Shelter Me (31 page)

He said that, but it didn’t make sense to me, not since I could tell he was feeling all that pain inside even if he said he pushed it aside.

The next day, I heard the sirens go off again, but it was different. No airplanes were overheard and the Colonel had gone out on a mission. I saw the line of tanks racing back, coming home sooner than they should have. I never knew they could move that fast, so I started barking, louder than the sirens.

I knew something was wrong, something bad, and it pushed away a layer of the taming from the past months. I snarled when someone tried to restrain me with a rope—a rope that I quickly chewed through—and ran. I raced across the compound and wedged myself into a hiding place so small and tight, they would never find me.

From my hidey-hole, I watched as the medical people came out, running.

And then there was a stretcher. My eyes didn’t tell me who was on the stretcher. They couldn’t because I just saw blood.

And I smelled the Colonel.

PART 4

I understand many human words in many languages, but it took me a long time to understand the word
death
. People death. Dog death. And even worse, the death of the spirit.

—TROOPER, THEN AND NOW

Sixteen

S
IERRA HAD FELT
like death warmed over at school all day, battling the hangover from hell.

Thank goodness her stomach had finally settled enough for supper. The smell of her grandfather’s chili had called out to her growling stomach the moment she’d gotten home since she hadn’t eaten more than a peanut butter sandwich during her break midway through the day.

A warm bowl full in her hand, she sat at the kitchen table in the last remaining spot, between Mike and Nathan. Which thankfully saved her from maneuvering to get closer to Mike. Or answering awkward questions from her family she wasn’t yet ready to discuss since she didn’t have the answers.

She grabbed a napkin from a basket in the middle of the table. “Sorry I’m late. I had a meeting with some of the other grad assistants.”

There was something comforting about having them all around her after such a tumultuous weekend. Her ragged nerves soaked up the normalcy of the meal, her mom talking about one of her students making it to a state science fair for virtual schools. Gramps reminded everyone—twice—not to let him forget to watch that John Wayne marathon on television. Trooper and Clementine curled up together in a tight ball as if to disguise themselves while they waited for a stray cracker to land on the floor.

And the press of Mike’s warm thigh against hers made the moment all the more perfect.

She could even manage to ignore the annoying sounds of the Hammonds setting off fireworks next door. Kenneth always did test out his Fourth of July stash early. Luckily, the rescue didn’t seem to have any fireworks freakers among the current canine tenants, as the barking in the yard was at a minimum and no howling so far.

Now if Mike and Gramps could remain half as steady through the sounds. And if only Nathan would talk.

In between bites of chili she asked her brother, “How long did the two of you stay up playing video games?”

“Late.” Nathan gave his typical monosyllabic answer. At least he’d left the snake in his room during tonight’s meal so no one had to contend with a surprise serpent head on their shoulder.

Mike grasped the pottery pitcher and refilled his glass with tea. “You don’t want to know. After he whooped my tail in Leagues of Something-Or-Another I unearthed one of the music games so I would stand a chance at winning. That stuff’s addictive.”

Lacey sipped her tea, her bowl already empty. “You’re all kids at heart. Nathan, could you pass the crackers?”

“Sure . . .” He shoved the pack across the table and stood to leave, his bowl already empty.

Gramps cleared his throat. “You didn’t ask to be excused.”

Nathan kept walking.

Their grandfather stood up, scowling, fireworks outside echoing the explosive air in the kitchen.

“Allen,” his voice rose, “you did not ask to leave the table and you did not take your dishes to the sink.”

Sierra’s stomach clenched. So much for peaceful normalcy. Mike’s hand found hers under the table.

Lacey touched Gramps on the forearm. “Joshua, it’s okay.”

One of the doctors had advised them recently to all start calling him Joshua. His given name would be less confusing than Gramps and Dad; even his rank of General could be disorienting if he was thirty years in the past.

Gramps shook her hand off, his fist pounding the table until the dishes rattled. “No, it’s not all right. The boy needs to learn some damn manners. This whole generation doesn’t know how easy they have it.”

By the time her granddad finished his rant, Nathan had already left. Sundowning sucked. Gramps looked around him, confusion stamped on his face as his fists unfurled.

He’d probably already forgotten why he was mad, only wondering why the feeling lingered. “It’s after seven. Did I miss the start of that John Wayne marathon?”

Ironic that he could still tell time but couldn’t remember his own family’s names, another quirk of the disease.

Lacey took his elbow. “How about we go check?”

His old VCR player had a stack of John Wayne classics they popped in for a perpetual marathon.

Sierra reached for her mom as Lacey passed. “I’ve got the dishes.”

Her mother mouthed,
Thank you
, on her way out.

Sierra sagged back in her chair. “Crisis averted. For now.” She angled over to give Mike the kiss she’d been aching to plaster on him all day. The taste of him was spicy and sweet. Chili powder and sugar from the tea. She couldn’t wait for more of him. Soon. “I missed you last night, but thank you for spending so much time with my little brother. He’s pushed all his friends away since my dad died.”

“It’s a tough time for a kid to be without friends.” Mike stood and stacked dirty bowls, Trooper and Clementine close on his heels looking for leftovers.

What would happen when Mike moved on? She’d been so busy thinking about how much that would hurt for her she hadn’t thought about how much his absence would affect the rest of her family. Nathan especially.

She gathered the silverware, tucking it into empty glasses. “I wonder if maybe he should talk to some kind of grief counselor. I could ask my friend Mary Hannah what she thinks. Do you remember her?”

“From the picnics.” He snuck both dogs a cracker before turning on the faucet to rinse dishes. “She’s a grad assistant, too, right?”

“She’s getting her master’s in counseling.” She set the glasses in the sink, then opened the dishwasher—hallelujah, someone had actually already emptied it.

“Sounds like a good idea. At the debriefs we get when we come back from a deployment, they’re always stressing how having someone to talk to is important.” He set a rinsed bowl in the other side of the double sink. “Did you and your mom have a good conversation last night?”

The shared hominess wrapped around her like a hug, drawing her back into hopes and dreams she’d had a year and a half ago of building a life with this man. “Depends on what you mean by good.” She stacked one bowl at a time into the dishwasher, the window over the sink showcasing a splash of pyrotechnic stars from Kenneth Hammond’s arsenal. “We had a productive talk, but I wouldn’t call it a happy discussion by any stretch. Yesterday was particularly rough for everyone. Thank you again for being there for Nathan. He’s so tough to reach these days.”

“What about you?”

She glanced up, a fistful of spoons in her hand. “What do you mean?”

“You said it yourself—it was a rough day. You’ve talked about support for your mom and your brother.” He turned off the water and grabbed a dish towel for his wet hands. “But what about you? How are you handling what yesterday meant for your family?”

She avoided his too perceptive eyes. “I kept busy today.” She looked up sheepishly. “And maybe I joined my mom in a drink or two while we were talking last night.”

He grabbed her by the hips, pulling her toward him. “I missed a tipsy Sierra? Damn shame about that.”

“Sober Sierra will be much more fun when I slip up to your room later. Trust me.” She didn’t even have to keep her voice down since the sound of John Wayne blaring in the other room drowned out everything except for the fireworks in the background.

“How much longer are we going to keep sneaking around? I feel like we’re the worst kept secret on the planet.”

She stroked his face, enjoying the bristle along his jaw. “We have some things to figure out first, don’t you think? You’re leaving soon. I have a year left of school and a family that needs me, so I’m not moving anywhere. Can we delay the serious stuff for a while longer? Things are already complicated enough around this house.”

He winced against her touch. “Sure. Whatever.”

“Hey, wait.” She grabbed his wrist. “Say what you’re thinking. If you disagree, I want to hear where you stand.”

“It’s not you. It’s those damn fireworks next door. They’ve got me on edge.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fireworks, backfiring cars, hell, even popping balloons give me the . . . jitters. I just need a little more time to shake off the sand from being overseas.”

He dropped a kiss on her lips before she could answer. “We’ll talk later, okay? I’m going to walk Trooper and clear my head. Lucky for me, there are plenty of leashes around this place.”

Sierra slumped back against the counter as the door slammed closed after him and Trooper. With all her worrying about her family and herself, she hadn’t given a thought how yesterday might have weighed on Mike, too. No doubt he’d had to wrestle with the specter of her dad’s memory all the stronger on Father’s Day. Her dad had been important to Mike. They’d almost been related, and they’d served together for years. For that matter, her dad might have played the role of a father to Mike considering his strained family relationships.

Who did Mike talk to? Who took care of his grief?

Hell, who looked after Mike?

Her heart hurt just thinking about it and thinking about how much he’d held back his problems ever since she’d known him. She couldn’t deny she wanted more from him, but hadn’t she always? Who knew if he was even capable of giving her more when he was so reluctant to share his worries or his fears with her?

As she watched another firework sparkle the sky with a blend of red, white and blue, Sierra hoped that Mike was okay out there, facing his demons on his own. Damn, keeping things light and no commitment wasn’t working out as easily for them as she’d expected when she’d climbed into bed with him again.

*   *   *

MIKE’S WALK WITH
Trooper hadn’t done much to ease the headache pounding behind his eyes. He didn’t have a name for that tension. He simply knew he didn’t want to go back to the way things were before between him and Sierra. That hadn’t worked.

But he also wasn’t ready to say good-bye to her, and the round and round in his brain trying to figure out how to resolve those issues was tying into a knot right between his eyes.

He unclipped the leash from Trooper’s collar and hung it on a rack in the mudroom along with an assortment of other leashes, harnesses and collars. This place was starting to feel too much like home, and time was running out for him to get his head on straight about where he and Sierra were headed.

The kitchen was empty, the dishwasher humming its way through the load. The house appeared deserted, quiet other than the sounds of a John Wayne war classic echoing from upstairs. He climbed the stairway to the second floor, eyeing Sierra’s room for an instant, then deciding he’d better settle Trooper for the night first.

He knocked on the door. “General? Er, uh, Joshua? Are you awake? Trooper’s ready to come in for the night.”

The television was so loud it was tough for him to hear an answer. He tipped his ear toward the door and . . . Was that a whimper? He hated to invade the man’s privacy, but if he was in trouble and needed help, someone should check on him.

Decision made, he tapped on the door again as another firework popped in the distance. Stifling a wince, he creaked the door open.

“Sir, I have your dog.”

Trooper slipped through the slight opening and shot into the room. Mike stepped in slowly, trying to give plenty of warning. The television blared, bombs exploding as a World War II battle scene played out.

Damn shame it wasn’t a marathon of Westerns.

He looked around, but the room was empty. The bed was made and the recliner in the corner held nothing but a discarded lap quilt, trailing off onto the floor. Alarms sounded in his brain. Had the older man wandered away again? Or worse yet, driven? Biting off a curse, he turned back toward the door.