by T. Hammond
At my whispered request, Red gave me a few minutes of mind-sight while I met Wes, before dropping the connection so I could relax and enjoy my breakfast. Wes was David, in miniature. From the top of his head with the tousled dark hair, to the wide grin and complimentary dimple. I was no expert on children, but he seemed taller than I imagined a nine, almost ten, year old would be. Rail thin, and a little gawky, he was all elbows, knees, and feet. There were still traces of the infantile hemangiomas. Although many children who exhibit the symptoms as babies will grow out of it by five or six, Wes’ condition had been severe. His disease didn’t start to clear up until he was eight. There was some still disfigurement around the eye and jawline, but David mentioned when he’s older, he’ll have the option of surgery to take care of the scarring.
Wes was an extroverted chatterbox; no detail insignificant. We were treated to a tale about his great adventures, rivaling exotic African safaris, as the little man recounted his morning in the snow with his two canine companions.
Red was no help. His narrative dueled with the little boy, so I was soon hearing two versions of each story in my mind—in stereo, except my radios were set to different stations.
“… and then ‘Wap!’ Tank got splatted with a snowball.”
“… because, as I said, my boy throws worse than you do, Teresa...”
“… ‘n Ralph drew a horse on my cast.”
“… personally, I think it looks more like a llama.”
“… when Red jumped off the deck he went ‘Boomf!’ right on his tummy!”
“… I slipped. It could have happened to anyone.”
“… ‘n Dad came outside ‘n brought me a hot chocolate.”
“… with little itty-bitty marshmallows. They were mighty tasty, maybe we could put a bag in the pantry on my treat shelf?”
“… after that, Red showed me his helicopter collection.”
“Helicopter collection, huh?” I echoed, menacingly.
“I know not of what he speaks,” Red fibbed, unconvincingly. I could imagine him looking away in casual nonchalance, a stance he’d tried to adopt before in an effort to look innocent.
“You’ll have to show me where they are, Wes. I’d be interested in seeing Red’s helicopters,” David added, with a hint of steel in his voice.
“I didn’t jump for them, they were already on the ground. I picked them up. It’s bad to litter, you know. I’m a friend of the environment.”
David asked, “Headache, Teresa?”
“Tired. I keep hearing voices in my head.”
“Uh, oh. I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” Red deduced, approaching my chair so he could rest his head on my thigh. “I’m sorry, Teresa. I know you’re not feeling well. I was so excited to tell you about my boy.”
“You’re a good dog, Red.” Ruffling his ears, I indicated acceptance of his apology. On the aside, I directed softly, “I’ll expect all errant helicopters to be transported to the Cave within the hour.” Louder, I continued, “Wes, it sounds as if you had a great morning with the dogs. I’m so glad you’re here to keep them entertained. The men tell me you slept in the Cave last night. Was it fun?”
This innocent question prompted a spirited telling of the ‘way-cool blanket fort’ and spending a night with the soldiers in their top secret basement. The kid was a ball of fire, and would keep us all in stitches with his daily breakfast chatter for months to come.
After breakfast, and copious amounts of coffee, most of my table companions had scattered, leaving me to chat one-on-one with Jim about Spokane versus San Diego weather (yeah, I was avoiding the heavier issues for the moment). Our conversation was interrupted when David informed me Marcia was awake. During their conversation last night, Bastian advised David against revealing mind-sight or mind-speak to Marcia and Wes, but I wanted Red to accompany me so I could have vision for our first meeting. With Marcia’s lowered immune system, I cautioned Red to always stay in the doorway, away from her bed.
“Lights on, Red,” I instructed.
Placing my cup on the dining table, I followed David to the guest room. Weeks ago, we would have walked side by side, hand in hand. My heart stammered at the hurt look on David’s face when I refused his offered arm, but it was important to reinforce we were no longer a couple. Our casual intimacy was a thing of the past.
Marcia wasn’t merely thin, she was gaunt. Even without the benefit of a full color spectrum, it was clear her skin bore a sallow cast which emphasized dark hollows, making her eyes seem larger and deeper, recessed into her sharp-boned face. She had once been a lovely woman, but there were only hints remaining: the confidence in her direct gaze, a delicate elegance in her mannerisms. Her hair, while long and plentiful around her shoulders, was prematurely grey and somewhat lank, an extension of the weary look in her eyes. Through Red, I was also able to catch the assessing looks she speared at her husband. Had David not mentioned I was blind?
“Teresa, this is Marcia. Cia, I want you to meet Teresa March.” David’s awkwardness was adorable as he slouched his six-five frame to dip to a comfortable viewing level for Marcia. The special bed Janey ordered was high, but David was extraordinarily tall. Her neck appeared too fragile to hold the weight of her head, but her handshake was surprisingly firm. She held my hand for a little longer than is polite, while she took time to examine the scars on my face, taking particular notice of the deeper one which bisected my eyebrow and came perilously close to taking my right eye. Red may have stayed at a spot near the door, but he had a clear line of sight to Marcia’s face. I do believe Mrs. Preston was jealous. It took a conscious effort not to shake my head in disappointment. How had David been so clueless not to see how much his wife adored him? I wondered if she’d lived in hope all these years he would return to her, ready to be the father and husband I believe she wanted. I felt my first stirring of pity.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Teresa,” she lied to my face—granted, she didn’t know I could see her by proxy, but the insincerity was clearly reflected in her posture. “Thank you for welcoming Wes and me into your home. I’ve been…” she paused, to draw a few lungful’s of air. Even those few sentences left her gasping. “… been wanting to meet you since David told me about you. It’s a relief to know David has such a wonderful group of friends to help with Wesley when… well, when it’s time.” She ended on a vague note, but I was easily able to substitute her real meaning, “when I die.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” Red echoed my thoughts. “She’s not a very nice lady.”
I would have to explain to Red later about pain, and how it makes otherwise nice people unpleasant. Sometimes when someone is hurting, they want others to hurt too. It would only be a partial explanation, because I had no intention of talking with my dog regarding the nuances of jealousy.
David was gazing down at Marcia in concern, evidently unaware of her animosity. I knew he had hopes she and I would like each other, and while courtesy was easy under the circumstances, true affection wasn’t going to happen. This was a smart man, yet he was oblivious to the falseness I could hear in her voice, and see through Red’s vision. David was a perfect example of intellectual IQ not translating to emotional capacity. This was going to be a rough month or so, in many ways.
“I’m happy to see you’re settled in, Marcia, but I won’t stay long. David mentioned you’re still tired from yesterday’s traveling. I simply wanted a chance to welcome you and let you know we will do everything possible to make you comfortable.” Standing, to leave, I added, “Wes is a charming little boy, Marcia. You’ve done a wonderful job raising him.”
“Thank you.” With a renewed breath, she continued, “David told me about the harrowing few days you’ve had; thank goodness you’re home safely.” Surprisingly, her words sounded truthful, although she’d closed her eyes and sunk back into her pillows, so it was difficult to be sure.
“She smells really sick, Teresa,” Red reported, his emotions broadcasting sadness. Dogs were pretty forgi
ving. Ignoring Marcia’s disingenuous greeting, Red focused on her failing health and felt sorry for her.
“Rest well. I’ll drop by later when you’re feeling a bit stronger,” I promised, turning away to give David and his wife some privacy. Red stood and slowly swung his head toward the doorway as I approached him. As a result, I was able to navigate easily back to the kitchen to recover my mug and top it off with hot coffee. Surprisingly, I was the only person in the room—a rarity with so many people living in the house.
Red plopped his bottom onto the floor and stared at me intently. “What are you gawking at, furball?”
“I’m pretty sure your nose grew an inch when you told Marcia you’re happy she’s settled.” My smart-ass dog answered, with a snarky Pinocchio reference. Time to put a halt to Janey’s Disney videos.
It occurred to me, this was probably this first time Red had seen me offer false platitudes in an effort to be polite. I took pride in my straight-forward dealings with people; he’d never seen me deliver a polite fib in place of a well-deserved set down. I may not care for Marcia, but I didn’t want to upset David by being unkind to his wife. He was dealing with enough stress without me adding unnecessarily to it. Rather than put off our conversation regarding how pain can affect people, I added an excerpt on white lies and the reasons humans tell them. What followed was a lively debate on the various forms of subterfuge.
Baffled, Red finally decided, “People are weird.”
No argument from me.
Sending Red off to do another morning patrol, with “Lights out,” I settled onto the couch to soak up a few minutes of peace.
Chapter Twenty-One
“There you are,” Eddie said from beside me. Damn silent feet—I hadn’t heard his approach. “Russ asked me to find you and bring you down for a meeting.”
Well, that was almost one minute to myself. Puzzled, I replied, “Sure. Who else is there?” Drawing one more sip of life-affirming java, I rocked to my feet, careful of my still-full cup. Eddie’s hand slipped under my elbow to steady me. Don’t want to spill the coffee, especially after the stellar shampooing job Crooner and Double D did on the carpets and upholstery. Red provided a fantastic view of their handiwork, and the room smelled fresh despite the amount of usage it received.
Assured I was balanced, Eddie’s hand slipped away, and his voice led me to the kitchen. “Russ, Gwyn, Bas, Jeeves, and your Team Red guards: Frost, Dex, Fritz, and Jazz.” I found it curious how call names were used exclusively for some of the Mustangs, and often ignored for others. I grinned to myself, I suppose it would be odd if the guys walked around calling Fritz “Lover” when they were holding a serious conversation.
“I’m supposed to mention doughnuts if you exhibit any sign of reluctance to come play with us,” my escort tempted. My weakness for chocolate bars was obviously no longer a secret indulgence.
“Doughnuts? I loooooove doughnuts,” Red wheedled from the deck, a second before his body barreled through the dog flap.
“You said the magic word, ‘doughnut,’” I explained.
“Hey, Top Dog,” Eddie greeted. “Fritz saved a plain cake one, especially for you.”
Red’s nails tapped excitedly on the linoleum. “Wait, wait! I want to use my remote,” Red begged.
“Hold on, Eddie. Red wants to open the pantry door.” My escort stopped so suddenly, I almost bumped into him, as Red switched to tail-chasing circles indicating his pleasure. No, we weren’t sharing mind-sight, but some actions when performed on a non-carpeted floor, have a distinct sound. “Simmer down, Red, and get the door for us.”
There was a hydraulic swoosh as the pantry door was activated from the hidden button Jazz installed allowing Red access to his treats in the pantry. Without another word, Red dashed down, paws thundering on the basement stairs.
I don’t enter the Cave often, so the men were good about offering an arm to guide me past a low point on the ceiling. Two steps down, Eddie stopped to guide my other hand to wrap around a smooth wooden rail. “Someone added bannisters!” I exclaimed, surprised. We decided a while ago to wait on handrails because of the difficulty maneuvering large pieces of equipment into the basement.
“Bas insisted on them when he heard we’d have a little man running up and down the stairs. They’ve been up for a week or so.”
“Geez, Red. The only person who inhales doughnuts faster than you is Teresa,” Fritz griped from below.
“Hey!” I pretended affront. “That’s not nice. I eat efficiently, I don’t inhale.”
Pretty sure I heard more than one amused snort from the gathered bodies at the conference table. I chose to ignore them.
Bastian met me at the bottom of the stairway, cupping my face to pull me into a tender kiss. “Love you, Hoover.”
“Oh, shut up,” I grinned. Okay, so maybe I did eat a little fast. I suppose I should be relieved the Mustangs didn’t give me a vacuum cleaner designation for a nick name. Still—Mole. Really, that was the best they could come up with? Sighing, I settled into the chair Bas pulled out for me.
“Lights on?”
“You don’t have to stay, now that you’ve scarfed up your doughnut, Red. Go ahead and finish your perimeter check, if you want.”
“Okay. Now you’re safe with Bas, I’ll head out and take Tank with me.” Without another word, he dashed up the stairs. “Now” I was safe? Red must have noticed there were no Horses in the kitchen when we exited the guest room. He obviously waited on the deck to make sure I stayed safe. My heart tugged with affection for my considerate dog who gave me room for privacy, while assuring I was guarded from potential threats. I’ll have to reconsider my stance on a bag of mini-marshmallows for the dog treat shelf. I clearly could not allow Red, and potentially Tank, unlimited access to copious amounts of sugar in the form of mini-marshmallows, but Red was a responsible dog, and we could set a daily limit.
“Chocolate bar and jelly glazed in front of you,” Frost informed me from his seat to my right. David’s normal chair. Bas, as usual, sat to my left with me on the end so I could follow conversation around the table better.
“If you don’t have enough room for the jelly-filled one, let me know; I’m here to serve,” Fritz volunteered.
“Thanks for the offer, Fritz, but I always seem to have room for doughnuts,” I chuckled.
We ate our sticky sweets to the accompaniment of companionable teasing and off-color jokes. I suppose it was inevitable, someone—Eddie, I think—mentioned the events of the last few days.
“I haven’t had a chance to thank all of you for your efforts to find me and bring me home. Thank you so much, guys. Everyone worked so well together,” I commended.
Bastian’s hand slid over my own, interlocking our fingers. “Told you, I wasn’t ever letting you go, Babe.”
Footsteps heralded another arrival before David’s voice called out, “I heard rumors of a pastry stash down here.”
“Hey, David. Glad to have you back, man. Sorry for the sad circumstances, though,” Dex commiserated.
David’s forward momentum halted. I momentarily cursed my lack of sight, trying to imagine the scene from David’s perspective. My hand in Bastian’s. Another man in “his” seat. Russ chairing an obvious gathering, which David may or may not have been invited to. Although, he knew of the doughnuts, so maybe he knew Russ called a meeting? Since no one informed me of the agenda, I decided to blissfully enjoy my pastries until Russ broached the subject requiring my attendance.
David’s steps were slow, hesitant, as he wandered to the far end of the table and drew out a chair. I wondered if he hoped Frost would volunteer his seat, or maybe David considered asking for it.
Frost drew my attention away, “Careful. Topped your coffee. Mug’s full and hot.” Since he hadn’t risen from the table, I assumed there was a carafe, or two, making the rounds.
“Thanks, Frost. Still my favorite guard,” I quipped, with a smile.
“Now that we’re all here,” Russ inadvertently answe
red my question about David’s invite, “I wanted to cover a few things, both Team Red related, and Wild Horse business.
“Teresa, I know you wish to have knowledge of, and input into, inquiries made for Team Red services.” Around the table, my detail mumbled various words of agreement. Bastian squeezed my hand in silent support. “We’ve put the word out to Colonel Spencer, and other interested parties who may request Team Red, that all applications are to be directed to Wild Horse Security. My company will investigate the organization making the request, assess the risk to you and Red, and determine a fee based on the resources needed to complete the job—contingent on your formal approval. Is that acceptable to you?”
“Of course, Russ. I have complete trust in you and your organization. Thank you so much for taking over the responsibility. This will allow David and Bas to stay focused on PreClan work instead of vetting the jobs the colonel throws our way. I do want to emphasize though, we don’t charge a fee to the Spokane Police department. Nor would we charge for a rescue or evidence assessment, if it were coordinated through a local law enforcement agency. Gil, being fully aware of our skills, has been discrete and protective of us when we’ve worked with him, and I wish to retain a good working relationship.”
