Shelter Me (36 page)

Trooper pulled away from her and paced around the kitchen restlessly.

Gramps glanced over. “Somebody take him out before he pees in the house.”

Sierra surged forward. “I’ve got him, Mom.” She reached for the dog’s collar but he ducked away. “For a disoriented dog, he sure is strong and walking a straight line.”

Gramps folded his paper. “Looks like a bloodhound on a scent to me.”

Mike passed the pot holders to Sierra. “Let me get him. He could be dodgy overseas sometimes, too. He’s probably still disoriented.”

He squatted and extended a hand to Trooper, but the mutt ducked away again, sidling to Sierra and grabbing hold of her pants leg. What the hell? The pup dug in his paws and tugged, hard, snarling.

“Trooper?” Sierra’s eyes went wide.

Mike hadn’t worried about the dog being dangerous since those first few weeks, but had the drugs peeled away some layer of taming? The dog all but dragged Sierra to the stairs, then let go and sprinted up at lightning speed. There was nothing drugged or loopy about him. He knew exactly where he was going.

Mike charged after him. Trooper scratched at Nathan’s door, pawing furiously until the knob spun and gave way. So much for teenage privacy. Trooper galloped inside and dove under the bed.

Mike sagged against the doorframe. “Really, dog?”

Had the time with Gramps under the bed in the mental war zone now become a canine game? Because if so, Mike had no intention of joining in. Real life combat was more than enough to handle.

Trooper barked again and again until finally Nathan peeked from under his pillow. “Will someone shut up that stupid mutt?”

Nathan’s bleary eyes closed again, and he pulled the covers over his head. Trooper barked louder until Mike walked into the room, stepping over a pile of clothes, a pizza box and a couple of magazines.

He knelt by the bed. “Hey, Trooper. Let’s go get breakfast.” Shit, he’d left the sticky buns cooking. “I’m making bacon. Come on, boy.”

Trooper scooted his nose along the tan carpet, pushing . . . carpet fuzz? Mike looked closer, and there was no denying what he was seeing.

“Sierra, there are two pills under Nathan’s bed.” He pinched each one up and put them in his palm. “Lacey? Nathan?”

The teenager sat up slowly, going pale, his groggy eyes suddenly making sense in the worst possible way.

Sierra’s mother grabbed the doorframe for support. “Those are my sleeping pills.” Her chin trembled for an instant before she said, “Nathan, what are my sleeping pills doing in your room?”

PART 5

Burying a bone is easy. Remembering where ya put it? Easy, too. But trusting others not to steal your treasure if you dig it up and expose it to the world? Now that’s the tough part.

—TROOPER, CANINE PSYCHOLOGY 101

Nineteen

S
AVING NATHAN’S LIFE
was a tricky thing to pull off, but I did it.

The instant I saw Nathan sitting on his bed with the pill bottle in his hand and a glass of water beside him, I knew what he intended to do. That was the smell of death I’d sensed in the kid from day one.

So I waited until he pulled off the lid and then I leapt up onto the bed. He only got a couple down his throat before I ripped the bottle from his hand. I shook my head from side to side, spraying little pills all over the messy floor. I jumped down fast and gobbled those tiny tablets ASAP, hiding two under the bed just in case the humans needed an extra hint. Nathan tried to shush me but I barked and barked until he tossed me out of the room.

I wish I could claim credit for the idea, but I got the inspiration from a Second Chance Ranch Pomeranian named Lucky. He ate his owner’s marijuana stash in order to alert the parents to the teenager’s drug habit.

The pills hit my system faster than I could get the attention of a human. I hadn’t anticipated that. But I held on during the puking and the visit to the vet—I decided to forgive Doctor Vega for the tube down my throat and the needle in my paw since he didn’t get busy with Lacey. It wasn’t her time.

But back to Nathan. I had my mission to complete, to protect this family. The teenager sat on the edge of the bed, his face paler than sand as his family confronted him with the pills. He was groggy, too, probably from the couple he’d managed to swallow.

Finally, they understood how badly the Colonel’s son needed help.

I curled up on his pile of dirty clothes, breathed in the sweet smell of people sweat on the armpits of shirts and watched the McDaniels put the pieces of their lives back together.

Lacey walked to her son, while Mike wrapped an arm around Sierra, tucking her to his side in the doorway.

Lacey sat on the edge of the bed with a careful calm. Nathan’s jaw jutted defiantly. She zeroed in a laser-eyed look the Colonel had mentioned to me once or twice. It was the first time I’d seen it. A determined Lacey was a formidable force. “Nathan, why were these pills under your bed?”

He shrugged, his oversized T-shirt rippling on his bony frame. “Trooper must have brought the bottle in here.”

Little liar. I didn’t move, but I sent a growl-huff combo out there to make my opinion known.

Lacey wasn’t buying it, either. She shook her head. “I can see you’re not being honest with me. I’ve been trying to figure out the whole time how Trooper could have gotten the pill bottle from a zippered bag high in a cabinet. And the bottle wasn’t even chewed.”

“You must have forgotten leaving them somewhere else.” He tried one last bluff. “Obviously.”

“No,” Lacey said firmly, “I haven’t taken any since a couple of weeks after . . . after your father died.”

“You haven’t?” His eyes went wide, showing a vulnerability for the first time. Then the nice moment faded. “You just drink instead.”

“This isn’t about me,” she said with quiet authority.

“Maybe it should be.”

“Nathan!” Sierra pulled away from Mike, starting toward them.

Her mother held up a hand to stop her. “Son, I’ll make a deal with you. You talk honestly, then I will.”

“Why do I have to go first?”

“Because I’m the mom and there aren’t pills under my bed.”

“Fine. I took the pills from your cabinet because I wanted to take them. All. Every one of them,” he spit out with an insolent teenage sneer, but the undertone of pain couldn’t be missed. Not even by a dog. “I opened the bottle and the dumb dog ate them. I want out, Mom, I just want out.”

His face crumbled and the tears started. Lacey pulled him close and he didn’t resist. I heard a sniffle from the doorway, too, where Mike held Sierra. I tucked my head deeper into the dirty clothes pile, letting the “dumb dog” thing slide. I’d been called a whole lot worse.

Things weren’t perfect. They still had the two crazy people next door to deal with. However, I couldn’t do anything about that beyond peeing on their monster machines when they drove around to cause trouble.

But for the first time since I’d arrive at the Second Chance Ranch, I had faith the family could take care of themselves just fine.

*   *   *

SIERRA WAS RUNNING
on fumes.

A month ago, she hadn’t thought her world could be any crazier. She’d been wrong. Her love life was on borrowed time and her brother had just tried to kill himself.

She pulled the sticky buns out of the oven, over aware of Mike’s solid footsteps across the tile floor. “The ones in the middle didn’t burn.”

He opened the refrigerator. “I was planning to cut up a fruit salad and fry some bacon.”

“Fine, but I’m going to eat my body weight in carbohydrates.” She pulled a spatula from a crockery holder on the counter and dug out two sticky buns, nuts and butterscotch slathered on top. She didn’t even bother with a plate and just started eating at the stove.

Mike tossed a cantaloupe, some grapes and bananas on the counter. “Are you okay?”

How could he be so calm? “Not even close.”

His hands didn’t even tremble as he sliced the fruit, but there was a comfort in knowing someone was operating on all cylinders right now. “I knew Nathan was having trouble, but I never guessed . . . Hell, I should have seen this. The military briefs us all the time on signs to look for.”

“Signs?” She thumbed a drizzle of butterscotch from the corner of her mouth and couldn’t stop the flood of memories from their caramel encounter the night before. “What do you mean?”

“Signs of suicidal tendencies.”

Her stomach twisted and she set the roll back on the pan. “You get briefed on suicide prevention?”

“All the time—especially after deployments—to watch ourselves and keep track of our buddies. I should have listened closer to the part about watching for signs in our family.”

“
Our
family?” Now her stomach really knotted, with nerves and hope, a scary emotion to entertain right now on such a dark morning.

“Slip of the tongue.” He tossed chopped chunks of fruit into a serving bowl.

“Regardless, if anyone should blame themselves, it’s me—”

“Hey, don’t even go there.” He dried his hands on a dish towel and walked to her. “You already shoulder so much for your family.”

“My dad would want me to help,” she insisted, feeling more and more responsible by the second.

“Your father would want you to live your life.”

“I guess you would know.” She picked absently at the second sticky bun, her appetite drying up. “You spent more time with him than I did.”

“I’m sorry—”

She held up a hand. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean to sound bitter.” But she was. To be honest, today she was feeling bitter and angry, like life had stolen too much from her. “It’s just . . . as if my mother didn’t have enough grief in her life. Now this with my brother.” Her chest went tight and she couldn’t breathe, each word coming out between gasps. “My . . . baby . . . brother . . .”

Mike slid his arms around her and hauled her tight against his chest, her face tucked in his neck. He felt so good and solid, like forever. Except what if she lost him, too?

She was so damn tired of being strong. “Mike, I don’t know if I can live this kind of life.” She confessed between quiet tears. “But I also want to be with you, because no matter how hard I try not to, I still love you.”

His body went still with shock, and she couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t turning cartwheels over her confession.

She angled back, her hands up between them. She needed distance because the warmth of his arms around her was too tempting. “Honest to God I do, but I can’t be a military wife. The Army isn’t about a thirty-year career. Or even a twenty-year career. It permeates the rest of our lives.”

He didn’t answer or deny it. He just stared back at her with a sadness in his eyes she felt all the way to her toes. And until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much she wanted him to figure out a way around her fears. She’d hoped he would have an answer. That he would do for them what her father had been unable to manage.

The alarm from the front gate intercom sliced through the silence.

She grasped the distraction from this heart-wrenching conversation with both hands. She ran to the window and looked out to see . . . a police car? So much for happy distractions. What more could go wrong?

Her first instinct was to reach for Mike, but her pride stopped her. They’d never figure a way around this mess of their feelings if she didn’t stop turning to him every time he came around. She keyed in the security code and let the car come through.

Mike frowned. “Any idea what’s going on?”

“Not a clue.” She brushed past on her way to the front door, stepping out onto the wide veranda, one of the rockers creaking slowly as a bird took flight.

She shaded her eyes while the police car drove closer, dirt puffing from behind the tires. The car stopped in front, the door opening and Officer Parker stepping out.

“Is your mother here?” He dropped his hat on his head.

“She’s . . .” Tending a suicidal son? Bile rose in Sierra’s throat.

Mike stepped up. “She’s in the shower. Is there something we can help you with?”

“I just thought your mother should know.” He sidestepped Clementine loping in lazy three-legged circles around him. “The Hammonds are on the warpath. They’ve used all their connections to call an emergency council meeting. They want a temporary injunction to close down your rescue pending a deeper investigation into the fights that broke out when the gates gave way.”

Sierra grabbed the porch post, stung by the injustice. “The property was vandalized. That’s not our fault. And I wouldn’t be surprised if the Hammonds had something to do with it.” Okay, maybe that wasn’t fair, but damn it, life wasn’t fair.

“Hey, I’m on your side,” Officer Parker said. “That’s why I’m here giving you a heads-up. We know now that the vandals are tied to a dogfighting ring in the next county. But Valerie contends you didn’t have the proper security in place and the public isn’t safe. That this rescue draws in unsavory elements like that. I’m not saying she’s right or that they’re going to win.”