She stood in the quiet darkness, chest heaving. Her breath shallow and ragged, and her limbs shaky. She leaned on the front rail and stared out into the night, letting the peace the cool air offered wash over her.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
She could hear John’s voice clearly. The small window over the kitchen sink. She must have left it open.
“I didn’t mean to make her mad,” he continued, sounding like a small child being scolded.
Her father responded in a tone that was at once gruff and surprisingly gentle. “It’s not you. Katie’s like the Montana summers. She runs hot one minute and cold as ice the next.” Her father paused. “But when she’s warm, it’s like you never want the summer to end.”
Dad. Tears pricked the edges of her eyes.
“I know people aren’t perfect. That everyone has their own pain.” John’s reply was so quiet, she almost missed it. “My father was hardly ever around when I was small. He left for good when I turned ten. About the only real memory I have of him is the two of us playing basketball in our driveway.”
Her father’s voice was quiet but firm.
“Don’t treat her any differently, John,” he said. “She’ll never forgive you if you do.”
“Time for me to get back to the bunkhouse and crawl into bed. Thanks for a great dinner. I’d appreciate it if you’d pass that on to Katie for me.” The scrape of the chairs against the wooden floor meant John was on his way out.
She could have left. Walked out back. Or over to the barn. But her feet wouldn’t move. She held her breath as he stepped out onto the porch and came to an abrupt stop. His eyes darted between her and the stairs. He carefully inched his way past her, pausing a few steps down from her. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could see he was looking up into the black night sky.
“If someone had asked me what I loved most about Montana,” he said quietly, “I would have told them it was the sight of jagged mountain peaks against the backdrop of the starry skies. When I was a boy I would count the stars in the sky until I lost my place, and then start all over again.”
Air slowly passed through her nose and into her lungs. Her eyes scanned over his large frame. His shoulders slumped forward, as if the weight of the world were placed on them. And it was just too heavy to keep holding it.
“I tried to do the same thing in Afghanistan, during the nights when I couldn’t sleep. And there were plenty of those. But without these fierce and jagged mountain peaks, it wasn’t the same. I always knew that unless I came home, it would never be the same.”
She put her hands in her pockets and scuffed one foot on the floor. She looked at him, before switching her gaze to the fields and the horizon She studied the stars gleaming in the ink black sky, until the porch creaked.
“John—wait.”
She sucked in a deep breath when he turned around. His face remained in shadow, his expression hidden. She couldn’t tell what he thought. “I was out of line. I—know you didn’t mean anything by what you said.”
“I honestly didn’t mean to criticize,” he said. “In the army, being blunt is a virtue. I’m trying to remember that it doesn’t work in the civilian world. But you know what they say about old dogs and new tricks.”
“I know I’m not a good cook,” she said. “When my mom left, there was no one to teach me how. I taught myself through books and videos I found online. And you sort of know my dad. He’s not going to say my food sucks. He’d eat scrambled rotten eggs to spare my feelings.”
A lump formed in her throat as she recalled sitting alone at school, tears pricking her eyes as she swallowed down a tasteless sandwich. She could hear her classmates whisper, “Her mom didn’t want her anymore so she left.”
“My food’s nothing special—”
“It’s good enough for me.” He lingered on the step. “You teach yourself accounting, too? No—I know you did.”
She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Are you mocking me?” He criticized her cooking, and she’d opened up to him—
“No. I’m impressed. Your dad—well, he’s a lucky man to have a daughter like you. Thanks for dinner, Katie. Next time, I’ll be a better guest.”
“Who said there’d be a next time?”
But secretly she’d hoped there would be, which meant she needed to find better videos on cooking. Though, maybe she just needed to learn before she accidentally poisoned her dad. Her lips pulled into a wide smile as she bounded up the steps to her room.
Chapter 12
The following Friday, John left the VA hospital and walked into the twilight. He was tired physically and emotionally, having taken the last available appointment to not interfere with his job. But by the end of the day he had even less patience for Dr. Evans’s probing questions. And the doctor appeared to be getting frustrated with his monosyllabic answers and refusal to discuss anything but his job. How long was he going to be forced to sit in an office, talking about the same shit week after week?
The sight of his trusty Chevy brought a faint smile to his face. The truck was a beat-up hunk of junk, but he loved it. He purchased it after his second deployment. His mother constantly warned him she was going to turn it into scrap metal, calling the Chevy a death machine on wheels. The truck was far from perfect, but it was one of the few things John could truly call his own. That made it valuable to him.
His original intention had been to restore the truck, but between trainings and deployments he barely had time to keep the old vehicle in working order. Once he received his first paycheck, he’d put in some time to make sure his ride was reliable so he’d never again be stuck using his mother’s car.
He drew in a deep breath before unlocking his truck. He’d made the mistake of admitting to Dr. Evans his mother hid his beer whenever he was at her house, and how she’d gone from insinuating he had a drinking problem to actually calling him an alcoholic.
A low growl erupted from his mouth. His drinking wasn’t affecting his work. Nor was it impairing his ability to go to physical therapy. So why shouldn’t he be allowed to drink if it helped him relax? His mother’s constant guilt trips had become so bad he preferred to live in the bunkhouse, even when his mother begged him to stay at her house so she wouldn’t be alone.
Hopping into the driver’s seat and starting the engine, he decided to head to Slingers. Slingers was a cheesy, cowboy-themed bar a few miles from his mother’s house and even farther from the ranch. At Slingers, he could be anonymous. He could drink silently at the bar, or shoot pool with the college guys when he felt up to it. On rare occasions, he might even chat up a pretty college girl. Though after the incident with Melissa, he tended to steer clear of women. No need to be humiliated again.
The parking lot was fairly empty, but the size of the crowd made no difference to John. He wasn’t looking to make friends. Just distract himself until he was so tired he could fall into a dead sleep once he finally got home—wherever that proved to be tonight.
He sat at the long mahogany bar. The bartender took his order, handed him a beer, and left him alone. He took a slow pull of his Yuengling and glanced around the long, wide space. All the TVs were tuned to different sports channels. Watching silent coverage of a college football game, he settled into the easy, fluid atmosphere around him.
By his third beer, the crowd had grown. He headed over to the pool table in the back corner. The guys playing looked up, signaling him to pick up a cue. He tipped his chin in acknowledgement, grabbing cue and chalk. That was another thing he loved about Slingers. No one was big on conversation.
He played a couple of games before heading back to the bar for another beer.
“Wanna buy me one, cowboy?” A pretty redhead batted her lashes at him from the neighboring barstool. She couldn’t be a day over eighteen, but her heavily made up face looked garish under the overhead lights. He almost laughed—at her look, at her request, at her assumption he was a cowboy even though he was—and shook his head.
S
he moved closer, her lips parting. Before she could get a word out, he grabbed his beer and headed to the other end of the bar. He wanted to escape his failures tonight, not set himself up for more. And when it came to women, failure was all that ever happened. Just look at that dinner with the Lockes. His teeth ground together forcefully. For once Katie had decided to lay off her vendetta against him. She’d been pleasant company—possibly even flirting with him—and with one dumb remark he’d ruined the night. For everyone.
He ignored a pang inside and signaled the bartender for another beer. The more time he spent around her, the harder it was to hide his physical attraction. Especially when she wore her hair up. The sight of her carelessly caught up ponytail made his fingers itch with the desire to stroke her hair. And her eyes! It was a crime to hide them behind sunglasses. They were a rich brown, fluid with emotion.
That path leads to nothing but trouble. Steer clear.
He walked out of Slingers, ready to collapse into a bed and pray for the blessed oblivion of sleep. His head pounded but the rest of his body enjoyed the pleasant buzz. To get to the ranch, he could either cut through the center of town or skirt around the outside of it on the quiet rural roads. The latter was a better bet.
An extra five miles was nothing. There would be fewer cars, and he’d be less likely to run into any cops. He wasn’t worried about losing control of the truck but wasn’t sure a police officer would agree with him.
As he drove down the endless black stretch of road, the slight throbbing in his head became an angry pounding. His fingers laced tightly around the steering wheel, his thoughts returning to the hospital visit. The anger he could never go back to combat. Never serve his country again. Never be with the men he considered brothers.
All his life, he’d lived and breathed the U.S. Army. As a kid, he’d known he would join up the minute he was old enough. During high school, when his friends had worried about college applications or had existential crises over what to do with their lives, he had been the only calm one. For him, it had been simple. He was meant to be a soldier.
But with the life he’d always wanted ripped away, he no longer had an idea how to get it back to normal. Working at the ranch helped, but going weeks seeing only the same five faces made the isolation close in on him, tightened by the stress of needing to learn life all over again. Even down to the way he spoke, since his bluntness offended lots of people.
All the unfair things that had happened in the last year flashed through his mind. His foot pressed down on the accelerator. And the truck sped along faster and faster.
After flying around a curve, red and blue lights flashed in the rearview mirror. Fuck! For a moment, he considered ignoring the cop behind him. But he came to his senses and stomped on the brake, pulling onto the shoulder of the road.
I’m fucked.
He rolled down his window and waited until the officer came up beside him. The cop looked barely over twenty, peach fuzz still present on the kid’s upper lip. “What seems to be the problem, officer?” He spat the words out in disgust. He’d served in situations this little punk could never even imagine.
“I think you know, sir,” the officer said. “I clocked you doing eighty-three in a fifty-five. Now if I can have your license and registration, we’ll just get you on your way.”
“I don’t think I’d like to give you that information.” Challenging the officer was a bad idea, but he couldn’t help himself. Life had taken away so much from him and he wasn’t about to let some little punk with a badge suspend his license.
“Sir, I need your license.” The police officer’s voice dropped to a flat, irritated tone.
“No.”
“Sir, have you been drinking?” The cop leaned down and shone a flashlight into his eyes.
He flinched as the light struck his pupils, throwing up a hand to block the glare. “Just a few beers at the local watering hole.”
The officer cleared his throat. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the car.”
“Are you kidding me?” Rage uncoiled in the pit of his stomach, exploding with each word he spat out.
The cop bent his head toward his chest and murmured a few words into his radio. A static voice responded. A call for backup.
The officer issued his order again. John slumped in his seat as he watched the cop’s hand stay right over his gun.
“I’m getting out now,” he said, turning off the truck.
The other man stepped back, eyeing him intently. By the time he blew into the little Breathalyzer, another officer had arrived. Just under the legal limit. He felt like punching the air in victory but all he did was wave his fingers at the first cop.
“Now that we’ve all calmed down a little, sir, can we see your license?”
He slammed a fist into the side of his truck. The impact made a dull, metallic thud. Both police officers reacted fast, and he found himself face down on the ground, spitting out dirt and gravel from the cold wet shoulder of the road.
The officer who’d pulled him over read him his rights while the other placed the handcuffs on him. His head continued to throb as the officers manhandled him into the police cruiser, his mind too clouded with anger and frustration to resist.
The ride to the police station was short, but long enough to realize he’d made a huge mistake. As he was led inside for processing, his breathing slowed and his heart rate returned to normal. His rage dwindled, leaving him exhausted.
The booking officer barely glanced up as his picture was taken and he was fingerprinted. He wanted to tell someone—anyone—he’d served in Afghanistan and done his duty to keep his country safe. That he’d helped to preserve freedom for all of them. Didn’t it make a difference? Shouldn’t he be allowed some leeway as he was forced back into civilian life—a life he didn’t want?
John took a good look at the tight expressions of the cops around him. Tired, overworked, they kept passing him off from one to another. He was nothing more than a box to be ticked, a form to be filed.
The officer who led him to the holding cell was a squat, tough-looking woman with her curly black hair scraped back in a bun. As she shut the cell door, she said, “You’re lucky. It’s quiet here tonight.”
“I still don’t understand what you’re charging me with. I wasn’t drunk.” He stood in the center of the cell, blinking at the police officer. He bit his lip. He didn’t want to sound like an asshole, but realized she would think he was just bitching. Maybe he could still get on the woman’s good side. “You know, I was—”
“Disorderly conduct.” The police officer marched away, her shoes clicking on the linoleum tile.
So much for winning her over.
He dropped onto the bench inside the cell and ran a hand through his hair. His buzz wearing off, he realized he was going to have to call his mother.
Shame crept in and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He could picture his mother’s face, her features dropping with disappointment as she found out where he was. And he knew he’d have to deal with her grim satisfaction at being proven right, even though he hadn’t been arrested for being drunk.
How could I have let this happen?
He sat quietly for a long time, lost in thought and exhaustion. The sudden jangle of keys when the officer came back to the cell startled him.
“Come on, buddy. Let’s get someone down here to collect your sorry ass.” She unlocked the cell door and grabbed him tightly by the elbow.
He took a breath through his nose and held it for a count of ten before exhaling slowly. There was no way he was going to lose control again. It was bad enough he was going to have to humble himself and admit he had screwed up.
The cop stopped alongside a phone that looked so old it was just one step beyond rotary. He was pretty sure he’d need a tetanus shot to hold the receiver up to his ear. “Does this thing actually work?”
From the look on the officer’s face, she’d heard that joke before—and it hadn’t bee
n funny then.
“One call,” the officer said. “And keep it short.” She stepped back, crossed her arms over her chest, and waited.
Apparently, he was going to have an audience. With a sigh, he lifted the receiver and punched in his mother’s number. The phone rang.
And rang.
And rang. Why wasn’t the answering machine picking up? Where was his mother? She should be home. Her social circle was small and aging. All of them would be in bed by this time of night. And his mother kept a phone right by her bed on the nightstand.
He replaced the receiver and tried to think. If his mother couldn’t bail him out, who could he call instead? There was no way he wanted to spend the night in jail.
“No one answered,” he said to the policewoman. “Can I try someone else?”
Her jaw moved back and forth, and he could almost see the debate warring within her as to whether or not she was going to be a jerk about it. “Make it quick.”
His mind raced through the names of the people he knew. I really need to make some friends. Mitch was the only other person he trusted, but who in their right mind would call their employer—especially their new employer—to bail them out of jail?
Not like I have any alternative. He punched in the main house phone number for Three Keys Ranch and waited while it rang. He took another deep breath, trying to keep calm.
“Hello?”
Katie.
Not the person he wanted to speak with. Not about this situation. “It’s John. Is your dad around?”
“Nope.”
He waited for her to continue, but only silence followed her answer. He swore under his breath. Of course she wasn’t going to make this easy. “Do you know when he’ll be back? Or can you give me his cell phone number?”
“Why?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
He sighed. “I need to ask him a favor.”
“He’s out of range. Won’t be back until morning.”
“Shit.”
“What’s the problem?” she asked.
He hesitated, but told himself beggars couldn’t be choosers. “I’m in jail. I need someone to come bail me out.”
Hearts Unleashed Page 9
