An Officer and Her Gentleman

by Amy Woods

  He spoke again. “Is there anything I can do to help you?” he asked. “Are you lost?”

  Avery almost grinned at that last part, because yes, indeed, she was very, very lost.

  The only thing that stopped her was the tone of the man’s voice. Glancing around, she could see that she was completely alone in some dirt hole on the side of a gravel country road, in—she looked down at her body—a thin white tank and army-issue workout shorts. Clearly she was at the mercy of this guy, who’d evidently stopped to check on her. Under other circumstances, her training would have kicked in and she’d have flipped him onto his back in mere seconds.

  But something told her he wasn’t a threat.

  His voice.

  It was deep and smooth, his words bathed in the local accent, and full of genuine concern. On top of that, he stood above the ditch staring down at her, hands at his sides, and hadn’t made a single move to come closer. The man seemed...safe.

  Having lost her bat somewhere along the way, she braced herself for an attack when he bent his knees, but instead of jumping into the ditch with her like she thought he might, the man simply knelt down.

  The movement brought attention to long, muscled thighs beneath faded denim jeans, and when he leaned an elbow on his upright knee, Avery noticed the stretch of tendons in his sinewy forearms.

  How ridiculous it was, she thought, for her to notice such a stupid thing when her life could be in danger for all she knew. Seeing as how the guy hadn’t mauled her by now, it probably wasn’t, but still—it could be.

  Avery crossed her arms over her thinly clad chest. Not that there was much to see there. Not anymore.

  “I’m fine, actually. Just...taking a walk. Enjoying the stars and all.” She waved a hand above her, indicating the spread of twinkling lights above them. It was plausible.

  But when she looked up into his eyes, she could tell he didn’t agree. The man looked to be somewhere near her own age, maybe slightly older, and Avery was surprised she’d never seen him before. She’d grown up in Peach Leaf and knew just about everybody, so it was strange that she hadn’t met this person.

  Sure as hell would remember if she had.

  Not only did he have the toned body of someone who either worked at it or had a very active job—he had a face to do it justice. Clear, dark chocolate eyes—eyes that had a certain glint in them, as though they saw more than most—a strong jaw and hair the color of a panther’s coat.

  Right now those brown eyes narrowed with what appeared to be strong suspicion, but after a few seconds, they filled with a certain kind of warmth Avery wasn’t used to seeing anymore.

  Pity—she was used to that—but not warmth.

  “It is a beautiful night, isn’t it?” he said, seeming to relax a little.

  There was something easy about him that made Avery want to let her guard down a smidge. It was almost as if his mere presence lowered her blood pressure.

  “That it is,” she agreed, wanting the strange exchange to be over so she could figure out how far she’d gotten and how, for the love of all things holy, she was supposed to get back home.

  “Name’s Isaac,” the man said, stretching out a large hand.

  Even in the dark, Avery could see calluses and healed-over scratches. Must be some kind of laborer.

  She just stared at him, not offering her name, willing him to take his leave. It would be futile to try to explain the complexities of her condition, as she’d come to think of it, to this handsome stranger. She didn’t even completely understand it herself, even after almost a year of therapy. Besides, her knees were beginning to feel a little wobbly and a spot just above her left temple had started to ache...

  “Well, if you’re all set here—” he looked like he believed her to be anything but “—I’ve got a walk ahead of me.”

  Isaac hesitated for a long moment, then nodded and turned to leave.

  Avery was about to do the same when everything went blacker than the night sky.

  * * *

  Isaac had just started back toward his truck—every nerve in his body telling him to stay behind—when he heard a thud.

  He whipped back around and broke into a run when he saw that the woman had collapsed in a heap, dust billowing around her.

  Crap.

  He knew he should have stayed put and tried to talk her into letting him help. It didn’t take a genius to see she was in some kind of trouble.

  Walking even a few yards away from her had gone against his every instinct, but he hadn’t planned to actually leave her alone in the middle of the night, not for a single moment. He just needed a second to regroup.

  His legs made quick work of the distance that separated them and seconds later he plunged into the ditch and reached her side, lifting the woman’s negligible weight into his arms and propping her up so she might draw in deeper breaths. Her skin was clammy and she seemed to flutter on the verge of consciousness as she pulled in shallow doses of air.

  Isaac had no idea what steps to take from there; as a certified dog trainer, he was generally better prepared for canine emergencies than those of his own species. His heart beat frantically for several long minutes as he held her, waiting for her to come back so he could better help her. As slow seconds beat past, he studied the woman in his grasp, seeing for the first time how lovely she was.

  Her long blond hair seemed to shimmer in the moonlight, its corn-silk strands tickling his arms where it fell. Creamy skin, just a shade or two lighter than her hair, lay like soft linen over sculpted cheekbones, creating a perfect canvas for full lips and large eyes, the color of which he suddenly longed to know.

  She wore a white T-shirt and athletic shorts, and Isaac grimaced when he caught sight of the sharp ridge of collarbone peeking out the top of the threadbare cotton. She was so very thin. No wonder lifting her had felt no more difficult than picking up Jane. A glint of metal got his attention and he reached up to search for a pendant attached to a silver chain around her neck, adjusting her so he could remain supporting her with one arm.

  Running his finger along the tiny links, Isaac finally touched an ID tag of some sort and pulled it closer to his face.

  It was an army-issue dog tag; he’d recognize it anywhere because of his brother, Stephen, and working with so many veterans and their companions at his dog training facility. This one was engraved A. Abbott.

  Somehow seeing her name made him even more impatient to wake her up. He knew nothing about the pretty woman, except that she looked like she could stand to eat a quarter pounder or two, but something about her pulled him in and wouldn’t let go.

  His buddies would’ve teased him relentlessly if they could have seen him then. Meyer can’t resist a damsel in distress, he could almost hear them say, joshing at his tendency to offer assistance to every granny who chanced to cross a street in Peach Leaf or any single mom who needed the use of his truck for a move.

  But this one was different.

  Before she’d tumbled to the ground, Isaac had seen enough to know that Abbott was no damsel in distress. Her voice had been tough—commanding, almost—and, despite her smallness, she’d stood tall and carried herself with authority and confidence. It was her body that had finally lost its resolve—no doubt, from the look of things, due to not eating enough—not her mind or her survival instinct.

  Now that he’d seen the tag, he understood why.

  Now that he’d seen the tag, he’d also begun to form an idea of what might have happened to her and, more important, how he might be able to help.

  Chapter Two

  Avery woke for the second time that night about an hour later.

  For a moment, forgetting the strange dreamlike events of the night, she thought she might be back at home safe in her bed while Tommy and Macy cooked breakfast for her niece and nephew.
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br />   But when Avery sat up and opened her eyes, a rush of panic hit her like a bucket of ice water and she shot up from an unfamiliar couch, gasping for breath as she fully realized that she had no idea where she was.

  Again.

  A hand-knit afghan in alternating tones of light and dark blues tumbled to the floor, covering her feet, and as her eyes adjusted to the golden light coming from a nearby table lamp, Avery glanced briefly around the room. It was minimally decorated but cozy, and she wondered at the comfort it provided despite its newness to her.

  “Easy there,” a low voice came from behind the sofa and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

  Avery put up her fists and turned around in one quick motion, ready to face whatever situation her unpredictable, unreliable mind had gotten her into now.

  “Who are you, and where the hell am I?” she spat out, willing her voice to mask the fear that was quickly weaving its way from her gut to her chest.

  The nightmares were bad enough, but the flashbacks, rarer though they were, absolutely terrified her. This wasn’t the first time she’d found herself in a place from which she couldn’t retrace her steps. If it happened on too many more occasions, she didn’t even want to think about the action her family and therapist might agree on against her will. She’d already lost her job and her own place. The thought of being locked up somewhere...

  The man in front of her gently placed the cell phone he’d been holding on a small end table, immediately holding up both of his hands. She vaguely recalled his handsome face as a tiny slice of memory slipped from the recesses of her mind, but it vanished before she could catch it, leaving her with nothing helpful.

  “My name’s Isaac. Isaac Meyer. I’m not gonna hurt you. And obviously you don’t remember—you were pretty out of it—but we did meet earlier.” A Southern accent similar to her own slid over the man’s words like hot gravy, identifying him as a local.

  “Avery,” she murmured.

  He stood completely still as Avery looked him up and down, her soldier’s instincts and peripheral vision checking every inch of his person, even as her eyes remained steadily locked on to his. They were a rich brown, she noticed, instantly chastising herself for wasting time on such a silly thought when she faced a potential enemy.

  When Avery didn’t speak for a long moment, he continued.

  “Look, I know this has been a strange night, at least for me, but—” He hesitated and seemed to be working through his thoughts before speaking. “I found you on the side of the road. In a ditch. Jane and I didn’t know what to do and there wasn’t a damn thing could be done to help you out there in the dark, so we brought you back here.”

  He lowered one hand, slowly and cautiously as if trying not to unsettle a rabid animal, and pointed toward the phone before putting his hand back up. “I was just about to call 9-1-1 and see about getting someone out here to check on you. Then you woke up and, well, here we are.”

  Avery had no recollection of meeting him earlier, only his word to go on and the vague, déjà vu–like inkling that she’d seen him before. The past few hours were as blank as a fresh sheet of paper. In all he’d said, only one insignificant thing stuck out to her. That seemed the way of it lately. If she couldn’t focus on everything, she picked out the smallest bit and used that to ground her in reality. It was one of the few things her therapist had taught her that she’d actually practiced.

  “Jane? Who’s Jane?” she asked, wondering, of all things, why that particular piece of information mattered.

  At the mention of the name, Isaac’s features noticeably softened and Avery let her body do likewise, relaxing a little as she checked off facts in her head. One—if he’d a mind to, he could have murdered her already. Two—the man had placed a homemade blanket on her, for goodness’ sake. What murderer did such a thing? And three—if he was to be believed, and there was no clear indication why he shouldn’t at this point, as she was standing there unharmed in his comfortable home, he’d been about to call for help, something she absolutely did not want him to do. Thank goodness she’d woken up in time to prevent that from happening. The very last thing she needed right now was for Tommy or her parents to have another reason to worry about her. Of all the things she hated about her PTSD, perhaps the worst was the way it had turned a grown, successful woman into a child, or at least that’s how her family saw her.

  She had to get back home as soon as possible, but first, she needed to find out exactly how far her deceitful mind had dragged her this time.

  She waited for an answer to her question but instead of providing one, Isaac gave a sharp whistle and a large dog of an unidentifiable breed, with an unruly coat consisting of about a hundred varying shades of brown, strolled into the room to sit beside him, looking up at its human with what could only be described as pure adoration. Man looked down at dog with open pride.

  “Avery, meet Jane,” he said, then gave the canine some sort of hand signal.

  Before she could protest, the dog was standing in front of her. She watched, unmoving, as Jane reached out a large, fuzzy paw and stared expectantly up at her with huge brown eyes. The whole thing was so absurdly cute that Avery couldn’t keep a smile from curving at the edge of her lips. Noticing for the first time that she still held her fists defensively in front of her, Avery lowered both hands and reached one out to grasp the offered paw. The warm, soft fur was instantly soothing, but when Jane took back her paw and pressed her large, heavy head against Avery’s thighs, her tail breaking into a slow wag as she waited for her doggie hug to be reciprocated, Avery’s heart caught in her throat.

  A wave of emotion swept over her like an evening tide and her knees nearly buckled beneath her. She was suddenly, desperately sad. And oh-so-tired. Tired of being dependent on others to keep her safe when she’d once been so self-reliant. Tired of being locked inside her own head. Tired of being afraid to go to sleep, knowing the nightmares would meet her there like a mugger waiting in the shade of night for his next victim, and tired of feeling crazy when she knew—even if everyone else believed otherwise—that she was not.

  She gently pushed the dog away and sat down on the sofa. Jane jumped up, too, but sat a few feet away, as if giving Avery her space. Isaac moved across the room to sit in a chair on the other side of a mahogany coffee table. He folded his hands in his lap and looked at the floor. Avery knew she should keep an eye on him until she could get out of there but her lids felt weighted and she let them slip closed for just a second as she gathered her thoughts.

  “How long was I out?” she asked, swallowing, not really wanting to know the answer. Her flashbacks, blackouts, whatever the hell they were, sometimes lasted for hours before she came back around. She hated the loss of control and the resulting feeling of irresponsibility, as though she’d had too much to drink and passed out at the wheel.

  She looked up at Isaac, meeting his eyes. In them, she found none of the things she’d expected: pity, irritation, confusion. Instead, they were like deep woods in the middle of the night—quiet, dark, mysterious—but for some reason, she felt safe there. She knew enough to sense menace when it lurked, and so she knew then as sure as she knew her own name and rank that this man was not dangerous.

  “About an hour,” he said, his voice smooth like strong coffee. “Took me half of that to get you here. My truck broke down just up the road and my cell had almost no charge left. You were pretty cold when Jane and I got you inside the house, so I covered you with a blanket and plugged in the phone for ten minutes or so. You didn’t seem wounded or anything, but it’s not every day I find people prowling around in the dark, so I figured best thing to do was call the authorities and let them make sure you’re okay and sort you out.”

  Isaac paused, brow furrowed, and it seemed he might say more, but then he closed his mouth and looked at her expectantly.

  She sifted through his comments, appreciatin
g his effort and the fact that, other than to carry her, he hadn’t handled her any more than necessary; in fact, he seemed wary of being anywhere near her—a thought that touched her heart with the gentlemanliness it bespoke. His simple, strong kindness reminded her of some of the men she’d served alongside, and for a fleeting moment, she missed her comrades.

  There had been a time, not that long after returning home, when she would have done anything to forget her tours overseas if it would have helped her blend back in to civilian society. But after being back in Peach Leaf for a few months, newly burdened with the knowledge that such a wish might never come true, she’d begun to long for another deployment, if only for the fact that she didn’t know how to be “normal” anymore, whatever that meant. She didn’t belong in her own world, and she hadn’t truly belonged in that barren, violence-riddled land, so the question was, as always: Where, if anywhere, did she belong?

  “You could have left me there, you know,” Avery said. “I didn’t need any help.” The words sounded hollow and impractical even as she spoke them.

  “We both know that’s not true,” he answered, his tone thankfully free of judgment.

  She didn’t want to have to explain herself to a complete stranger. Even a kind, gentle, admittedly handsome stranger.

  “All the same, though,” he continued, “I don’t think it’s safe for you to walk home on your own and, as I said, my truck’s out of commission for the night. Is there anyone you can call to—”

  “No!” she shouted as her body simultaneously lurched forward a few feet, startling them both. She covered her mouth with her hand, the skin icy against her warm lips.

  “Look, if you’re in some kind of dicey situation, it ain’t any of my business, but I can’t let you stay out here alone in the dark, either.

  She shook her head and lowered her hand, clasping it between her knees. “No, no, it’s not like that. I’m not... I mean... I just have these episodes sometimes, and occasionally I lose track of where I am.” She stopped abruptly, not really knowing what else to say but thankfully, he didn’t seem to expect much more. Trying to put her problems into words was always a fragile balancing act of saying too little or too much. Even though they appreciated her service, she’d quickly discovered that most people would rather not think or talk about the things that Avery had experienced, and it was hard to describe something she herself didn’t fully understand.