21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (105 page)

For the second time in as many weeks, someone advised him to live again. “Do I look like I think I’m not alive?” Irritation scraped his nerves. Old Man Crane, he understood. The man had shamanistic leanings, counseled others, and the time together helped Crane as much as it did Greg.

“I think you’ve spent months in hell recovering from some seriously fucked up injuries.” A.J. studied him. “You grabbed onto my invitation like a drowning man and I’m here for you. Recovery comes in steps….”

“Last time I checked, Westwood was the shrink.” He clamped down on the urge to get up and walk out. A.J. meant well. Sheri stayed focused on her salad, tension reflected in her tight grip on the fork. They couldn’t understand what went through his head or his soul. Hell, he didn’t understand it.

Georgia flashed across his mind’s eye, but he shut the train of thought down. She might be gorgeous, but she didn’t like him. Better to not borrow trouble.

“He is. But I’m your friend. I want you to have options to explore. To help you make a life outside and to heal.” A.J. tapped the steak with his knife. “Options that include more than helping me rebuild the ranch. If you want a life here, a clean slate, a fresh start—this is one way to kick start that. But it’s just one idea.”

“One idea.” Greg grimaced. “I appreciate it.”

“No, you don’t, but you might if you ever decide to investigate it.”

“Maybe—can we drop it now?” He didn’t need to book a sex date.

Sheri put a hand on A.J.’s arm. “Sure we can. Because we’re having
dinner
.”

He slid a glance at his girl and his expression softened. “Okay, we’re having dinner. Miller and Jones are going to be another month or so before they join us….”

Glad for the change of subject, Greg cut into the steak. He had plans after dinner.

***

Georgia stared unseeingly at the words in the book. Her grandfather watched a baseball game from his favorite armchair and played cards on his television tray. “I’m not disappearing sitting right here, Georgia. Why don’t you go out and have some fun tonight?”

“Because I don’t ever know what you’re going to do.”

“Tonight, I’m going to play my solitaire for an hour and probably fall asleep watching the game.” He eyed her before laying out another three and moving a black jack to cover a red queen. “I don’t go walking after midnight.”

“Oh, you’re cute.” She snapped her book shut and ignored the twinkle in his eyes.

“Ahh, Georgia. You’re a young woman, you need to go out and find yourself a good young man and make me some gorgeous little great-grandbabies. All this fussing over me isn’t doing you any good.”

“I’m not fussing.” She put her book on the table and walked into their kitchen. Separated from the living area by an open half wall and bar, she could still see the television and talk. “I worry about you. You don’t take your medication, you go for long walks when you’re not supposed to, always flouting what Doctor Jensen told you to do.” She fished around in the freezer and pulled out a pint of ice cream.

Her go-to frustration food.

“You’re fussing. Doctor Jensen told me to reduce my stress, exercise, and come in for regular checkups.”

“You’re walking miles and miles every day….” She spread her arms wide. “That’s too much.”

“A man has to walk until he finds himself.” Pausing his card game, he studied her. “I’m at the end of my life, Georgia. All the worry in the world will not make me young again. But it is making you old.”

A knock at the door surprised her and she set her ice cream down to answer it. Greg Rainwater stood on the other side of the screen door looking deliciously sexy in a pair of jeans and a button-down, with his beautiful black hair falling down to his shoulders.

“What are you doing here?”
At my house. At night. Looking like sin
.

“Good evening, Miss Crane. I’m here to see your—”

“Is that Greg? Let him in and don’t be rude!” Her grandfather rose and waved him inside. “Come in, come in.”

Her sour mood didn’t improve with Greg’s apologetic smile or the way her grandfather shook his hand.

“I didn’t know we were expecting company.” She had no idea what she would have done if she’d known—perhaps changed her clothes and not worn her ragged sweats, torn T-shirt and a pair of socks that let her big toes peek through the top. She might have even taken her hair out of a ponytail….
I don’t know? Put on make-up?

“You didn’t ask.” Her grandfather sounded positively gleeful.

For his part, Greg actually looked ill at ease. “I’m sorry,” he murmured earning serious points for the genuine apology. “Your grandfather invited me to come by and watch some of the game with him tonight.”

“Come in, get a beer—we have some in the fridge behind the milk.” Her grandfather avoided her eyes when he issued the invitation, because he wasn’t supposed to have alcohol. And it shouldn’t even be in the house.

“Help yourself.” She motioned. “I’ll just take my book and….”

“You could join us,” Greg offered.

“No, Grandpa wants guy time.” That couldn’t have been clearer. “So enjoy. I’m going to change and take myself out for the evening. I think there’s a new band at the Watering Hole.”

Scooping up her book, she fled into her bedroom. The last thing she wanted to do was go out. Her grandfather didn’t want her there. It didn’t matter that she’d turned down two fantastic job opportunities to stay on in Freewill and look after him. He’d found his new friend.

Dampness splashed against her hands, and she wiped away the tears she hadn’t realized she shed. Frustration welling, she grabbed a black dress off the rack and ran a brush through her hair. Light cosmetics would have to do and in ten minutes she had her keys and purse in hand, ready to go.

Greg rose to his feet when she returned. She refused to look at him. Being turned on by her replacement was not how she planned to spend the rest of her evening. “I’ll be late.” She announced. “Grandpa, you have two pills to take at nine. Don’t forget them. Maybe Mr. Rainwater can remind you.”

“Of course….”

She pivoted and headed out without looking back. Her stomach sank. She had no desire to go to the Watering Hole and even less desire to listen to whatever band headlined, but she’d pushed herself out the door, so off she went. A hand caught her car door and opened it for her, and she let out a small shriek of surprise.

“Easy,” Greg murmured. “I just wanted to tell you again, I’m sorry for barging in tonight. I honestly thought he would have told you I was coming.”

Dammit, now I have to look at him
. Glancing up, she summoned a small smile. Did he really have to be so pretty to look at? “Really, it’s okay. Sorry to be such a bitch. It’s been a long year and he really likes you. So go inside, enjoy the game and just—please make sure he takes his meds when he’s supposed to.”

He didn’t let go of her door. “You weren’t a bitch. You’re worried. I just wanted you to know I get it.”

“Cool.” Okay, she needed a way to eject from the situation before she made an utter fool out of herself. “Have a good night. I meant what I said about being late.”

“I’ll stay until you get home. If you run into trouble or need a ride, call me.” He held out a small slip of paper. “And you can call me when we’re walking, too. I’ll have my phone on, so you can reach him or I can call if I need help with him.”

A peace offering in the form of ten digits written on a sticky note impressed her. “Thank you. I’ll text you from the car so you have my number.”

Greg smiled. “I’d like that.”

Oh, eject. Time to go. Not hitting on him in my grandfather’s driveway
. She slid into the car and waved goodbye. He closed the door behind her and stood there until she sent him the text message. A lame little,
hey, this is me
. She felt the weight of his gaze all the way to the street. Whether she really wanted to go or not, she had to.

Glancing over one more time, she waved again and accelerated down the street. She liked him. She didn’t want to like him.

But she did.

***

He had the bunkhouse conversion nearly complete. The little house would have three bedrooms, two full baths and a kitchen area attached to a sitting room. More cottage-like than a bunkhouse—but they still called it a bunkhouse.

He’d been in Freewill a month. Four weeks and, bit by bit, he was discovering himself again. Sleep didn’t prove as elusive, hard labor restored his physical strength, and the almost daily walks with Crane restored his spiritual health. Even the old man looked better. They pushed each other, talked at length—Crane even managed to get Greg to talk about his injuries, no small feat.

But Greg couldn’t figure Georgia out. He saw her nearly every day. One day she blew hot, the next she gave him frostbite. And try as he might, he couldn’t get the image of her in that black dress out of his mind.

She plagued him. He didn’t want to overstep and risk insulting Crane, but thoughts about the woman crawled through his system like a fever and left him hot and uncomfortable and still he couldn’t get enough of her. He made excuses to swing by Crane’s place on the off chance he might see her.

She’d stopped coming after him every day, trusting Greg or A.J. to drive her grandfather home. He skipped going to Crane’s for dinner and the game, because A.J. and Sheri were off for the weekend, and he’d promised to keep an eye on the ranch. A feeble excuse, but it worked. He wasn’t up to keeping his hands to himself where Georgia was concerned.

Maybe I just need to get laid.
He thought about the dinner a few weeks before and the service A.J and Sheri had mentioned. Rising, he went to find his laptop, packed away in his duffel. He hadn’t had much use for it since he arrived.

What the hell—Crane’s right. It’s time to start living again
. Relying on the phone line and a local modem to get on the Internet, Greg managed to finish most of a beer before he loaded the website up and scanned the rules and terms. What could signing up for one night of unfettered pleasure hurt? Maybe it might scrub the difficult woman from his brain.

***

He outran the dreams, waking before it got so bad his legs seized up. Or maybe his brutalized muscles had finally grown strong enough that he didn’t find himself writhing in agony or crying like a little girl. But he was still awake. Rising, he paced over to the window. The ranch was silent at night—well, silent save for the scurrying of smaller forest animals, the occasional snort and stomp of the horses in their paddocks, and the whistling whisper of the wind.

Try as he might, he couldn’t hear a damn thing it had to say.

Four weeks later
….

The Marines they’d been expecting, Miller and Jones, had arrived the week before. They were paler than the last time Greg’d seen them, and Miller didn’t interact much—less than ten words total since his arrival, and most of those the day the bus delivered them. Jones—the far more gregarious of the two—never shut up.

Greg enjoyed their company in small doses, but A.J. seemed to take all of it in stride. Nothing ruffled him. Not even when Greg let him know he’d need at least twenty-four hours off. It took a month, but A.J.’s Madame Eve came through with a date for him. All he needed was to make the arrangements and confirm the details. Avoiding any friendly advice—or friendlier ribbing—Greg skipped mentioning why he needed the downtime.

A.J. didn’t ask and saved him from the explanation. Renting a cabin at the Misbegotten Gaines seemed like a good plan. He hadn’t cooked in a long time but craved the privacy of keeping others away for the night. Picking up food to fix, he planned a simple dinner, one he could cook on an open grill. If his goal was a one-night stand with someone he’d never met and likely wouldn’t see again, he wanted to be selfish and not share her with anyone else.

He spent the last couple of hours before he needed to head to the cabin to begin dinner walking with Old Man Crane. They went farther and farther each day, neither of them tiring out as easily. Unlike during most of their walks, Crane didn’t say much. He seemed preoccupied. Not that Greg could blame him, since his mind wasn’t on their walk, or the woods, or the mountain air. He wondered about the night in front of him.

The best part of Wyoming spread out in front of him, all natural vistas, open land, and freedom. When patriotic songs were sung, they listed the grasslands, the open prairie, and the purple mountains majesty. Wyoming had all of it. The wide-open spaces gave his restless spirit a chance to heal from bruises he hadn’t even recognized he sustained.

The land and the old man both helped heal his soul and body. He didn’t have a firm grip on what his future held yet, but he knew it would be there, in Wyoming, maybe helping A.J. with the plans for his ranch. Plans he hadn’t shared either, but anyone with eyes could see he’d begun making long-term changes to his ranch. He’d refitted the barn, refitted the bunkhouse, and in the next two weeks, they’d start construction on a new cabin.

He managed to avoid taking Crane home, since Sheri waited at the ranch when they returned. She had to go into Freewill and offered to take him. Greg appreciated it. He didn’t need another run in with Georgia before tonight. But once the thought of her returned, he couldn’t get her out of his head either.

Not the way a man should be planning an evening with a woman. Even a stranger deserved to have his full attention. He borrowed A.J.’s truck and drove over. The Gaines had given him a cabin on the outskirts near the lake, remote and private so he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone ‘happening’ upon him and his date.

Grill ready and dinner prepared to be cooked, he retreated to the porch and studied the landscape. The rest of the world was so far away, making the place close to perfect. Alone in the woods, with only the wind and the water for company, he almost regretted his plan to share the place.

“You have to be kidding me,” Georgia’s voice snapped through his reverie, a bullet crack in the silence.