“Ask your mom.” A corner of Ethan’s mouth lifted in a quick grin. “You might be surprised.”
“Actually, I wouldn’t be, now that I think about it. Dad tolerated no back talk, no straying from proper behavior and absolutely no shirking of duties. I was more like a cadet than a daughter whenever he was around.”
“How did your mom feel about that?”
“I’m sure my parents loved each other in their own way, but Mom is like a different person now that he’s gone.”
“Losing him must have been tough on her.”
“Yeah, of course. But now it’s like she’s blossomed. She earned a Master’s degree in nursing and moved to Minneapolis. Every time I talk to her on the phone she’s happily volunteering for something, or going off to some social event. I guess she must have felt like she was under Dad’s thumb, too.”
Ethan looked at her and their eyes met, held. “So you were being honest when you said the reprieve from eloping with me really was all for the good. Right?”
Her pulse stumbled. “Honestly? It broke my heart. Maybe things would have been different for us. Better. I was sure of it at the time. But afterward I focused on my regimented childhood and figured I’d just been blessed with a fortunate escape.”
His mouth quirked. “Ouch.”
The wind continued to howl outside, buffeting the house with snow. The intimacy of this night, with the house darkened except for the soft glow of the kerosene lantern on the kitchen counter and the flickering fireplace, made it easier to talk about wounds that had never quite healed.
“Why did you do it? I used to wonder, a lot. Was I such a terrible mistake? Had you already started seeing the woman you married?”
“I was stupid. Too young. You were everything I’d ever wanted—more than I ever could have hoped for. But I knew nothing about marriage. Nothing about lifetime commitment. I sure didn’t have an example of that at home, and I was terrified of being a failure.” He stared into the fire. “Of failing you.”
“So you ran.”
“That afternoon I heard I had to report for duty by five—a week sooner than expected. So, yes, I ran. Didn’t know how to explain or apologize. I knew I could face an enemy in combat but had no idea how to face you.”
“So I was that fierce,” she teased gently.
“You were that sweet and beautiful. And trusting. I threw away something I knew I’d never find again.”
Her chest tightened and her throat felt too thick with emotion to speak.
He shook his head slowly. “So now—”
From Cole’s bedroom came a terrified scream. And then another, even louder. Maisie hurried out of his room to Hannah’s side and pawed at her, clearly indicating her worry.
Ethan blanched, his gaze darting around the room.
Hannah raced from the couch into Cole’s room with Ethan and the dog at her heels.
His wide eyes glazed and unseeing, Cole was sitting up in his bunk bed with the blankets twisted around him. Flailing his arms, he seemed to be trying to fend off a legion of unseen monsters, his screams going on and on in the darkness.
Hannah moved next to him. “Everything is all right,” she murmured in a low voice. “You’re at your aunt Hannah’s house, in a nice, warm bed. Your uncle Ethan is here, too, so you are very safe.”
But the inconsolable screaming didn’t stop. If anything, his screams escalated.
“He probably doesn’t really hear me, but I just want to offer comfort,” Hannah said as she glanced at Ethan over her shoulder.
“Poor kid. Is he sick? In pain? Do we need to get him to the ER?”
“Night terrors,” she said quietly, though Ethan could probably barely hear her. “First time since he got here, but don’t worry—they aren’t uncommon.”
Ethan moved to her side. “Like a nightmare?”
“Not really. He’s not awake, and he won’t remember this in the morning.” She gently circled one of his trembling wrists with her hand. “Poor guy. His pulse is racing.”
“Shouldn’t you wake him up?”
“I know it’s hard to listen to him screaming, but he’ll settle down eventually and still be asleep. If I try to force him awake, he might be confused and scared, and unable to get back to sleep for a long while. So if this ever happens when I’m not around, don’t talk loudly or try to shake him awake. And if he gets out of bed, just quietly guide him back.”
Ethan’s eyes filled with helplessness and worry. “How do you...?”
“I’ve had a number of parents come into the clinic with kids who do this. It’s sometimes just random. Sometimes it’s from stress or fear, or sleeping in a strange place. Or big life changes.”
“And Cole has faced all of that, and more,” Ethan said somberly.
“For all I know, he might have had night terrors many other times, even before his parents passed away, though my sister never mentioned it.” She looked at Cole, whose screams were quieting. “I think this bunk bed was a mistake if he is going to be experiencing these now and then. Some kids and adults will fall out of bed or even sleepwalk. He’s too high up for that.”
Cole still stared sightlessly ahead, but then he hiccupped and finally lay back down.
“This is going to be tricky, Ethan. But let’s let him be quiet and settle down for a few minutes, then I wonder if you can reach up there and quietly pick him up while I pull his mattress down to the floor. Tomorrow I’ll turn that lower bunk level into a regular bed.”
“I wish he wouldn’t scream like that,” Molly mumbled from the doorway. “He wakes me up and then gives me nightmares just listening to him.”
Hannah gently rubbed Cole’s back. “I’m sorry, honey, but I think it’s all over now. Go back to bed, okay?”
She yawned and gave Cole a bleary look. “Cynthia took him to the doctor right away when he did this. But there wasn’t anything wrong.”
“Did he ever have these problems before your parents’ accident?”
“I dunno. I never heard him.” Molly shrugged and shuffled back to her room.
It was nearly midnight by the time Cole was settled in his bed on the floor, with an arm flung over Maisie, who had curled up next to him. Her lips whiffled softly with doggy snores.
“That was quite an experience,” Ethan said on a long sigh as they left Cole’s room.
“And after quite a day. Are you sure you’ll be okay on the sofa? There’s a little room upstairs with a single bed if you’d rather, but that room is mostly storage. It’ll be really cold.”
He laughed at that. “Believe me, the sofa and that big stack of blankets on it or that upstairs room would be ten times better than any place I had to sleep in Iraq.”
“Can I get you any acetaminophen or ibuprofen?”
“I’m good.”
She lingered just inside the living room. “Um, if you get hungry, help yourself to anything in the cupboards or fridge. Especially the turkey. I don’t think we’ll ever be able to finish all of it.”
Cole’s night terror episode had been a perfect lead-in to the questions she wanted to ask, but now it was late and she could only imagine how uncomfortable it was for Ethan to be still standing on that bad leg, no matter what he claimed.
“Good night, Ethan. If you need more blankets or different pillows, you’ll find them in the hall closet.”
He crossed his arms and gave her an assessing look. “Well, what is it?”
“What?”
“You look like you’ve wanted to say something for the past half hour. You might as well get it over with.” He lifted an eyebrow. “If you’d rather I didn’t stay, I can start up your snowblower and work on the drive, and then see what that SUV can do about getting me back to town.”
“No way. The last time I looked, some of the drifts were
well over three feet, and it must be worse close to town. The fire chief told me hours ago that the main highway to town was already impassable. Anyway, the kids are happy that you’re staying for the night.”
“Then, what is it?”
She edged into the living room, sat on the arm of one of the chairs and squared her shoulders. “I know it isn’t my place to pry. But I couldn’t help but notice your reactions the moment the power went out with a bang. Or when Cole started screaming.”
He took the other chair, his eyes never leaving her face. “And?”
“Both times, it seemed like you’d been transported back to a different place. Like you weren’t even here.”
“Is that a problem for you?” he asked.
She raised a hand in frustration. “You’re being obtuse. You have to know what I’m getting at.”
He didn’t answer.
“You were in a dangerous part of the world. You were badly injured,” she continued doggedly. “You must have seen and done things the rest of us can’t even imagine. So I’d guess PTSD is a part of your life now. And after an explosion close enough to take your hand, a traumatic brain injury—concussion—would not be unexpected. So is a TBI in your picture, too?”
“You were right in the first place. It isn’t really your place to pry.”
She huffed out an impatient breath. “Well, then. Let me try again. You were at Walter Reed for how many months? Before Rob and Dee’s car accident, and you said you were released sometime this month. So...seven months, maybe eight?”
He looked away.
“I don’t think anyone could have gone through all you did without some PTSD and a concussion—possibly severe—from such a close-proximity blast. They must have assessed you carefully and provided treatment. Did they say anything about long-term effects? Did they send you to support groups? A counselor?”
When he didn’t reply, she had her answer. “Of course they did, but you either didn’t attend or didn’t participate when you did go.”
A muscle ticked along the side of his jaw.
“I’m not trying to badger you or sound like an interfering mother, honest.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I just want to know where you’re at with this, because you want time with the kids. You even say you want full custody, though I plan to oppose that every step of the way because I feel they’ll be happier here in the country. Near a close-knit, friendly little town instead of some big-city condo. But during whatever amount of time they spend with you, are you truly capable of keeping them safe?”
“Of course I am,” he said, his voice level.
“I know you mean that, and you want it to be true. But I also know that blast injuries can cause a big list of long-term repercussions with TBI, and that PTSD can last for decades, especially if not addressed. Depression, episodes of irritability, anger issues and memory loss are just a few...and they can make family life difficult. So again, I’m asking. How are you, really? I want to know if you really are capable of dealing with these kids, or if your goal of custody is based on a sense of duty and responsibility to your brother.”
He scrubbed a palm down his face then leaned forward and propped his elbows on his thighs. “Yes, I had a concussion—they tell me I was knocked out for about an hour. But after that I was in a hospital for a long time—plenty of time for that to heal. All of my symptoms—the headaches, dizziness, vertigo, confusion—were gone in a couple weeks.”
“Thank goodness,” Hannah breathed. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“As for the PTSD, how common is that these days? I’m working past it month by month. It doesn’t affect me every day. And I’m not the only soldier who hasn’t wanted the support groups—I’ve heard only fifty percent of us actually seek help.”
“The effect can last for decades, Ethan. Some people never realize how much better they could feel if they only sought help.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I am startled by loud noises. It’s self-preservation for anyone after being in the Middle East so long. And who wouldn’t have nightmares after some of the things you see over there? But I’ve been dealing with it on my own and doing fine. End of story.”
“I see.”
“So you don’t need to worry about it. I promise you I have no issues that affect my ability to take care of the kids. None.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “And with that, I’d like to turn in. It’s been a long day.”
“Good night.” She hesitated, wanting this conversation to end on a more casual note, but then headed for her room. She shut the door quietly and leaned on it, thinking over all he’d done and said since first arriving at her door.
Funny, how people changed. He’d been a handsome daredevil when they’d first met—the kind of bad boy who could light up a movie screen or make a girl fall in love and want to take off on wild and crazy adventures with him, whatever the danger.
But he was different now. A man seasoned by years in the military, a man driven by responsibility and honor to right the wrongs of his irresponsible brother.
And he was a man with a good heart, who could be kind and gentle with kids and animals, yet still possessed the kind of indefinable charisma that drew her as much now as it had thirteen years ago. Even more so, as a man instead of the reckless boy he’d once been.
But between the two of them, he was not the one who should have custody of the children.
So whatever her personal attraction to him, she couldn’t lose sight of her most important goal: helping Molly and Cole adapt to their new life in Aspen Creek. And making sure they felt loved and secure, before a caseworker arrived to judge whether or not this move had been the right one.
And she had just thirty days to do it.
* * *
Ethan stared at the flickering light of the fireplace long after Hannah said good-night, an ugly torrent of dark memories and troubled emotions making it impossible to sleep. He’d managed to bury all of it in some deep recess of his mind, where it could no longer take over his every waking thought and visit him in nightmares.
But now Hannah’s persistent questions had set it all free.
Or maybe it had happened because he’d seen the terror on Cole’s face and had heard him screaming inconsolably on and on and on, until he’d finally fallen back onto his pillow, exhausted. What kind of childish horrors had spun through his brain to incite such fear?
Ethan knew all too well about nightmares and the true horrors of this world.
Wounded and dying women and children, the heartbreaking collateral damage of war. Body parts and rivers of blood, and young men barely old enough to vote screaming in pain, begging for help as they lay dying. Begging for the chance to go home again.
His two best buddies—who had died because of him.
He’d seen the insurgent lob a grenade into the back of the transport vehicle. He’d lunged for it. But the others crammed inside had been dozing and he hadn’t been able to crawl over them in time to throw it out.
The explosion had turned that vehicle into a scene of carnage.
If he’d only moved faster, he could have prevented it. If he could have fought off his loss of consciousness, he could have stemmed arterial wounds and saved the lives of his two closest buddies.
But he’d failed, and the crushing guilt would be like an anvil in his chest forever.
Chapter Nine
At seven the next morning Hannah started a pot of coffee and checked the local weather—clear and cold—and the closing announcements on the laptop she kept on the kitchen counter.
With the schools still planning a two-hour delay, she could let the kids sleep in a while longer, though if the county plow didn’t come by they wouldn’t need to worry about going anywhere at all.
Ethan was already outside using the snowblower, though from the looks of things it was barel
y making a dent in the deep snowdrift that had crossed the front yard and banked halfway up the windows along the side of his SUV.
After calling the clinic to let the receptionist know she wouldn’t be in until ten at the earliest, she began her morning routine of letting the dogs and puppies outside, cleaning cages and litter boxes, and filling the food and water dishes.
Penelope nickered when Hannah appeared in the garage, anticipating her special, geriatric horse pellets, which were now likely a pile of ash. Hannah brought her more hay, water and a handful of baby carrots as a treat.
“Sorry,” she murmured as she rubbed just the right spot behind the pony’s furry ears. “No pellets today.”
The pony suddenly swiveled her ears and snorted, her head high. And soon Hannah could hear it, too—the distant, familiar rumble of a snowplow making its way up Spruce Road.
“Well, old girl—looks like you’re in luck. We’ll be able to get into town and get you more feed, after all.”
* * *
At ten fifteen Hannah stamped the snow from her boots in the entryway of the Aspen Creek Clinic and then stopped at the front desk for a printout of her patient schedule.
The waiting room walls were now strung with clear Christmas lights and jewel-toned metallic ornaments hung from the ceiling over the reception counter and the office area behind it.
Hannah admired the sparkly lights. “Wow—great job of decorating, Connie.”
“I’m only halfway done. Wait till you see this place tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait. Sorry about the delay getting here. Did you have to reschedule many of my patients?”
“Most of them were country people who were snowed in and couldn’t make it into town, either.” The fiftysomething receptionist glanced at her computer screen. “And those who live in town sounded just as happy not to brave the roads. I cleared the schedule until eleven just in case you were delayed even further, so now you’ve got some time to catch your breath. How did it go with the kiddos this morning?”
“You raised three kids. How in the world did you manage?” Hannah rolled her eyes. “I felt like a field commander. Getting them fed, dressed and loaded into the car was quite a feat, because neither of them wanted to go to school.”
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