Shelter Me (15 page)

“It won’t happen again.”

He grinned. “Sure.”

She fought the urge to smile back and swatted his knee. “Just because you’re living here doesn’t mean you’re allowed to sneak into my room after lights-out.”

“Damn. I guess I’ll have to return the ladder I bought.”

“Please don’t joke. I’m serious that we need to be careful about living this close together.”

The smile faded from his eyes. “Is there someone else for you now?”

Surely he knew her better than that. “Would I have been kissing you that way if there was?”

“I sure as hell hope not.”

“There’s your answer, then. But it was impulsive. Now, I need to think this through, for both our sakes. I’m a mess. My mom’s a mess. My brother . . . well . . . that goes without saying. I need peace. And for some crazy reason you feel the need to help us. I’m grateful for all you’re doing, even if I want to kick you for putting your career in jeopardy to bring this dog home. I’m just not sure I understand why you’re here.”

“My career will be fine. And as for why I’m here? I wish I could say it’s because I’m a nice guy, but I’m not some altruistic hero. I’m just a guy struggling to understand why I’m alive when others aren’t.”

“So you’re feeling survivor’s guilt. All the more reason we need to be careful.” She tipped her head back to blink away tears. “I’m not saying never. I’m just saying . . .”

“You’ve been hurt enough.” He reached to cup the back of her neck, caressing, comforting. “I hear you.”

His touch gave her goose bumps and tested her resolve only seconds after she’d dug her heels in. It might be cowardly, but right now, her best option? Run.

She shot to her feet and made a beeline for the double barn doors, slamming into Calvin holding Mike’s battered guitar case.

“’Scuse me,” she mumbled before rushing out the back entrance to the play yard so there was no chance of running into them getting any last-minute items from Mike’s truck.

Once outside, she slumped against the barn, gulping in air. The scent of fresh-mown hay from the next farm over tickled her nose and helped ease the urge to sprint into the barn again and bury her face in Mike’s T-shirt.

Damn it. She squeezed her eyes closed and two tears leaked free. She scrubbed her wrists along her cheeks just as voices carried on that breeze, Mike’s and Calvin’s as they talked inside the barn. She should go . . . Should . . .

“Tazz, my friend, you don’t have to stay here and get your heart ripped out for breakfast every morning. You know you’re welcome on my sofa.”

“Thanks for the offer,” Mike’s voice rumbled, “but I’m needed here.”

“Are you two back together, then?”

Her fingers dug into the rough wood of the barn, splinters digging as she waited for Mike’s answer.

“Are you writing a gossip column now?” Mike growled. “Check my Facebook status or something if you want to know. Find out this stuff the way the rest of the world does.”

Calvin chuckled. “You’re cranky, so you must not be getting any.”

Sierra straightened, the locker-room turn of the conversation setting her teeth on edge.

“Cut it out.” Mike’s curt retort eased the tension coiling in her gut, and she sagged back against the outside barn wall.

“And your answer tells me even more. You’ve got it bad.”

She held her breath as she waited for Mike’s answer to that one. Silence lengthened, her heart pounding in her ears, her eyes locked on the family blue heeler—Gizmo—playing with a couple of black Lab puppies that had been found tied to the fence a month ago. Thank God no wild animals had attacked them in the night. Gramps had found them on one of his moonlight mowing adventures.

“Calvin, my friend,” Mike said in that way of his that was unerringly patient, but she heard the undertone of frustration. “Want to help me set up the TV or are we gonna have to change your nickname from Pinstripe to Cupid?”

Footsteps echoed, heavy man steps going upward, as their voices grew fainter. “Your threats don’t impress me. Although you should be at least a little concerned that the Sergeant Major’s still not happy.”

“I figured as much,” Mike answered as Sierra slid down to sit, guilt weighing on her like cinder blocks on her shoulders. She rested her forehead on her drawn-up knees, too tired to even feel guilty about eavesdropping anymore. But she couldn’t stop herself from listening to the two male voices floating out the open window in the loft apartment.

“Mike, it may seem you’ve lucked out with the publicity, but my guess is that the Sergeant Major will take his anger out on your hide some other way.”

“I’m a big boy,” Mike said. “Wanna pass me the box cutter?”

“You have a lot to lose here. Like your Special Forces slot.”

And every animal lover blogger was filling the Internet writing about this with stories and stolen photos. She looked up sharply, searching the tree line suspiciously for cameras, then over to her four-wheeling neighbors riding the fence line, no doubt searching for more problems.

“Shit.” Calvin’s curse floated from an open window in the loft. “Where did that cat come from?”

“Really? We’re in an animal rescue and you’re surprised to see a cat?”

“Fair enough . . . All I’m saying, my friend, is maybe you’d be better off moving on. Protect your future.”

“This isn’t about me. It never was. Now, are you here to help me or harass me?”

She needed to leave. Listening to Mike was only torturing herself. Calvin had made her realize it wasn’t just her decision as to whether or not she and Mike would be crazy enough to resume their old relationship. Mike had put her family first at a possible great risk to himself. This wasn’t just about her.

It was about Mike’s best interests as well.

Resigned, she shoved to her feet and walked back through the barn, toward the main entrance, double doors open to show Mike’s truck and the winding driveway. Boot steps sounded overhead as the guys continued to work in the studio apartment.

Her feet slowed, her brain telling her something was off. She looked behind her into the barn again. Cats in the rafters stared down. The black Lab puppies had given up playing and curled up to sleep on a mesh dog cot. She turned to Trooper’s crate—

Damn it. Empty. His cone and collar lay inside, ditched. The dog was a freaking Houdini.

Or wait, maybe Mike had taken him upstairs. She snatched up the cone, prepared to chew the man out for being such a softy and taking off the collar. She stomped up the steps and into her
Secret Garden
haven turned man cave.

Thrusting the cone against Mike’s chest, she demanded, “Do not let him take this off.”

Mike’s eyes went wide. “Okay. I’ll watch him.” He took the cone. “Do you want me to carry him up the stairs?”

The blood went cold in her veins. “You don’t have him?”

“I thought he was supposed to stay in his crate.” Mike glanced at Calvin. “Do you have time to help us search?”

His buddy looked back at them, confused. “What do you mean? He went for a walk. See?”

Calvin pointed out the window to the lawn, the part of the yard Sierra wouldn’t have seen while sitting outside or walking through the barn. The window in the A-frame eaves showcased the unmistakable image of Trooper walking drunkenly toward the gate. And he wasn’t alone.

Gramps had a leash looped around Trooper’s neck.

Eight

M
IKE COULD RUN
a four-and-a-half-minute mile. He could run a five-minute mile for five miles straight. But his heart was in his throat as he jogged down a simple flight of steps racing to stop a senile old man from slipping away with a newly neutered dog.

Damn it all, he should have thought to take Trooper upstairs with him. He’d come here to help, not cause more problems. He vaguely registered the sound of footsteps behind him, others running, too, but farther back. The sun was setting fast, an orange glow sinking into stretches of deep green fields. Who knew how lost Joshua McDaniel could have gotten? And the dog wasn’t even supposed to be up and around for more than a pee break.

Then he spotted the General shuffling between trees. Mike closed the gap fast, then slowed at the last second so as not to startle the older man. Joshua hobble-walked with an arthritic gait, but those gym shoes of his made fast time. His arms pumped and he may as well have been wearing the Army T-shirt and sweat pants for a real workout.

Mike hitched his hands in his back jeans pockets. “Mind if I ask what you’re doing, sir?”

“I’m just walking the dog, son. Like you should have,” Joshua snapped, irritation crackling like lightning bugs in the early evening. “Guess I’ll have to dock your allowance again.”

“Well, I’m here now so you can go back to the house for supper.” He tried to placate while Sierra and Calvin hung back, waiting.

Joshua shook his head sharply. “Trooper and I are already in a rhythm here.” His shiny white New Balance shoes picked up speed, stomping in short and choppy bursts of anger. “You can go back.”

This was escalating fast. He kept his voice calm, respectful. “Yes, sir, but it’s getting dark. We should head home.”

“I’m a grown man,” Joshua snapped. “I can walk at night if I want.”

There was no debating that stubborn tone. “Do you mind if I walk with you?”

Joshua stopped short and barked in Mike’s face like a drill sergeant. “I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

Tendons stood out in the older man’s neck, a pulse throbbing in his temple. Mike had seen enough combat to know when a person was about to lose it, and this man was seconds away from snapping.

Or throwing punches.

Sierra stepped up and touched the General’s arm lightly. “Gramps . . .”

The General pushed her hand away, hard, knocking her back. Sierra stumbled for a couple of steps before regaining her balance. Mike stepped between them fast, fists clenched. The urge to protect surged. He just hadn’t thought he would ever have to protect her from her own family.

“Sir—”

“Gramps?” Sierra repeated softly.

The General looked around confused, searching for . . . a grandfather. He had no idea who Sierra was or who she was speaking to.

The pained expression on Sierra’s face cut right through Mike. He exhaled hard, searching for the right words to defuse the tension. “We can take the dog on a walk or return to the house. Completely your choice, sir.”

Joshua frowned, glancing down at Trooper, then back up at Mike. “Are you finished with your patrol duty, son?”

The Alzheimer’s had him more disoriented than usual . . . Mike had Googled the disease, and this moment seemed to fit the term “sundowning,” the tendency of a senile person to grow increasingly confused at the end of the day. There was an edge to that in the old man’s behavior right now. A building rage. But then who wouldn’t rage over being trapped inside a body with a diminishing mind? Agitating him would only make things worse. Reminding him of reality wouldn’t accomplish anything. The man existed in this moment like a time traveler, trapped in another era.

“Yes, sir. Next duty shift has arrived.”

“Good, that’s good to know. Time to get back to the barracks, then.” The old man clapped Mike on the shoulders. “Stay safe and keep your head low, soldier.”

Joshua shuffle-walked back toward the house, his shoulders braced even when hunched with age, his grip steady on the leash, although Trooper slowed to match the man’s pace.

Calvin cleared his throat. “Uh, I’ll follow him to make sure he’s safely inside, then I’m gonna hit the road.”

Sierra shook her head. “You don’t have to do that on my account—”

“Hey,” Calvin interjected. “No worries. I really need to head out. You two look like you need a minute to decompress. See you soon, Mike.”

“Roger that. I still owe you a pony keg.” And a lot more. Calvin was a good friend. Strong bonds were forged serving in a combat zone together. “Thanks for your help today.”

Calvin waved aside the gratitude as he jogged to catch up with the General. Mike swallowed hard, his hand clenching around the fence post as he watched silently while the older man walked all the way to the porch. Once they reached the door, Calvin waved again and Trooper looked back as if to say,
I’ve got this. He’s safe
.

Sierra leaned against Mike’s shoulder with a heavy sigh. “Trooper should really have his cone on.”

Sliding an arm around her waist, he tucked her against his side. “Text your mother. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She pulled against his hold. “I’ll just go back and tell her what happened.”

“We don’t need to go in yet. Give yourself a minute to breathe while we watch the sunset.” He held firm and she relaxed against him. “Has your grandfather gotten that angry before?”

“Everything’s under control.”

“Really?” He looked down into her blue eyes that had aged far more than a year since he’d left for Iraq. “You looked upset by his behavior but not surprised.”

She shrugged. “He has outbursts. The doctor put him on antidepressants. They helped some, but he’s got good reason to be . . . agitated.”

The weight of what she faced daily hit him fully for the first time. He rested his chin on top of her head, her silky hair catching on his late-day beard stubble. “Sierra—”

“I’ll be all right.”

“You don’t have to say that. It’s okay to lean on me. God, if my grandmother Ruby had just spent the past five minutes thinking we’re soldiers in the middle of a war zone, I would be . . . unsettled.”

“That’s an understatement. Try crushed. Frustrated. Stressed.”

“Words are your gig, Scrabble Gal.” He scraped her hair behind her ear. “I’m trying to speak your language.”

“And I appreciate it.” She clasped his wrist. “Are you really going to get in serious trouble with your Sergeant Major?”

“Let me worry about that. You have enough to think about with Gramps there and that council showdown coming up. And did I see some flyer in the barn about a big adoption event in the near future?”

“You did. A Doggie Palooza, an event for dogs lovers in the area. It’s a great chance for positive press in advance of that council meeting.”