Fall to Pieces (7 page)

He swallowed as his mouth went suddenly dry
and climbed out of the car, tried to quell the warmth that bubbled
in his chest as she greeted him with a wide smile.
Look all you
want. But that's all you're ever going to do. You know in your gut
Sadie's not a fling kind of gal. And you know that's all you have
to offer
.

Even with that warning ringing in his head,
he had to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out
and brushing a thick lock of auburn hair from her cheek as she
stopped in front of him.

"Come on, I'll help you get settled."

Dylan followed her across the wooden
footbridge and up onto the cabin's front porch where a couple of
plastic chairs sat out for him to enjoy the view of the creek. The
screen door creaked as she pulled it open and he followed her
inside. The scent of furniture polish greeted him as his boots
thudded on the wooden plank floor.

The full tour took about five minutes. The
cabin was less than a thousand square feet, but as promised it had
a full kitchen, bathroom, and a bedroom big enough to hold a queen
size bed and a dresser.

"Like I said, it's not much," Sadie said as
they went back out into the sitting room. She crossed to the window
and threw back the drapes. Sunlight poured in to illuminate a worn
but comfortable looking couch and coffee table. Behind the couch, a
small dining table and two chairs made up the rest of the
furniture.

"It's great," he said.

She gave him a relieved smile. "I'm so glad
this worked out." She reached out and laid her hand on his forearm.
The simple touch sent a wave of heat searing through him and the
small space seemed to shrink even further.

"Me too," he managed to choke out. "I'll go
get my stuff." A red flag went off in his head, as he went out to
his truck, her footsteps echoing behind him.

It was the first of many he'd had since he'd
taken her up on her offer of a place to live, one of many warnings
that maybe living in such close proximity to Sadie wasn't the
greatest plan.

If she'd been any other woman he would have
gone for it. Turned on the charm until he had her exactly where he
wanted her. Which was naked and spread out on that bed back
there.

There had been plenty of situations with
women where he'd been able to have his fun and walk away, no harm,
no foul. But he didn't want to do that to Sadie. There was too much
shared history, and he felt too much genuine affection towards her
to play his usual game.

He hadn't seen her for a long time, and while
she tried to play it cool, he could still see the remnants of that
schoolgirl crush lingering in her gaze. If he gave into the lust
surging through him, she would want something more than sex.

She would want a relationship, intimacy,
commitment. Things he wasn't capable of. Not now, when he would
only be around for a few more weeks. Maybe not ever. And he liked
Sadie too damn much to let her down.

As he lifted a box of books from the bed of
his truck, fragments of last night's dream sifted through his
brain.

"Are you sure it's okay?" Sadie asked as she
reached past him to grab his duffel bag.

"Yeah, why?" '

"You look upset."

Her dark, thickly lashed eyes, full of
concern, chased away the haunting images. All at once, warmth
flooded through him. Not the sharp heat of lust, but something
softer, like a cozy blanket settling over him. He felt himself
drawn in, over come by the unexpected urge to pour out his guts to
her.

He gave himself a mental shake. Even if he
had the words to express it, Sadie didn't want to hear about the
darkness swirling around his brain, the memories that made his
heart race and his chest squeeze so hard he was afraid he'd pass
out. He'd never been one to lay his problems on anyone else, and he
wasn't going to start with her.

"Rough night. I didn't sleep well," he said
and headed back to the cabin.

They finished unloading the truck and Sadie
excused herself to go finish up some work. It didn't take him long
to unpack.

He drove to the gym for a workout, and after
a quick detour to pick up groceries he headed back to the
ranch.

He took a shower and made himself a sandwich.
Even after the grueling workout, he couldn't shake the restless
feeling.

Only one thing would help. He unpacked his
laptop and settled in front of it at the kitchen table, knowing
that the only way he'd find peace was to take everything swimming
in his head and pour it all out onto a blank page.

He'd never been much of a writer, and
arguably still wasn't. But he'd started keeping a journal after his
first tour in Iraq almost a decade ago. At first it was a way to
keep himself occupied during the endless hours of downtime. But
with each passing year and all the missions that followed, it
became a way to process everything. The violence. The loss.

Now, sometimes he thought it was his only
link to sanity.

His name was Martin Ambler. We called him
"Marbles" because he talked like he had a mouth full of them.

Born and raised in Texarkana, the only thing
he loved more than God and Country was his fiancée Amber. He died
sobbing her name.

He didn't know how long he'd been tapping at
his keyboard when a sharp rap tore him from a near trance state. He
blinked hard, struggling to focus as he flexed his cramped
fingers.

"Hello," a female voice called out. "Dylan
are you in there?"

He quickly saved and closed the document. He
wasn't quite finished telling Marbles's story, but he hoped it was
enough to keep his friend from haunting his dreams for at least a
little while. He got up, feeling a little disconnected as he always
did after writing.

It was like he got pulled back into that
other reality, his brain needed a little time to calibrate what was
real and what wasn't. He walked over to the door feeling tired but
calm.

He clung to that calm, that peace, knowing it
wouldn't last for long.

He opened the door and found June, the
Thorntons’ cook and housekeeper, standing on the porch. Aside from
the gray streaking her light brown, chin length hair, and a few
more creases in her plump face, she looked exactly as he
remembered.

"I was just putting supper on the table and
wanted to invite you to come join us," she explained.

He looked at his watch, surprised to find
that it was after six. His stomach grumbled, the sandwich a long
forgotten memory. Still, he hesitated. Not only was he not feeling
very social, he didn't relish sitting across the table from Jim
Thornton. He'd never been the most cheerful guy, and from what
Dylan had heard his health issues and curtailed activity hadn't
improved his disposition.

But Sadie will be there,
a sly voice
reminded him.
All the more reason to stay away,
he mentally
shot back.

"That's awful nice of you but—"

"No buts," June reached out and grabbed his
hand. "We insist."

He reluctantly followed her to the big house,
listening politely to her steady stream of chatter about all the
goings on at the ranch. He stepped into the entryway just as Sadie
was coming down the hall.

She stopped short. "Hey."

"Hey yourself."

"Did you need something for the cabin?"

"Everything's fine. June invited me to come
for supper," he said as older woman headed for the kitchen.

Though she did her best to hide it, there was
no missing the dismay that flashed across her face.

"Is that not okay?" he asked, already backing
toward the door.

She shook her head and gave a little laugh.
"It's fine. But you may regret taking her up on her
invitation."

He wasn't sure why, especially when he saw
the platter of grilled chicken, tossed green salad, and bowl of
steaming mashed potatoes on the table.

He greeted Jim and Pete and took a seat
across from Sadie, and eagerly filled his plate with food.

He put a forkful of potatoes in his mouth,
and immediately understood what Sadie was talking about. Instead of
the buttery, creamy deliciousness he'd been expecting, he got a
mouthful of mealy, flavorless paste.

"How is everything?" June asked
expectantly.

Dylan picked up his water and downed half the
glass. "Delicious," he managed. He cut a bite of chicken. Funny
he'd never realized that chicken could taste so much like
cardboard.

"I'm so glad you're enjoying it," June said.
"With Jim's condition, everything needs to be heart healthy. No
butter, no salt!"

No taste.

From across the table, Sadie made a funny
squeak.

"What's wrong with you?" Jim barked.

"Nothing," Sadie said, but Dylan could hear
the laughter in her voice.

Dylan shot her a mock glare and shoveled in
another bite of potatoes, unable to stifle a grin as her shoulders
shook.

Her father and Pete worked their way
methodically through the meal, without any indication they noticed
the taste or lack thereof. In between bites, Jim asked Dylan about
his time in the Rangers and regaled him with stories about his own
time spent in the army in the seventies.

Jim pushed his empty plate away. "Heard you
got pretty busted up a few months back.”

"Could have been a lot worse," Dylan said,
his stomach churning as he remembered how much worse it had been
for Cheese that day.

"Heard you got hit by one of those pipe
bombs—"

Jim's voice faded away as images ripped
through his brain. Screams, the sound of flesh sizzling.

"Dad," Sadie's voice cut through the memory.
He blinked, felt her slim hand cover his, which he hadn't even
realized had curled into a hard fist against he table. "Maybe we
should talk about something else." She gave his hand a quick
squeeze before removing it.

"I didn't mean any offense," Jim
blustered.

"It's okay," Dylan replied, fighting the urge
to snatch Sadie's hand back, craving the inexplicable wave of calm
that had rushed through him at the light touch.

He didn't bother correcting Jim about the
circumstances around his injury. The details of what happened that
day were classified, and even if they weren't, the Army did the
best they could to keep any friendly fire casualties out of the
news.

"It's just not a day I like remembering."
Understatement of the year. While his body had recovered, the
attack had left deeper wounds that would take much, much longer to
heal.

After a few seconds of silence, Jim spoke
again. "I expect your father is enjoying having you around to help
out."

"I like to think so," Dylan said. He forced
his shoulders to relax, his fingers to lie flat against the
table.

"Nice little business Frank has built up.
He's lucky to have sons to leave it to."

Dylan shrugged. "I don't think he's given it
much thought."

"Seems a shame not to pass on his
legacy."

"I don't know that it's much of a legacy,
nothing like this place."

"Don't think it counts if there's no one to
pass it on to."

Dylan frowned. "What about Sadie?"

"Sadie?" Jim gave him a look like he was
crazy. "She can't take over the place."

Dylan didn't miss the way Sadie's shoulders
stiffened or the way the laughter left her eyes.

"Ranching is no business for a woman," Jim
continued.

"That seems like kind of an old fashioned
take on things," Dylan said, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. He'd
had no idea this was such a sore spot.

"Not old fashioned. Realistic. Most women can
barely tolerate this life. Sadie's mom is a perfect example."

It was on the tip of Dylan's tongue to point
out that maybe it was Jim's gruff demeanor that Angela Thornton
couldn't tolerate. Then he remembered how tough the split, which
had happened over the summer between their junior and senior year,
had been on Sadie. She'd come back to school thinner than ever and
had hardly cracked a smile the first half of the year.

He could have kissed June when she stood and
said brightly, "I'll just get dessert!"

Sadie gave him an almost imperceptible shake
of her head. He took that to mean dessert wouldn't be any
improvement over dinner.

"None for me. I'm stuffed," he said and
pushed back from the table. "I'm going to go finish unpacking."

"Thanks June, I'm good too." Sadie said and
stood as well. "I need to get the mares their dinner."

He followed her silently from the house, and
instead of going left toward his cabin he hooked a right and
followed her into the barn.

It was dark and cool inside and smelled of
horses and fresh hay. Half a dozen mares hung their heads over the
doors of their stall, whickering as Sadie started to pull a bale of
hay off a stack in the corner.

"Let me help," he said and went to take it
from her.

"I've got it," she said and swung the heavy
cube away from him. She reached in her back pocket, pulled out a
small folding knife and used it to cut the twine. "Despite the fact
I'll never be running this place, I'm capable of throwing the
horses a little hay."

She pulled a couple flakes from the bale and
tossed them over the door of the first stall.

"Sorry if I brought up a sore subject."

"It's not like it's anything I haven't heard.
It's no secret Dad always wished I'd been a boy."

It was the first he'd ever heard of it,
surprising given they'd spent plenty of time together growing up.
Then again, he realized with a pinch of shame, he hadn't spent a
whole lot of time asking Sadie about herself. He'd mostly just
wanted her help getting his math and science homework finished as
quickly as possible.

He reminded himself that most teenage boys
were as selfish and clueless as he'd been, but that didn't stop the
little ache in his chest at the thought of Sadie growing up knowing
that in her father's eyes she somehow fell short.