Before There Was You

by Denise A. Agnew

  As Lana unlocked the door, she smiled to herself and muttered, “I’ve been playing it safe for weeks.”

  Hell, she’d played it safe for years in so many ways. She needed to get with the program. Maybe rip the bandage off instead of slowly torturing herself.

  Inside the apartment, she flipped on the light. A low, sweet illumination came on near the table between the couch and love seat and threw a comforting glow across the room. She placed her purse on the couch after stuffing her keys inside. She yawned, exhausted. She headed straight for her bedroom down the hall, stripping off clothing as she went. By the time she took a shower and came into the living room wrapped in a robe, she realized her mother should have called by now. If she didn’t check in, her mother would freak. Weariness battled with practicality.

  She dug her cell phone out of her purse. Two voice messages from her mother. One thirty minutes ago, the other two minutes ago. Urgency struck Lana as she prepared to return the call, but so did exasperation. Somehow she needed to train her mother that she didn’t need to check on her. She grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen before sinking onto the couch to call her mother.

  Mom answered before the second ring. “Oh, thank goodness. I was beginning to worry.”

  Lana leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “No need. I was in the shower.”

  “Oh.” Her mother’s voice had a modicum of relief and the husky quality of a woman who’d recently stopped smoking.

  “What if I didn’t answer tonight?” Mischievousness, something Lana had lost right after the kidnapping, now seemed to be returning in dribbles. “Like I had a hot date?”

  “You did?”

  “No, no. I was at group therapy and Jillie dropped me home afterwards.”

  “That’s what I thought. You’re going to therapy every Tuesday and Thursday night, right?”

  Her mother’s tone, always somewhat unsure and even suspicious at times, grated on Lana’s nerves. “Yeah. But what if I didn’t call you every night?”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “Before the kidnapping, we didn’t talk every night.”

  “Things are different now.” Her mother coughed, a breathy sound that always made Lana wince.

  “How?”

  “Oh come on, you know why.”

  Lana groaned. “I want to go back to normal. So I’m taking some more steps in that direction.”

  “Such as?” Lana’s mother sounded doubtful rather than curious.

  “What if I went out on the town and had some genuine fun? I’m thinking I’ll have some fun tomorrow. All on my own. Without Jillie driving me.”

  A silence greeted Lana, a sure sign Mom didn’t approve. Finally, Mom said, “You’ve driven by yourself?”

  “I’m going to tomorrow morning. Grocery shopping.”

  “I see.” A heavy sigh came over the line. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

  Lana processed that statement as she did all her mother’s overprotective qualities. With kid gloves. “I’ll be fine. I have to leave the nest someday.”

  “You really think you’re ready?”

  “I’ll try it tomorrow. All I can do is try.”

  “You don’t want to do that too fast. Remember what the therapist told you right after you returned to the U.S.”

  “Yeah. Take it slow. I think four months is really slow, Mom.” Lana closed her eyes and sighed. God, didn’t she just have this conversation with Jillie?

  “Well, you work from home. I mean, maybe you could just stay working at home. When you and Jim were married, you stayed home. Why would you return to the high school? Bad things happen there too.”

  “Mom, this isn’t the same thing as what happened to you all those years ago.”

  “Schools are more dangerous now days.”

  “The news media would have you think so, yeah. But there are hundreds…thousands of high schools in the country. They don’t get school shootings every day.”

  “Still…”

  Lana felt tension rising in her neck. “I wasn’t shot at, Mom. I was kidnapped from a bus and held captive for two weeks. It’s a different scenario. I want to return to full-time teaching in the classroom, not stuck in my computer room.”

  “You just need to take your time.” Her mother’s voice had gotten the tone that brooked no argument, full of indignation. The way it always had when Lana was a child. “You don’t want to start teaching and flip out in front of the classroom.”

  “I don’t flip out. I’ve never flipped out in front of a classroom.”

  “Well, then. Whatever it is that happens when you can’t do your job. You don’t want that to happen.”

  Frustration took over. “I’m not a delicate flower. I wasn’t before, and I refuse to crawl in some hole and just die. I’m not staying in this bad state, Mom. I’m just not.”

  “Oh, here’s your father.”

  The quick change over came, just the way it always did if Lana said something her mother didn’t like and Lana’s father was within earshot.

  “Hello, Lana,” came her father’s brusque voice.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much. Just back from group therapy.”

  “Humph. So, are there a lot of nut jobs in the group?”

  Lana winced. “Six, counting me.”

  That threw her father off, though it shouldn’t have. He couldn’t have forgotten the way she was before Costa Rica. Maybe switching back to her old personality, the one that didn’t take shit off of anyone, rather than the passive one she’d picked up in Costa Rica…yeah maybe that was the way to go.

  “Uh-huh. Did you learn anything already?” he asked.

  “No. It was an introduction night where people talked about their situations.”

  “I see. Well, I hope it gets you straightened out.”

  Straightened out. Thanks, Dad. She was used to Dad lacking the warm and fuzzy element, but just once it would be nice…

  “So how’s work?” she asked.

  “You know the ranching business. Tough as hell and no end in sight.”

  Yeah, she knew it. But at least she didn’t know it anymore. Thank God.

  “Is the tractor still broken down?” she asked.

  “Getting the parts tomorrow.”

  “Good.”

  Before she could ask another question, he said, “Well, here’s your mother.”

  Just like that.

  After another ten minutes of her mother fussing over her well-being even when Lana tried to engage her in other general conversation, Lana didn’t try to suppress a yawn. “I’d better get to bed, Mom.”

  When she hung up, Lana took a big gulp of water and considered the pills in the medicine cabinet. The type that would calm all her worries. No. No. I don’t need it. Damn. She wasn’t getting in the habit, as she had been right after the kidnapping, of needing one every time she finished talking with her parents. Instead, she headed into her small office to do her stay-at-home work as an online teacher for Bennett High School. She had one last paper to grade, and she’d fall into bed with a book and forget the world awaited her tomorrow.

  Chapter 2

  “Shit.” Aaron’s phone woke him Wednesday morning. “What the fuck?”

  He sat up with a groan, and then realized it wasn’t his phone. He’d been dreaming about a phone ringing. It was his doorbell. He glanced at his cell phone. Six a.m. Who the hell would come to his door at this time of the morning?

  He rolled out of his king-size bed and pulled on his jeans. The doorbell rang again. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Keep your pantyhose on.”

  He strolled out of the bedroom and wandered down the hall. He looked through the peephole. “Shit.”

  Judy Peeples. Not who he wanted to see this morning. From the looks of her, she’d been up all night. Her somewhat kinky brown hair lay around her shoulders in a hot mess, and her brown eyes had a haunted look. Shit, one of these days he’d learn to stop thinking w
ith his dick. Hooking up with Judy had been an A-number-one mistake. Okay, so technically he hadn’t hooked up with her in a physical sense. They’d met at a bar last week, they’d had one dinner, and he’d invited her over to his apartment. That had been a friggin’ mistake. Getting her out of the apartment had been difficult, and he’d tried being polite. She’d practically jumped him when he was urging her to the front door, throwing her arms around him and planting a lip lock on him. He’d peeled her off. She’d called him twice. Both times he’d ignored her calls. That wasn’t cool, and now he was paying for it. Time to face the proverbial music.

  He groaned and unlocked the door, preparing for the onslaught.

  “Hey, Judy,” he said as he opened the door.

  Judy smiled, her pale face still beautiful despite her peeved expression. Her gaze wandered up and down his bare chest, and she licked her lips. Okay, so she liked what she saw. He wasn’t even flattered.

  “Hey. You didn’t answer my calls,” she said.

  He tried for a contrite face, and he really was. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t cool. I apologize.”

  She tossed a strand of long hair over her shoulder so it exposed her generous breasts. Breasts encased in a black stretch, short-sleeved shirt. She wore a matching long skirt that reached to just above her ankles and ended with black, fuck-me sandals. When he’d first met her at the bar and taken her phone number, he thought she was at least thirty. When he’d found out she was twenty-two, that added to his conviction he wanted nothing to do with her. He didn’t hook up with women young enough to be his kid.

  She shifted her large purse on her shoulder. “Okay. I can forgive that.”

  Damn. “This isn’t going to work, Judy. I don’t date women as young as you. I’m thirty-eight.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t understand why you should, either. If you really like someone, it shouldn’t matter. I thought I’d…I need to talk to someone.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “That someone can’t be me. I’m not up for a relationship right now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Like I said, you’re too young for me. We went out and after we talked, it’s obvious to me that we don’t have anything in common.”

  She stepped forward, emphasizing her breasts again with the way she stood. “There’s nothing saying we can’t just have fun.”

  “Judy, it’s not…” He scrubbed one hand over his chin. Christ, he needed to shave. “I just woke up, and I’m dead on my feet.”

  A hopeful look crossed her face. “I could make you coffee and eggs.”

  “All out of coffee and eggs. I need to shop.” He wasn’t lying, but she put on a doubtful face.

  “Oh.” She looked crestfallen. A pout formed on her lips. “Need company to shop?”

  Great. How was he going to do this? He’d tried twenty ways to Sunday to let her out of their non-existent relationship.

  “Judy, I’m not up for a relationship right now. I need to get my life together.”

  Thank God he hadn’t slept with her, even if he’d been tempted, and even though she’d thrown it in his face repeatedly.

  “Maybe you should stay out of bars, then,” she said with full venom.

  “I was there for a friend’s birthday. Not to pick up women.”

  “Well, you picked me up.”

  “I danced with you. We went out to a movie and you came over here. That’s it.”

  “You kissed me.”

  Anger slid through him. “You kissed me, Judy, not the other way around.” Some of the venom he’d held back last week leaked out. “We didn’t sleep together. Nada.”

  Anger filled her eyes. “You’re screwed up. You shouldn’t lead women on like that.”

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t.” He held up one hand and said with sarcasm. “I, Aaron MacPherson, royal dickhead, do promise not to go to bars or talk to women in case they think I’m trying to pick them up.”

  Judy didn’t look pacified, one hand now on her hip in a pose that said, you-should-have-fucked-this-you-bastard-while-you-had-the-chance. He was still glad he hadn’t.

  “You were looking pretty chatty with that woman last night,” she said.

  Puzzled, he said, “What?”

  “At that place you were at last night. That medical building. You were talking to that woman. Are you dating her?”

  Jesus. Time to make sure she didn’t go Fatal Attraction on him. “You followed me?”

  “Yeah. I wanted to see why you were blowing me off.”

  Holy crap. See if he ever went to a fuckin’ bar again and danced with a woman for the rest of his life.

  “No, I’m not dating her.” He was suddenly inspired. Tell her the truth and see if that scared her off. “I’m in a group therapy for people with PTSD.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Is that a disease?”

  Seriously?

  “On some days I think it is. No, it’s a disorder. You know…a lot of military people have a problem with it these days. I punched a guy and going to group therapy is keeping me out of spending time in jail.”

  Her eyes widened, and she stepped back. She held both hands up. “Look, I didn’t mean anything by it. I mean, I shouldn’t have followed you, okay? I’m outta here.”

  She walked down the hall. Relieved, he closed the door and locked it. As he walked back to his bedroom, he smiled. If he’d known that saying he was a criminal would get her out of his life sooner, he would’ve already told her. She probably thought if she said the wrong thing, he’d pop her in the face or worse. His stomach turned.

  The thought that a woman would be afraid of him made him sick. He was a protector, Goddamn it. He shook off the thought of harming a woman, and another thought hit him squarely in the gut. What if his so-called PTSD made him violent again? Hell no. Ain’t going to happen. He’d fucked up hitting that man, even if the asshole deserved it.

  As for Judy, all he needed was a stalker. Not that he was afraid of her, but hell…He shook his head as he peeled out of his jeans and dropped them on the floor. He put on shorts, T-shirt, athletic socks, and shoes and prepared for his run. He usually started the day before now. It would be hotter than he liked outside. He pocketed his keys and headed out the door.

  He found the running and cycling path outside his apartment complex on the west side of town and took off at a good clip. Quickly his jog turned into a pace closer to a run. Within a few moments, he went into a flow where his mind cleared and the high from running worked its way through his muscles. This time, though, it didn’t work through his thoughts. Instead a more insidious thought invaded. The usual one.

  He was a fucking failure.

  He’d screwed up in a big way. Not with Judy. Well, okay. With Judy. More than that, he couldn’t believe what a wuss he’d become overall. Here he was, out of the marines for months, and he hadn’t engaged with the world the right way.

  Come on, MacPherson. Force Recon Marines didn’t fail. They didn’t quit. They jumped into the big suck and came out on top or died trying.

  In twenty years of service he hadn’t failed or quit. Ever.

  Until now.

  He heard the Force Recon instructor’s voice in his head, calling to him from many years ago when he’d first entered the Basic Recon Course to discover if he could even become Force Recon. Most failed. He wouldn’t.

  This is going to suck, marine. But we like it when it sucks!

  Every marine going into Force Recon qualification hoped he could accomplish the significant task of being worthy. Few of them were. The belief inside him had proved strong enough to become Force Recon. So where the hell had all that ability gone? Straight to the crapper.

  Doubts he’d rarely had before he retired wore him down, and he hated it. Every morning the weariness came before he could exercise, but he’d taken a physical that said he was in damned good shape on every level. It wasn’t physical. Something mental exhausted him each day and threatened to make him a fat couch potato. Fuck that. He jogged har
der, faster, feeling his heart bang in his chest and his pulse race. So what if he couldn’t get off the couch the rest of the day. He could keep his body in shape even if his mind went to pot.

  As the sun beat down on him, he was glad for the sunglasses on his face. He turned into an area with leafy aspens and tall pines shading the path. Finally, after mile two, his mind started to clear and relax.

  A vision of Lana Burns popped into his mind. Shit, that woman…now she was something. A rounded-in-all-the-right places woman. She wasn’t skinny, and yet he’d never call her overweight. He towered over her, but she was tall. Hair fell around her shoulders in a mess of curls and waves, thick and a pretty red that made him want to sink his fingers into it. Her eyes, a piercing, knowing brown, made him feel as if she could read his mind. She was different than any woman he’d met, but if asked, he wouldn’t know how to define what was different. When they’d stood outside the medical center Tuesday night, she’d seemed afraid of him and yet unwilling to give into the fear. She’d stood up straighter and schooled her face into a cross between don’t-mess-with-me and a vulnerability. Still, she’d met his conversation head-on with little hesitation, and she’d seemed like a nice enough person. He wasn’t joking when he’d told her wanted to ask her out. He had wanted to, but he knew better.

  Still…something about her made him want to protect her at all costs.

  That scared the ever livin’ shit outta him.

  He’d hated that she’d been left outside Tuesday alone—that her friend hadn’t been there on time to pick her up. He’d envied her PTSD a little. It was defined. She had it because she’d been kidnapped and held hostage and who the fuck knew what else had happened during her captivity.

  No one understood his mental problems, but they still said he had them. Frustration mounted. If he couldn’t figure out what the hell had turned him into a poster boy for PTSD after twenty freaking years in the marines, then what the hell would he do in the future?