A Hero to Come Home To (5 page)

It was hard to tell if that
can’t
meant “I’m not allowed to” or “I won’t.” It seemed to Dalton that one combat tour per person was plenty. Sandra had already finished one round in Iraq before he met her. She’d been assigned to a hospital, more or less out of danger. It was like a baseball game, she’d told him: long hours, even days, of tedious routine interrupted by moments of pure excitement. She’d figured Afghanistan would be the same.

Clark pushed away from the fence, moving carefully over the ditch to the driveway, then extended his hand. “Sorry for keeping you from your work or your time off or whatever.”

“No problem.” Dalton shook hands with him, then watched as he walked to his truck. Just before he opened the door, Dalton offered an invitation that surprised even him. “If you decide you want to give riding another shot, come back by.”

An odd expression flashed across the other man’s face, then he nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Dalton watched him leave, then shifted to lean on the fence and stare at the horses. They
were
beautiful, and they didn’t expect much from him: access to food and water and care when they were sick. Same with the cattle in the other pasture. It was a good thing, because he didn’t have anything else to offer.

Was life supposed to be this hard? It hadn’t been for his parents or his grandparents, though all of them had been through some tough times. It’d been too easy for Dillon and, please God, it would stay fairly easy for Noah.

But, damn, he wouldn’t mind sharing the grief a little. He’d just about had his fill of it.

Tuesdays were Carly’s favorite day of the week, and not just because it meant dinner at The Three Amigos with the rest of the gang. On Mondays, the kids were always a little restless, still longing for the weekend that had just ended, and on Fridays, they were anticipating the free days to come. Wednesdays and Thursdays were average, but Tuesdays were good days.

Tuesdays were when they visited the soldiers at the Warrior Transition Unit. Her kids were young enough to accept the injuries they saw with curiosity and concern. They weren’t yet self-conscious about hero worship, and they didn’t censor themselves. They were blunt, forthright, and open, and most of the soldiers adored being adored.

The school bus pulled into the parking lot at one thirty, and Carly, her classroom aide, and two mothers lined up the kids at the door, then walked them out. All the children were on their best behavior, understanding that acting out could cancel the trip and leave everyone, students and soldiers, disappointed.

The mother who sat across from Carly was new to Tallgrass and Fort Murphy. This was her eight-year-old’s third school, and both she and Mom were taking it in stride. Mom asked about restaurants and kid-friendly activities, and Carly answered as if she hadn’t spent much of her time in Tallgrass at home alone, but the woman fell quiet when the bus turned into the transition unit parking lot.

“This war is so wrong,” she whispered.

Carly gave her a startled glance. Her life, and her friends’ lives, had been drastically changed by the war, and they talked about every aspect of it, except whether it was a righteous battle that had to be fought or a tragic waste of American life. Jeff had supported it to the end, and she would like the country to see it through to the end, if that was possible. She didn’t want to think his nation might give up on the conflict that took his life.

“My son’s kindergarten teacher—her husband died in Afghanistan,” the woman went on. “She’s younger than me, has two kids like me…It’s just so sad.”

So did mine, and it is sad, but they died doing something they loved for a cause they wholeheartedly embraced.
But the words stuck in Carly’s throat.

“My husband’s enlistment is up soon, and I want him to get out. It’s too dangerous. But he doesn’t want to, and with the economy…”

The squeal of the bus’s brakes practically obscured Mom’s sigh. Grateful for the excuse not to respond, Carly stood and faced the back. “Remember, kids: No running, no arguing, and lots of smiles, okay?”

“Yes, Miss Lowry,” most of them chimed. With a gleam in his dark eyes, Paco waited until they were done to energetically add, “You betcha, Miss Lowry.”

They filed out of the bus and into the building, down the hall and into the gym. For too many of the soldiers, physical and occupational therapy had become a full-time job. The palpable drive and determination in the room always boosted Carly’s spirits but, at the same time, made her just a little ashamed. Some of these guys had lost so much, but they hadn’t given up. They were moving ahead.

And so was she. Slowly. She hadn’t acknowledged even once today that it had been twenty-five months, three weeks, and three days since Jeff’s death. She wasn’t the hermit she used to be. She had a focus in her life now.

She would never stop hurting or missing Jeff, but she could live without him.

The thought brought both incredible satisfaction and incredible sorrow. He was the only man she’d ever loved, the light of her life, but she could live without him.

It was hard to say who was happier to see whom, the kids or the troops. The children flitted like butterflies around sweet blossoms, greeting old friends and introducing themselves to new ones. Robin, the aide, immediately sought out one man in particular. What had started as a class project was evolving into a romance. Carly wished them well and tried to imagine herself in the same place, but it was tough when her heart kept projecting Jeff’s face onto the nameless man in the fantasy.

She wandered the perimeter of the room, speaking to everyone, occasionally nudging a shy child or soldier to make contact. She was halfway back to where she started when a tall, lean figure standing next to the seated hamstring curl machine caught her attention. He wore sweatpants and a gray T-shirt and was drinking from a bottle of water while talking to another man straining to maneuver the machine’s heavy weights.

It was Dane.

She closed the dozen feet, leaving the machine between them, and lightly touched the second man’s shoulder. “Hey, Justin, how’s it going?”

“Aw, I’m just playing here. You want me to get up so you can hop on?”

“Are you suggesting that my legs need work more than yours?”

The younger man grinned. “I don’t know. Hike that skirt up a few inches and let me see.”

She gave him a chastening look before slowly shifting her attention to Dane. “If it isn’t the caveman. Fort Murphy is a smaller universe than I thought.”

For a moment, he had the same deer-in-the-headlights look that he’d gotten in the cave Saturday when he realized he was trapped with six women. Then he took a breath and his fingers relaxed around the bottle. “Carly, isn’t it?”

“Carly Lowry.” Hesitation held her motionless a minute before she followed Jessy’s lead from the weekend and extended her hand. “Nice to see you again.”

His fingers were long, strong, callused, the nails clipped unevenly, and heat emanated from his skin. How could men’s hands, so similar to women’s on the surface, feel so different to touch? There was strength in his hand, solidity, control, and just holding it briefly sent a hint of a shiver along her arm.

It was just a handshake, one that he ended a few seconds too early, a few seconds too late. Her fingers tingling, she drew her hand back when he released it, then didn’t quite know what to do with it. Finally, she wrapped her fingers around the cool metal of the machine.

“Where’s Trista?” Justin asked, twisting to look over one shoulder.

“She is…” Carly scanned the room, locating the girl against the far wall, her own hesitant gaze sweeping around, dropping, then sweeping again. “There. Looking for you.”

Justin slid to his feet, steadying himself for a moment, then Dane handed him the crutches that had leaned against the wall. “See you guys.”

“Abandoning me for a younger woman?” Carly teased.

“Aw, you’re sweet, but Trista’s got my heart.” Using the crutches with ease, he waited until he’d reached the middle of the room to call the girl’s name. A smile swallowed her entire face as she launched herself toward him.

Smiling, Carly leaned against the wall. “Trista is as timid as a mouse. Justin paid attention to her the day they met, and she’s been attached to him ever since.” She gestured toward the machine. “You waiting to use this?”

“Nah. Just talking to Justin. Go ahead and hop on. But I’ve seen your legs. I don’t think you need it.”

Did Caveman just compliment her? It was impossible to tell from his expression. He wasn’t looking at her—his attention was directed toward the room—but there was a faint hint of pink tingeing his cheeks.

He
did
compliment her—her legs, at least. That was the first time a man had said something flattering to her in…Carefully avoiding the natural thought of Jeff, she finished: in a long time.

She continued to gaze at him long enough that his eyes flickered her way once, then twice. He shifted to lean against the wall as she did and indicated the room with a sweep of his water bottle. “What’s the deal with the kids?”

“We come over every Tuesday afternoon to visit. At any given time, half of my class has one parent deployed—a few mothers, mostly fathers. This gives them something to look forward to, a little time with someone like their daddies, and the soldiers enjoy it, too.”

“It doesn’t scare them?”

“Maybe a few, but we assure them the kids don’t bite. Though there was that time JayLo took a nip out of Hannah for making fun of her name. The joys of being named after a celebrity.”

He gave her a dry look. “The kids.”

“Do the injuries and scars scare them? Not at all. Does it worry them that the same could happen to their dads and moms? On occasion. But they’re young. They have blind faith in their parents, in the Army. In their eyes, you guys are heroes who can do anything.”

Another bit of pink colored his cheeks. At being called a hero? She believed in heroes—not the popular version of celebrities or athletes, but everyday heroes, who saw a job that needed to be done and volunteered to do it, even when it meant facing danger and death every day. People willing to die for their communities or their country, because someone had to do it.

Because the subject seemed to make him uncomfortable, she changed it with an obvious look at his clothes. “You been PT-ing?” Physical training was a daily part of practically every soldier’s life, though in the past few years, it had become just as common for the abbreviation to refer to physical therapy—a daily part of
her
soldiers’ lives.

“Yeah. I, uh, just stopped to talk to Justin.”

“He’s a good kid.”

“Kid? You can’t be that much older.”

She smiled. Justin was twenty-one. She was twenty-eight going on forty some days. Today, maybe going on thirty-five. “What’s that movie quote? It’s not the years, it’s the mileage?” The last twenty-five months had been like dog years: each one stretching into seven.

But time was moving at a more normal pace now. Sometimes it dragged, sometimes it rushed past, but overall it averaged out. She could breathe. She could think. And if tomorrow wasn’t always better, well, the next day would be, or the one after that. Tuesday always rolled around, and she got to come here and to have dinner with the margarita club.

And those two things counted for a lot.

Dane’s first impulse was to snort. She didn’t look as if she had any mileage on her…though didn’t he know how deceiving looks could be? Most of the guys in the gym looked like they’d just started shaving a week or two ago, while a fair number of them were, in fact, learning to do it again with whatever limitations they’d acquired. Justin, at least, still had all his body parts, though his legs were held together with plates and screws. They were surrounded by amputees, burn victims, and traumatic brain injuries, and Carly Lowry seemed to have the least mileage on her of them all.

Kids excepted, of course. He’d heard something about kids visiting but had assumed a couple, related to one of the patients. Not a whole classful. Not accompanied by a pretty teacher with auburn hair and hazel eyes and damn nice legs.

And a wedding ring on her left hand, he reminded himself. As off-limits, even for looking, as a woman could be.

He should get out of the gym before he noticed that her smile was sweet. Before he gave more than a second glance at her breasts. Before one of the therapists asked just how long he intended to make this break.

Before she realized he was a patient along with all the others.

The thought of discovery created a throb in his left leg—not the part that was there, but the rest of it. It was stupid. He couldn’t hide the prosthesis forever. People back home knew; his mother had made sure of that. All the regulars in this room knew, along with most of his buddies stationed elsewhere. News like that traveled.

But he’d rather hide. He didn’t want sympathy or questions or concern or pity. Hell, he had more than enough pity for himself.

Since Carly didn’t seem ready to move on, he would. He opened his mouth to say
I’ve got to go
, but the words that came out were totally wrong. “So you’re a teacher.”
Stupid. Obvious.

She smiled. “Third grade. The kids are big enough to be fun but not dangerous.”

“Any of them yours?”

The smile didn’t waver. “No. You have any?”

“No.” How much worse would that have made finding out about Sheryl’s affairs? Wondering if his kids were really his? Believing they were, loving them, then finding out otherwise?

Time for another subject change. “You’re not from here.”

Her hair swayed in the clasp that loosely held it as she shook her head. “I grew up in Utah. I went to college in Colorado and came here four years ago. You’re not from here, either.”

“Texas. A little town outside Dallas.”

“Do you still have family there?”

“My mother. A few aunts and uncles. Some cousins I never really knew.” His mother had been an only child, his father a surprise born twelve years after the youngest of his brothers. Anna Mae had never had much use for Bill’s family, so even though they’d all lived in the same county, Dane had rarely had contact with them. “What about your family?”