Escape to Morning (16 page)

Sarah stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Dannette and I have this tradition … we always pray before we head out.”

He didn't seem surprised or offended, instead nodded and bowed his head.

That did it. The sight of Reporter/Cowboy/Rambo/Boy Scout Will standing there, his hands clasped, his head bowed, praying … well, Dannette felt every barrier take a swift tumble to dust. How could she not like the guy?

C'mon, surely she could think of a few reasons.

She listened to Sarah's prayer, deciding that okay, maybe she'd give him provisional friend status. Only.

The woman was merciless. Forget making her a Ranger—she could rocket straight up the chain of command to five-star general.

Which made Will like her way more than he should.

With the exception of watering her dog about every half hour, Dani set a relentless pace. Yes,
Dani
—sorry, he couldn't get the formal Dannette version to stick in his brain, even if he did force out the name through his lips.
Dannette
sounded so … stuffy. This woman was, well, gritty. In a painfully attractive sort of way. She marched through the forest like the best of his Ranger cohorts. She read a topo map as if she'd been born with magnetic north embedded into her, and she analyzed their victim as if she had a PhD in psychology.

Only Amina wasn't a victim but a fugitive. A very,
very
desperate young lady carrying dangerous secrets.

Although Dani had the tenacity of a special-ops soldier, Will wanted to drop to his knees and kiss her feet for her dedication.

They stopped for a ten-minute lunch near a stream, where Will filled his canteen and added some purification drops. He saw Dannette shake her head, but a little gleam of admiration tweaked her expression. As if she were still amazed that a journalist might know a bit about camping.

He tried not to think about how he was lying through his teeth. He needed her to trust him. Wanted her to like him.

Because he liked her, oh so very much. Especially the way she was with Missy, knowing when to call her close, rub her ears, let her settle down with a toy. And the fact that Dani wasn't about impressing him … impressed him. He'd fallen into conversation with her as the morning dragged on, and it played again in his mind.

“You seem like a guy who's spent a lot of time in the forest,” she'd said as she munched on an energy bar.

He'd debated for only a moment. After last night and the sick feeling he'd had after he'd hurt her, he decided that there were parts of himself he could give away for free.

In fact, letting her inside, knowing she had no agendas felt … safe. Easy.

Or maybe it was because he'd never see her again.

In a strange, unexpected way, maybe he could let her inside a little.

“We didn't have a lot of forest in South Dakota, but I did grow up outside, I guess,” Will had said. “In between his bottles of whiskey, my dad took me hunting, so I got pretty good with a rifle. Brought home my share of deer and pheasants. Went out on my own when I was only twelve and pegged a six-point buck.” He held a branch back for her to pass through without getting swatted. “My mom wasn't around much. At least not like most other moms I knew, so I got used to pulling a steak out of the freezer, slapping it on the grill for supper.”

“Did your mom work?”

Her innocent question had brought up a bevy of ugly answers. “No, not really. She was a free spirit. She joined a commune for a while, then an artist colony. She came home in between adventures. My dad never had eyes for anyone else, so for a while, when she came home, life felt pretty good. She baked cookies, and at night we'd make shadow animals on the walls. I'd tell her stories and she'd listen, tracing letters on my hands. And then one day I'd come home from school, and she'd be gone.” He swallowed hard, amazed at how his chest seized up with those words.

Or maybe because of Dani's quick intake of breath. “That had to hurt.”

Yeah. Like a knife to the heart
. He had shrugged away her words, suddenly realizing how small his voice felt. “I got used to it.”
Sorta
. If Lew hadn't invited Will inside the Strong family, he might have ended up like his old man—broken, buried in a bottle, angry at life. Holding out feeble and bitter hope that the woman he loved would return home. Thankfully, the Strongs had poured unconditional love into Will's empty places, especially during his teenage years, and later taught him that sometimes love means letting go.

“I know she loved me. She just couldn't make a commitment that long.” But he had never gotten a fix on what triggered her leaving. As if somehow he'd gotten too close. Loved her too much. Scared her away.

And here, all this time, he thought he was more like his father. Rough around the edges and hard all the way to his heart.

Perhaps he was like both of his parents. Hard
and
gun-shy.

Most likely, just confused.

No wonder he wore identities like thermal layers.

Dani had said nothing as she stepped over bramble and tree limbs. The forest was alive with sound—birds, the breeze rusting in the leaves, the gurgle of a nearby stream. Her silence felt … perfect. Gentle. She listened like she cared, and as he feared, it seemed way too easy to let her inside, at least for the moment.

“As I grew older, I spent more and more time out on the prairie, under the stars dreaming of being a cowboy when I grew up. When I was about thirteen, I got a part-time job punching cows.”

“Punching cows?” She gave him a half smile.

“Cowboy talk for herding cattle.”

Her lips had formed a silent
O
.

Lips he had wanted to kiss.

He nearly shook his head in disgust at the thought. Could he not make one female friend without his past tainting his thoughts? He had turned away from her, kept his gaze on her dog.

“So, why aren't you out there now—punching cows?”

“I don't know. I guess I thought it was a good idea to leave town.” Leave memories. Leave the dead end of his bad-boy reputation. “I suppose someday I wouldn't mind going back. Starting a family.” Now where had that come from? As if a guy like him could ever have a wife, children. Soldiers shouldn't marry. Ever. He had switched gears before she could respond. “When I got out of high school, I joined the service and stayed in over ten years.”

“That's a long time. You said something about joining up with a friend?”

He had glanced at her, surprised she remembered. “Yeah. Lew Strong. He and I were together all the way to the end.”

“The end? You mean you were both discharged?” She angled a frown at him.

He had suddenly been aware that his voice had tightened, and a light sweat ran down his back. “No. Lew was killed a few years ago.”

She stopped and turned. The compassion on her face made his insides coil, his throat scratchy. He had the sudden urge to laugh or crack a joke, anything to escape the feeling that she'd treaded into uncharted, vulnerable territory of his heart again.

“I'm sorry,” she'd said softly. Her luminous eyes searched his face.

He could barely breathe, but he had managed to nod and brush past her. So maybe giving away all that information hadn't been free after all.

They'd stopped an hour later and bent over their maps. Sarah had obviously been on more than a few SAR expeditions, because she also read maps like a pro. They pinpointed their location, atop Mount Maude, and scanned the horizon for the forest-service tower. Sarah pointed to the south, right where it should be, and Will wondered if these two ladies really didn't need his protection, just as Dani had insisted.

They ate in silence. Dani and Sarah both shed their jackets, then their sweatshirts. He kept his shirt on, preferring the protection it gave from the tree limbs. He slipped away once, checked his cell phone, and couldn't get a signal. Oh, joy. Jeff would be so fun to talk to now that Will had disobeyed … twice.

They started out again, Missy in a free search, Dani after her, Sarah marking their movements on the map. Will hiked behind them, watching the sky. It had turned from wispy blue to indigo to an eerie bruised green and purple. He felt the wind kick up now and again, despite the oppressive, odd, May heat.

He strode up to Dani. “So, I think all's fair in love and war. I told you my secrets; now you owe me yours.”

She gave him a wide-eyed look.

O-kay, he'd meant that as a joke. “I don't mean
all
your secrets, Dannette. Just the public-knowledge ones will be fine. Background, schooling, favorite movie. Favorite flavor of ice cream.”
If I can someday kiss you
.

Oops. What was wrong with him? He took a deep breath, erased that thought from his mind.
Sorry, Lord. I'm trying. I really am. Help me be Your man here
.

As if she'd read his thoughts, she narrowed her eyes. “Promise you won't print my answers?”

What? He frowned, gave a snort of disbelief, and then remembered. Oh yeah, he was a
reporter
. something akin, in her book, to the sludge at the bottom of a septic tank. He nodded slowly.

She kept one eye on her dog. “I grew up in southern Iowa on a farm.” She gave him a half grin. “Yes, I know, big surprise, but actually a farm can be a great place to grow up. Animals. Hard work. Lots of open sky.”

“Sounds nice. Do you have any siblings?”

Her smile dimmed. “I had a little sister. She died when we were young. But my dad remarried about ten years ago, and I have two half brothers and a half sister.”

“Are your parents divorced?”

Another shadow across her face and this time her mouth tipped with a shade of melancholy. “No, she died not long after my sister.”

Ouch. Despite the battering his parents had given him emotionally and verbally, he'd never had to deal with the finality of death. He'd always been able to cling to the hope of tomorrow and second chances. “I'm sorry.”

She smiled, and her eyes were warm on his. “Thanks. Actually, God was very gentle. I had doting grandparents, and they pretty much took over and raised me. Granny was a solid Christian, and I grew up with a sound belief that Mom and Ashley were in heaven, maybe looking down at me.” She reddened slightly. “I know, sorta childish, but it worked for me growing up.”

He had the nearly overpowering urge to reach out and draw her to his chest and tell her that it didn't seem childish at all. It seemed more like survival. He gave a slight smile. “Your granny sounds like she did a good job of filling in.”

“She did. She made sure I never felt alone. I remember too many nights when I'd lie awake, letting the darkness find my nooks and crannies, and suddenly, as if she knew, Granny would appear at the door. She'd take me on her lap, wrap her afghan around me, and sing hymns to me until I fell asleep. She loved the classics—‘Great Is Thy Faithfulness,' ‘Amazing Grace.' The smell of mentholated rub still reminds me of her. That and chocolate-chip cookies and homemade cinnamon bread and snowball candles.”

“Snowball candles?”

“Oh yeah. Granny and I made homemade candles every Christmas out of the crayons I'd rubbed to a nub over the year. She also knit me a new pair of sippies every year.”

“Should I ask?”

Dani laughed. “Slippers. It's the only thing I know how to knit. They're really warm.” Her smile turned wry. “Actually, I haven't touched a knitting needle in years. Not much time at home. I do miss sippies.”

Something in her voice made his chest thick. “Is Granny still around?”

Dani didn't look at him when she shook her head. “She died a few years back. It's just me and Missy and Sherlock.”

“Who's Sherlock?”

“My other SAR dog, a bloodhound. I'm training him to be a cadaver dog for police searches. When I was young I wanted to be a veterinarian and went to Iowa State for a couple of years, but I got into SAR when I adopted Missy and heard about the need for SAR K-9 handlers. It consumes my life. We've been all over the country, and I try to do a lot of on-site training.”

“Nice. You have a way with animals. It's like you can understand them.”

She shot a look at her dog, now circling to acquire the scent pool. “Well, if you get to know them, sometimes you can. You don't have to talk. You kind of sense it.”

Somehow he wondered if he'd just been handed some sort of cosmic answer to a question he hadn't yet voiced.

“Besides, Missy and Sherlock aren't only pets. They're my partners. Without them, I couldn't do my job. We rely on each other. Not to mention that they're quite valuable. Thousands of man-hours and dollars go into training a good K-9. But even more importantly … Missy and Sherlock are like family. It's just been me and them for … years.”

He glanced at her—something in her tone made him wonder if she, too, had given away more than she'd planned. And, wow, that felt way too good. “So, your favorite movie?” he asked.