Adam sighed. It was really Emma’s story to tell, but Lizzie would hear some version from the local gossips soon enough. “Yeah. Here’s the deal. Before Todd died, they lived out here, helping Granddad take care of the place. Todd…got into some financial trouble. Emma called and volunteered to sign over her half of the ranch if I’d help them out. Granddad had put this place in our names when he realized he was getting forgetful, so she basically sold me her half for enough money to pay Todd’s debts.”
Lizzie didn’t blink. “Okay, so this place is yours.”
Not even close. He’d never have accepted Emma’s shares of the ranch if he could’ve convinced her to take the money free and clear, but his sister wouldn’t accept a handout. “The money I gave her wasn’t enough to cover half of what this place should be worth. I don’t want much for myself, just enough to leave town, but I need to make sure we make enough on the sale to get Granddad proper care.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I owe it to Emma to make life a little easier.”
He could see by the softening on Lizzie’s face that she understood.
“Don’t get all mushy. I’m not a goddamned hero,” he told her. “I just want to get out from under this place and get away.”
She nodded. “Okay. I’ll sell the hell out of this place—it’s the least I can do to repay you for helping me with D-Day. And I’ll keep my mouth shut until you’re ready to tell Emma what you’re up to, but you’ll have to come clean before it officially goes on the market. There are no secrets in Big Chance.”
“Don’t I know it.”
They stared at each other for one beat too many.
She looked at the dog, which had laid down nearby to chew on its toy. “I told my dad I’d take some photos while I’m out here this morning, but I’m going to have to do that another day. I’ve got to get back into town to print Mom’s fliers for the Independence Day thing and then schedule a closing for a house Dad sold in town. Can I leave D-Day in the yard?”
“Yeah, I’ll get some water out here in a few minutes.” He hesitated, then said, “And thanks for keeping this stuff under your hat for now. I don’t want Emma to have to worry about helping out around here.” Or to talk me out of leaving.
She shrugged. “I understand.”
He wasn’t sure if she did or not, but before he could clarify things, his cell phone vibrated like a damned grenade, making him jump as music blared from his pocket.
“‘Uptown Funk’?” She raised her eyebrows. “I took you to be more of a Jason Aldean kind of guy than Bruno Mars.”
“I don’t even know who Bruno Mars is. A friend—a guy I served with—programmed that for himself,” he told her, then he slid the button on the screen to answer. Marcus Talbott didn’t call unless it was mission critical. “S’up?”
“I lost Jake.” Talbott sounded out of breath and anxious, not like his normal chill, top-of-the-universe self at all.
“What do you mean, you lost him? Just ask at the nurses’ station. Maybe he’s getting some kind of test.”
“We’re not at the hospital,” Talbott said. “They discharged him yesterday. I brought him home with me, made a Walmart run, and when I got back, he was gone.”
“Well, call the police, and tell them—”
“No, I found him again.”
“Okay…”
Talbott was the easygoing member of the unit, but he had his panties in a wad now.
Lizzie was listening with undisguised interest.
Talbott went on, “I got Jake back, but he won’t talk to me. He’s sitting on this park bench, pouting like a damned ten-year-old.”
Adam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me talk to him.” Talbott was a hell of a friend and one of the best soldiers Adam had ever worked with. But away from the army, he might not be able to look after himself, much less someone like Jake, who had left a significant chunk of his brain in Afghanistan.
He sensed a change on the other end of the call, but there was no “hello.”
“Williams? Jake?” Adam asked. “That you?”
“Yeah.”
At least he was using words and not grunts. From what Talbott had said in a previous conversation, getting Jake to talk at all was a challenge some days.
“You okay?”
“No.”
Lizzie shifted, concern knitting her brow.
Adam tried another tack. “You want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“No.”
Okay, now what? “Why did you leave without telling Talbott where you were going?”
“I…wanted beer.” Jake spoke carefully, but his speech was clear.
Talbott said something in the background that sounded like “What’s wrong with my hard lemonade?” and Jake responded, “It’s pink!”
Adam guided the conversation back onto the topic. “Okay. You wanted to get some beer. Will you go home with Talbott now?”
Silence filled the line.
“Jake?” Adam prompted.
“Sar’nt, the carryout’s…only two blocks.” Jake spoke tight and low, addressing Adam by rank. “I could see it from…the porch. But I couldn’t find my way home.” In the soft words, Adam heard a lifetime of fear and despair in his friend’s voice.
“What can I do to help?”
Talbott was back on the line. “Better clear off some floor space, Sar’nt. We’ll be there in about a week.”
Chapter 6
The sun had barely begun to burn off the morning dew when Lizzie settled onto the front steps of the old ranch house, enjoying the last few sips of her coffee while she waited for Adam and D-Day to join her. Summer had spread its fiery breath over south central Texas, but this morning, spring gave a valiant last gasp.
The days had settled into a not-terrible routine. As Lizzie promised, she hadn’t said anything to Emma about Adam’s plans, telling herself she didn’t want to burst her friend’s bubble, but it could have been that she wanted to imagine Adam staying in Big Chance forever. He was holding up his end of the agreement, and she spent a chunk of each day researching properties similar to this, comparing prices, making notes of more stuff for Adam to fix before they listed the place.
Training had been going okay-ish. Lizzie now understood what she was supposed to be doing with D-Day. D-Day understood, too, though he didn’t always cooperate. Adam provided dog handling advice, usually from a distance. Maybe today would be the day that Adam called D-Day him instead of it, but she wasn’t placing any bets. In spite of the fact that he was allowing the dog to stay in the house, he rarely looked at the dog or called him by name.
D-Day was no worse for being treated like an unwanted stepchild. He clearly adored Adam. Maybe because he was so distant. Lizzie snorted. Kind of like her. She couldn’t seem to stop watching Adam or trying to make him smile, no matter how hard he clenched his jaw in her direction when she teased him.
A clatter of toenails and cursing signaled D-Day and Adam’s arrival at the other side of the screen door. Lizzie got to her feet and tugged the legs of her shorts into place.
“Sit,” Adam ordered. D-Day had learned that Lizzie’s arrival meant not only breakfast but fun and games, so instead of sitting, he barked and leapt into the air with a wiggle. His landing made a thump that reminded Lizzie to have the house’s foundation inspected.
“Good morning,” she said through the door. “D-Day, sit.”
D-Day stopped wiggling, which was better than nothing, she supposed.
Adam nodded and, if she wasn’t mistaken, smiled slightly. At least he wasn’t scowling. Lizzie was starting to think that he occasionally forgot he hated the world and appreciated her company. As long as she didn’t forget that she wasn’t going to get attached to him, they’d probably get through this dog training and ranch selling process in one piece.
Bang! D-Day leapt with both feet at the door.
> “Sit, damn it,” Adam said, though the curse lacked heat.
The dog jumped a few more times, then stopped and raised a doggy eyebrow at Adam as though to ask why he didn’t open the door.
“Sit.”
D-Day pranced a little more.
Adam crossed his arms and waited.
Finally, D-Day must have realized he had to do something different to get what he wanted and slowly lowered his back end about a third of the way to the floor inside.
Lizzie laughed at the pleading look of Isn’t this close enough? in D-Day’s eyes. “You’re going to have an accident on your hands if you’re not willing to give a little,” she warned.
Adam glared at her and then refocused on the dog. “Sit,” he repeated.
With a sigh, the dog sat, but the second Adam reached for the door latch, he began to jump and bark again. Adam moved back from the door.
D-Day stopped, looked at Adam, then sat down.
They repeated this a few times until finally D-Day gave up and stayed sitting while Adam opened the door.
“Okay,” he said.
The black blur nearly knocked Lizzie over on his way to the grassy area at the side of the house.
“Wow, I’m impressed,” she said.
“Just takes an extra minute or two of patience,” Adam told her, holding the door open and stepping back, an unspoken invitation, which she accepted.
“Patience is not my strong point.”
He quirked his mouth. “I noticed.”
The dog finished his business and notified the humans by slamming full force into the now-closed screen door. Adam flinched at the crash but then stepped around Lizzie and stared down at D-Day, who panted, happily oblivious that he’d offended anyone. After a long pause, he circled once and sat.
“Good dog,” Adam said, opening the door to let the dog in.
“He must know his breakfast depends on you,” Lizzie said as she followed Adam and D-Day toward the kitchen.
“Along with patience, Dog Chow’s a good tool,” he agreed. He pulled out a rickety wooden chair for her at the scarred oak table.
She sat and gazed about the dated but spotless room. Mental note: Suggest removing at least half of the chicken-themed canisters, dishcloths, and salt and pepper shakers. Lizzie had a hard time imagining Emma cooking in a virtual henhouse, but Adam explained that his grandfather would never let them change things, because their grandmother had decorated this room.
D-Day barked a reminder about breakfast. Adam gave him the evil eye. D-Day sat. Food was a powerful motivator.
“It’s nice that you’re letting him sleep in the house with you,” she said, trying not to picture Adam, all rumpled from sleep, stretched out next to the big dog, though she knew there was a crate upstairs where D-Day slept.
“I figure since you want to train it to be a lap dog, it should learn some house manners.” He scratched the bridge of his nose. “Besides, it’s getting hotter in late afternoon. I don’t feel like putting air-conditioning out there for one dog. Next owners might not want to keep kennels in the barn.”
“There wasn’t air-conditioning out there when your grandpa kept dogs?”
“Nah. Said it made them weak. Just had a few big fans. But even the army dogs get cooled kennels whenever possible.” He pointed at D-Day. “And that’s not even close to a military working dog.”
D-Day shifted impatiently but didn’t move from his hopeful seat.
“Why do you call him ‘it,’ instead of ‘him’?” she asked. She was on a roll with pushing Adam’s conversation skills this morning.
“Best way to keep from getting attached,” he told her, the skin around his eyes tightening as his expression dulled. “You should do that, too. Remember that it’s a dog, not a person. It’s equipment.”
“Equipment.” She gaped at him. He really had locked himself down. “I don’t believe that.”
He shrugged, and apparently the subject was closed, because he turned away to open a cabinet. He scooped a generous heap of kibble into a bowl, which he put on the floor. D-Day vibrated with need, and when Adam said, “Okay,” he dove in with gusto, crunching loudly enough to cover the silence.
Determined to have a normal conversation, Lizzie fished around in her brain for something to talk about. “Don’t you have friends coming to stay?” she asked. What little she’d understood from Adam’s end of the conversation last week led her to believe that a couple of his army buddies were heading his way.
“I think they were just blowing smoke up my ass,” he said, then added something that sounded like, “I hope.”
She’d asked Emma about his friends the other night when they were drinking pink wine and watching Downton Abbey with Granddad (his choice!), but Emma said Adam never talked about them.
D-Day finished breakfast and flopped onto the cracked vinyl floor with a sigh.
“Do you still talk to people you served with a lot?”
“Not very often.” And then that subject was closed, too, because he asked, “You want something to drink?”
“I give up,” she muttered under her breath. Whatever. She’d already wasted too many years trying to get a man to communicate. Holding up her insulated mug, she said, “Sure. I can always use a refill.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t have any coffee,” he said, then scratched his jaw and wrinkled his nose. If he wasn’t so freaking sexy, standing there all beard stubbly and bed heady, she’d have said it was cute. “Actually, I don’t have tea or soda, either. You want a beer?”
She laughed. “No, thanks. I’m good, but you go ahead.”
His mouth barely tipped up at the corner. “I can probably wait a couple more hours.”
His eyes held hers, and her heart gave a heavy thud before he looked away. Did he almost just flirt with her?
The whine of the dog, sitting in front of his empty food bowl, broke the suddenly awkward silence, and Adam shoveled more kibble into the bowl while the dog dug in.
Lizzie cleared her throat. “We should talk about a timeline for listing this place. I still need to get some pictures for my records, but I’d like to wait until you’ve got the cosmetic stuff done before we do official photos.” She glanced around and tried to figure out how to stage the over-decorated but otherwise under-furnished living space. “Once you’ve painted and removed a chicken or fifty, the kitchen will be fine.” She looked through the archway at the threadbare couch and pitted coffee table. “But the living room’s gonna need some help.”
“What, early millennium pathetic bachelor pad doesn’t cut it for home buyers?”
She laughed, surprised at the rare display of humor. “Well, I’m sure it works for a certain segment of the population, but it might be good to broaden our options.”
“So what does that mean? Do I need to buy more furniture?”
She eyed the chipped walls. “You don’t have to get new stuff. We can move around what you’ve got and borrow a few things if we need more.”
“There’s a ton of antique junk in the horse shed,” he offered. “Emma put most of our grandparents’ furniture out there when she moved to town with Granddad.”
“Great. We can look through it and choose a few things. I don’t want this to be a lot of work for you, but I know you want to get as much as you can for the place.”
“So you’re confident you can sell it, huh?”
She pushed down the always-present niggle of self-doubt. “Oh, we’ll get it sold.” She wasn’t quite sure how, but she’d promised to help him, and she would. “Just get the work done.”
Instead of answering, he asked, “Are you ready for your lesson?” and grabbed a leash from the hook by the back door. He clipped it to a newly enthused D-Day and, after waiting for a sit, opened the back door, and everyone trooped outside.
“What are we working on today?”
she asked.
“Leash walking.”
Lizzie stretched her arms apart and did a couple of big circles in the air to loosen up. “Let me at him.”
Forty minutes and a lot of frustration later, Lizzie saw it. From the corner of her eye, Adam smiled as she tried, for the four millionth time, to get D-Day to heel.
She stopped and narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you laughing at me?” D-Day also seemed to be laughing from the far end of his leash, at which he pulled with all his might.
Adam scratched his jaw. “I think this dog might have a harder head than you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.
“Just acknowledging your dedication to lost causes.”
She didn’t think he meant just the dog. Was he a lost cause? The remaining shred of her that wasn’t cynical seemed to hope not.
In spite of himself, he showed endless patience for helping her work with D-Day, even though he still insisted on calling him it.
She’d also noticed that while he said he wanted to fix up the ranch, to sell it as soon as possible, he’d been meticulously scraping and sanding every board on the house for the past week. Of course, maybe she could have mentioned that a quick coat of paint would have been more than sufficient.
Adam put the sandpaper down. “Why don’t you try to take him around the yard again?”
“D-Day, heel,” she said and tried to keep her arm from being dislocated when the dog took off at a sprint. Reeling him back in, she groaned. “Aaargh. I don’t know if he’s ever going to get this.”
Adam harrumphed. “You saw it heel for me.”
“I don’t understand why he won’t do that for me.” A hint of tears threatened to burn the back of her sinuses.
Adam picked up on her frustration, because he said, “Maybe it’s time for a break.”
A break sounded really good. But… “I can’t just give up. Then he’ll know I’m a pushover.”
“True, but you can make it do something easy. Then it’ll know you’re happy, and you’ll both feel better.”
She knew when she was being patronized, but at least he wasn’t dismissing her abilities. She sighed and held out her hand toward the dog. “Sit.”
Big Chance Cowboy Page 6
