“Ah. I see.” Though Talbott’s sideways glance at Adam suggested the conversation about Lizzie wasn’t over. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Miss Lizzie. And if you change your mind about dinner, you’ll know where to find me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lizzie said. “I’ll take D-Day to help me get measurements,” she told Adam.
“Good luck with that.”
She grinned, and they shared a moment in which Adam had a brief, terrifying glimpse of what it would be to parent a preschooler with a woman he loved.
He turned to face his guys. “What can I carry?”
“Here.” Talbott popped the trunk and hauled out a couple of big-ass duffels. “Jake, can you get the fast-food trash out of there while we grab the bags?”
Jake looked like he wanted to protest, but instead, he nodded and bent to riffle through the interior of the car.
“Trash cans are next to the barn,” Adam told Jake before grabbing a couple more bags and nodding Talbott in the direction of the front door.
* * *
“So you like her, huh?” Talbott dropped a sleeping bag inside the door to the one extra room with a bed and came to join Adam at his bedroom window a couple of trips later.
Adam didn’t answer. He was watching Lizzie tell the dog to sit while she juggled camera, notepad, and measuring tape to record the dimensions of the shed. It held broken farm implements and old furniture right now but had a horse carved into the top half of the split door. When they were little, Emma had liked to open the top half and hang out of it, pretending to be that talking horse from the old show on Nick at Nite.
“Lizzie’s pretty hot,” Talbott continued as though Adam hadn’t been ignoring him.
“It’s not like that,” Adam protested, though he had dreamed of her last night—naked, sweating, crying out in his arms.
“So it’s cool if I use my magic on her?”
“No. Not cool.” The thought of Talbott working his stud muffin thing on Lizzie made something unpleasant shift in his gut. “She’s not your type.”
“Uh-huh, sure. Whatever you say.” Talbott laughed and smacked Adam on the back.
“So there’s only one extra bed up here,” Adam said, pointedly avoiding the protest-too-much zone about Lizzie. “I hope Jake’s okay with the couch.” Without discussion, they’d put Jake’s things in the living room, where he’d only have to navigate the stairs at shower time.
“He’s totally fine.”
“He doesn’t look it. He’s”—Adam didn’t know the right words but waved his hand over his face—“kinda blank.”
Talbott squinted into the distance before saying, “He’s different, but he’s in there. But hell, we’re all different, right?”
Adam thought about the Jake Williams from before. The kid had been all kinds of eager when Adam met him. They’d both been newly assigned to the unit. Williams was still a wet-behind-the-ears junior officer and an all-around good guy. He’d managed to be decisive and clear when he gave instructions while maintaining an “I’m new here so I’m going to ask a lot of questions” demeanor—a difficult feat for many seasoned officers with more fragile egos.
The dog barked. For a second, Adam imagined he heard Tank, but it was just D-Day, trying to convince Lizzie to play instead of sitting quietly while she tried to work. The enormous puppy was like a canine prophet to remind Adam of his failure.
As though reading his mind, Talbott tossed out some bullshit wisdom. “Jake’s different, but he’s working on finding a new normal. It’ll be good for you two to hang out. He’s tired of me following him around, so you can take a turn, and you’ll feel better if you can see him getting better.”
“I don’t need to feel better,” he told Talbott. That was impossible. Not because he felt great but because his feelings didn’t matter. “What about you? How are you?”
Talbott looked like Adam asked if his pantyhose were too tight. “I’m fine. Just gotta keep up with the exercises, and I’ll be back in action before you know it.”
Adam didn’t comment.
“Jake’s gonna be okay, too,” Talbott said. “That’s why we’re here. He needs a place to be a man. We can’t baby him.”
“Okay.” They’d figure it out. “What about you? You don’t need your sleeping bag.”
Talbott seemed torn but then said, “I know, but my back still gives me twinges now and then. Sometimes I do better sleeping on the floor.” His normally relaxed smile had a few faint cracks. “But I’m doing a shit ton of PT, physical therapy and training, and in a couple of months, I’ll get the docs to sign off and let me get back to active duty.”
Adam was doubtful. He’d seen the X-rays after the explosion. The man’s body had been broken, and parts had been displaced. Adam suspected there were more than a few back twinges at play in his friend’s reluctance to sleep in a bed, but he didn’t push. “If anyone can do it, it’s you, man.”
“You just have to work your ass off and keep thinking positively.” Talbott tapped his head. “In the meantime, we’re going to get Jake back on his feet.”
“Whatever you need. Both of you.”
What Talbott had said earlier was true. Adam had pledged to do anything in his power for the two of them. For any of his brothers-in-arms, but especially Talbott and Jake, who were the direct victims of Adam’s own screw-ups. He’d feed and clothe them forever if necessary. If only he could do something for everyone who had been hurt in that blast.
“Have you talked to Garcia’s wife?” he asked.
Talbott nodded. “Yeah, we stopped to see her on the way out of Virginia. She’s okay. She and the kids are living with her sister. There are only four little Emilios running all over the place, but it seems like twenty.”
“Damn. The last one is a boy, too?”
Talbott laughed. “Yeah. Poor woman. As though having one big Emilio wasn’t bad enough, she’s got to deal with his clones for another eighteen years or so.”
The reality that Celeste was going to have to raise four boys without their father swamped Adam, and he nearly staggered under the weight. He’d struggled without his own dad, but at least he had a few great memories. The Garcia kids wouldn’t even remember their dad. He looked at Talbott and said, “I wish—”
“Don’t. It’s no good. We do what we can. The army’s doing its share, and Celeste’s got her mom living nearby. That’s more than a lot of people can say.”
“Are your mom and dad…”
“Yeah. They’re fine. They’ve got half a dozen little grandkids—not by me—running around Kentucky, stirring things up. I was talking about Williams.”
“Oh.” Adam didn’t know what to say. All he knew about Jake’s family was that they had money and weren’t thrilled with Jake’s career choice. “What’s the deal?”
Talbott went to the door and looked to make sure no one was listening out there. He closed it and lowered his voice. “Seems Daddy Dearest won’t let Jakey come home. Says he made his choice when he left for West Point, and he’s got to live with it. His mom disagreed, wanted him to come home, so they compromised. Daddy Warbucks will pay for a caretaker or a home but won’t let him come home.”
“They want to put him in an institution?” Adam was horrified. “Is he that bad?”
“Absolutely not.” Talbott shook his head. “He’s got issues, though. Can’t find his way out of a paper bag. Something…geographical dis-anterio-something, the doc said.”
“Will he get better?”
“Yes,” Talbott said decisively. “It just takes time and work. His speech is a little fucked up, too—it takes a little bit to get his brain in gear—but he’s as smart as he ever was. Probably smarter. He’s moving a ton better, too, but he says people stare at him now, and he’s sensitive about that.”
And his parents didn’t want to be seen with him. “That’s such
bullshit.”
“I know. I told him he should work that attention from strangers like a boss, but he didn’t even smile. He seems to think chicks won’t dig him.”
That wasn’t what Adam thought was bullshit, but he didn’t say so. Of course, he didn’t want his friend to feel inferior; considering what he’d sacrificed, he should feel better than most people. It was Adam’s part in the tragedy—and his own inability to fix it—that ate away at him.
For once serious, Talbott said, “He hates that he needs help, but he can’t live on his own—not yet. The thought of him living in some institution or group home or whatever—I couldn’t let that happen.”
“No,” Adam agreed. “You can’t. We can’t.”
“If nothing else, we’ve got to see if we can make him smile again.”
Adam sighed, knowing he’d made this decision before Jake and Talbott had even arrived, and said, “I need some help around here. I’m going to sell the place, but there’s a shit ton of work to do in the meantime. Maybe some good hard manual labor—whatever he can manage—will get him in a better place.”
“Thanks, Sar’nt.”
“Yeah.” Adam hoped he wasn’t setting them all up for more pain.
Chapter 8
A few days later, Lizzie slowly bumped her way down Mill Creek Road to satisfy an urge that had been percolating in the back of her mind. It had moved forward, waking her this morning like extra-strength Starbucks. She probably should have driven her own SUV instead of her mom’s little Prius, but Dad said he wanted to get her oil changed, and she never turned down someone who remembered she should do maintenance.
Her phone buzzed for the fourth time in as many minutes, so she slowed down even more and answered. “Hi, Mom.”
“Lizzie, it’s your mother.”
“Hi, Mom,” she repeated, because apparently answering a phone with caller ID and saying Hi, Mom wasn’t enough to prove she knew who was on the other end of the line.
“Where are you? I’ve been calling since you left the house.”
Which was ten minutes ago. “Were you calling to find out where I am?”
“Don’t be a smart aleck,” Mom said. “I was worried when you didn’t answer.”
“I was driving. I’m still driving, but I’m going slower now, so I answered.”
“Oh.” Mom digested that and said, “I want to know if you’ll stop by Ms. Lucy’s on your way back to town to pick up her Festival Crafts and Prizes Company catalog. We’re going to order flag kits for the little ones for the Fourth.”
“You know you can find all that stuff online, right?” Lizzie asked, scanning the side of the road for the entrance to the old Mill Creek farm and trying to dodge the potholes Emma had warned her about. “You don’t need a paper catalog.”
“Yes. I’m fifty-five, not ninety-five,” Mom snapped. “But Ms. Lucy is…well, if she’s not ninety-five, she’s close, and she doesn’t trust the internet. She’s flagged the kits she wants me to buy, and I hoped if you were going to be out, you might be able to stop over there.”
Lizzie thought about coming up with an excuse, because the last time she’d stopped by Ms. Lucy’s home, the older woman had held her hostage for an hour asking detailed questions about D-Day, his training, what Lizzie thought the dog’s breed might be…
She slowed the car to a crawl through the oppressively overcast afternoon. A few brave butterflies swooped along the fence line, but otherwise, there was no movement out here. Not even a tiny breeze. Where was that lane?
“Earth to Elizabeth.”
“Sure, Mom.” Lizzie checked the clock on the dashboard. After this, she’d have time to stop by Adam’s place to check on D-Day (yeah, that was why she was stopping out there, the dog), and then get to Ms. Lucy’s. “You can tell her I’ll be by about four thirty.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Mom said. “I really appreciate how much you’re doing to help us right now.”
“I’m glad I can do it,” Lizzie assured her and ended the call. She was really happy to have a role both at work and with her mom’s civic projects. She’d accomplished more in the few weeks she’d been home than all the years she’d spent in Houston, and she was excited to get even more connected through this possible Mill Creek project idea she kept turning over in her mind.
Thinking about connections made her think about Adam, who was working hard to stay distant from people. She’d seen him laugh and joke with his friends this past week, but even when he was with them, he’d get a faraway look in his eye.
And then she’d see him watching her, but any time she thought they were about to have a real conversation, he would pull back and make some excuse to walk away.
A few twists and turns later, a mile or two farther from the turnoff than she remembered, she saw a vaguely familiar space between two fence posts that looked like it had been driven over sometime recently. Remembering the obnoxious truck that had nearly run into Emma and herself a few weeks ago, she hoped whoever had driven out here wasn’t still around. Maybe she should look into MMA training. And a Taser. And pepper spray. A former military policeman with a bad attitude wouldn’t be a bad addition, either.
Of all her options, she figured pepper spray was a better bet than the MP. Adam would find something much more important at the ranch that had to be fixed immediately.
Well, screw that. She had a monument to build to her father’s heritage and no time to chase around a grump, no matter how sexy he was.
Distant, difficult, and damaged—no, Lizzie. Bad.
Her car bumped and scraped over a rock before rattling over a rickety wooden bridge.
The lane dipped and then rose, turning a bend before revealing the remains of a barn and part of a large open area where a house once stood—one she’d heard was haunted. Beyond the barnyard was a line of brush, behind which, she remembered, was a field that sloped down to the creek. Lizzie braked to take a photo through the windshield. She’d look more closely later, but it should be easy enough to knock down or rebuild the barn, depending on what she wound up doing, if she managed to get support for her idea and could figure out who owned the place now. Her records search had come up empty. No one had paid taxes on it in at least ten years, but no one was being charged for delinquency, either. It was like the place didn’t exist.
Someone had been here, though. The rocky, weedy yard had been mowed. Not yesterday or even the day before, but it wasn’t completely overgrown. Goose bumps rose in a wave over Lizzie’s skin. Tire tracks from a recent trespasser were one thing. Evidence of maintenance was a total mystery.
A few high-wind storms had battered the old barn until it tilted and collapsed on one side, so now it was more of a lean-to. The burned-out footprint of what had been the farmhouse was now a charred wasteland, complete with a gaping, black hole for the cellar.
She put the car in park and made some notes with estimates of distances and area. Birdsong floated through the open window along with the warm summer breeze and the scent of wildflowers.
She was sketching out her ideas for improvements when she heard the sound.
What was that? A high-pitched whine came from the vicinity of the burned-out house. It was probably the wind hitting something the wrong way, she told herself until she heard it again. There was something in that big hole in the ground. A tickle of apprehension skittered along her spine. This was the part of the movie where the intrepid babysitter goes downstairs to find out why the electricity went out, only to come face-to-face with a guy wielding a fire ax. And the intrepid babysitter doesn’t even have pepper spray on her key ring. She should forget her harebrained scheme and drive away.
So of course, she got out of the car and took a few steps toward what was left of the farmhouse. She stopped to listen again but heard nothing. No whimpers, cries, or swelling organ music signaling it was time to turn back before she hit the point of no re
turn.
Well, crap. She picked her way through the charred remains to the edge of what used to be the basement.
The hole in the ground wasn’t empty or filled with charred house parts but instead held some sort of a cage. A ten-foot-high chain-link fence divided the near side from the other, where steps led down from ground level. What in heaven’s name had the owners stored here? Psycho killers?
The wind shifted, swamping her senses with an ungodly stench. Something rotten and animal waste. Dog, if she wasn’t mistaken. Oh no. Had someone kept dogs down here? All alone on the edge of nowhere?
Then she understood. She’d seen photos on the news, part of a story about pit bulls. This was a dogfighting ring.
The sound came again, from a corner of the basement that was shaded by the angle of the sun. There was something there. It looked like a scrap of carpet.
Lizzie stepped around carefully, squatted down to peer over the edge, and caught her breath. Staring up at her with one shining eye was a white dog. The other side of his face was a swollen, bloody mess, but the square head was clear. A pit bull lay on his side, next to a pile of rags. His heaving chest was covered by skin that stretched taught over meatless ribs. “Hey, buddy. What happened to you, huh?”
The pile of rags moved, and Lizzie realized the dog wasn’t a he. The dog was a she, and she had at least half a dozen puppies desperately trying to nurse from her starving body.
* * *
“Who the fuck could do something like this?” Talbott asked it out loud, but all of them were thinking it as Adam stood with his two friends and Lizzie on the lip of the pit.
Compared to the shit they’d seen in Afghanistan, this was nothing. The human misery they’d witnessed on a daily basis should have made them immune to one banged-up, hungry dog and a few extra squirmy blobs of fur.
Instead, Adam’s blood boiled on behalf of the poor things. He barely heard Lizzie when she said, “Thanks for coming. I didn’t know what else to do. They’re stuck down there, and I couldn’t leave them to go home and get a ladder. I felt bad enough about having to go out to the road to get a signal to call. Not that I did anything helpful, standing here wringing my hands—” she broke off.
Big Chance Cowboy Page 8
