by Ash Harlow
He hesitated as though figuring out a polite way to tell her to shut-the-whatever up. He dropped the pen he used on her homework. “No, don’t back off; just be you. People are on edge around me as if I’m about to detonate. I like the way you come at me. It’s refreshing.”
“Good.” She pulled up a chair at the table beside him, and staying with his eyes, willing him to be still, she took hold of his hand and flipped it, revealing a tattoo. His glance fell to her hand, and she followed his gaze, so that the pair of them had their entire focus on where she held him. She traced a finger over the letters, each one illustrated in a child’s old-fashioned alphabet block, and felt him shiver, his hand making a solitary twitch in her grasp. “Okay here?”
He nodded. “That’s what Gable does when she sees it, runs her fingers over the letters.”
“It’s tactile, this tattoo.” She knew he continued to watch her fingers as she traced the letters. His skin was remarkably smooth, and this close she could smell him better—moss after rain, male—and that scent went straight to the part of her brain she had so little control over. Well, to be honest, there was that struggle with the part of the brain that censored her speech, too, but if she concentrated, she could wrangle some order there.
Un-touch the hot guy. She slid her hand back to the table and managed a couple of slow blinks to pull herself into a more sensible state. Phew, nice. “So back to the reason you hide the tattoo that you had drawn in an exposed place. Want to share?”
Pain darted in his eyes like the sting of a hypodermic prick. “Share? Okay, ah, I had the tattoo placed there when I was a whole person. You know, the full-function guy: the dad, the Marine, the fixer and the protector. Hell, I’d have had her name tattooed across my forehead. Now I’m a broken, fucked-up loser with PTSD who can’t be trusted alone with my own daughter because I might flip out and harm her. So I hide the tattoo because I don’t like explaining to people that I don’t have access to Gable these days since, you know, I’m this asshole who can’t keep his shit together.”
“Well, so long as you’re not too tough on yourself.”
“Hell, Lulah!”
“Boundary, sorry, went too far.” Boundary, boundary, shit; give the guy a break.
“Can’t you pull back a little earlier?”
“I wish. I have this sort of imaginary electric fence in my head that I rig up depending on who I’m talking to. It stops me from crossing the boundary. Well, sometimes it does, but sometimes it fails.”
“How does it work…when it’s working?”
“I give myself a sort of mental zap when I’m close.”
“And when it fails?”
“All my thoughts keep pouring out, unchecked. It’s like the gate’s left open, and the cattle are running free.”
“More like a fucking stampede,” he muttered.
She could see his tension ramping up to rapid, sharp, high-alert breaths. Not good for the PTSD hot guy to have his agitation escalate. Time to ease up. “Sorry, buddy. I like to tease. Add that I’m still working out my boundary with you, so even though I’ll try not to, there might be a few more barrier crossings.”
The way he looked at her ignited that jet that turned her inner warmth into an inferno. She looked down to her assignment on the table in front of him.
Vince picked up the pen and cleared his throat. “We should probably get back to this.”
“Sure.” Her brief disappointment bothered her. Relief they were returning to the assignment was the right response. That was the reason Vince was here. But she had this urge to delve further into the person he was. Bad idea. Worst idea since the day she’d handed over the few hundred dollars she had in savings to her father, believing him when he told her the card game he was going to was a sure thing.
Vince doodled on a scrap of paper. “Lulah, of all the things I might do, I’ll never lie to you. Sometimes the truth may not be pleasant; sometimes I’m silent. Silent for days. But I won’t lie.”
Heck, whatever that’s about. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”
They spent the next half hour working through Lulah’s essay. Vince told her she was making progress and that this one didn’t need nearly as much work as the early ones. When they finished, Lulah cooked some pasta and oven-roasted vegetables, urging Vince to stay and talk about Calliope and what they could do with her.
“I’m teaching her to ground you when you start to freak. There are all sorts of ways she can do this. For instance, she automatically went over to you yesterday and placed her head in your lap. How did that feel?”
“It brought me back some awareness. Did you see she added her paw a short time later when it became worse for me? That was great.”
“Cool. Now, how are you in crowds? Let’s say shopping malls, at the park, places like that.”
He rubbed one hand up and down the left side of his jaw. “Yeah, that can be difficult. I don’t like being crowded in.”
Lulah made notes. She had no business digging into his issues, but she did want to identify some basic situations that troubled him. “Okay, we can work with that. Nightmares…we know you suffer from those?” She continued jotting down ideas, but when there was no response, she looked up at him. He clenched and released his fists, and that amazing tanned face was pale and pained. Where was Calliope? Outside the dog sniffed around the garden with Joker, too far away to notice.
“Where are you, buddy?”
He stared right through her.
“Vince, it’s not happening.” She stood to reach for him. The move was instinctive until she recalled what Adam taught her, and she sat again. His police training and working through this sort of stuff with Marlo gave him plenty of practice at calming agitated people.
Don’t touch the hot guy when he’s having an episode. Ground him. Ask him to identify something in the near vicinity. “Vince, please, look around you; tell me what you see.”
Finally, he drew a deep breath. “Lulah, hell.” His gaze ricocheted around the room, “Ah, table, chairs, fridge, books; it’s your cabin, Lulah.” His words rattled out like gunfire.
“Good, good. You gonna keep breathing now?”
“Sure, sorry about that.”
“Can I make you some tea or a glass of water? I have no idea why you would need a drink, but you know, it’s that old television thing…offer a drink, boil some water, and provide clean towels.”
“I think that’s more for delivering a baby.”
They laughed, but the tension barely eased.
Vince pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone into this with you. It’s not going to work.”
“Well, hello, Mr. Optimism. No, it’s not going to work if you refuse to even attempt the first hurdle, but that’s up to you. Of course, I’m the one with the barn.”
He tapped his head. “Shit, Lulah, you’ve no idea what it’s like in here.”
“No, I don’t, not until you share.”
He stood, stretching his arms and flexing his fingers. “Best I head off. Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome, buddy. Take care.”
The papers he’d worked through were stacked neatly beside her laptop. She read his corrections. He was right; there didn’t seem to be as many as usual. When she reached the final page, she stopped, stunned. What she thought had been Vince’s doodling was in fact a beautiful sketch of her preparing the vegetables for dinner. He captured her when she’d paused while slicing something—zucchini?—and had smiled at him. What he’d drawn gave her heart a little lurch. Compassion. Is that what he saw in her? He must have intended she see it since he’d drawn it at the end of her assignment. Vince’s way of thanking her. Whatever it meant, she would treasure it.
Chapter Five
Lulah pulled up outside the VA Home on the outskirts of Halo Peak. Each Thursday afternoon, she visited the residents with Joker. The dog had an extraordinary ability to draw the best out in people and other dogs. His rescue a couple of years ago broug
ht him to Dog Haven Sanctuary, their goal to train and rehome him. But at the end of most days, Lulah found herself taking Joker home rather than leaving him in the kennels.
When he’d completed his training, ready to go up for adoption, she kept finding another job for him to do. He specialized at bringing shy, nervous dogs out of their shell, which worked exactly the way it did with people. The running joke at the Sanctuary was that Lulah appeared to be the last one to realize that Joker would never go up for adoption, because she’d already given him a permanent spot in her life.
She hoped she wasn’t that dim when it came to men.
Lulah stopped at reception for a chat with the staff and soon released Joker who tugged at the leash, keen to get on with his duties. She finished her conversation and set off to find him, making her way along corridors, pausing at rooms and small garden patios to chat with the residents. To be honest, most of them wanted to see Joker, and she laughed about that with some of the old vets.
When their time was up, Lulah captured Joker and headed out to the parking lot. At the bottom of the main building steps, she saw Vince approaching along the path.
“Stalked by the UHT Guy. Awesome!” Total crap on a cracker, didn’t mean to say that out loud. Her blush was rare, but judging by the heat roaring up her cheeks, her face lit up like a beacon. At least Vince looked amused.
“Hi, Lulah. So stalked, huh?”
“Sorry, that popped out.”
“Have you left the gate open again?”
“Something like that.”
“Cattle out playing?”
“You know me…boundaries and stuff. Awkward moment, really.”
Vince nodded. “Sure.” He paused before adding, “Tell me, UHT Guy, what’s that exactly?”
“UHT Guy? Well, that’s how I sometimes refer to you. In my head. It’s like UPS Guy, but not so postal.”
“So…?”
“Give me a break; I’m squirming here, Vince.”
“Sorry, Lulah, I’m still working out my boundaries.”
“Oh, nice, now you’re stealing my excuses.”
“U-H-T…tell me?”
“You know what that means.”
Vince shook his head, the hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Lulah made a surrender gesture with her hands. “Okay, it means Ultra Heat-Treated. Happy now?”
“Ultra. Heat. Treated.” He drew each word out as if testing it for the first time, putting the flourish on Lulah’s discomfort.
“Yeah.”
At some stage, he moved towards her, and now only inches separated them. He dipped his head close and took her attention. As she stared into those green-shaded eyes, he matched her for a few moments before speaking in a low voice. “Lulah.” He said her name and paused again. “Do you think I’m hot?”
His voice deepened more, and the way it rumbled through his chest seemed to charge the air trapped between them. He looked so sexy she nearly shuddered. Drawing a long careful breath, she inched forward a little, her head inclined upwards, closer to his lips. All the time, she remained hooked into his gaze, because doing that made a different sort of heat move through her. “No, Vince,” she replied in the sexiest bedroom-whisper she could muster. “I think you’re a stalker.”
He threw his head back and roared with laughter. She laughed with him. What a blast to see him happy after these past few days! When they’d recovered, Lulah asked, “Not my business, of course, but are you visiting someone or…?”
“It’s the ‘or’ part.”
“Uh-huh, so what’s that, exactly?”
“Lulah, your gate is still open.”
“I know; I’m teasing. If you’re coming around to play in the barn later, you’re welcome to stay on for dinner.”
“You can’t keep feeding me.”
“It’s okay, really.”
He flashed her a broad, melting smile. “I’ll stay if I can cook. Let me pick up something on my way over. I’ll cook, and you can finish your assignment.”
“What makes you think I haven’t finished it?”
“A twenty-dollar bet that you won’t take.”
“I don’t gamble.”
“Because you know you won’t win.” He reached up and gave her hair a quick tweak before taking the steps two at a time. “Later, Lulah.”
Lulah dialed her dad’s phone number. She always called him on a Wednesday. Now it was Thursday, and she struggled to make the call. To let another day slip by without phoning was tempting, but she had these few moments while Vince prepared dinner, and avoiding phoning her dad was out of character.
He picked up which was a good sign.
“How are you, Dad?”
“Lulah, I’m good.”
She thought he sounded cautious, but optimistic. Or maybe she was reading too much into it.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m getting along. Have you thought about—”
“Nothing’s changed, Dad.” God, was it going to be this again?
“Oh, well, I’ll manage. Maybe I can get a double-shift, though there’s not much work out there for someone my age.”
“Go back to your support group, Dad. Start working on the things they taught you and get some support from the experts.”
“Yeah, well, finding another job to pay off my debts is my first priority. Anyway, I guess you’re busy getting on with your life. Mustn’t hold you up. I’m due at work in ten.”
The spark of optimism had left him, and the final plea hung in his attempt at a brush-off.
“Dad, you know I can’t help you.”
“Sure. Remember I told you working with animals would never pay.”
He almost tricked her into saying it paid her enough to live off and save, but in the next breath she’d be asking him for bank details so she could transfer her savings. Not happening.
“I’ll call you next week. Love you, Dad.”
“I know,” he said, then disconnected.
She switched off her phone. He was good at that passive-avoidance thing he did, but he was also her father, and knew exactly how to put a guilt trip on her. That made it totally wrong for him to be manipulating her like this. At least he’d dropped his blood is thicker than water stance.
“Save me from thick-skulled men.” She opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of mineral water.
“I’ll finish cooking and be out of your way.”
“Not you, silly, my father.” She took the lid off the water bottle, and as she reached past Vince to top off his glass, their forearms brushed, and the jolt that light touch gave her was a static zap. “Sorry,” she said quietly, certain he must have felt it, too. The bewildering look he gave—filled with barely contained…anger? No, something else—stopped her breathing. That was hunger. God, the guy was married and trouble. Time to back off. She retreated to the counter on the other side of the small kitchen and hitched herself up.
Vince continued chopping for another minute before he put down the knife and walked to her, stopping only when they almost touched. His arms were spread wide, palms down on the counter to either side of her thighs. “Never apologize for touching me, Lulah.”
With a shrug, she tried to remain nonchalant, to settle the race of her heart. “You’re such a no-go zone, for so many reasons.”
That hunger hadn’t left his eyes, and she knew right at that moment he would kiss her. She also knew she should dip her head away, slip off the bench, duck under his arms, and find some safety at distance. But as his lips covered her mouth, hard and needy, she didn’t have a hope in hell of resisting.
His tongue slipped between her lips searching for her, and they entwined with a kind of one chance, only chance, desperation. Then they slowed, as it seemed the moment was timeless, stroking, exploring , sharing one breath. When one paused to pull away the other intensified and reignited the hard passion.
Vince had taken hold of her head, keeping her in place as he gentled his mouth , light strokes of
her tongue, a tracing of her lips, and soft, searching explorations. Lulah slid her hands down the hard lines of the muscle of his back and gripped his hips.
In that instant, he pulled away, as if common sense became a mule that had given him a kick. He shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Lulah. I should never have done that. The PTSD…it makes me greedy and selfish. Sometimes I need to feel human.” Pain flashed in his eyes. “Today…shit.” He went back to the sink without finishing.
Phew, that was some kiss. “Today what, Vince?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah, well, you see, it does. You just kissed me; it was nice. Better than nice. But you can’t take the physical bits, drop little emotional bombs, and walk off. That’s not how we do stuff around here.”
“It’s how it works for me.”
“I’m ignoring that. Something happened today; what was that?”
He turned his back on her and started chopping and deseeding a tomato. “My doctor, he wants me to go back on medication.”
“And you don’t want to?”
“No, not a bit. It stops me feeling, stops my creativity, kills my libido.”
“Your libido seems fine.”
He slipped her a little grin. “Because I’m not taking any meds. You have no idea what it’s like to be around you, knowing that under normal circumstances, I would be thinking all kinds of stuff that involves me, you, and not much clothing. But when I’m on those drugs, I don’t feel a thing.”
“Ah, you are married, remember?”
“Separated, but technically, there’s that, too. I’m a screw-up.”
“Vince, I want you to feel you can say what you want, tell me how you feel, but don’t expect me to agree with you. You’re not a screw-up. I let you batter your self-esteem a bit, because that’s human nature, but I won’t sit by and let you take a sledgehammer to it. Just so that we know where we stand here, I presume you’ve explained all of these things to your doctor.”
“Yeah, but he thinks we should be dealing with the other stuff first. The PTSD symptoms, nightmares, freak-outs. Everything’s going a bit crazy. Sometimes the freak-out is the only time I feel truly alive. When my body feels all tight and prepared. Not with a crazy battle-brain, just this immense strength. I feel like a predator about to go off on a hunt.”
