by Vonnie Davis
She entwined her fingers with his. “You’re overreacting. I merely fell out of bed.”
“No, Kitten. I pushed you off the bed. I used physical force on you.” He studied her wrists. “Christ, even your wrists are going to bruise. I must have really hurt you.”
A kiss landed on his forehead, and she rubbed her hand over his hair. “Fran told me about Clint’s horrible screaming nightmares after he got back from ’Nam. He still has some issues, like dealing with fireworks. But he’s never hurt her or she’d have beaten the crap out of him. In my heart, I know you wouldn’t harm me. Not on purpose.”
“Of course I’d never intentionally hurt you, but when my fucking PTSD takes over, God only knows what I’ll do. Next time, I might throw you against the wall or hit you. Do you think I could live with myself? Baby, you mean more to me than anyone else on the face of this earth. I will protect you, no matter how much it costs me. And it looks as if I’ll have to protect you from myself.”
A pain so searing hot, yet bone-marrow freezing hammered a wretched beat through his system, taking with it all the happiness and contentment he’d found with his kitten. He was hollowed out inside. A brittle shell.
He pulled her to him and pressed his face against her abdomen. Before he’d gone to sleep, he worried about not losing her. Now he’d have to walk away from this woman he was falling in love with to keep her safe. Was he the kind of man who would become abusive with his PTSD? He couldn’t stay around this sweet and sassy soul he adored to find out. Damn, but she deserved someone so much better than he was. A man who would treasure her the way he did, but without the effects of war eating at his mind and soul.
He reached for his prosthesis.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Panic edged her voice.
He pulled on his boxers. “I’m making you an ice pack. Get back in bed, Kitten, and find a comfortable position to lie in.” He kissed her hand. “I’ll be back soon. Where are your sandwich baggies?”
“Beneath the sink. Really, I don’t need an ice pack.”
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion. Since I’m the one who hurt you, I’ll be the one to take care of you.” And won’t it hurt like a motherfucker when I walk out of your life to keep you undamaged from my demons? I won’t be a serviceman statistic with PTSD who beats his wife or girlfriend. How could I live with myself knowing I’d used physical force on my woman?
He brought her two aspirins, a glass of water, and a baggie full of ice cubes wrapped in a dish towel. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. His whole episode had probably scared her and the pain in her hip was no doubt worse than she wanted to own up to. God, I am such a fuckin’ ass.
She took the pills with only a small amount of grumbling. He placed the wrapped impromptu ice pack against her reddened ass that was already showing faint signs of bruising. Hell, he must have really flung her off the bed. He reached for his pillow to prop next to the ice pack to keep it in place. He pulled the sheet and lightweight blanket over her, leaned, and kissed her moist cheek good night. “Sleep well, Kelcee.”
“Where are you going?” She cast a sidelong glance at him, sadness in her eyes.
“If you’ve got an extra blanket or quilt, I’ll bed down in the hallway outside your door in case you need help walking in the morning.”
“That’s silly. Lie down with me.” She rubbed a hand on his side of her bed. His side. Already, he was thinking of her bedroom as partially his. Man, he needed to back away before she got hurt.
“I’ve slept on sand, on rocky terrain, and in an inflatable rubber craft. Believe me, sleeping on your floor is no big deal. Which closet do you keep your extra blankets in?”
“The one to the left of the bathroom door. Get whatever you need, since it obviously isn’t me.” Her chin jutted. She was pissed.
His first instinct was to console her, to show her how much he did need her, but he couldn’t afford that luxury. Not when her safety hung in the balance. He remembered Junebug’s recounting ZQ’s rages, the dents he’d beaten into her new refrigerator, and the day he’d raised a fist to her. No, he’d not put this sweet woman through a life filled with that kind of angst—or worse.
Chapter 14
Kelcee woke early to a damp butt and snoring coming from her hallway. Evidently, the baggie had leaked a little water as the ice melted. She slithered out of bed and winced at the minor pain in her hip. Leaking baggie in hand, she carried it to the bathroom and returned to her bedroom to remove the sheets from the bed. After she started the washer, she got in the shower and fumed about the very sexy male form sprawled out on her hallway floor.
Did he really think she couldn’t handle herself if his dreams made him violent? Hell, he’d run into her fist just like Wanda did with Fran’s. And as for his singing as he made her morning coffee, he’d be singing soprano. If he got too rough with her, she’d shove his prosthesis up his ass, so he could ski the slopes sitting down. She’d grown up in the rough part of Baltimore. She knew how to street fight.
So, why was she standing under the shower spray crying? Because the man she was falling in love with was pulling away from her over some misplaced act of chivalry. She could sense it by his actions and his tone of voice.
The tenderness in her wrists caused her to examine them. They were bruising, too. He’d grabbed her there before he tossed her out of the bed. Although they’d stung, she hated to mention it to him, especially after the way he’d carried on over her reddened hip. But eagle-eye Dustin never missed a thing. Seeing her swollen wrists would hurt him more than they hurt her.
Once she was dry and in her robe, she stepped into an empty hallway. Dustin’s duffel bag was gone from her bedroom floor as were his prostheses. The apartment felt as deserted as she did. A note lay on her nightstand. “I think we need some time apart to think about what happened last night. What could happen in the future. My feelings for you haven’t changed. I just don’t know that I’m good enough for someone as special as you. Dustin”
Now what the hell did he mean by that? She jerked open a drawer and pulled out clean underwear. Next she tugged on a pair of pale blue yoga pants and a matching T-shirt bearing the Cowboys logo. She padded to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, slamming a few cabinet doors to work off steam.
Nothing took the edge off of Kelcee’s anger like good old-fashioned cleaning. Ignoring the twinge of pain in her hip and wrists, she deadheaded her hanging plants before scrubbing the front porch of the store and chairs in the early hours of dawn. Her apartment and the laundry were tackled next all while she listened to her mad-as-hell playlist—Fall Out Boy, Imagine Dragons, and Volbeat. Music that didn’t leave much room for thinking and stewing. She hosed her balcony and pinched off the dead flowers from the plants hanging from the roof, too. One glance at the clock told her she was fifteen minutes late opening the bookstore.
She’d continue the cleaning in between customers. The bookstore shone after she poured hours of elbow grease into dusting shelves and washing and waxing the old wooden floors. Six o’clock couldn’t come fast enough so she could close the store.
Fran had come in around eleven to get the scoop on her weekend. They sat on the wicker rockers on the store’s front porch, each sipping a cup of tea.
“You might as well tell me what happened, darlin’. I can tell you’ve been cleaning like a madwoman. I see bruises on your wrists.” Fran looked at her, her eyes narrowed in concern.
“We had a fabulous weekend. Perfect, actually. Dustin told me he wanted to work on a serious relationship with me, even after he went back to active duty. Then last night, he had a horrible nightmare. I tried to waken him, but he grabbed me by the wrists and threw me out of the bed. I hit my hip on the floor pretty hard. It’s all bruised.”
“Land sakes, no! Oh, my sweet child. I have been there. Clint would turn into another man. A monster almost.” She lay a hand on Kelcee’s arm. “And I haven’t shared that with a soul, so it’s just between you and me.”
“
When I finally got Dustin awake and he realized what he’d done to me, he freaked. Said he wasn’t good enough, that his job was to protect me, even if it meant protecting me from himself. He packed his bag and left.” She swiped at the tears flooding her eyes. “Looks like it’s over.”
“He’ll be back. He needs you too much. I see how he looks at you.”
“Huh, the jerk hasn’t texted or called all day.” Kelcee sipped more of her tea. “Did Clint ever put you through this?”
“To a degree, but we were married. Had gotten married before he left for Vietnam. So leaving me wasn’t as easy as Dustin being able to pack his bag and walk out. But, yes, he gave me a few bruises.” She waved an open hand in front of her. “Oh, he felt like an ass, but I call a spade a spade. I referred to it as his war demon. Never him, but his war demon. Finally, he made the distinction and wasn’t so hard on himself. He began talking more about what was going on in his mind, not the war but how mentally wounded it made him feel.”
By seven, Kelcee had soaked in a hot tub of bubble bath, baked a frozen pizza, and opened a bottle of chilled red wine. She was spending the evening in her pajamas with a good book and as much Chianti as she could consume. Given her mood, it just might be the whole damn bottle.
She read the first page of The Paris Wife three times. A big part of this mess was her fault. She’d allowed herself to get too close to Dustin, to care for him. After all, she hadn’t dated in the two-plus years she’d lived here. She was better off keeping to herself with a close friend or two, like Fran and Clint, and generally being polite to everyone else in town. Granted, it was a lonely existence, but emotionally safer.
Maybe she needed some cats or a dog to keep her company. No more men, though. She reached for the bottle of Chianti. Mainly because no one else could ever measure up to Dustin Franks.
Her eyes scanned page one of the book again. The least the moody so-and-so could have done was call or text her to see how she was doing. After all, she was the one with the bruised ass and wrists—and the broken heart.
—
ZQ had kept an eye on Dust all day, ever since he came home from Kelcee’s, sullen and empty as if someone had dug out his insides with a three-point dirt scoop. The kid had changed into his running prosthesis and workout clothes before running the lane and back. He’d been doing it every day, but today he wore a different expression. In ZQ’s estimation, Dust was doing his damndest to outrun his demons. He was on his third lap. Much more and his stump would start to bleed; he was pushing himself too far, too soon.
What had happened with Kelcee? The last Dust had spoken with him, everything was going gangbusters between them. Instead it was shortly after six when he sped in the lane as if the hounds of hell were after him.
Nance pushed her head under ZQ’s hand for him to pet her. He damn near jumped out of his skin. He’d been so wrapped up with worry over Dust he hadn’t heard the German shepherd approach. Squatting, he hugged the beloved dog. “What are we going to do about Dust, baby girl?”
Nance whined and licked ZQ’s chin.
JJ’s Harley boots came into view. “I think he needs an intervention. A twelve-pack of beer, some snacks, and time inside your locked office. We may have to beat his scrawny ass until he talks.”
ZQ stood. “I’m in accord with the intervention idea, but I know Dust well enough that he’ll get his back up as soon as we take him into my office. With his curious mind, he’ll know what’s up. I’m thinking we saddle up three horses and take him on a ride over the ranch.” He chuckled. “Accidently ride by the entrance to the underground bunker or where I have the helicopter hidden. Really pique his curiosity. Loosen him up and then maybe he’ll talk.”
“You don’t think he’ll get suspicious when he sees three horses saddled?”
“Hell, JJ, you’re right. We’ll saddle only ours and tell him where we’re going. Casually mention he hasn’t seen the range yet. Subterfuge.” Both men headed for the stables.
Once ZQ saddled Zeus and JJ had Admiral ready, they walked their mounts out to the parking area. Dust was leaning over, his hands on his thighs and panting. “JJ, go get us a couple bottles of water and a few apples. If you’re taking Nance, get her some chews,” ZQ ordered. “Too bad you don’t have your shoe prosthesis on, Dust, you could ride along. I’m going to show JJ how I’m hiding my Blackhawk.”
Dust’s head whipped in ZQ’s direction, sweat dripping from his hair and face. “Blackhawk? Why? What are you doing with a freakin’ Blackhawk?”
He had him. “Kind of a secret, brother. JJ knows more because he’ll be a part of the team, but you haven’t decided if you’re staying or going.”
Dust narrowed his eyes and straightened. “Going. SEAL Team Five needs their sniper back.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I wanted to show off the ranch to you. Don’t guess you’d want to change into your walking prosthesis and sneakers and ride along? Dust, what’s happened to your face? Your scars are almost gone. What have you been using on them?”
“Kelcee gave me some stuff and I rubbed it on my face.” His fingers rose to his cheek and dropped before they made contact. “You can really tell a difference?”
“Hell, yeah.” He watched JJ approach out of the corner of his eye. “Hey, JJ, look at Dust’s face. What do you see?”
JJ grabbed Dust’s chin and turned his face from side to side. “What the hell? Have you looked in the mirror lately, man?”
Dust choked out a bark of laughter. “Not today, there’s nothing much there to see.”
“While ZQ and I are out riding, you should.” He shoved a bottle of water and two apples into ZQ’s saddlebag. He jammed Nance’s water bowl, two bottles of water, his apples, and the dog’s chews into his. “I’ve been hearing about this helo I’m supposed to help fly. I’m eager to see if it lives up to the Old Man’s bragging. You ought to join us. You thinking about recruiting him, boss?”
“No, dammit, I can’t. Dust says he’s leaving.” His gaze shifted to Dust. “Want us to saddle a horse for you while you change clothes? Come on, I’ll show you my Longhorns. You can’t leave Texas without riding a horse and looking over a range of cattle.”
Dust looked from JJ to ZQ. “I’ve never been on a horse.”
“We’ve got a grandpa horse, so old and gentle, he’ll be an easy ride for you.”
JJ laughed. “If he’s talking about old Blackie, don’t believe a word this lyin’ bullshitter says. Hell, Blackie bit me twice in the ass before I was able to get on him.”
ZQ bent over laughing. “Dust, if you coulda seen JJ’s expression. Mom waved a flyswatter at the horse and he settled down. The only person that old stallion respects is Mom.”
The kid’s jaw jutted in that pugnacious way he had when he wanted to show somebody he could do what they couldn’t. ZQ figured, today of all days, he needed a challenge. He looked like a shadow of his former self. “Saddle Blackie up. I’ll be ready to go by then.” Dust limped toward his room.
“You get Dust some water and apples and I’ll go get Blackie ready.” ZQ snorted. “This ought to be fun.” At least he and JJ could maneuver Dust’s mind off himself for a while. And, hopefully, get him to open up about what was wrong.
Once Dust joined them, ZQ introduced him to the horse and gave him a few instructions. Dust nodded and returned to the horse’s face, running his hand down between his eyes to his nose. “We’re going to make friends so you won’t feel the need to bite me in the ass. Some people would say I’m all ass, especially a certain redhead, so if you were to start biting me, it would be an all-day job.”
He rubbed Blackie’s neck. “See. I won’t hurt you.” He stepped toward the saddle and yelped when the horse turned its head and took a nip at his jean-clad behind.
“Oh yeah, Dust”—ZQ grinned wide—“you two are best buds. I can tell.”
Dust settled his ass in the saddle and accepted the cowboy hat JJ handed him to keep the sun off his face. He tugged the hat low over the new skin g
rowth at his eye, although it no longer appeared new. “Commander, you can kiss my virgin ass.” The brim of the hat barely hid the scowl he aimed ZQ’s way.
JJ spread a folded towel over his mount in front of the saddle. Lifting Nance, he placed her with her front paws on the towel so her claws wouldn’t dig into the horse. JJ slipped into the saddle behind the dog and wrapped an arm around her middle to hold her in place.
The three men and a dog headed off, their horses walking until they cleared the buildings and entered the open range. Blackie, in typical fashion, changed to a canter with Dust bouncing side to side on the saddle, holding his hat onto his head with one hand and trying to control the reins with the other.
ZQ shook his head. “Damn, if that ain’t a pitiful sight.”
“Tell me I didn’t look that bad.”
“Well, your dreadlocks did this wild swaying-through-the-air thing, like a rag mop in a hurricane. But you know me, I didn’t laugh one bit.” ZQ urged Zeus to catch up with Blackie and JJ followed suit, leaning over Nance to keep her astride the horse.
ZQ decided he’d take Dust to see some of his Longhorns. They were always a sight to behold. He’d give the kid some of the history of the breed here in Texas. Then maybe he’d be relaxed enough to reveal what had him tied into knots.
“Dust, what Blackie is torturing you with now is a canter. A gallop will give you a smoother ride until you get used to setting a horse. Follow my suit.” He urged Zeus into a gallop and the other two riders did the same.
“Thank God,” Dust exclaimed. “This horse about had my balls jarred up to my damn tonsils. You’re right, this is smoother.”
“For now, a walk and a gallop are the smoothest for you. Once you learn how to rock in your saddle, a canter will get easier, too.” They rode in silence for a while, ZQ’s expert eye looking for anything that needed repair. He noticed Dust staring off as if his mind were elsewhere, like maybe at a certain little bookstore by the waterfalls. The kid was in a bad way. If he had to guess, he’d gone into a dark place. Time now to offer him some help.
