Skye

by Heather Gray

  “I almost hope that’s the case.”

  Sam rested his hands on the steering wheel. “Would you like me to pray?”

  “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

  “You know what we’re doing here today, God, and how badly Gideon wants to set right some of the mistakes of the past two decades. Give him the words, Lord, and go before him. Prepare his sister’s heart. Amen.”

  Gideon took a deep breath. “I like that about you. Short prayers. Straight to the point, nothing fancy.”

  With that, the Samaritan’s Reach resident stepped out of the car and started up the walkway.

  Sam stayed in the car and continued to pray for Gideon and his sister, all the while watching events unfold. Gideon rang the doorbell. When the door remained closed, he knocked.

  The door opened then, and a man stood in the entryway. They chatted for a moment before the man became agitated, his voice rising.

  Gideon’s hands moved, a sure sign that he was talking.

  The other man reached the point of yelling, and Gideon took a step back.

  Sam climbed from the car, ready to intervene if needed.

  The man’s voice carried across the yard. “Worthless, no good bum. Get off my property, or I’m calling the police.”

  Gideon’s shoulders slumped as he turned away from the house.

  The man in the door continued to hurl insults as the resident made his way back to the car.

  Sam’s gut twisted up. He wanted to go set the man straight, but he didn’t know the whole story. And Gideon – as well as all the residents – needed to learn to live with the consequences of their choices. The inability to face those consequences was sometimes the very thing that crippled men and kept them on the street long after they would have otherwise returned home.

  Gideon reached the car, avoiding eye contact, and climbed in.

  Sam sent one last glare at the house’s now-closed front door before sliding behind the steering wheel.

  He started the car and silently pulled away from the curb.

  About ten miles later, he cast a glance toward his passenger. “I’m sorry.”

  Gideon kept his eyes trained straight ahead. “Thanks, man.”

  “Don’t let this set you back.”

  The resident looked at him then, and Sam could see it in his eyes. Gideon would survive. Pain was present in spades, but not despair. Guilt, but not shame.

  Gideon grunted. “I’m tutoring a couple of the guys in algebra. They need me. That’s enough for now.”

  “Are you sorry you came?”

  Gideon shook his head. “No. I did something I’d been putting off out of fear. The rest is up to God.”

  Silence filled the car for a few miles before Gideon returned to the subject. “You know, if Alan hadn’t ever gone after Miss Skye that day, I probably wouldn’t be here now. I was thinking about leaving, cutting loose and taking off. Got into your leadership program, then started to feel tied down, and I didn’t like it. Miss Skye saw something of value in me, though, and it made me want to…”

  Gideon’s soft snores filled the car. Sam switched the radio on and adjusted the volume so it played low. The man deserved his rest. Besides, Sam had plans for him. Gideon wouldn’t be resting long.

  CHAPTER 21

  Skye kept the foyer door open so she could hear what was happening elsewhere on the grounds.

  She had hoped to figure out the accounting problem sorted out already, but it was proving elusive. Her limited hours at the shelter didn’t speed things along, either.

  Skye released a sigh through gritted teeth. She needed to go back to the beginning and comb through every single receipt and every single entry since the shelter’s opening.

  Sam had shown her where the past tax records were, so at least she didn’t have to wait. She retrieved the box, hauled it over to the desk, and thumbed through until she reached the receipts.

  One by one, she went through each receipt and compared it to the entry in the software.

  There’d been no trouble balancing the books during the first couple of tax years, so the problem most likely existed in the current year. Since she couldn’t find it, though…

  Three months into the first year’s receipts, a yell echoed from the courtyard. Skye grabbed the keys and dug around for her phone.

  Where on earth had it gone?

  Failing to find her phone, she grabbed the air horn and ran, pausing only long enough to lock the glass door behind her.

  She skidded to a halt midway across the courtyard. Alan held Rafael in a headlock. Both men had a wild look in their eyes, and curses flew through the air around the duo.

  Skye ran as close as she dared and pushed the button on her air horn.

  The instant the piercing screech filled the courtyard, Alan’s gaze slammed to hers, and he let go of the other man.

  Rafael spun, though, and tackled Alan to the ground. Fists flew as Rafael punched Alan again and again.

  Matt jumped on Rafael’s back and tried to pull him off Alan.

  Skye held down the button on the canned air horn. The trumpeting dissonance rang out strong for several seconds before the gases in the can were expended and the sound petered out.

  Rafael staggered to his feet, shook Matt off his back, and charged toward Skye.

  She screamed and threw her arms up to protect herself.

  The blow never came, though, and the seconds-ago rhythm of shoes slapping on pavement finally registered. She opened her eyes. Sam held Rafael pinned to the cracked asphalt while the resident bucked and writhed like a man possessed.

  Seconds later, Gideon came running. He squeezed in next to Sam with something black and strappy.

  In another minute or so, Sam got up. With Paul’s help, he picked the screaming Rafael up, scooted his back against the wall so he was sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, and backed away. Rafael’s hands were restrained behind his back with whatever device Gideon had brought over.

  Sam squatted in Rafael’s line of sight, got right into his face, and yelled. “Stop! Settle down, or I call the police.”

  The City Council’s regulations prevented Samaritan’s Reach from housing anyone with violent tendencies. They also couldn’t take in any men actively fighting a drug addiction, another crippling blow to their ability to help people. Everyone knew the rules, though. Sam was clear about them from day one and reminded the men frequently. Skye had heard his warnings and reminders often enough.

  As much as she wished he had more leeway in this area, the reality was that he didn’t. If he violated the city’s regulations, he would be putting the future of Samaritan’s Reach in even greater peril.

  All violent residents must be reported to the police and taken to the state VA hospital. The City’s ruling didn’t allow leeway for PTSD or for inept volunteers. If Rafael got hauled off…

  Rafael stopped screaming, but he continued to fight his restraints.

  Alan sauntered by Skye, his face bloodied, and his fists clenched.

  She swung toward him to say something, but the look in his eyes robbed her of the ability to speak. It was the same wild look from the day he’d yelled at her in the laundry room.

  She glanced back at Rafael. It appeared Sam was starting to make some progress talking him down.

  Her gut flopped in that way that told her she had to do something she didn’t want to. She needed to talk to Alan.

  She jogged a couple steps after him before finding her voice again and calling out his name.

  He waved a hand behind him and kept walking.

  She tried again. “Alan, please stop. Please.”

  He halted his forward momentum but didn’t turn around.

  Everything inside her said to run the opposite direction. Everything except for that still, small voice that had prompted her to follow him in the first place.

  Skye took as deep a breath as her paralyzed lungs would allow, and walked around Alan so she could face him.

  He stared at t
he ground.

  “Can you look at me?”

  His eyes remained downcast.

  “Alan, I need to know what happened.”

  “It don’t matter.”

  “It does to me.”

  “Ain’t you scared of me?”

  “Y-yes. But I’m more scared of who I become if I don’t give you a fair chance here.”

  He glanced up then, and she saw his eyes. The wild was there, yeah, but not as much as that day in the laundry room. And the wild faded more with each second he held her gaze.

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  He closed his eyes, let out a breath, and opened them again. “Car drove by. Must’ve backfired. Rafael went over the edge. Started screaming and circling around and lunging at us. I knew the look in his eyes. I’ve seen it in the mirror before. He was back there, reliving something. A shooting, maybe an IED. Who knows? It was bad, though. I told Paul to warn you, and I tried to restrain him.” His look accused her. “You were supposed to call the police.”

  Skye glanced over at the office door. “Nobody came for me. I heard a yell and came out. I didn’t know… I grabbed the air horn, not my phone. I thought that would be enough. It’s meant to shock people, snap them out…”

  He grunted. “Snapped him further in, I’d say.”

  Somewhere between admitting she was scared and listening to the agony in Alan’s voice when he’d said Rafael was reliving an IED attack, Skye’s lungs had started functioning again. “I’m sorry you got hurt because of me.”

  Alan angled his head to the side and studied her for a second before speaking. “It ain’t you. I knew what he was going through, and I thought I could help. He’s got at least fifty pounds on me, though. Should have sent the men to their rooms and come to the office myself. It’s hard to fight if no one’s around you. He mighta snapped out of it faster then.”

  “You reacted on instinct.”

  Another grunt.

  “Your instinct wasn’t about hurting him. You wanted to protect everyone else. It didn’t matter that he was bigger or stronger. You were defending us all.”

  He lifted a hand to his swelling nose. “I’m not sure how well that worked out.”

  Skye almost smiled. “Go to your room and get cleaned up. I’ll tell Sam where to find you.” She fell short of touching his nose. “Do you think it’s broken?”

  “I know what broken feels like. This is just good and pounded.” Then he pivoted and headed back across the parking lot toward his own room.

  That was when it hit Skye. When he’d started walking, he’d been planning to leave, to walk right off the property and never come back.

  Thank you.

  She wasn’t talking to God, not really, but she was thankful for whatever had prompted her to go after Alan.

  “I have to write him up.”

  Skye slapped a file folder down on the counter. “It’s not right.”

  “The rules are in place for a reason.”

  Sam was lucky she wasn’t holding anything heavier than a folder. Had she been, she would have been sorely tempted to launch it at him.

  “Gideon got written up when he restrained Alan that day in the laundry room.”

  Skye let out a disgusted sigh. “I didn’t think it was right then, either.”

  “The men know the rules. When they take action like Alan did today, there are consequences. This won’t be a surprise to him.”

  “He was going to leave.”

  “You stopped him.”

  “What if I hadn’t? What if I’d been too afraid?”

  Sam sat down in the desk chair and inspected her. “Is that what this is about? His almost leaving? Or your almost being too afraid to stop him? Because if it’s the latter, I’m not worried about it. You’ll do what’s right regardless of how you feel. I wouldn’t have left you in charge if I didn’t believe that.”

  She looked out the glass door for a while before turning back to Sam. “He’s come so far, but he almost walked out of here. He almost threw it all away. He would have lost all this progress he’s made because I grabbed an air horn instead of a phone.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. You can’t be here if you’re going to blame yourself every time something goes wrong. Yeah, Alan almost left. Assuming he followed through, I’d have gone after him. I’d have beaten every bush and called in every volunteer until we found him. Not because he’s come too far to throw it all away, but because he’s one of my men. One of my men runs away, I chase.”

  “No man left behind?”

  “With a little bit of Jesus and the runaway sheep thrown in.”

  “I thought it was the lost sheep.”

  Sam’s head tilted to the right. “From where I’m sitting, most people get lost when they’re too busy running away to pay attention to where they’re going.”

  “Maybe. I still handled it wrong.”

  He gave his head the smallest shake. “You acted on instinct just like Alan. Could you have done better? Sure. So learn from it. If you want to blame yourself, go ahead. Just remember that blaming yourself is a totally different game than beating yourself up. Don’t confuse the two.”

  Sam was messing with her well-equipped guilt complex.

  “Besides, Samaritan’s Reach belongs to God. Every man we serve and every person who works here, paid or otherwise — they all belong to Him. He’s in control. When something goes wrong, He’s the only one with real answers about why and how.”

  Skye frowned at him. “Shut up already.”

  He threw his head back and laughed.

  She scouted in earnest for something to throw at him this time, but the only thing in reach was a stapler, and she didn’t want to chip his teeth and ruin his smile.

  Sam got up from the desk, strolled over to the counter, and leaned on it opposite her. “Alan will take his lumps and, if I’m not mistaken, he’ll do it with grace.”

  “Won’t he get kicked out if you write him up again?”

  “It’s been long enough since the last incident that he’ll be fine as long as he doesn’t go picking any other fights for a while. Now go home.”

  “You’re not going to be too hard on him, are you?”

  “I have the men cleaning out the torture chamber as we speak. I was thinking about using the rack this time. What do you think?”

  Skye stuck her tongue out at him, picked up her purse, and marched out of the office.

  CHAPTER 22

  Sam let out a breath that landed somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle.

  Skye had stuck her tongue out at him.

  She’d come a long way from the timid little mouse he’d met on the airplane. Whether being back home in Montana or her work at Samaritan’s Reach had made the difference, one thing was clear.

  Skye found her footing — and became surer of herself — with each new day.

  As she gained confidence, she grew in beauty, too.

  She was a volunteer, which made the thought inappropriate, but still…

  Confidence was sexy, and if her confidence continued to grow, she would become downright dangerous.

  With a shake of his head, Sam grabbed the paperwork he needed for Alan and headed for the man’s room.

  His knuckles didn’t even make contact with the wood before Alan opened the door.

  “Boss.”

  “Can I come in?”

  Alan stepped aside and let him pass.

  In contrast to the last time they’d been in this situation, Alan sat on the floor and stretched his legs out, crossing his ankles. He left the chair for Sam.

  “I don’t like doing this…”

  Alan cut him off. “What happened to Rafael?”

  Sam set the paperwork down on the table and leaned back in the chair, loosely folding his hands in front of him. “Police took him to the state hospital.”

  “You called them?”

  Sam gave a negative shake of his head. “I hoped to resolve the matter peacefully. It’s a fine line, bu
t I would’ve tried.”

  Alan scrutinized the world beyond the still-open door. “That could’ve been me.”

  “Had you physically assaulted Skye, it might well have been.”

  Alan met Sam’s gaze head-on. “Are you kicking me out?”

  “No. Not today. Three write-ups in a month and you’re out. Enough time has passed since the last one, so you’re safe.”

  “Good. I’m not ready to go.”

  The words were a balm to Sam. A time came in each resident’s life when he needed to be ready to move on, to go. Alan wasn’t there yet, though, and it was encouraging that he recognized it.

  “In fact…” Alan studied his hands now. “I was thinking I’d like to get into the same leadership program as Gideon. Or something like that. Maybe. How does it work, anyway?”

  Sam sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward. “You need sixty days without a write-up to be considered for the leadership program. Once you’re approved, you’ll be allowed to take on leadership roles in various aspects of the shelter.

  “We’ll start small. Keeping laundry day on track, making sure everyone gets a haircut if they want, things like that. Thirty days later, you sign up for classes. You decide on the career you want, and we line up an online school to support that goal. Slowly, over time, we increase your responsibility as you continue to pursue your degree.”

  “How long to graduate from all that?”

  “Depends on your degree and how seriously you take the classes, but our objective is to have you ready for the world with a job lined up by the time you graduate.”

  “I’m not book smart.”

  “I think you’ll surprise yourself, but if a college degree isn’t the right course, then a certification or trade school works, too. Want to be a mechanic? Fine. Want to go to a technical school? No problem. The point is that we will work to build your leadership skills while you work to build your skillset and resume.”

  Alan held his hand out in front of him. “These aren’t mechanic hands, and I don’t have the patience for computer stuff. I want to do what you do. I want to help people like me.”

  “Dealing with other people’s PTSD when you battle it yourself is a hard row to hoe. Are you sure that’s the one you want to go down?”