Threads of Love

by Frances Devine

  Mom had been the peacemaker, and she tried to keep the peace between her sisters when the dispute over Gramps’s inheritance came up after his death. Things went south fast, and Mom retaliated, driving the wedge between all of them for good.

  Pop!

  Danni jerked, the cup slipped from her hand, and lemonade splashed on her pant leg. Quickly scanning the now silent group, her breath hitched.

  Misty stood horrified in the center of the crowd, a broken balloon lying on the ground at her feet. Nearby, Trace seemed to grope for something at his waist. People veered out of his path as he swung around.

  “Give me a gun! Now! Before they get here!”

  Danni’s heart stalled. Was Trace having a flashback? She took a step forward. But pulled up short. What if he got violent? She couldn’t risk any more injuries to her knee.

  Trace swore and reached for his uncle’s shirt. “I need a gun.”

  His dad tried to intervene, and Trace shoved him aside like a rag doll. The older man nearly fell on Misty, who burst into tears.

  Trace pointed to the little girl and yelled, “Someone shut her up, or they’ll hear us.”

  Julia swooped in, grabbed up her daughter, and back-pedaled as Trace advanced on them.

  Determination steeled her body, and Danni rushed in.

  Lord, don’t let him hit me.

  As she drew closer, his rapid breathing seemed to suck the energy from the air. His wild eyes darted from left to right. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his skin turning pale. Danni swallowed hard and eased in front of him.

  “Trace,” she whispered.

  His gaze bounced off her, around the group, then back.

  “Trace, it’s Danni.” She grimaced. “Danica, remember?”

  He frowned, the cloud of panic on his face lifting. “Danica?”

  “Yeah.” She forced a smile. “Remember how much I dislike that name?”

  A tentative smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I love it.”

  “Why is that?”

  Slowly, his control slipped into place and the fear cleared from his eyes. “Because it’s beautiful, like you.”

  His words slammed into her like a killer spike to the face from beach volleyball champ Phil Dalhausser. Trace thought she was beautiful? She shook the shock off. This wasn’t about her at the moment. Careful not to move fast, she held her hand out to him.

  “Let’s take a walk. I haven’t seen the horses yet.”

  Trace glanced around, and he blanched. Danni followed his gaze. His mom stood with a hand over her mouth and tears pouring down her face. Julia, her eyes glistening, held a sobbing Misty. Apparently, they didn’t know he had post-traumatic stress.

  Easing into his line of sight, Danni stared at him. “Trace.” It took a moment for him to register her presence again. She smiled. “I want to see the horses.”

  “Uh … okay.” He about-faced and marched off.

  His family and friends parted like the Red Sea for Moses. Danni hurried after him. Once he rounded the corner of the house, his pace slowed. She caught up with him and stayed at his side, saying nothing.

  Talk would come soon enough.

  When they reached the horse pasture closest to the house, Trace flopped to the ground and leaned against a post. Drawing his legs up, he propped his elbows on his knees and drove his fingers through his hair.

  “I can’t believe I did that. In front of all of them.”

  The torture in his voice pierced Danni’s heart. She sat down next to him and dragged his hand away from his face. His skin was flushed. A by-product of the flashback?

  “Trace, look at me.”

  He hesitated a second then looked at her. A wet sheen coated his eyes. His clenched jaw fired spasms across his cheek.

  “How long have you had PTSD?”

  He moved to turn his head away. Danni grasped his rocksolid chin and forced him to face her.

  “I didn’t say you could stop looking at me. How long?”

  The warmth from his sigh seeped into her hand, sending a chill through her soul. “Since my third tour.”

  “And I take it by your mom’s reaction, you didn’t tell anyone.”

  “What’s the point? They can’t help me.” Words of the defeated.

  She released his chin and he dropped it to his chest. “Have you been getting help?”

  “Some. It’s hard when you’re in the field.”

  “Then get out.”

  His head jerked up, and his heated gaze bore holes into her. “I am.” He flung his hand at the world. “That’s why I got stationed at Fort Carson. I’ve got six weeks and I’m done.”

  Done? He was getting out for good? After all this time, and two wars, Trace was walking away from the Army.

  Danni pressed her back into the fence. Above them, fat white clouds drifted by on a brilliant blue backdrop. The crisp autumn leaves rattled in the breeze. Behind them a horse whinnied.

  “Does this have anything to do with how you got the Bronze Star?”

  “Everything.”

  Whatever happened for him to get that medal, Danni was fairly certain she’d never hear the story behind it. A car engine purred to life, and a couple of doors snapped closed. A few seconds later the crunch of gravel reached them.

  “Sounds like the party’s breaking up.” Trace’s chuckle sounded brittle. “I’m getting good at being a downer these days.”

  She jerked her attention to him and scowled. “Knock that off.”

  He looked at her sharply.

  “I know PTSD is rough, but throwing a pity party for yourself isn’t going to make it go away.”

  “Here comes bossy Danni.”

  A pang twinged in her chest. Is that how he thought of her? Was that how he’d always thought of her? “That’s unfair.”

  He had the good grace to grimace. “Sorry, that’s not … I don’t mind.” He took her hand and squeezed. “You saved me back there. If you hadn’t …”

  An odd sensation blossomed in her stomach and spread. Something inside of her wanted to crawl into his lap and kiss away the hurt and the memories plaguing him.

  “This isn’t the first time you’ve saved me.”

  She jolted at his admission and gaped at him. “What do you mean?”

  With his other hand, he reached over and trailed his finger along her jaw. “Thoughts of you got me through.” He drew his hand back. “I know we barely knew each other. And we lost contact, but …”

  Her throat constricted. Why did he have to go and do that? She swallowed hard and freed her hand. “You stopped writing to me first. I figured you’d found someone else.”

  Trace frowned. He dropped one leg to the ground and scooted to face her. “Not someone, something. A war started and I got sucked straight into it.” He sighed. “I started tons of letters, but I didn’t know what to tell you.” He directed his attention to a long blade of grass and plucked it. Rolling it between his finger and thumb. “Why don’t you like the name Danica?”

  “You know why.”

  His gaze slid to her then back to the blade. “Because you think it’s too girly is a lame reason.”

  She sighed and massaged her knee. “My dad used to call me Danni. After he died, I wanted to keep a piece of him alive. Mom was the only one, besides you, who refused to give up Danica.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

  “It still hurt to talk about him.”

  Trace twined his fingers with hers and tugged her close. “Guess we’re airing a lot of hurts today.”

  Danni leaned against his side and let her head rest on his muscular shoulder. His musky scent enveloped her. She closed her eyes and filed away this moment for later. When she returned to San Diego she wanted to remember every minute with him to pull out when she got lonely.

  A vibration in her jeans pocket startled her. She lifted her head from Trace’s shoulder and dug out her cell phone. There was a message in her voice mail. She called her mailbox and found out Zoe was
running behind, but she’d get to Colorado Springs as soon as she could.

  Which reminded Danni. “I need to get to my mom’s house.” She crawled onto her feet and dusted grass from her rear.

  “Now?” The pained tone in Trace’s voice made her turn.

  The light in his eyes had dimmed. His gaze flicked to the house then back to her. Danni looked that direction as well. No one stood outside. The few visible party decorations drifted lazily—almost dejectedly—in the breeze. With his secret now out in the open he wasn’t ready to face his family alone.

  She sighed, thrusting out her hand and wiggling her fingers. “Not at this exact moment. But I really can’t stay here another night. I’ve got to find something at Mom’s before I meet up with my cousins.”

  He stared at her hand a moment. “What would that something be?”

  “A missing quilt piece.” Danni planted her free fist on her hip. “If you need me for backup I’m here.”

  Heaving what could have been the most soul weary sigh she’d ever heard, Trace grasped her hand and she hauled him up. He jerked his arm back, knocking Danni off-balance. She landed against his solid chest. The sneak used the awkward position to wrap his arms around her waist and hold her close.

  “I’ve missed you, Danni,” he whispered.

  His warm breath tickled her ear, sending a shiver down her neck and through her body. All those years in the Army had matured him, mentally and physically. Not a shred of the care-free, scrawny twenty-year-old remained. He was all man.

  It felt good in his arms. Drawing strength from someone other than herself. Her volleyball partner’s family had been supportive when Danni hurt her knee, but it wasn’t the same as having her own family.

  The thought of her partner snapped Danni out of her reverie. They needed to get back into training for next season. The Olympics loomed, and they had a shot to make it. She had no clue what Trace planned to do once he was out of the Army. But if his deep ties to his family were any indication, she’d bet her college national championship trophy he was staying put in Colorado Springs.

  Danni wiggled until she broke Trace’s grip, and backed away. “Trace, I’m going home to California.”

  Chapter 5

  For a brief moment, Trace relished the feel of Danni in his arms. The subtle scent of peaches in her hair. Her feminine body pressed against his. He couldn’t believe they were together. She was here for him and nothing else. All those years of hoping and praying she thought about him the way he thought about her washed over him.

  Then she brought him crashing back to earth and the reality that she had something waiting for her in California. And he would be left drifting once he discharged.

  He couldn’t get attached to her again. This time when she left there would be no coming back.

  Trace stepped away from her. “You know, I think I’ll be okay talking with my folks.” He nodded at the house. “Go get your things. I’ll take you to your mom’s place.”

  Danni blinked, her features melding into a frown. “You sure?”

  With a shrug, he rammed his hands into his Wrangler pockets. “Don’t worry.” He forced a smile. “Whatever it is your cousins and you are up to, you need to find that quilt piece.”

  She remained rooted, her eyes seeming to attempt to peel back the shelter he erected around his emotions. “Okay.” Turning, she wandered back to the house.

  Trace watched her enter the house. Heaving a frustrated sigh, he headed to the horse barn, where friendly whinnies greeted him. The heady scent of horseflesh and hay filled his senses as he walked past the stalls, but did little to comfort him. On a wall toward the back of the barn, he scaled a ladder to the hayloft.

  Once his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, he wove a path through the bales to the loft door. He settled on the edge of the opening and let his legs dangle. His gaze swept over the view of horse pastures and empty hay fields. The Rocky Mountains towered in the distance, mist shrouding their snow-draped tops. Everything in the world was peaceful. Except inside him.

  Danni was right. He had to tell his parents about the PTSD. He’d put it off too long. He didn’t have the first clue how to begin, or what to say. How did he tell the people he loved something wasn’t right inside his head? That seeing men die in his arms and knowing there wasn’t a thing he could do for them had messed him up? Every time he visited, in between tours, he’d managed to put up a good front. Luckily, he didn’t suffer from nightmares. As far as he knew, he didn’t have them.

  It was out there now. And no amount of sidetracking would keep his parents from knowing the ugly truth.

  The horrified look on Misty’s face flashed through his head. He scrubbed his face and groaned. Would she forgive him for scaring her?

  Oddly enough, Danni seemed to handle it well. He couldn’t believe he’d blurted out that he thought she was beautiful. Like everything else between them, she took it in stride and moved on.

  She’d told him she always dreamed of playing pro volleyball, especially beach. That dream, and a full-ride scholarship to Southern Cal, had taken her far. But from the looks of her knee, she couldn’t play full-out competitive volleyball for another four months, maybe more. One wrong move now and it might mean the end of her career.

  And a lovesick fool reeling from the horrid effects of PTSD probably didn’t help either.

  Trace gripped the edge of the loft and peered down at the ground. Maybe squeezing her like a doll and admitting he missed her had been the wrong move. On second thought, there was no maybe about it. She made it clear his advances weren’t welcome. He needed a different approach.

  The horses whinnied. Someone had entered the barn. After a few moments the scuff of boots on the ladder rungs reached him.

  Trace twisted around and waited. Soon his dad appeared through the maze of bales, a grim expression on his face. It looked like that long-overdue conversation about his PTSD was about to happen sooner than Trace expected.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  His father gave him a solemn nod. “Son, I think we need to talk.”

  Danni stared at the pictures on the mantle. The one of Trace and her after a long afternoon of playing sand volleyball stood front and center. She couldn’t believe his mom kept the photo, much less framed it and placed it where everyone could see.

  Did both their mothers hope they’d get together?

  Sighing, she left the living room and strolled down the hall to Trace’s room. The time she’d spent with his family today made her heart ache for what she once had with her own. It would be good to see her cousins again and catch up. Their mothers might never mend their rift, but Danni and her cousins wouldn’t let that stop them.

  All those years of being on her own wore Danni down. Success came with a price. She’d heard the rumors on the pro beach circuit. People wondered about her life and how she managed to keep her family away. Yet no one bothered to ask her personally. Speculation sold news and tickets.

  Danni was Orphan Annie who rose to the coveted position of Queen of the Sand Court. On her own and alone.

  She shut the bedroom door and flopped on the bed. She stared at the ceiling, trying to make images out of the swirls in the paint, avoiding the job of gathering her things.

  A sniffle from the closet drew her attention, and she propped herself up on her elbow. The sniffle came again, louder this time. She rolled off the bed and onto the floor.

  Scooting close to the door, she left it closed and leaned against the wall.

  “Knock, knock,” she said softly.

  “Who’s there?”

  Danni smiled at Misty’s muffled voice. “Duchess.”

  Scuffling sounds came through the door then it creaked open. Misty poked her head out. “You’re not Duchess.”

  “No, but I’m a friend.”

  The girl studied Danni with watery eyes.

  “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  Misty sniffed and ran the back of her hand under her nose. Danni grimaced
at the thought of what she rubbed on her hand.

  “Why did Uncle Trace act like a bad guy?”

  Oh, boy. Guess Julia hadn’t talked to Misty about what she saw. Danni’s gaze flicked to the bedroom door and back to the little girl. Would she cross a line if she told Misty the truth about her Uncle Trace?

  “Why are you hiding in here?”

  Misty shook her head, her pigtails flying. “Mommy told me to go to my room and stay there until she came to get me. That was forever ago.”

  Probably more like ten minutes. Danni cocked her head. “Tell you what. Why don’t you run into the bathroom and wash those tears away. When you’re done, we’ll play a game.”

  Misty’s pixie face lit up. “Really? What kind of game?”

  “I’ll show you when you’re ready.” Danni nodded at the bathroom. “Hurry up.”

  Misty scrambled to her feet and skipped into the bathroom. While she ran the water, Danni slipped out of the room, located a wayward balloon, and returned as Misty exited the bathroom. The girl eyed the balloon.

  “What are we doing with that?”

  Danni grinned. “We’re going to play a little game of balloon volleyball.”

  Girlish giggles drew Trace to his bedroom. What was Danni doing in there? He paused outside the door and listened.

  Misty squealed. “I’m winning.”

  “Not for long,” he heard Danni say.

  Trace opened the door a crack and peered inside. Danni and Misty sat on the floor facing each other, batting a white balloon between them. Hands clasped together and her arms out in perfect passing form, Misty hit the balloon. Danni had taught her to play balloon volleyball.

  As if sensing his presence, Misty spun around on her knees and stared at him. A look of momentary fear swept through her eyes.

  Trace entered the room cautiously and squatted down to his niece’s level. “Hey, pretty girl.”

  Her gaze darted to Danni. With a nod, Danni smiled. Misty faced Trace again. She seemed frozen, unsure of what to do. Then suddenly she exploded, running at him and squeezing his neck until he couldn’t breathe.