Along the Broken Road (15 page)

Ian still held her while everyone else waited for the two lovebirds to finish their reunion. “You’re incredible.”

“So you said.” She blinked innocent eyes and decided right then and there she needed to dress up more often.

Rosy spoke up. “Good gracious, son. You’ve only been gone from her a day or two. Poor girl, you look like you’re ready to eat her.”

Ian chuckled, slid his arm firmly around Charlee, his
girlfriend
, and they all headed into the house.

Three hours later, Ian was still trying to get a grip. Charlee. Wow. His mom had put her things into Ian’s room and this was a problem because . . . well, the male part of him couldn’t think of a reason, but the protector part of him knew this put her in a precarious position.

She came out of the en suite bathroom with an empty makeup case in her hands. “You think Brenna was surprised?”

He didn’t want to think about Brenna right now. He wanted to think about Charlee and that dress and how it was only one piece of clothing. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. She was really rubbing it in yesterday. You know, the whole engagement thing. How surprised she was when he proposed; how happy she is.”

Charlee dropped onto the edge of the bed. “She’s with him, Ian, but probably wishing it were you.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, ’cause I’ve got so much to offer.”

At this, she stood and walked to him. He sat in a chair at a small table in the corner of the room. She came around him and dropped to her knees at his feet, where she could look into his eyes. “You have a lot to offer for someone—”

“For someone who’s looking.”

Her gaze fell to the floor.

“For someone who’s not already wounded.”

Charlee rose slowly from the spot and went to unzip her small suitcase.

Before she could finish, he was there, behind her, breathing into her hair. “I’m sorry. This place gets to me. Forgive me?”

She turned and landed in his arms. “If you make me a promise. Let’s pour it on thick for Brenna, okay? What kind of insensitive person stays with her new fiancé next door to an ex-boyfriend, especially a soldier who’s just come home?” She tipped her head. “And how did this even happen?”

He inhaled, thinking how well Charlee fit right there, in his arms. “She and my sister were really good friends growing up. My dad is the one who invited her. My mom wasn’t happy about it.”

“But next door, Ian? Why not down the hall or in the bunkhouse?”

“Brenna picked the room while Mom was gone. By the time she got home, they were all moved in.”

“Your mom seems like a sweetheart. I couldn’t imagine her doing that.”

There was a strand of hair that kept falling in front of her face. His fingers itched to touch it. Ian’s hand rose to the side of her head and threaded the strands. “And you, Miss Dirt and Grime, really clean up good.”

She shrugged a delicate, tanned shoulder. “Eh. Some women go to the gym. I go to the woods.”

He tilted closer and for an instant wanted to claim her mouth, but he knew he had to play it cool. There was no one around to see the act right now. Ian dipped and pressed his lips to her jaw. When he felt her quiver, he drew back a bit, satisfied with himself. “About sleeping together . . .”

She sucked a breath and he busted up laughing.

“Don’t worry, fair maiden. Your honor is safe with me. You can have the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

She chewed her lip, ruining her lipstick. “I don’t want you to have to do that.”

He wiggled his brows. “There is the alternative. I mean, if we really want to make this act seem convincing.”

She swatted at him. “The floor for you, soldier.”

He sighed. “Fine.” But before he released her, he gave her a nice full-body press, and a confident twinkle sparked in his eyes. “But you don’t know what you’re missing.”

He left her there, frozen, blinking, and he was pretty sure judging just how true that statement was.

Off in the distance, Ian heard mortar shells, the
bap, bap, bap
of gunfire, soldiers screaming. He tried to rise, but his body was trapped. Thick black liquid held him from the neck down. He yelled, trying to get someone’s attention, but no one came.

His mouth was dry, and his weapon rested only a few feet away. He twisted, trying to get an arm free, but his body could barely move. Up ahead he could hear the enemy moving closer. He stopped thrashing for fear of drawing their attention, but when he did, the black tar he was stuck in made him sink even deeper. Now the back of his head was in it. He had to do something. Hands shook him. Someone was there. Someone was either trying to help him or preparing to kill him. They shook him again, a voice. This time there was a voice. High, panicked. He needed to focus on getting free, then he could help them. Hands closed on his arms. Pain, like claws. Ian jolted. The room was dark except for the smallish figure in front of him. The voice again, soothing this time, saying his name. Through the dark haze, she materialized. It was Charlee.

He drew breath after breath to slow his racing heart. He hadn’t had a nightmare in over two weeks and had thought they were all but a memory. His breath came in short spurts, as did hers.

In the darkness he heard, “Are you okay?”

Was he? Only a moment ago he was trapped. Sinking. Dying. A hand went to his forehead and he found it slick with sweat. He fell back onto the pillow.

“Ian, are you all right?” Now there was an edge to her words, a panic.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” He felt hands reach out and smooth his hair, fall onto his chest where his heart was pounding like a hammer.

“You were having a nightmare.” Slowly, her fingertips glided over his arms, his pecs. She was using her hands to calm him. And it was working.

“Did I scare you?”

“I was just scared for you. It sounded horrible.” Again, her fingers brushed at his hair.

“Yeah, it was.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

No. He just wanted to stay there with her hands on him. Rather than answer, he opened his arms.

Even in the dark he knew she was contemplating the situation. When she disappeared, Ian dropped his hands and tried to concentrate on the ceiling fan above. But then she was back, dragging the blanket off the bed and using it to cover them. She nuzzled into the crook in his arm and rested a flat hand on his chest.

There was a new kind of tension now, but Ian let it go. He let it all go. The dream, the memory, everything that had happened in Afghanistan, everything he saw and everything he’d done. There were still safe places in the world. And this, right here, with Charlee folded into his arms, this was one of the very best.

The next morning Ian hadn’t wanted to leave Charlee’s side but he figured the gentlemanly thing to do was let her sleep in and get the heck out of her way when she woke.

He’d showered, shaved, and slipped into a pair of running pants and a T-shirt. He had quite a bit of pent-up energy to release and figured a nice long run would help. Plus he loved running here, on his family’s land. He used to take off down the winding drive and out onto the tree-lined road, early in the morning while the world was still asleep. It was almost daybreak and he paused in the dark kitchen to see if there was any coffee left over in the carafe.

“I just drank the last,” a voice came from the open patio door.

Ian closed his eyes. His dad. He was hoping to avoid conversations without the buffer of his mom.

“I was just going for a run. Won’t be gone long.” He turned toward the front door—his escape route.

“Sit down.”

His father completely ignored the fact that Ian had another destination. Grinding his teeth, Ian stepped through the patio door and chose a seat.
Might as well get this over with
. “Your mother will be up in a bit to make coffee.”

That burned all the way down. “If I want coffee, I know how to make it myself.”

His dad laughed without humor. “That’s right. You’re right at home in the kitchen.”

“Were you wanting to talk to me about something?” Ian could feel the tension settle behind his eyes where he’d probably have a nasty headache if this went on too long.

His dad was still for a few moments and as the emerging sunlight made its appearance on the horizon, Ian caught the first morning’s glimpse of his dad. The shadows of early sun deepened the wrinkles in his face. Bags rested beneath his eyes and the gray at his temples was getting whiter, growing longer, overtaking the dark hair of youth.

Ian swallowed. For the first time in his life, his father looked frail.

“So, I saw the McKinley girl, your
employer
.” The last word was said with enough disgust to cause Ian to close his eyes. “She’s pretty, I’ll give you that.”

Ian chose not to speak for fear of tearing into his father.

“That motley crew of artists is weird enough. That one man always wear a skirt?”

Ian never thought he’d find himself in a situation where he actually had to defend King Edward. And now, he’d been in two. One at the bar and presently with his father. “It’s a kilt, Dad.”

“You’re not planning on taking up wearing one, are you?” Thomas Carlisle sniffed.

“Was there some point to this conversation? I thought you wanted to talk to me about something.”
Like, glad you made it home alive, son. Proud of your service to our country
. But Ian choked down those words because they were ones he’d never hear from this man.

“So, this handyman gig. Done in a few weeks, right?”

Ian chewed the inside of his mouth. “Yeah.” And the realization settled in. End of summer meant end of his time with Charlee.

“Well, I need you. Know your sister is wanting to introduce you to some hotshot from Tulsa, but I need you here.” His dad’s hands threaded together in his lap. This was hard for him, Ian realized. And for that he felt bad, but he and his dad working together? No. Not ever.

“Sorry, Dad.” He tried to sound genuine. And a tiny part of him was. “It’s not really part of the equation.”

His dad looked over with steely blue eyes. “What’s that mean? You’re back. I need the help. You finally get home—and the army turned you into something I couldn’t—why would you go to work for someone else when a job’s waiting here?”

Ian pulled a long breath. “I don’t think we would work well together anymore.” And they never had. But back when Ian was young, he took the abuse and kept his mouth shut. “And what do you mean the army turned me into something you couldn’t?”

Thomas’s hands unthreaded and rode over his thighs. “Guess I failed in the father department. You left looking like a vampire girl and came home . . .” He raised a hand to gesture to Ian.

Ian finished for him. “Looking like a man.” There was irony in his tone.

Thomas’s hand fell with a
clop
.

“So, this is about you.” Ian knew he shouldn’t be surprised at his dad’s selfish pride. But the sting hurt nonetheless. “This is about me finally being what you always wanted and you being able to walk around town with your head up because your prodigal son finally ditched the eyeliner and came to his senses.”

At the word
eyeliner
, his dad recoiled. “Just trying to offer you a job. You want to stay a handyman in a geriatric commune for crazies, suit yourself.”