Susan Lute
Slender and tall, she exuded barely concealed, restless energy, and wore attitude like a boxer with a string of wins under her belt. With the sudden punch of desire to see how soft she was under that tough exterior, his pulse had lurched off the charts.
Chase didn’t want to disappoint his uncle, but it was too late for that, wasn’t it? He couldn’t let his favorite relative use the sympathy building in his chest as leverage.
He was drained dry with nothing left to give. All he wanted was the sanctuary this lovely, neglected ranch had to offer.
Gunnery Sergeant Jane Donovan would not find what she was looking for here, and there was nothing he could...or was willing...to do about that.
When he turned to go tell the Marine she couldn't stay, there she was, just inside the kitchen door. Quick appreciation pricked him at the unconscious, proud angle of her sharply sculpted chin. So briefly he almost missed it, a bruised little girl peeked out of the baby blues staring him down.
She’d obviously heard his side of the conversation. Chase swore under his breath. “I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle here. I can give you names of a couple of colleagues I trust.”
Her chin angled higher. “The Colonel says you’re the one, Sir. That you have skill in dealing with my condition.”
She took a shaky breath. A flicker of admiration that had less to do with her stunning face, and more with her courage, sprang up in Chase’s gut. She was braver than he was.
“This is important to me, Sir.”
He had a sinking feeling it was going to take more than telling the Marine to leave to get her off his ranch. That left them on opposite sides, in an old fashioned standoff.
He sighed in resignation. “I’m not your superior officer. Don’t call me Sir.”
*
Jane crossed her arms and hitched a hip against the door frame. Frustration rippled through her, but she wasn’t about to tell the man refusing her request for help how close she was to having a full blown panic attack. She’d had enough of them in the last six months to recognize the signs, and her future in the Corps depended on her staying calm and rational.
She shoved aside her fear. Jane knew what her problems were. She could list them as easily as any of the medical professionals she’d seen over the last six months. Insomnia. Nightmares when she did sleep. Fracturing memories that wouldn’t fade. Trouble concentrating. Irritability that could flare into temper at the drop of a penny.
Their assessment? Not stable enough to be reassigned, or to reenlist.
Something had to be done. She'd had no success at making the problems go away. Nor could she seem to hold it together so she could get through one day without breaking apart.
The only solution was to make the irritated man glaring at her understand how much she needed his 'special skills' to get her life back. Without resorting to begging, if possible. Not that she wouldn’t do that too, if it was absolutely necessary.
Perhaps a sneak attack through the back door would win him over. “You’re not really going to boot me out, are you?”
His scowl was not a good sign. “Is there any chance at all I can get you to leave?”
She took her time digging a piece of nicotine gum out of her front pocket, popped it out of its packaging and into her mouth. She glanced over her shoulder and shuddered.
“It’ll be dark soon.” It was in the dark when her worst ghosts came out to play.
Until Madrid, Jane had never been afraid of the dark. Not even at the orphanage where her drug-addicted mother had left her when she was four years old. In all the years she’d lived there, she’d welcomed the comfort of night.
After everyone went to sleep, she’d creep out of bed, find her way down shadowy halls to the dining room so she could snuggle in her favorite chair, and read the books Sister Mary Margaret kept for her there. When her eyes would no longer stay open, the nun would come along and send her to bed.
It was quite by accident that when she graduated from high school and enlisted in the Corps, she found the one thing she never expected to have - a family of her own. She couldn’t lose that now, but how was she going to make Russell understand the dark was no longer her friend without sounding like a terrified little girl when she told him.
She settled for practicality instead. “It’s a long way back to Parris Island, and I’m tired.”
The scowl abruptly retreated from his handsome face. “You can stay the night. Use the first bedroom upstairs on your left.”
Unspoken, she got his message loud and clear. As soon as the sun rises, I want you out of here. But for now, she had a bed for the night.
When he retreated to another part of the house, her bold front deserted her faster than air whooshing out of a deflating balloon. Chin dipping to her chest, her shoulders slumped. If he wouldn’t help, where would that leave her? Where would she go?
Sister Mary Margaret wouldn’t approve of giving up. Heading out the door she’d come in, Jane retraced her steps around the house to her Jeep. Grabbing the gear stashed there, she made her way to the room that had been assigned to her, vowing on the way to convince Russell – one way or another - to not only let her stay, but while he was at it, to fix what was broken inside.
*
In his office, desperate for the settled routine he’d managed to establish since coming to the ranch, Chase closed the computer file his uncle had sent on Gunny. The Marine's arrival had interrupted the unexciting routine of one day following the other and he wanted it back.
The acid burning his gut suggested that wasn't in his immediate future. The sass in sky blue eyes, and the cocky arrogance in the nip of her hip against the door frame, refused to be dislodged from his mind.
Gunnery Sergeant Jane Donovan challenged him in ways he didn't want to contemplate. So far, he'd managed to avoid examining too closely why he'd retreated to the ranch. His instinct for these things told him, letting her stay would force him to dig too deep into his own problems.
He had them. He just wanted to leave them in the past where they belonged.
Restless, he went to the kitchen to warm up his coffee, then continued through to the dining room and sat at the table. Through the large picture window he’d put in to bring more light into the room, he found the Marine leaning against the weathered siding of the bunkhouse.
Leaving the Counselor behind wasn't as easy as it should have been. And he was curious.
What had happened to take the light out of Jane Donovan's stunning eyes? According to the information Matt had sent, since the incident in Madrid, the Marine had turned into an absolute train wreck. Cited more times for drunk and disorderly conduct than he thought the Marine Corps had patience for, she’d also been to a long list of therapists who’d apparently been unable to straighten her out.
Chase fought the awakening of professional interest he’d gone to a lot of trouble to lock away the night he walked out of his brother’s hospital room. He would be crazy to let her stay. All she would do was disturb his new, quiet life.
He was a fraud. He knew it, and it was his family who’d suffered because of his bad judgment. It wasn’t fair to put Jane at risk, by pretending to be something he knew he wasn’t.
The back door squeak open, then slapped closed. Shortly, coffee in hand, his handyman joined him at the table.
Gus inclined his head in Jane’s direction. “Who’s the young lady?”
“A Marine passing through.”
Gus’ shaggy brows shot up. “She seems a bit lost.”
In more ways than one, Chase couldn’t help thinking, watching her curl and uncurl her fingers in a slow rhythm he knew was meant to soothe her. “She’s leaving early tomorrow morning.”
Pushing away from the building, she paced back and forth. A limp surfaced he hadn’t noticed earlier.
“She’s been hurt.” Concern colored the old man's quiet observation.
Chase frowned. From her file, he knew she’d been injured in the bombing, but there was no mention of i
t still giving her problems.
He kept his gaze locked on the woman fighting her demons in his yard. “Are you sticking around for dinner?”
He had a feeling he was going to need the buffer of the old gent between him and the Marine.
Gus shook his head. “Have a poker game in town.”
“Will Maxine be there?” Chase hadn’t met the woman, but it seemed there was something going on between the lady who owned the next ranch over and his widowed handyman. Every week Gus and his cronies met at the local bar to play cards. Most of the time, despite their protests, Maxine joined them.
A furrow formed between Gus’ brows. “She’s a stubborn woman, who just won’t listen to reason.”
It seemed they had the same dilemma.
Gus pushed himself up from the table; clapped Chase on the back. “She’s a pretty lass.”
She most certainly was.
And that was the problem. As a woman, she had him thinking of warm summer nights; dinner over flickering candlelight that cast a golden glow on her tanned skin; easy conversations sipping champagne. Never once in these sudden imaginings was he sitting across from her, making notes in her medical record.
A twinge of self-reproach nicked Chase. He knew what it felt like not to know where to turn next. Jane Donovan deserved more from the person who would be her therapist, than a has-been psychologist, with nothing but lust on the brain.
After Gus left, he rose and stood at one side of the window, watching as she continued to pace out her agitation. Her jaw was clenched with stubborn resolve. And something else. Bruised honor? He knew a thing or two about that.
According to her file, she’d saved many lives that day in Madrid. The kid had been the only casualty. Why was she tearing her life down and throwing it away?
Chase shifted in irritation. It always started like this, with questions he shouldn’t be asking if he had no intention of doing anything to find the answers.
He sucked in a breath, left the room, leaving the hurting Marine to her struggles. He didn’t want to be interested in what those answers might be.
In the kitchen, he put two steaks on to broil. He would convince her leave, even if it meant telling her the truth about about his failure.
In the meantime, the least he could do was feed her. If that smacked of giving a condemned woman her last supper, he couldn’t let that sway his decision.
CHAPTER
III
Brooding over the wall she’d hit in the guise of the uber-attractive Dr. Chase Russell, Jane reminded herself he wasn’t the enemy. That part was being played by her own mind.
She rubbed the ache in her hip and slowly crossed the yard to the house. Russell’s ranch was a far cry from the orphanage she’d grown up in. When she was a kid, living in a place like this would have been a dream come true. It would have meant she’d been very good indeed.
Part of her envied the man - that he had this serene place to sink his roots into. She’d only been there for a little over three hours, and for the first time since waking up in the Bethesda Hospital with a cranky hip and an even more cranky disposition, the sound of her heart pounding in her head had eased off to a dull thump.
Stopping just short of the wraparound porch, she stomped the dust from her boots. Out of habit, she patted her pockets, looking for a nonexistent pack of cigarettes. She dropped her hands, closed her eyes, forced in a deep breath.
“I’ve got steaks grilling. Do you want a baked potato or rice?” Russell’s deep baritone eased over her raw nerves, exciting a vision of long, barefoot walks on a South Carolina beach, and of holding hands in the five o’clock hour before the stretch of warm sand filled with sunbathers. Her heartbeat stilled at the thought.
When she opened her eyes, he was studying her closely.
It was foolish to imagine scratching this unexpected itch. Doing something that reckless would only prove to Russell everyone else was right - in her current undisciplined condition she wasn’t fit to go back to duty.
“Rice.” Suddenly, she didn’t want to stand idly by waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Is there something I can do to help?”
The man shrugged. “Sure. Do you cook?”
“Not so much, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”
Strong brows shot straight up.
Jane winced. There were a lot of things she was good at - obeying orders, protecting her troops, developing good tactical plans. Cooking just didn't happen to be one of the skills in her arsenal. “Rice is easy, right?”
Russell’s lips quirked into a brief half-smile. Jane was mesmerized. Quickly, she snatched herself free.
“All you have to do is follow the directions on the box.”
She followed him inside. “That can’t be too hard.”
Surprisingly it wasn’t. When the meal was cooked and the table set, she dropped into a chair across from Russell, biting back a soft groan. It’d been a long drive from South Carolina. She was feeling every mile.
Her stiffening hip begged for relief, but first she had to play nice. Sister Mary Margaret would approve of that tactic.
“Have you lived here long?”
Russell glanced up from cutting into his steak. “About three months.”
Nerves had Jane reaching for anything that would keep the conversation with the taciturn man from descending into thick silence. “Where did you live before you came here?”
He hesitated. “Seattle.”
“I’ve never been there.”
The stern lines on his face eased. “It’s a beautiful city.”
The merry-go-round in Jane’s stomach slowed. This wasn’t so hard. “Why did you leave?”
“I needed a change.” Russell’s abrupt withdrawal ended their brief truce. His next question was proof enough. “What happened to your hip?”
He knew her story. She could tell. Despite her best efforts to hide it, he must have seen her limp. She bit her tongue to keep from lashing out - another new, bad habit.
Wiping all emotion from her voice, as calmly as she could manage, she gave him the skinny, “I was on the wrong end of a disagreement with a terrorist. The sciatic nerve is damaged.”
“It didn’t earn you a medical discharge?” His steady regard stirred things up in Jane’s belly she didn’t want coming to life.
She shrugged, leaning her arms against the edge of the table. “The doctors say it’ll get better. Looks like your place could use some work.”
He nodded, “There’s a few things that need to be done to get the ranch into shape.”
In a valiant attempt to keep her disconcerting feelings contained, she picked up the fork and knife beside her plate, and cut into the steak in front of her. “I could help.”
“How?”
She flashed him the smile she’d learned early on could win her a favor or two. “I’ve been known to be handy with cleaning up an area.”
Russell’s eyes warmed to a clear brown that unfortunately, was fast becoming Jane’s favorite color.
It wasn’t an invitation to stay, but he was listening. She took advantage of the opening. “I can paint. And, I’m good with small machines and engines.”
He returned to his meal. “It’s a nice offer, but I already have a handyman.”
She shifted off her hip, confounded by his disinterest. This wasn’t the same man she'd read about on the internet; the author of a book about soldiers with her condition.
Her mind covering the same old ground, she searched for leverage. “If it’s a problem, I don’t have to stay long. You can do your psychobabble thing, and I’ll be gone in a week. Two tops.”
Russell looked up from his plate, his face a blank slate. Surely he could see how important this joint operation was.
He pointed at her plate with his knife. “Finish your dinner. Psychobabble, as you call it, isn’t like taking a pill. You need a treatment plan. A week or two would only be enough time to get started. Besides the amount of time it would take to make any real progress on
your problem, there’s a very good reason why I can’t be the one to help you, and my uncle knows that.”
He scraped back his chair, carried his empty plate into the kitchen. Jane jumped up, feeling like a lost puppy attempting to get the nice man’s attention, but she couldn’t think of anything that would put the conversation back in the direction she desperately needed it to go.
Putting his dish in the dishwasher, without looking in her direction, Russell headed for the stairs. Frozen in disappointment, she watched him disappear upstairs.
Frantically searching for an argument she hadn’t tried; anything that would bring him back and make him seriously reconsider her request, she blurted, “Wait, I-”
But, it was too late. Outside the windows, dark settled like a suffocating pile of wool. Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed in the stillness, reminding her how much she’d grown to dislike the hours after midnight - each one too painfully intimate.
She barely held back putting a hole in the nearest wall. To keep her temper out of trouble she finished cleaning the kitchen, not to win points, but because she was too disheartened to do anything else. When she was done, she wandered from room to room in an effort to take her mind off the fact that once again she’d failed when so much was at stake.
She’d been to more counseling sessions than she could count, each time wishing she wasn't there. Many of her fellow Marines had been involved in worse incidents than she had, and been able to keep it together; do their duty; move on to the next assignment.
What was wrong with her? It was demoralizing.
Russell was the last train stop on the road to her own guillotine. Jane battled the discouragement crushing her.
For a moment, she'd thought she had a chance to wipe her slate clean, get back the courage she'd lost. There was something in the man's face when he looked at her. Something hiding beneath his resentment at having her show up out of the blue. An indefinable glimmer, as if somehow he seemed to understand where she’d been, what had happened to change her from that good girl Sister Mary Margaret had been proud of, to someone who wasn’t so good anymore.
