ABANDONED: Elkridge Series, Book 3, A novel

by Lyz Kelley

  “I’ll help.” The earnestness assured her he’d help even if she didn’t ask.

  She nodded and walked into the house to put some distance between her and temptation. He was absolutely becoming more dangerous, in a warm, fuzzy way.

  Chapter Nine

  “What the hell are you doing?” Chase paced back and forth, talking to himself, puzzling over the woman in the house, and asking question after question of no one in particular. “Yeah, I’m an ass. I shouldn’t have laughed.”

  He hadn’t been laughing at Ashley, but somehow she didn’t see it that way. He’d seen through Rachelle with the first flash of her pearly white teeth. He didn’t need a warning. She had a sign hung around her neck saying ‘boy-toys apply here.’ Around the military base, he could find her type anytime, day or night. She fit the category of a woman looking for a little adventure, a buffed body, and a pressed uniform.

  Some military marriages didn’t last. He knew that. But it didn’t stop him from hoping one day he might find the right woman, a reliable woman. A woman who could love him and give him a nice place to land while he traveled through hell and back. Finding such a woman seemed an impossible task, especially since he’d spent most of his time in training or overseas.

  For the past twelve years, the military had provided him with a fairly constant adrenaline fix, and he thrived on being the best of the best. But jumping out of planes and playing sneak and peek didn’t give him the rush it once had. The wear and tear on his body didn’t help much, either. Every day, getting out of bed was a bit harder than the day before. And lately he’d been restless, and the nightmares and the triggered episodes were getting worse.

  Kaboom. A loud crash reverberated from inside the house.

  His heart about busted from his chest, but his body remained combat-ready calm. Entering the front door, he stopped to listen and heard Ashley’s gentle voice. God, woman, you’re going to give me a coronary.

  Stubborn and independent. He could tell asking for help was like pulling a tooth without Novocaine for her. He was the same way. But the military had cured him of going it alone. Maybe he could teach her a bit about teamwork.

  Entering the house, he moved toward the noise until he found her in an oversized bathroom off the main room.

  She’d changed again. A gray bra strap peeked from under her navy blue tank top. White cotton underwear did the same from under her faded jeans. She looked flustered and adorable.

  “Need another set of hands?” Chase asked over the hum of running bathwater. Ashley’s head snapped around, her startled eyes engaging.

  “Why do you insist on scaring me?”

  “Sorry, forgot to stomp.”

  She scrunched her nose and turned back to her patient. In one hand, she held an electric razor. The other hand held Lucky’s flank. The dog shifted back and forth, clearly uncomfortable.

  After studying the dog for several seconds, she looked at him. “I’m trying to keep the weight off his hind legs. Can you keep him lifted so I can shave his thigh?”

  “Would it be easier if he were lying down?”

  She bit her lip, weighing his suggestion. “It might.” She removed her arm from under the dog’s belly, and Lucky collapsed to the floor. She gave Chase a surprised look. “You’re such a problem-solver.”

  If only I could solve my own problems. If not the military…then what?

  Her happy expression did odd things, like making him think what he could do next to earn another smile.

  When younger, he’d tried to make his mom happy by drawing pictures or bringing home a flower or leaf he’d discovered, but it never earned him the smile he wanted so desperately. The woman across from him appreciated the simple things he offered, but he suspected true happiness didn’t exist for her. Not at the moment.

  Details about her dying mom still hadn’t been filled in enough to make a complete picture, but instinct told him her hurt went far deeper. The pool of sadness surrounding her made him want to work even harder to see if he could get it to evaporate. He sat on the floor at Lucky’s head, working to keep the animal distracted. With each stroke of the razor, she gently removed a row of fur careful to avoid the tender patches of open sores. When the time came, Chase rolled Lucky to his other side so Ashley could continue.

  While they worked in silence, he realized they were synchronizing their moves with complete confidence. They’d reached a level of trust he typically achieved after working with someone for weeks, sometimes months. Before deploying, his squad practiced together, exercised together, and often ate together. When a life depended upon a buddy being there, he didn’t question whether the person beside him would watch his back. Building that type of confidence took time, practice, and patience. With Ashley, the assurance came naturally. She’d slipped right into the pattern of his life, like she understood, except when she decided to be stubborn and overdo it.

  “Okay, Lucky. Ready for your bath?” The bright, upbeat encouragement in her tone did nothing to sway the dog, who looked at the tub of water like it was at the top of his absolutely-not list. She turned the taps off, checking the temperature. “Warm, but not too warm.”

  “How do you want to approach this?” Chase pointed at the shampoo and towels and water pitcher sitting on the toilet seat.

  “How about you hold and I scrub.”

  Hold and scrub. Yeah, baby. There was a whole lot of Ashley he wouldn’t mind holding and scrubbing. Inappropriate timing, yes, but his mind had to go there. When she leaned over to brush Lucky’s fur into a pile, oh-la-la, the soft mounds of her breasts bulged from the top of her shirt and caused all kinds of commotion. That, coupled with her genuine, caring nature, meant he wouldn’t mind at all being washed and scrubbed by this angel of mercy.

  “Got it. Let me lift him into the tub so you can start.”

  She bent over to dunk the water pitcher and wet down the dog. Ten minutes later she was wet, Chase was wet, and the dog looked miserable.

  The tiny, open sores looked raw and infected. Chase pointed at the largest lesion. “What do you think caused those?”

  “Don’t know. Mites or a fungal infection, maybe. The antibiotics and pain meds, plus the antiseptic and aloe vera balm, should help. I need to stop him from licking. Brad might have a collar I can borrow.”

  He studied the unadorned, functional room, and a niggling memory came back to him. He might not have recognized the modernized bathroom, with the low sinks and multiple-head shower with a roll-in basin, if it hadn’t been for Sam. Two years ago, he went to see the young corporal. They were able to laugh together and spent a few hours remembering the good times.

  Before Chase left, Sam had proudly shown his former sergeant the necessary addition to his parents’ house after a training accident broke Sam’s spine. A ramp now extended from the drive to the front door, the doorways were wider, the sinks lower, and ropes hung on doors so he could maneuver around the kitchen. Sam also showed off his newest toy, a racing chair he’d designed. Once the platoon’s fastest runner, he wanted to beat some old records, feet or wheels didn’t matter. Chase felt honored to call him friend, and to see how well he’d adjusted to life—better than Chase might have done, given the same circumstances.

  The memory faded, and his thoughts returned to the woman lovingly attending her charge. He wondered if he was merely another of Ashley’s strays.

  “Harold told me your mom was sick for a while. It must have been hard losing her. I know how you feel.”

  Her lips puckered and her eyes squinted as if she’d bitten into a lemon, but then a deep sorrow scored the lines etched into her young face even deeper. “I don’t mean to be rude, but how could you possibly know how I feel?”

  “You’re not the only one who’s lost someone.”

  “See, that’s the thing. People who’ve lost someone think they know, but they really don’t know how the other person feels. They can’t. They might know how they feel, but they don’t know how I feel.”

  She brus
hed at clumps of fur on her jeans, her frustration and annoyance crackling in the air around her, and then shoved to her feet. The dog, automatically trying to follow her lead, got up, shook, and sprayed the entire bathroom.

  Two towels, one from Ashley, one from Chase, simultaneously went flying over the dog’s back.

  She held the three-foot cloth in place and then looked down at her drenched shirt, the wet floor and walls, and started to laugh. The contagious melody of her happiness made him laugh. Seconds passed before they both had dog-day-happy grins across their faces.

  “Wow,” she said.

  “You can say that again.”

  “Wow.” Mischievousness added another layer to her exuberant expression.

  With a lot of effort and a bit of help, Chase managed to assist the exhausted dog out of the tub without a whole lot more shaking.

  “Good boy, Lucky,” she praised the dog while walking him back into the family room. The dog instantly collapsed on a bed of comforters and blankets.

  “I bet you’re wrong,” Chase said, wanting to get her attention.

  The tilt of her head suggested she’d forgotten what they were talking about. He could let the conversation about her mom drop. In fact, he should, but he didn’t. “I bet I know a little of what you’re feeling.” He waited until her eyes settled on him. “My best friend was killed on our last deployment, and I buried him a few days ago.”

  Her head and shoulders fell forward, and she looked like she’d just dropped her birthday cake on the floor. “That sucks. It really does. There were times, I wished my mom would have died like that—quick, no pain, no lingering for three years, barely making it through each day.”

  “How can you say that? You got to be there. You got to say goodbye.”

  “There’s a difference…never mind.”

  “No, not never mind.” He understood every person grieved differently. Almost always at the end of their rope emotionally, survivors could only hang on, clinging to life, until enough strength returned to climb back up. “Talk to me, because from over here, our wounds look the same.”

  “I really don’t want to talk about this.”

  Would you talk to me, damn it? I need to talk about this.

  Frustration prickled along his neck and shoulders and through his limbs. “You are so stubborn. I want to know what’s so different, not to judge, but to understand.”

  She stood and started pacing, stopping at the window, which ran the length of the room and framed a spectacular view of the ridge. “No one understands.”

  Hauling bodies to safety after being shot, the smell of burned flesh, the weight of carrying an injured Marine to a medevac site came tumbling back. “Try me.”

  “What was your friend’s name?”

  His chest tightened. “Bobby,” he whispered.

  “From what you’ve said, Bobby was a good friend and an excellent soldier who died doing what he loved to do.” She turned to look at him.

  The emotion in her eyes ebbed and flowed so fast he couldn’t get an accurate reading.

  “For months, my mother rarely left her bed. When she did, it was for an hour or two to be bathed, or to work at the computer. In the final year, she couldn’t even make it to the toilet. You don’t know what it’s like to watch a person’s skin become paper-thin and their bones protrude from their body. She didn’t have the desire to eat because she lost her senses of taste and smell, and it took badgering, threatening, even bartering to get her to eat Jell-O. I sat in a chair for hours, listening to mucus-filled, wheezing lungs, hoping the awful sound would end, but afraid to fall asleep because she might stop breathing. I also didn’t sleep because I didn’t want her to be alone when death came. I watched her die one heartbeat at a time. So don’t tell me you know how I feel.”

  He opened his arms and stepped forward, but shrugged away. “This isn’t me feeling pity, Ash.”

  “Yeah. Then what is it? Because I don’t deserve sympathy or kindness. You see, I spent three years of my life, all day, every day, caring for a woman who constantly told me she hadn’t raised me properly—that I needed to learn how to be an adult, make decisions, do something more with my life, take risks. Like I hadn’t been trying.” Ashley pushed her fingers through her hair, pulling the strands into a bundle to create a knot. “She basically told me all day, every day, that what I was doing wasn’t good enough.” Ashley took several pacing steps, her animated arms circling in the air. “Then there were times she’d cry all day, telling me she wasn’t my responsibility and begging me to leave. I often seriously considered packing and going back to school, leaving her to suffer alone in some nursing home.” Her hands fell silent to her sides. “Month after month I sat there and became increasingly angry and resentful. I couldn’t go to the movies, or out to dinner, or see friends. I was a prisoner, and there were days I wanted her to die. I wanted her suffering to end. I wanted to be free. And eventually I got exactly what I wanted.” Her chest expanded to take a needed gulp of air, before she let the breath exhale. “Now I’d give anything for even one more day, even if it meant listening to her complain and criticize and tell me what a pathetic person I am.”

  Her prison cell. The irony hit him. This was where she chose to bring Lucky.

  She wasn’t awful.

  She considered herself pathetic.

  Maybe the dog was her atonement for her mother. Whatever the reason, the dog seemed the right medicine to help her heal the caring part of her life.

  “You came home to help. That’s more than most people would do.” And he respected her a great deal for that.

  Her gaze lowered and the lines around her eyes softened with acceptance. “You’re starting to sound like Jenna and Maggie. They said pretty much the same thing.”

  “Well, you know about the truth. If more than one person says it, it must be true.”

  “Is that so?”

  Skepticism filled her eyes. Somehow, she’d created a truth, a truth that wasn’t quite real. God, he wanted to demonstrate to her that she was special and desirable and needed. He wanted her to believe.

  Believe in him.

  “Yep. Soldier’s honor.”

  She rolled her eyes, which gave him a bold idea.

  “When’s the last time you had sex, the mind-numbing kind of sex?”

  She choked. “Excuse me?”

  That blew her mind.

  “Stop worrying about the future and your plan. Think about this moment. Today. Now. Sex. You know…the wild kind, or the soft kind. Your choice. You have a lot of flat surfaces in this house needing to be initiated.”

  “Is sex all you soldiers think about?”

  When I’m around you. Yeah. “Being in the desert, knowing you’ve got a target on your chest and back, scaling buildings and sandy mounds to see what’s on the other side does that to a guy. Your mounds are much prettier, and I’m damn sure they’re much more fun to scale.”

  “Are you volunteering?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  Based on their kiss, he bet her body parts would be a thrill to explore, and he bet when Ashley let loose, she was going to make his temperature skyrocket above desert-hot.

  “That wild sex, I’ve already tried it. It didn’t turn out so well.”

  Curiosity made him daring. “Really? The guy couldn’t be an expert, or was he a complete ass?”

  Finally, he got her to laugh. “He definitely wasn’t an expert. Guys can be assholes.”

  “True,” he said honestly. “We can be rather single-minded. Want to give it another try?”

  She looked away, her cheeks turning the nicest shade of red. He liked red, especially red lingerie.

  “I think I’ll pass.”

  “Have you given up on men?” Or is it me?

  “No. I haven’t given up. It’s me. I’m trying to get my head screwed on straight. Make some decisions. Work on figuring out who I am.” Her eyes studied him. “I don’t feel whole right now. And sex can be addicting. When I have sex, I want it
to be for the right reasons.”

  He understood wanting time to figure out next steps. That’s what had landed him in Colorado in the first place.

  Chase lifted his arm, shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t work too hard on improvements. You’re pretty great the way you are.”

  Her eyes met his, and for half of a second he suspected she might jump on and scale up his body for a wild, hot moment, but then he could see an emotional disconnection take place.

  He walked toward the door.

  “Chase?”

  He turned.

  She rubbed her palms on her jeans and stared at his feet like his shoes needed tying. He might have followed her gaze if he didn’t already know his boots didn’t have laces.

  “Your proposal. It’s tempting. But I keep thinking you’re going to go your way and I’m going to go mine, and I haven’t worked out what to do about the spark yet.”

  “You feel it too, huh?”

  Her guilt riddled gaze met his. “Since day one.”

  “Ashley, I have a lot of respect for you. I wouldn’t intentionally hurt you. And that spark you talked about? I won’t do anything about it until you decide to light the match. But I do think you should light it at some point, or else we’ll both be left wondering for the rest of our lives.”

  She shoved her fingers in her back pockets. He wished she hadn’t made that last move because her round breasts pushed forward, her perky nipples front and center. He wanted to engage. He wanted to have those perfect mounds brush against his chest, feel her breath on his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist. If only she would allow him to hold her again, he would demonstrate how great sex could be. In her current state, she wouldn’t let a fly close.

  “How about I fix dinner tonight, and you can tell me more about your friend Bobby.”

  A woman offering to make him dinner. Now, there was a first. “Unfortunately, I already have plans. Maybe another time.”

  He could imagine her tumultuous bulldozer thoughts constructing a bridge to the wrong conclusion—Rachelle. He might look at Rachelle—because her plastic surgeon made sure she had something worth looking at—but he wouldn’t waste his time on anything more.