Returning to Eden (Acts of Valor, Book 1): Christian Military Romantic Suspense

by Rebecca Hartt

  Tucking his cap under his left arm, he held out a hand for Jonah to shake. “It’s good to see you back, son.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The CO’s grip felt crushing.

  “Your wife will take good care of you,” Dwyer added, releasing him. “She must be out of her mind with joy to have you back.”

  Jonah couldn’t comment. Not only could he not remember his wife, but he’d seen his body in the bathroom mirror. He couldn’t imagine any woman wanting him, period.

  “I’ll be in touch.” Swiveling on his polished shoes, Dwyer headed for the door.

  “Good night, sir. Thank you for the flowers,” Jonah called, though he couldn’t bring himself to look at them. Weren’t lilies more fitting for a funeral?

  When the door closed quietly in the CO’s wake, Jonah fell back against the pillows, emotionally drained. Doubts assailed him, putting a weight on his chest that made it hard to breathe. He counteracted the pressure with deep, tactical breaths and the reminder to trust in God.

  I’m here, Father. And I think I’m going to need some help.

  Over the faint pulse against his temples, he listened for the voice deep within. Strangely, he couldn’t remember what that voice had ever said to him, but he knew the voice was there. More than that, he knew the source of the voice had gotten him through captivity. It had given him a second chance. Like Jonah from the Bible for whom he’d been named, God had saved him from the belly of the whale and put him back on land for a purpose.

  How can I get my memories back? Without them, he’d never return to active duty—Jonah was sure of that.

  Insidious fear spread through him as he considered what might happen to him. Being a SEAL had taught him self-respect, self-control. It had given him purpose and direction. It had given him a band of brothers. If he couldn’t be a SEAL, what was his purpose in life? Being a husband? A father?

  When and how had he let that happen? His father’s death and the years of abuse at the hands of his stepbrother had convinced him never to wed. He’d known he would be a lousy husband, a terrible father. Tenderness? Compromise? Those were alien concepts to him. What had he been thinking to inflict himself on any woman?

  “You idiot,” he muttered, running a hand over his face.

  And for him to have a kid already. How irresponsible could he be?

  A light knock at the door brought his tortured thoughts up short. His heart began to pound.

  Guess I’m about to find out, he thought, breaking into a sweat.

  Chapter 2

  “Come in,” Jonah called, cursing the weakness that kept him from jumping out of bed.

  The hospital door swung inward. Jonah recognized the khaki sleeve of Dr. Schmidt as he held the door for someone. Hospital noises rushed in—the ringing of a telephone, a voice on the intercom paging a doctor, elevator doors chiming as they reached his floor.

  Then a woman stepped into the room. The emotion storming Jonah’s arteries had him clutching the railing next to him to ground himself. He locked onto her like a homing missile, causing her approach to stall. She stared back at him, the very picture of astonishment.

  A single thought entered Jonah’s head. Well, no wonder I’m married.

  Amber-colored eyes framed by dark lashes assessed him warily. Golden hair tumbled down her back as far as her waist. Her nose and lips were delicately drawn. Her chin sported a tiny cleft in the center. She wore a white T-shirt that, however loose, failed to hide her neat bosom and trim waist. Tan capris accentuated slim, fit thighs, and a pair of sandals showed off a recent pedicure and peach toenail polish. He could not stop staring at her.

  “Jonah?” she whispered, as if she didn’t recognize him either.

  Maybe there’d been a mix up. Maybe she wasn’t his wife but some other lucky guy’s with the same name.

  He nodded his head, about to say the name the doctor had given him when a second female edged into his line of sight. Wait, maybe this is Eden.

  Except the second visitor with purple, shoulder-length hair was more a girl than a woman. Taller and stockier than the blonde, their similar eyes betrayed a mother-daughter relationship.

  This couldn’t be his kid. He’d forgotten two years, not more than a decade.

  Confused beyond words, he looked back at Eden and, remarkably, his panic subsided. Beyond a doubt, she was the loveliest woman he had ever seen. His concern about being married eased. Why not? He loved a challenge. Maybe he was up to being a husband after all.

  Eden fought the urge to turn tail and run, but Miriam, who had followed on her heels, blocked the only exit.

  Jonah dominated the chamber. She ought to have expected that. Whenever he went away and came back, it took days to get used to having him around. His aura took up an inordinate amount of space, not that he was a giant at six feet, one inch. All the same, his bed looked like a baby carriage with him in it.

  Because it was expected, she inched toward him, waiting for him to say something. His stunned expression was so open, so unguarded, she questioned whether she was really looking at Jonah or some kind of look-alike.

  Venturing closer, she inspected him for clues. He looked different in a hospital gown, anyway, with an IV stuck into the back of his hand. He was thinner than she’d ever seen him, yet the breadth of his shoulders still strained the short sleeves of the gown. His sunburned arms, roped with lean muscle, looked familiar. His cheeks, more hollowed than ever, sharpened his straight nose and high cheekbones. Yet, aside from a new scar on his upper lip and some cuts and nicks, he looked too much like Jonah to be anyone else.

  She checked his eyes and that cinched it. Light green with a gold starburst at the center, those eyes were singularly stunning. Glinting with the same intelligence and intensity that had drawn her to him over two years ago, she felt herself being drawn to him even still.

  “Hey,” she greeted him in a voice thin with uncertainty. “How are you?”

  Her mundane question prompted such a familiar, crooked smile any remaining doubt evaporated. He was Jonah, all right, though now he was missing an eyetooth. Without it, his perfectly symmetrical face took on a roguish, piratical look, making him somehow more endearing.

  “I’ve been told I should be dead, so guess I’m great.”

  Every cell of her body reacted to the familiar sound of his rough-edged baritone. Her heart raced and her blood heated. Her body knew him, especially when he looked at her with such blatant appreciation. That same look had drawn her to him in the first place.

  “You really don’t remember me, do you?” For some reason, it shocked her to the core, but clearly, the doctor hadn’t been exaggerating.

  Her question prompted Jonah to scrutinize her almost desperately. She clutched her purse closer, supremely self-conscious.

  At last, he shook his head. “I don’t know how I could forget, but I’m sorry. I don’t.”

  An unexpected hurt pricked her. To conceal it, Eden reached for Miriam and tugged her closer.

  “This is Miriam,” she said, making introductions. “She’s your stepdaughter.”

  Eden watched Jonah’s confusion clear. To her surprise, he extended a hand to Miriam and with a welcoming smile said, “Hi, Miriam.”

  Stepping past Eden, Miriam ignored his hand, leaned over the bed, and hugged Jonah fiercely.

  “Welcome home, Dad,” she blurted in a choked voice.

  Over Miriam’s shoulder, Eden returned Jonah’s startled reaction. Clearly, neither one of them had expected Miriam to hug him.

  When all he said was a mumbled, “Thanks,” Miriam pulled away, belatedly self-conscious, and Eden heaved an inward sigh. Jonah wasn’t any more prepared to be a father than he’d been two years ago.

  Uh oh. Interpreting his expectant look, she realized he was hoping she would hug him, too.

  Oh, dear. Eden glanced at Dr. Schmidt, who watched their reunion through perceptive blue eyes. She supposed she had to do the expected.

  Steeling herself against his appeal, she bent over
the bed, offering him a perfunctory hug and using her purse as an excuse to use only one arm. But she could not immediately pull back. Jonah had hooked his free arm around her shoulders and was holding her captive.

  Burying his nose into her damp hair, he breathed her scent as if she were a flower. Her body blazed with heat as it always had. The smell of soap, rubbing alcohol, and a scent that was uniquely his weakened her momentarily, before she found the strength to withdraw from his embrace.

  “Welcome home,” she murmured, utterly discomfited.

  Jonah’s eyes narrowed, making him look more like the old Jonah. He could tell she hadn’t wanted the hug to continue.

  “Yeah, well…” He ran a hand through his thick hair in an uncertain gesture she had never seen him make before. “I’m sorry. I wish I remembered you.”

  “That’s okay.” Feeling guilty, Eden turned to Dr. Schmidt, pulling him into the conversation in order to ease the sudden tension. “He’ll remember eventually, though, right, Doctor?”

  By way of reply Dr. Schmidt crossed to the laptop mounted on a rolling platform.

  “That’s certainly to be hoped,” he prevaricated, rousing the computer and logging in. “Apart from the PTS any soldier sustains in captivity, the results of Lieutenant Mill’s CT scan show some damage to the rostral area of his prefrontal cortex.”

  Eden glanced at Jonah, then back at the doctor. “I have no idea what that means,” she said.

  With quick strokes on the keyboard, Dr. Shafter brought up several images of a human brain. She assumed it was Jonah’s.

  “You can see the darker areas right here and here showing dead tissue. Damage to this region correlates with the scar on his lip and the fact that he’s missing his upper eyetooth. He clearly suffered a blow to the left side of his face. Now, the prefrontal cortex is responsible for such things as memory, complex cognitive functioning, social behavior, even personality. Granted, the damage we see here isn’t very extensive, but it is irreversible. If Jonah’s memory loss isn’t a side effect of post-traumatic stress, then it may be permanent.”

  The doctor dropped his hands and turned toward Jonah with a grimace of sympathy. “I wish I had better news.”

  Jonah said nothing. His expression had turned to stone, making him look like the Jonah Eden used to know.

  The doctor slid his hands into his pockets. “Still, we can’t rule out temporary amnesia, as it is a common side-effect of PTS,” he continued, “so we’ll start with that explanation first and see where it gets us. The sooner you return to a normal environment, Jonah, the sooner your healing can begin. We’d like to release him tomorrow,” he added, looking at Eden.

  “Tomorrow?” she repeated, feeling ill equipped to take on a soldier who suffered from post-traumatic stress, a husband who didn’t remember her, a man who was virtually a stranger.

  “I’m prescribing extensive therapy,” Dr. Schmidt continued. “Dr. Branson is a renowned psychiatrist whose specialty is in cognitive behavioral therapy. He’ll drop by tomorrow morning just to meet you, Jonah. His office is on Oceana Air Base, however, which I know to be closer to your home, so you can continue to see him there.”

  Eden had to widen her stance to counteract her sudden dizziness.

  Miriam shifted closer.

  “Jonah, your first follow-up with Dr. Branson is—” the doctor stole a peek at the tablet in his breast pocket “—the day after tomorrow, Wednesday, at fourteen hundred hours. He’ll give you his business card with the address on it when he drops by in the morning.”

  Eden swung a look at Jonah, expecting him to protest the need for any therapy. Instead he just returned her gaze.

  “Is that okay with you?” the doctor asked her.

  “With me?”

  “You’ll have to drive Jonah to Oceana,” Dr. Schmidt explained.

  “Oh.”

  “In addition to PTS, he suffers from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome—a result of sleep deprivation. Plus, he really shouldn’t drive while on the meds he’s taking. His memories could return to him at any time. Some of them could be jarring—dangerous, should he be behind the wheel of a car.”

  “I see. Sure, no problem,” she assured both men. In reality, she already had a work conflict.

  Jonah spoke up suddenly. “What can I do to get my memories back faster?”

  Eden’s lips quirked at the typical-sounding question. Home for a day and he was already chafing to get back into the field.

  Dr. Schmidt leveled an admonishing look at him.

  “You can’t treat this like a mission, Jonah. So much of it is out of your control. Putting you in a familiar environment is the first step. Surrounding yourself with familiar smells, sounds, or situations ought to trigger some memories. Others will return in the form of dreams, though you’ll have significant trouble sleeping, I imagine. A prescription of Prazosin will counteract that.”

  Eden pictured Jonah prowling through the house at night and quailed.

  “There’s bound to be an adjustment period,” Dr. Schmidt allowed, “but you can bring up any issues you’re having when you meet with Dr. Branson Wednesday afternoon.”

  Eden’s knees jittered. Everything was happening so quickly.

  “I’m sorry. What time did you say the appointment is?” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket to add it to her calendar.

  “Fourteen hundred hours on Wednesday.”

  She would have to get Karen to cover her CORE class.

  “Okay,” she said, adding Jonah’s meeting with the therapist atop the class she was scheduled to teach.

  Dr. Schmidt waited for her to finish before putting a hand out to her.

  “Eden, Miriam, it was nice to meet both of you. I’ll leave you three to visit, and I’ll see you tomorrow when you come to pick up Jonah—say, oh-nine hundred? We’ll need you to sign some papers.”

  “Okay,” she said again, though it was anything but.

  The door shut behind the doctor, and the three of them were left alone.

  Jonah probed Eden’s expression and said nothing. Avoiding his gaze, she looked around.

  “Someone brought you flowers?” she asked, spying a vase full of lilies on the bedside table.

  “Captain Dwyer,” Jonah said, frowning in recollection. “He was just here to see me.”

  “Oh, good.” It relieved her to hear she wasn’t solely responsible for Jonah’s welfare.

  “Master Chief’s flying in tonight. I should see him soon.”

  Even better, Eden thought. The more support from his team the less pressure on her.

  “You’re still on IV,” she noted, glancing at the needle taped to the back of his hand.

  “Yeah, I’ve been enjoying a diet of plasma and antibiotics all day. They let me have toast for dinner. It was great.” He sent her his crooked smile, then glanced at his feet almost shyly.

  It was like looking at a ghost. “I can’t believe you’re alive,” she heard herself say.

  He glanced back at her. Was that hope she saw, tempered with the same wariness she felt?

  Miriam, who was looking back and forth between them, spoke up suddenly.

  “I knew you weren’t dead.”

  “We went to his memorial,” Eden reminded her daughter.

  “I know.” Miriam shrugged. “But I knew he wasn’t dead.”

  Baffled by Miriam’s conviction, Eden quickly changed the subject.

  “Dr. Schmidt said a fishing vessel picked you up on the ocean?”

  “Yeah, I, uh…,” Jonah broke eye contact as his thoughts turned inward. “I nabbed some poor fisherman’s boat and pointed it straight north, hoping to run into Curaçao. I hope I didn’t ruin the man’s livelihood.”

  Eden blinked again. For Jonah to think of someone else’s well-being—aside from a teammate’s—was completely out of character.

  “You were in Venezuela all this time?”

  He flinched at the question, raised his free hand, and rubbed his left eye. “That’s probably classified,�
�� he equivocated.

  His remote tone conveyed an unwillingness to talk about it. Glimpsing stunted fingernails growing back on several fingers of the hand rubbing his eye startled her so badly, she turned and walked toward the adjoining bathroom. Miriam was right. He had been tortured.

  “Do you have everything you need here?” she asked, hanging up a hand towel and putting the lid on the toothpaste. “Can I bring you anything?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “I’m only here for one more night.”

  With her back still turned, Eden heard him ask Miriam, “What grade are you in?”

  Eden stilled at the question.

  “I’m a rising tenth grader.” This was said in Miriam’s most sophisticated voice.

  “Wow, high school. That makes you, what, fifteen?”

  “Almost. I have a late birthday, September 8th.”

  Eden turned around in time to see Jonah shift his weight onto an elbow so he and Miriam were facing each other.

  “Mine’s in July,” he said. “I remember turning thirty-three, but now I’m thirty-five with no memory of any more birthdays. Weird, huh?”

  What was happening? Eden had never heard Jonah converse casually with Miriam. Children were meant to be seen and not heard, he used to say. He’d certainly never asked Miriam for her opinion.

  “I remember your thirty-fourth birthday,” Miriam volunteered. “We had a party on our deck.”

  “We did?” He searched her face with interest.

  “Yep, Mom threw you a surprise party and invited all your friends.”

  “Mom, huh?” His catlike eyes swung toward Eden, who felt her face heat.

  “I like your friend Saul best,” Miriam added.

  Picturing the rough-and-tumble SEAL with a gold hoop in one ear and frightening tattoos on his arms, Eden expected Jonah to disapprove. Instead he said, “I like him, too. He’s a really good guy.”

  A moment later, stifling a groan, he sank back onto the bed as if suddenly weary.

  Eden returned to his bedside. “We should probably go. You need your rest.”