Mary's Men (17 page)

The sounds of catcalling finally made her pull away, but Mary wrapped her arms around Duane’s shoulders, making him bend down to be near to her.

“Hi. I’m Mary.”

He stared at her, his blue eyes wide even rimmed with dark circles. “Yeah, I figured you were.”

“Welcome home.”

He nodded, but started when a heavy hand landed on his back. Paul and Thomas flanked him, each smiling. They began talking at once, asking about his travels. Mary let him loose around the neck, but took his free hand before he could grab his bags. Paul and Thomas lifted his totes and headed for the truck. Duane’s warm palm held many scars and rough spots. He’d worked on the medical side of the war effort, but she didn’t believe for an instant he hadn’t suffered.

He looked so different from his cousins. The noses and eyes were similar in shape, but Duane obviously had different blood in him. His height set him apart and the wiry strength he showed completely differed from the more bulky, muscled quality of Paul. Thomas maintained a muscled physic, nothing like Duane’s lanky frame.

“You’re still driving this piece of shit?” Duane stopped by the truck. “What happened to lawyer and rancher money?”

“We’re working on it.” Paul cuffed Duane’s shoulder.

Duane winced, something she noticed he did every time one of the twins touched him. She rubbed her hand up the inside of his forearm, watching closely for his reaction. He looked down at her sharply, but quickly turned his expression back to passive.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

“I’m fine.”

She hated that she didn’t know him well enough to know if his smile was sincere or forced. “We can eat first if you’d rather not get started on the drive,” she offered.

Duane shifted and didn’t meet her eyes. “I could eat.”

“Then we’ll eat first. Cheeseburger, right?”

“Yeah, cheeseburger sounds nice.”

Mary let the boys do the talking while they ate at a local fast food place Duane wanted to visit. She nibbled a French fry and watched her soldier. His efficiency screamed his military duty as much as his buzzed hair and drab clothes did. He laughed when appropriate and ribbed the twins, but his mirth never extended past his words. When he looked at her the deep seriousness behind the light blue color hit her soul. Something important weighed on Duane’s mind, but she remembered what Paul said about not giving up on him and not letting him slip away. She wanted him and would have him.

After lunch Mary resigned herself to not having the two hour drive with Duane. He simply didn’t fit in the backseat, not with his height. She smiled when Thomas jumped in beside her with Paul at the wheel, Duane riding shotgun.

“Hey, baby.” Thomas kicked off his shoes. “I should have figured Duane wouldn’t be comfortable back here—too tall. I guess I’ll have to keep you company on the drive.”

She shook her head at him. “Aren’t you a honey? Duane, are you sure you don’t want to stretch out back here? I can move up front with the twins if you want to try to sleep.”

He shook his head, but didn’t look back. “I’m fine, thanks. Thomas will make a good pillow for you. Getting a little soft there, aren’t you, cus?”

Thomas whacked Duane in the head and settled back against the seat, his arms open in invitation. “Come on over, sweetheart. It’s been too long since I held you.”

Though her mind teamed with what she should do with Duane, she relaxed into Thomas. Leaning into his lap gave huge comfort and when he wrapped his arms around her she felt renewed vigor to make the same connection with Duane. She’d figure him out and make things good.

Chapter 18

Thomas’s whispers woke Mary from her car rhythm sleep. “Psst, Duane, grab Mary, will ya? I’ll get the bags if you’ll tote her in.”

“You take her. Quit forcing your woman on me, Thomas.”

“Quit trying to back out, you idiot. If you think we’re going to let you, you’re out of your mind. Now pick her up and carry her into the house. She kicked off her shoes. I don’t want her getting hurt on the gravel.”

Thomas, always watching out for her, though he claimed he didn’t notice little details. She kept her eyes closed but wished she could open them after she heard Thomas walk away. Duane’s expression probably held an assortment of clues about what ran through his mind. He opened the side door, letting in a rush of cool night air.

She waited, trying to stay still.

He wiggled her foot. “Hey, faker. Wake up.”

She opened her eyes at his teasing tone. Still lethargic she held her arms out to him instead of grabbing the shoes he offered. His gaze turned stormy, but he sighed and lifted her from the truck.

“You’re little,” he said as he toted her to the cabin. “Which is probably good because this place is tiny.”

“Paul is talking to an architect now about a new house.” She rested her head on his boney shoulder. “There’ll be room for everyone to be more comfortable soon.”

“You have a positive outlook. Most women would be pissed about living in a hovel on the side of a mountain in the middle of nowhere. Is the head still outside?”

“If by ‘head’ you mean the outhouse—yes, but Paul built an awning to it now so it’s easier. And about most women—most women aren’t as groovy as me.” She kissed his neck. “You’ll learn. We put up bunk beds last week, so you’ll have your own space, but the big bed is totally open for you. It’s closer to the fire as well. The fireplace is usually pretty crappy at keeping the place warm.”

He didn’t reply, just opened the door to the house and set her on her feet. Mary wished she hadn’t jumped right to sleeping arrangements, but it was unavoidable. He’d see the options the second he stepped into the house. She wanted to make sure he knew where he was welcome.

Paul and Thomas followed with the luggage. The past two days had been emotional and being home offered the sanctuary she craved with the men she loved. Unpacking could wait, everything could wait. She needed to welcome Duane home or at least lay face to face and talk. And kiss. Talk and kiss.

“I’m going to check with the hands,” Paul said. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll go with you.” Duane took off before Mary could protest.

Thomas put his arm around her as Paul closed the door. “I didn’t say it would be easy to get close to Duane. He’s…off a little, and it’s probably the soldier thing. It might take him a few days to warm up. I wouldn’t worry though. No man can resist your charms.”

She kissed his cheek. “I adore you. Thanks for the pep talk. I want this to be good. What else does he like to eat? I’ll make it and then I’ll get the bunk beds made with the new blankets.”

“Got a feeling he’ll want to sleep in one of those?”

She sighed and watched out the window, waiting for them to pass. First Paul, animated and chatting, followed by Duane, still scowling. She lingered and tried not to be disappointed with the cold truth of the situation. “Yeah, I think we’ve got a ways to go before he feels at home.”

* * * *

Deep in the night Mary woke from her man cocoon. The occasional cricket chirp and blowing wind kept the space from being too quiet, but something else had pulled her from her sleep. She sat up and looked around. Paul and Thomas slept, but twisted blankets sat alone on the bottom bunk where Duane had crashed immediately after dinner.

She gazed around the cabin but didn’t find him on the sofa—he’d tried to sleep there earlier but couldn’t because of his height. The partial wall blocked the view of the kitchen table. He could be in the bathroom, but his boots still sat by his bed. Worry growing, she wiggled out from the covers and threw on Paul’s discarded sweatshirt.

She hoped he’d needed a snack and got up to raid the cookie jar. Maybe they’d get a chance to talk. He’d returned from the barn too fatigued to do much more than lie down. He’d mentioned hoping to get to know her more in the morning, but if he was awake now, they could visit over a sandwich or popcorn. She could handle staring at him and being grateful for the chance to know him.

She turned the corner into the kitchen and gasped as her foot connected with something warm and wet. In the dim glow of the nightlight, she examined the liquid, her heart stopping when she recognized blood. Duane sat on the floor against the oven, facing her, but he didn’t look up from where he sawed at his wrist with her bread knife. He slammed the knife down after a few more cuts and swore at his wrist. She didn’t understand his words, didn’t know what she was seeing, but ran for help.

Thomas woke first. “What’s the matter?”

“Duane is cutting himself.” Her words tripped over her shaking lips. “We have to help him.”

Thomas shoved Paul who immediately woke. “Come on. Duane’s off his rocker and has a knife.”

Paul rubbed his face but jumped up. Both men, wearing only boxers, headed for the kitchen. Mary followed, terrified of the silence from Duane and still shaking in fear multiplied by three.

“Be careful,” she whispered. “We can get him help.”

Paul patted her arm. “Get my keys. We might have to get him to the hospital.”

With all the blood she’d seen, she’d believe it. Mary threw on jeans and grabbed her purse, tossing the men’s wallets next to the keys. She held her breath as Paul and Thomas rounded the island into the kitchen and knelt beside Duane. The wall blocked their deep voices as they spoke to Duane, but his shrill replies radiated through. He spoke in a different language and the sound of flesh on flesh rang out. Thomas and Paul yelled to one another but after a short while emerged with Duane locked between them in a hard hug.

“We need rope.” Thomas sniffed back blood from his nose. “There’s some in Paul’s truck.”

She ran for the truck, the cool night air snapping her cheeks as she pulled the heavy rope from the back box. When she returned the twins struggled with Duane who, despite being bloody and pale, fought like a soldier.

Paul held Duane while Thomas tied him up.

“Please be careful,” Mary whispered, not sure if she meant for Thomas to be careful of Duane’s violence or for him to be careful not to hurt Duane despite it.

After a grueling five minutes, Duane flopped around, trussed up like a bale of hay. The former soldier finally quieted enough for Mary to wrap both of his bloody wrists while Paul and Thomas dressed quickly.

“Oh, Duane, what did you do?”

He looked at her, his eyes the same wide, shocked expression he’d given her after the kiss at the base. “You’re too good for this. I’m broken. Nothing left to fix. Kill me.”

Despite the terror she’d felt earlier, she stroked his cheek, compassion overshadowing the fear. “We’re going to get you better. The boys may not have told you, but I grow things and nurture them—even the broken things. Fix them and love them and make them better. I think you should give me a chance.”

“I think you should kill me.” He closed his eyes and relaxed in the ropes.

Mary wanted him loose and started to say so, but he began fighting them again. It took both Paul and Thomas to get Duane into the backseat of the truck. They wrapped him in a blanket, again keeping it tight to prevent him from escaping before heading down the road. Mary looked to the backseat often as Duane intermittingly fought and begged them to kill him.

She bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering. “Where do we take him?”

“I don’t know.” Paul’s grim voice did nothing to reassure her.

Thomas turned down the driveway and onto the black county road. “We’ll take him to Fort Harrison. There’s a VA there. They’ll know what to do.”

By the time they reached Fort Harrison the sun broke over the mountains. Mary fought to stay awake, fatigue from the last few days pulling her down as much as Duane’s plight had her worked up. They pulled into the emergency room parking lot and though the twins frowned, a certain relief settled over them when Paul headed inside the building.

“He’s a strong guy,” Thomas said quietly. “With a big heart. It doesn’t surprise me he’s been effected by the war. We’ll get him back on his feet. This violence doesn’t fit his personality. You have to know we’d never put you in danger, Mary.”

“I’m like my father,” Duane said dully. “The anger hit, the despair…I’d rather die than hurt anyone. You should let me die.”

“Your father was an ass,” Thomas snapped. “You’re just cracked from the goddamn war. We’re going to get you fixed, and you’re going to get past this. You wanted to be a doctor and you are one, remember? You’re going to use this to help other guys coming home from hell.”

“If I don’t kill them first.”

Cold chills ran up Mary’s back, but Thomas shook his head. Paul returned with two large men in blue scrubs. Both wore serious expressions and one carried handcuffs.

“Captain Paraby,” one of the nurses said. “I’m Sergeant Murphy and this is Private Anthony. We’re going to take you in to see the doctor.”

Duane seemed to snap out of his psychosis for a moment when the military formalness entered the equation. The nurses didn’t unwrap him from the blankets though, just lifted him on the gurney.

“His wrists are bleeding.” Mary choked on the words. “I did my best to wrap them up but I’m sure they need attention.”

“We’ll take good care of him, ma’am. It’ll be a few hours while we get him registered and settled. You folks go find yourselves some coffee. When you come back ask for Sergeant Murphy.”

Paul took Mary by the shoulders and ushered her back into the truck. She watched Duane until he disappeared into the building. “I should be with him.”

“No, you should be listening to the sergeant. Did you see that guy? Hell, I bet everyone listens to him. Let’s get some coffee.”

Mary smacked Paul’s chest. “How can you be so callous? He’s bleeding and depressed.”

“And there’s not a damn thing we can do,” Paul said gently. “It kills me that I can’t sew him up or put a bandage on what hurts. It’s killing you too, but this is beyond our control. Duane is strong and will come out of this, but he needs more help than we can give him.”

Thomas turned the key in the truck. “To give the help that we can, we’re going to need coffee and breakfast. Paul, tell me you grabbed your wallet.”