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A Conard County Homecoming
Rachel Lee
MAN'S – AND WOMAN'S? – BEST FRIENDConard County's returning war hero is a world away from the popular high school athlete Ashley Granger remembers. Zane McLaren doesn't want any fanfare—he doesn't want any human contact at all. But it seems Zane's affectionate golden retriever has other ideas about the decorated soldier and the teacher next door!Wounded in battle, Zane wants only to be left alone. He doesn't need anyone's pity, especially his outgoing, dog-loving neighbor's. Because it isn't just Ashley's legendary apple pie that's tempting Zane to quit hiding from life. Suddenly the Purple Heart recipient is having a hard time keeping his own heart under wraps. Has he found the woman who can help him heal the past and build a loving future together?
Man’s—And Woman’s?—Best Friend
Conard County’s returning war hero is a world away from the popular high school athlete Ashley Granger remembers. Zane McLaren doesn’t want any fanfare—he doesn’t want any human contact at all. But it seems Zane’s affectionate golden retriever has other ideas about the decorated soldier and the teacher next door!
Wounded in battle, Zane wants only to be left alone. He doesn’t need anyone’s pity, especially his outgoing, dog-loving neighbor’s. Because it isn’t just Ashley’s legendary apple pie that’s tempting Zane to quit hiding from life. Suddenly the Purple Heart recipient is having a hard time keeping his own heart under wraps. Has he found the woman who can help him heal the past and build a loving future together?
“Come in?” he asked Ashley as they parked in his driveway.
She didn’t hesitate, which relieved him. “Sure,” she said and climbed out.
His own exit took a little longer, and Ashley was waiting for him on the porch by the time he rolled up the ramp.
Nell took a quick dash in the yard, then followed eagerly into the house. The dog was good at fitting in her business when she had the chance.
“Stay for a while,” he asked Ashley. “I can offer you a soft drink if you’d like.”
She held up her latte cup. “Still plenty here.”
He rolled into the kitchen and up to the table, where he placed the box holding his extra meal. He didn’t go into the living room much. Getting on and off the sofa was a pain, hardly worth the effort most of the time. He supposed he could hang a bar in there like he had over his bed so he could pull himself up and over, but he hadn’t felt particularly motivated yet.
But then, almost before he knew what he was doing, he tugged on Ashley’s hand until she slid onto his lap.
“If I’m outta line, tell me,” he said gruffly. “No social skills, like I said.”
He watched one corner of her mouth curve upward. “I don’t usually like to be manhandled. However, this time I think I’ll make an exception.”
* * *
Conard County: The Next Generation
A Conard County Homecoming
Rachel Lee
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
RACHEL LEE was hooked on writing by the age of twelve and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.
To Ashley R. Granger, a very sweet lady who offered to let me use her name for a character. Thanks, Ashley!
Contents
Cover (#u4b450d14-fbe0-59f5-a2a6-cba6a6c407ea)
Back Cover Text (#u3b2efc16-2c5d-5c00-a6bd-43ca2adf4fdd)
Introduction (#u098a1d67-5666-5ba2-ba7b-ae7df8017b9e)
Title Page (#u9d176137-6e6e-52c5-b953-151f4a877fbe)
About the Author (#u206264e6-fb1f-5103-9c91-ea582fadeee3)
Dedication (#u6f602beb-7121-556a-88b6-394f129b84af)
Chapter One (#u7b833887-c31a-59fa-8c88-804528dff6bb)
Chapter Two (#u0323c7af-0fee-54e3-9fbd-e4a97c65e8ad)
Chapter Three (#u0be17fa6-5ba7-5a40-a25b-40a18ecba2a8)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#uca9c3da9-09b7-5c84-badd-12a901cbfede)
Zane McLaren pulled into the driveway after dark. Operating the hand controls of his van with the ease of familiarity, he parked so that the newly constructed ramp would be near the sliding door in the side of the van.
It was ready. His old family home had been prepped for his wheelchair existence, and only the service dog on the front seat beside him seemed happy to realize the journey had ended. Nell, a golden Lab, woofed her approval as he turned the engine off.
Arriving after dark had been a choice. By now everyone in Conard County, Wyoming, who cared to hear about it knew that Zane McLaren was coming home for the first time since his parents’ funerals nearly fifteen years ago, and the ramps he’d had constructed before his arrival let them know his condition if they hadn’t already heard from workmen or his housekeeper.
The fat had probably already been chewed over by those who remembered: great high school athlete in a wheelchair nearly twenty years later as a result of his military service. Heads had shaken, and curiosity had awakened.
The thought of that curiosity had brought him home in the darkness. He wasn’t ready to face a parade of well-wishers, many of whom would be mostly interested in discovering how bad off he was.
He’d lost the use of his legs two years before. Rehab had followed, then adaptation to his new life. Now he just wanted to be left alone. He’d have been more anonymous in a city, but the wars had left him with other scars, too. He couldn’t handle the noise, the traffic, the constant crush of people. He needed quiet and solitude, and he figured this was the best place to get it. Once everyone understood he just wanted to be left alone, they’d leave him alone. As he seemed to remember, people in this town were mostly respectful.
If it didn’t work out, he’d sell the house and move on. There was nothing holding him anywhere now.
He pivoted the driver’s seat and used his arms to lift himself into the wheelchair behind. Ready to go. Nell jumped off her seat and came to stand beside him, her tail swishing happily.
She was probably desperate to hit the grass, he thought with mild amusement. After locking himself in place, he pressed a button. The van door pulled open. The pneumatic lift extended itself, carrying him outside. Then another button lowered him to the ground. When he’d rolled off, Nell jumped to do her part. She nosed yet another button, the lift rose and retracted, and the door eased closed. He scratched her ears, letting him know he was pleased with her. She grinned back at him, happy.
“Go do your stuff,” he told her.
She didn’t need a second suggestion. She dashed immediately to the grass and began sniffing around. Apparently, the choice of where to relieve herself required some investigation.
Smiling faintly, he reached for the wheels of his chair and pushed himself toward the ramp. It felt sturdy beneath him; the slope was gentle enough, with a surface that had been roughened with outdoor carpeting to prevent slipping. Safe in the rain. Heating wires below for the snow. Perfect for his needs.
He reached the porch and pivoted, waiting for Nell. For the first time, it occurred to him that he might need to hire someone to clean up after her. He could do it unless the ground became soggy enough to bog down on, or the snow too deep. Little things. It was most often the little things that caused him problems now and often took him by surprise. He already had a handle on most of the big things.
Sitting still, waiting for his dog, he allowed the autumn chill to start reaching him. A lot of warmth came from movement, as he’d learned, and he wasn’t moving much at the moment. Still, he waited patiently. Nell was on new ground and probably needed to check it all out. He didn’t have the heart to interrupt her.
At last Nell finished up and came racing to his side. He unlocked the front door with a key that was as old as he was, and together he and his dog entered his old home, flicking on lights as he went. He ignored the stairway to the two upstairs bedrooms. That part of the house was unavailable to him—not that he needed it.
The house smelled different, but it had been thoroughly cleaned, and work had been done inside to ready things for him, like a new shower and a sturdy framework over his bed. Eventually, if he decided to stay, he’d have to change the kitchen as well, but that was going to be an expensive proposition. Right now he could manage well enough with standard counter heights and sinks. He’d had to learn.
The dog bowls were waiting, and he quickly filled one with water and bent to place it in Nell’s new feeding stand. Most things he’d been able to ship ahead, but some had had to be replaced. This was one of them. While she lapped water eagerly, he went to the pantry and found that the housekeeper he’d hired had filled it as directed. Everything was on the lower shelves or floors, nothing too high for him to reach. The bag of dog food in one corner was the first thing he grabbed. Nell had been awfully patient today, and she danced eagerly as he filled her bowl. Instead of putting the bag away, he set it to one side for the moment.
Opening the refrigerator wasn’t exactly easy, as it was a tight space for him in his chair. He knew Nell could do it for him if he just tied a towel to the handle, but he was jealous of every bit of independence he could protect.
Opening it, he found everything he’d requested. For now he just grabbed a beer.
Home. He wondered if he’d ever feel he was home again.
Then he heard the knock on his front door and almost decided not to answer it. He’d come here to be by himself and didn’t want a tide of well-meaning or curious neighbors sweeping through. Ignore it, he thought.
* * *
Ashley Granger knocked on Zane’s front door, a little nervous but determined. His housekeeper, Carol Cathcart, had worked with her for years as an aide at her school before taking this job with Zane, and the two had become friends of sorts. Carol had been the one to mention Zane was arriving today.
In her hand, Ashley held a warm Dutch apple pie she’d made after school as a welcoming gift for Zane. Ashley had thought a pie would be a nice gesture. Especially her famous Dutch apple.
She remembered Zane from school, sort of. She’d been five years behind him, which had precluded a friendship of any kind, but it was hard not to be aware of him. A great athlete, popular, good-looking...everyone knew Zane, if only at a distance. Then he’d left to join the military, and the last time she’d seen him had been at his father’s funeral years ago. His mother had died a year earlier.
Which meant he had few ties with this town, nearly twenty years later. She was kind of surprised he’d choose to come back here, but he had, and it seemed to her that an apple pie was the least she could do.
She rapped again, but there was no answer. He might need time to get to the front door—she really had no idea how mobile he was now—or maybe he was already in bed. He must have had a long drive. Glancing at her watch yet again, she thought that nine o’clock didn’t seem so late, but this was probably a different time zone for him.
Well, the pie would hold until tomorrow.
She had just started turning away when the door opened and a rough voice said, “What do you want?”
Okay, that was a pleasant opening. She had a bit of a temper, and it flared now. She faced him. “Nothing. I was just going to give you a pie.”
But in an instant her mind took a snapshot of a broad-shouldered man, still wearing a jacket, sitting in a wheelchair. Beside him, a golden Lab stood watch. God, was it possible the years had made Zane more attractive? The boy had become a man, even more appealing.
Dark eyes, dark hair a little on the shaggy side, the same strong jaw, but older. Much older. The years had taken a toll, leaving his face weathered and a bit lined. Harsh suns and winds, and maybe losing the use of his legs.
“Of course,” she continued stiffly, “if you don’t want it...”
But then he pushed his chair back from the door. “Come in,” he said gruffly.
On legs that felt rigid for some reason, she entered a house that was a clone of her own, except for the decorating. There was little decorating here except that left behind by his parents.
She started to reach for the door to close it against the growing chill, but the dog beat her to it, nosing it shut until she heard the latch click.
“What a beautiful dog,” she said after clearing her throat.
“Nell. My service dog.”
“Then I guess I shouldn’t pet her.”
“Only with my permission.” Then he pivoted his chair with amazing ease and led the way to the kitchen. “No coffee,” he said over his shoulder. “I didn’t make any.”
She hesitated. “I didn’t come to stay. I just wanted to give you this pie. You don’t have to entertain me.”
“Good.”
Well, that was blunt, she thought as her initial irritation began to give way to an unexpected, inexplicable amusement. So he was a hard case. Well, if that’s how he wanted it, fine.
“I’m Ashley Granger, by the way,” she said as they entered the kitchen. “You probably don’t remember me.”
“No.”
Ah, monosyllables. When he waved at the kitchen table and its ancient Formica, she placed the pie on it. There was only one chair, and she wondered if she should even sit. But then he pointed to it, so she pulled it out and sat.
He wheeled himself closer to the table and picked up the beer that was sitting there. Then, as if suddenly remembering himself, he asked, “Want one?”
“No, thank you. Anyway, I live next door and Carol mentioned that you were arriving tonight, so I made a pie. No big deal. And I promised I wasn’t here to visit. You must be tired after your trip.”
She felt a poke on her denim-clad thigh and looked down. Nell was looking up at her with great interest. “Um...”
“Does she frighten you?”
“No,” Ashley said. “But I’m not allowed to pet her, and I think that’s what she wants.”
“Sit, Nell,” he said. “It’s okay.” Then those dark, strangely unrevealing eyes settled on Ashley again. “Go ahead and pet her, but just briefly. She’s not supposed to get spoiled.”
So Ashley forked her fingers into amazingly silky fur, and she could have sworn the dog grinned at her. All too soon Zane called her to heel and she went to lie beside his chair.
“So Carol mentioned me,” he said after taking a sip from his longneck. “How much has she said?”
“Has she been gossiping, you mean? She’s no gossip. She said she’d taken a job as your housekeeper. The only other thing she said was that you were arriving tonight. Otherwise, not a word.”
He nodded slowly. “Thank you for the pie. But I may as well be honest. I came home because I need my space and my quiet.”
“A hermitage.”
“Pretty much.”
She nodded but felt a twinge of disappointment. She’d like to get to know him, and she didn’t feel isolation was the best way to deal with his problems. Surely, he needed a community, people to spend time with, to give him a sense of belonging.
But it was not her decision. Having lived her entire life here, except during college, she was used to being surrounded by good friends and people she knew. She couldn’t imagine wanting to be as alone as Zane wanted.
She had promised she wasn’t here to visit, but it felt oddly wrong to just leave quickly. Maybe that was her own social upbringing, not the situation. Then he startled her, just as she was deciding to depart.
“Maybe I do remember you,” he said quietly. “Your hair. It’s almost exactly the color of a new-minted penny. I don’t think I’ve seen that before.”
“Strawberry blonde,” she said, with a little shrug of her shoulder.
“No, it’s almost unique. That’s why I noticed it once. You were just a kid, but the hair was eye-catching.”
“Well, thank you.” Surprised by the tack he had taken, and feeling just a smidge uncomfortable over the attention to her hair, she didn’t know what else to say.
“What do you do?”
“I teach fourth grade.”
He nodded. “Do you like it?”
“Most of the time. It has its moments, like anything else, I suppose.”
He pushed his wheelchair closer, so that it fit under the table, and rested his folded arms on it. “I’m not really good company these days,” he said flatly. “I need you and everyone else to understand that. Right now I’ve got a bag full of stuff I need to work through, and sometimes I can flip out a little. Noise and crowding bother me. So I’m better just left alone, because I don’t want to be rude and I don’t want to scare anyone.”
She blinked. Well, that was food for thought. “You want me to tell everyone to just stay away?”
“As many as you can. Just call me antisocial, because that’s what I am.”
What a change from the popular high school athlete. She couldn’t even imagine what he’d been through or the ways it must have affected him. All she knew was that he evoked a very deep sadness in her heart with those words. “The detritus of war,” she murmured before she realized she was speaking aloud.
“Exactly. That’s me. And while I appreciate the pie, I really don’t want a stream of people at my door.”
“Okay.” She frowned. “Except that I didn’t mean you were the detritus. That’s what you’re dealing with.”
“How the hell would you know?”
Her legs started to gather under her. This would be a good time to leave, she thought, but then she saw his hand gripping Nell’s ruff. Clinging. This man needed more than himself, and he didn’t even know it.
But it was pointless to argue. She had no background she could use to claim that she understood what he faced. What did she know, after all, about being paraplegic, or suffering from PTSD, which was what she guessed he meant about frightening people. Only what she’d read, and that simply wasn’t enough.
Did he really think he could handle this all by himself? Or did he want solitude for something darker? She certainly couldn’t imagine healing in a vacuum.
“I have a boy in my class who’s quadriplegic,” she remarked, trying to ease the tension he’d brought into the room with his confession.
“So?”
“I think he’d love to have a dog like Nell. I bet she can do almost anything.”
He looked almost sideswiped by the change in direction. Maybe he’d hoped she’d get mad and walk out. But something in Ashley had stiffened. This man could be as rude as he wanted, but she wasn’t just going to walk away and forget him. That seemed wrong even though he was asking for it.
“Anyway, Mikey’s family can’t afford a service dog. We’ve got a K-9 officer in the county now who trains police dogs, and he’s doing a little work with service animals for people who can’t afford them. Maybe, if you can crawl out of your shell long enough, you could tell him what a dog for Mikey would need to be able to do.”
She was a bit startled to hear the acid in her tone, because she hadn’t intended it. But there it was, clear as the words she had spoken. That did it, she thought. He’d never want to set eyes on her again. Who was she to imply criticism of a wounded vet?
She pushed her chair back, ready to leave now, but Zane stopped her. “What’s his name, this K-9 officer?”
“Cadell Marcus.”
“Maybe I’ll call him. I dunno.” He rubbed his hand over his face.
“Sorry,” she said. “You’ve only just arrived—you must be exhausted from your trip. I shouldn’t have pressed you about anything. I only meant to say welcome home and leave the pie.”
But as he dropped his hand from his face, she saw him staring beyond her. Far beyond her, as if he were seeing another place and another time. She froze, wondering if she had triggered a problem for him somehow. Maybe her being here was enough. She waited, not sure if he’d want her to just leave, not sure he’d even hear her if she bade him farewell.
God, she wished she knew what to do.
Then she learned something very important—Nell knew what to do. She rose onto her haunches, put her forepaws on the arm of his chair and stretched her head up until she could lick his cheek. Over and over again.
At first Zane didn’t react. Not even a twitching muscle. His gaze remained black, almost empty. Nell continued to lick his cheek with occasional pauses to nudge him gently.
It seemed to go on forever, although it could only have been a minute or two. Then Nell barked and Zane blinked, his eyes focusing once again. He reached out to wrap his arm around the dog, giving her a squeeze before letting her go. At once she dropped to a sitting position beside him, but she never took her attention from him.
Ashley added it all up and realized that the least of Nell’s service was performing physical tasks for Zane. She was an emotional lifeline, drawing him back when he neared the precipice. Providing comfort more than physical care.
God, it was terrible to think of what had brought Zane to this point. Even her worst imaginings probably failed completely.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice sounding rusty.
“No need,” she answered promptly. And really, she didn’t think he needed to apologize for being haunted by the demons of war. Almost nobody could escape that unscathed. At least she assumed that had been what just happened. She hoped she hadn’t triggered it.
Deciding he must be uncomfortable now, considering what she had witnessed, and considering he’d already expressed his desire to be left alone, she again gathered herself to rise, opening her mouth to say good-night.
He forestalled her. “Sorry you had to see that. Did it last long?”
She settled back into the chair. “A minute or two. Don’t apologize. I just hope I didn’t cause it.”
“There isn’t always a cause. It just happens. It happens less when I’m away from known triggers, but it still happens. And I guess you’ve figured out that Nell does more for me than open doors and grab my socks.”
“She seems wonderful,” Ashley answered sincerely.
“She is. She responds immediately when I start to...slip, and she helps call me back quickly. Before Nell I could fall into flashbacks that lasted hours. Once it was even days.” He grimaced. “My neighbors didn’t much appreciate that last one.”
She hesitated then asked because she wanted to know. “The flashbacks...they don’t help you at all?”
“No.”
Well, that was pretty grim. Dissociative episodes with no purpose except to make him miserable. A mind so overwhelmed that it kept trying to absorb what had happened and was totally unable to do so. Reliving horror.
“Thank God for Nell,” she said finally. It seemed like such a weak response to what he had revealed.
He patted his lap, and she watched with amazement and amusement as Nell jumped up and did her best to curl up on him. The dog licked his chin, and for the first time she saw Zane laugh. Such a nice laugh. The dog apparently liked it, too, wagging her tail rapidly.
“She barely fits,” Ashley remarked.
“She has to work at it,” he agreed. His hands ran down Nell’s furry back. “She’s a lifesaver.”
Somehow she didn’t believe he was exaggerating.
“Anyway, I was lucky. Some of my friends got together and gave her to me. I guess the little boy in your class could use the same kind of luck. So this Cadell guy is also trying to provide service dogs?”
“He’s trying. He mainly trains police dogs, search-and-rescue dogs, but he’s aware of the need. He consults with people who can help him figure out how to do it. Your advice might be very helpful.”
He nodded. “Thing is, I don’t know how she was trained. When I got Nell, she was on top of it all. I guess I could email one of my friends to see if they know who the trainer was. The trainer would be more helpful than I could ever be.”
It was probably true, but Ashley suspected this was another way of keeping his isolation intact. Who was she to question his methods of dealing with his problems?
“Thanks,” she said. “Mikey could sure use something to brighten his days. He hasn’t been paralyzed long, only the last year, and he still has trouble dealing with it. The idea that kids can just bounce right back from anything... Well, it’s not always true.”
“How was he hurt?”
“Thrown from a horse. His mom told me his back was broken in several places and he became quadriplegic. They’re grateful he’s still alive, but I’m not sure Mikey always is.”
“Why should he be?” Zane asked roughly. “God spare me the Pollyannas. Pardon me, but it doesn’t always help to hear how lucky you are.”
Ashley drew a breath. She wasn’t shocked—she knew he was right, but few people said such things so baldly.
“Count your blessings,” he said. “Sure. That works. On a good day. On a bad day you just wish you’d never survived.”
The stark truth rendered her speechless. Every single word that sprang to mind in answer struck her as a useless aphorism. This man was dealing with very real and very ugly memories and impulses. No words could offer any kind of succor.
“Now you know,” he said. “That’s why I don’t want to fill my life with people. I’ve rattled you badly several times since you walked through my door. Who the hell needs to be around that?”
“I’m fine,” she protested. Then, seeking safer ground immediately because she wanted to change the direction of his thinking as quickly as possible, “Don’t you need some modifications in this kitchen?”
Startled, his head jerked back a bit. Nell jumped down from his lap and took up her watchful position. “My kitchen?” he repeated.
“Well, what else can I talk about?”
He frowned faintly. “The weather?”
“Cold and getting colder. I love autumn. What about the kitchen?”
To her amazement, a slow smile made it halfway across his face. “The kitchen has to wait. Expensive, and there’s no point in doing it unless I decide to stay here.”
“Ah.” So he wasn’t sure he was settled.
Deciding once again it was time to make her departure, she rose. “I hope you enjoy the pie. It was a pleasure to see you again, Zane. Sorry I intruded for so long.”
She zipped her jacket, knowing it would be even colder outside now. “I’ll see myself out. And, by the way, if you should need anything, I’m next door.” She pointed. “I’m home most afternoons and evenings, because a teacher’s day doesn’t end when school lets out and I always have paperwork. Good night.”
Then she marched out of that house with enough to think about that she’d probably be up late into the night.
She had no idea what she’d expected when she knocked on his door, but now she was deeply disturbed. Whoever Zane had become, he didn’t at all resemble the young athlete she remembered.
He probably remembered that kid, though, and it couldn’t make his life one bit easier now.
* * *
Zane sat in his kitchen, not moving, for a long time. The smell of the apple pie filled the room, and he clung to it as he kneaded Nell’s neck.
Simple things. Good things. The schoolteacher had reminded him. Neighbors and apple pies. Running next door for a cup of sugar. Friendly faces on the streets. A world he hadn’t known for a long time.
She was cute, that one. Beautiful, even, but there was no room in his hell for a woman. He’d only drag her down. Adapting to a wheelchair hadn’t been as difficult as dealing with himself and the wars.
Would he like to have the use of his legs back? Sure. Would he like to erase his memory? Absolutely. He’d trade his legs for a clean slate.
But he wasn’t going to get either, so he had to find a way to make peace with himself. That was proving difficult indeed.
He’d tried group counseling with other vets. It had helped to know he wasn’t alone in his reactions, feelings and nightmares, but that didn’t get rid of any of them. He’d tried medications that were supposed to improve his PTSD, but he’d tossed them all because of Nell. She did more good for him than any pill. Anyway, until they invented a pill for selective memory loss, he was bound to live with himself.
It wasn’t that he hated himself. But he’d been a sailor and done a SEAL’s job, and inevitably horror had been etched on his memory.
Sighing, he rolled out of the kitchen, away from the enticing aroma of the pie and to his bedroom where one carved wooden box, a gift from a friend, waited on his aged dresser, set there by Carol when she unpacked the boxes he’d sent ahead. Opening it, he took out the medal presentation cases within and looked at the wages of his war.
A Purple Heart with a cluster pinned to the ribbon, the cluster for his second wounding, the injury that had paralyzed him. A Bronze Star with multiple clusters. A Silver Star with clusters. A Navy Cross. Campaign and other ribbons, but they didn’t hold his attention. Those stars and the Navy Cross in particular said he was a hero.
Why didn’t he feel like one? He snapped the cases closed and put them back in the box. Once he’d mentioned that he was thinking of ditching them, but an aging Vietnam vet had told him not to. “Someday,” he’d said, “you’ll want them. Or someone else who loves you will. Put them away and save them. They’re the only reward you’ll get.”
The only reward. Yup.
He closed his eyes, remembering the kid who had signed up nearly twenty years ago, wanting the GI Bill, liking the promises the navy gave him of an education. Not much later he’d found himself getting an education of a very different kind. To this day he couldn’t begin to explain to himself why he’d volunteered for the SEALs. Maybe because he was eighteen and full of hubris or too much testosterone. He honestly didn’t know.
But he’d done it, had passed all the arduous training, and had become a very different man in the process. He had been molded into a weapon.
Funny thing was, he didn’t regret that choice. Never once felt he’d made the wrong one. But now he paid the price in memories that never left him.
One hell of an education, indeed.
Shaking his head a little, he wheeled back to the kitchen, deciding to have a piece of the apple pie Ashley had left. The aroma was making his mouth water.
Nell sat hopefully beside him as he cut into the pie. Treat. She had very speaking eyes, he often thought. Hard not to read that she wanted her biscuit or a rawhide bone.
The pantry was still open, so he said, “Nell, get a bone.”
Her tail wagging, Nell trotted into the pantry, found the plastic bag of bones and brought them out, dropping them onto his lap. He ripped off the paper label across the top and pulled the bag open. In the process, he loosened the staples holding it shut, and he made sure to gather them into a pile on the table. He’d hate for Nell to get into trouble with one while picking up the bag.
She accepted her rawhide bone with a woof and a wag then settled on the floor to gnaw happily.
And now he could taste the pie. It was every bit as scrumptious as it smelled. Closing his eyes, he savored the first mouthful, tasting its every nuance with pleasure before he swallowed. It had been a long time since he’d had a good pie, but this one was spectacular. Whether he wanted further contact or not, he was going to have to compliment the chef on this one.
Which meant making a connection he really didn’t want to make. Ashley Granger was a beautiful young woman, and he didn’t want to put any shadows on her face or in her heart.
While he didn’t wallow in self-pity, he always tried to be straight with himself. His ultimate conclusion was that he was poison. Until he found a stable place inside himself, a way to reenter normal life, he didn’t want to poison anyone else.
He looked down at Nell, his companion and aide, and once again saw his life with stark clarity. All these years, with one mission coming after another, with the time he wasn’t in the field mostly used for training and planning, he’d never felt like a fish out of water. The member of a tightly knit fellowship, surrounded by comrades with the same job, the same worldview—he’d belonged.
Now he was a man who couldn’t walk and who depended on a dog to keep him from sliding into a past that he no longer lived.
Yeah, he had no business bringing anyone else into this mess, even peripherally, until he got his head sorted out.
But Ashley sure had tempted him.
Chapter Two (#uca9c3da9-09b7-5c84-badd-12a901cbfede)
Ashley went to school in the morning with nearly a bushel basket full of apples for her students. She’d swiped some for the pie yesterday, but the basket was still brimming. A great time of year for apples, and she’d made a tradition of ordering a bushel each fall for her students.
They all loved apples, and while she limited them to one a day, they still disappeared fast. With a class size of nineteen, four to five days would nearly empty the basket. When they got down to the last few, a spelling bee would determine who got the last of them.
Her students usually loved the treat, and she felt good about being able to give it to them. Special orders were no problem at the grocery, and she’d been doing it for so many years that the produce manager always had a list of prices and quality for her. This year he’d recommended the Jonathans, a type of apple she loved herself.
The students began arriving, and when they saw the apples, excitement began to grow. They’d heard of her tradition. “Not until after lunch,” she reminded them.
Then Mikey’s mother rolled him in and pushed him up to the table the school had provided specially so he could get his wheelchair under it comfortably. It was also wider than usual so his mother could sit beside him throughout the day and help with his assignments. She turned the pages in the books for him to read, and when worksheets had to be filled out, she asked him which answers he chose.
Today Mikey appeared to be in a fairly good mood. Ashley had the greatest admiration for his mother, Marian Landau, whose patience never seemed to flag. It couldn’t be easy for her to drive him in every day and then sit beside him throughout the school day. She could have chosen homeschooling, but she had told Ashley that she wanted him to have social interactions.
“They might not all be good ones,” Marian had said. “I know how cruel kids can be. But I also know how nice they can be, and I don’t want him raised in isolation. Sooner or later he’ll have to deal with the rest of the world.”
So far this year, not a single student had been cruel to Mikey. Some hung back, as if uncomfortable, but a few routinely made an effort to speak to him, or to ask him to join their groups when they split into them.
A fund-raiser was being planned to get Mikey a better wheelchair, an electric one he’d be able to control with puffs on a straw. Dang, those things were expensive, Ashley thought as she called her excited and slightly rowdy group to order. But then so were service dogs, and Cadell Marcus was already trying to solve that problem. She spent a moment’s hope that Zane would actually call Cadell and offer some advice.
“Okay,” she said when everyone was settled and looking at her, “there’s an apple rule. The rule is simple. If we get all of our morning’s work done before lunch, everyone gets an apple. If you guys cut up and waste time...uh-oh.”
Giggles ran through the room. She smiled and plunged into the morning’s math lesson. The introduction to fractions always caused some confusion, but today she had apples and a small paring knife to help her. Given the times, she’d had to get permission to bring that knife, small as it was. She couldn’t help remembering her own childhood, when every boy had carried a pocketknife. No more. The zero-tolerance policy that had begun sweeping the nation a couple of decades ago had finally reached this little town. Considering how many of her students lived on ranches, at home they very likely carried their pocketknives and used much more dangerous implements.
An awful lot of her students, girls and boys alike, would be going hunting this fall with their parents. In fact, one of her lessons at this time of year was about hunting safety and laws. Sometimes she was able to get the game warden, Desi Jenks, to come in and give a talk.
But fractions required her whole attention, even with slicing an apple into halves, quarters and thirds. It was difficult for kids, for some reason, to see it for real and then transfer it to symbols on paper. That always took a while.
Eventually she had the pleasure of seeing understanding begin to dawn.
By the end of the day, however, despite recesses to let them run off energy, her kids were getting antsy. Their response to weariness was not to fall asleep, but to need something new to do. When she dismissed them, they tore out of the room like a stampeding herd.
But Mikey and his mom remained. They always did, to avoid the crush. Ashley pulled her chair over to chat with them a bit.
“How’s it going, Mikey?” she asked. “Do you hate fractions, too?”
He smiled shyly. “They’re easy.”
“Well, glory be,” Ashley said, clapping her hands together. “Someone gets it.”
Mikey laughed.
Marian spoke. “Cadell is trying to get us a service dog. I think I mentioned that. Well, he’s trying to train one for us.”
“I can hardly wait,” Mikey piped up.
“But...” Marian hesitated. “The dog can come to school with him?”
“Of course. Just let me know before you bring him so I can lay the ground rules.” She looked at Mikey. “You are going to make so many kids jealous, being able to bring your dog to school.”
As soon as she said it, she wished she could take the words back. She was sure Marian didn’t find anything about Mikey’s situation enviable. She was relieved that Mikey didn’t take it wrong. He laughed. “Yup. I’m special.”
“You sure are.” Ashley looked at Marian and saw the shadows in the woman’s eyes, the unguarded moment when her entire face sagged. Their eyes met, understanding passed, then Marian put on her cheerful face again.
“Time to go, Mikey.”
Ashley walked them to the front door and waved them goodbye before returning to her classroom to gather up her own items. Lesson planner, papers to grade and some books she used for planning.
A teacher’s day was never done, but she didn’t mind it in the least. Nothing could compare with watching a child conquer a difficult subject or idea. Nothing could compare with the child’s moment of triumph when understanding dawned.
The fractions, however, were going to take a little longer. She laughed to herself and headed out with her jacket and backpack.
As she was leaving, she ran into the seriously pregnant Julie Archer, the kindergarten teacher. “Coffee this weekend?” Julie asked. “Connie and Marisa have already said yes.”
“You sure we won’t be meeting in the waiting room at the hospital?”
“I wish!” Julie smiled. “Nobody told me the last month would be the longest. Nobody.”
“Why scare you?” Ashley asked. “Besides, since I’ve never been pregnant, I couldn’t possibly have told you.”
“The other girls could have,” Julie retorted. “Lucky Marisa, she was early. So, Saturday. Around two?”
“Unless something comes up, absolutely.”
By the time she arrived home, Ashley was beginning to feel her own fatigue from the day. Those fourth graders kept her on her toes. They were bright and inquisitive, and heaven help her if she ever misspoke or inadvertently contradicted herself. Which, she reminded herself, meant they were paying attention.
But it wasn’t a job that gave her a chance to let her guard down and relax, and today she’d had lunchroom duty as well.
She glanced toward Zane’s house. His van was still in the driveway, but otherwise the place looked unoccupied. Well, he wanted to be left alone, and she guessed he was getting what he wanted.
Inside she started a small pot of coffee for herself, hoping to find a little energy for the work ahead. Her students had done a lot of math problems for homework last night, plus today’s worksheets, and she needed to grade them all. The quicker the response, the better the students learned.
Then there was dinner. She looked in her pantry, then in her fridge and nearly groaned. There was food, but not one thing looked appealing to her. Besides, for some reason she didn’t feel like cooking. What she wanted to do was pull a box or can off the shelf, or a dinner tray from the freezer, and be done with it.
Her fault for not following her program of cooking on weekends and freezing meals for herself. She’d let it slide, and now she was going to pay. Even a search to the very back of her freezer didn’t yield a container of stew or lasagna.
She finally poured a cup of coffee for herself and sat at her kitchen table, drumming her fingers on the wood, thinking. She was more efficient than this. Usually. But lately she seemed to have been letting things slide, like her meals.
And when you let things slide, as she told her students, you got yourself into the last-minute woes. Now, tired or not, she needed to cook.
Mentally throwing her hands up, wondering what had been getting into her lately, she went back to the pantry and started rooting for ingredients. She prided herself on efficiency, so what was going on?
She found some yellow rice and remembered the thick slices of ham she’d bought to cook for breakfast. Some of that cut into the rice would make a meal along with veggies. Saved.
She was just pulling her rice cooker out from under the counter when she heard a knock at her door. It didn’t sound like the usual tap-tap. The raps were spaced farther apart. Curious, she went to open the door.
Nell, Zane’s golden retriever, was standing there, wagging her tail with a rawhide bone in her mouth. She must have used that to knock on the door. Wow.
Then she looked past Nell and saw Zane in his wheelchair at the end of her sidewalk.
“Check her saddlebag,” Zane said. “Your pie plate is in there.”
“Oh, thank you! You could have just called me to come and get it.” But she looked down at the dog and smiled. “However, I do like your errand girl.” Bending, she dared to give Nell a quick pat before lifting the flap on the saddlebag and pulling out the glass dish.
She straightened. “So she knocks on doors, too?”
“Yup. The pie is great. I still have nearly half of it in my fridge, but I’m not sure it will survive until morning. Thank you.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.” Then awkwardness hit her. Ordinarily she would have invited him in for a cup of coffee. But there was no way he could get up the three steps to her porch. Her house was as inaccessible to him as a fortress. Discomfort commingled with sadness washed through her. This was awful.
He gave a whistle, and Nell turned and trotted back to him.
Ashley decided to just be frank about her awkwardness. “I’m sorry I can’t invite you in for coffee, but I don’t know how you could get up here.”
He smiled faintly. “That’s what I have arms for. Anyway, I only wanted to bring back the pie plate. My mother guarded hers like a dragon with a hoard of gold. If a neighbor didn’t bring one back soon enough, she’d go over to hunt for it.”
Ashley had to laugh. “I’m not quite that attached.” He started to wheel away when impulse took her by surprise and she said, “I was just about to start making my dinner. Yellow rice with ham, broccoli on the side. Would you like some?”
He froze. She watched it happen. He didn’t even look at her, but he was no longer moving. Oh, God, he’d warned her he wanted to be alone, and now she’d ignored him. After this, he might never want to talk to her again, and she would have only herself to blame for that.
Or he could just bite her head off right now and leave her in a quivering mess. God, what was wrong with her? He’d been perfectly clear, and she’d just been perfectly stupid.
Then he astonished her. He turned his head and looked at her. She braced for the scolding. Instead, he said, “I’d like that, if you don’t mind.”
Then he rolled away along the sidewalk and up his ramp.
She didn’t move for a minute or so while he entered his house, with Nell’s assistance for the door, and disappeared.
She had heard that right, hadn’t she? He’d like her to bring over dinner?
Back inside, she changed out of her wool skirt and sweater into jeans and a blue flannel shirt. Okay, then. If she was going to cook for two, she was going to do it over there. If that was too big a trespass, she wanted to know it now.
She had never been into playing mind games. While she felt bad for all Zane had been through, that didn’t mean she was going to let him run hot and cold like a kitchen tap. Either he wanted real company, or he didn’t. If he expected her to just bring over a plate of food, she wasn’t about to do that. She was part of the package.
She jammed most of what she needed into her rice maker and a paper bag to carry the rest of it next door, then looked at the fresh pot of coffee she’d just made. Dang, she wanted another cup of coffee. There’d been none since this morning.
Well, she seemed to remember he had a coffeemaker on his counter. If not, she’d come back for hers. For now, she switched it off.
She had the odd feeling she was about to enter a boxing ring. Well, time would tell.
* * *
Zane wondered what had possessed him. Asking her to bring dinner over? The next thing he knew, she’d probably be delivering food to him and trying to help him in ways he didn’t want to be helped.
Independence mattered to him. Yeah, he needed some assistance, like the bar over the bed that helped him transfer to and from his wheelchair. The shower seat and security bars. The dog, his wonderful Nell.
But most of that meant he could still look after himself in ways that mattered. He could cook on a counter that was at chest height, although it wasn’t the easiest thing. He could do most everything one way or another with a little adaptation.
But he really did have a problem with PTSD. Why it had all blown up on him after he lost the use of his legs, he didn’t know. He’d survived a lot of years going in and out of danger and war with few apparent problems. Then, wham! It was almost like once the focus was broken he became broken.
Unfortunately, when the shift had occurred in him, he’d found triggers everywhere, things that could throw him back in time. Sounds, smells, even some voices. And sometimes he couldn’t figure out any reason for it to hit him. Those instances were the worst of all, because he had no idea what to avoid. Sometimes he didn’t even have a flashback, just a surging, almost uncontrollable rage.
So he’d come here to wrestle with it by himself. He knew there was a group here he could join, but he wasn’t yet ready to do that again. It would be good for him, but the move had disturbed him in strange ways and he felt a need to settle in first.
Wondering at himself, he wheeled to the kitchen and began the complicated process of making coffee. He had to lock his chair in place and pull himself up on his elbows to fill the pot and put the grounds in the basket. Practice had made it easier, but it was a crazy dance all the same. Still, he’d have had to live without coffee and a lot of other things if he hadn’t learned to pull himself up.
Once the pot was turned on, he settled back into his chair. Then came the knock at the door. He unlocked his chair and rolled out to greet Ashley, thinking that he needed to get new knobs for the door. Nell could operate the lever kind, but the round knobs just picked up a lot of tooth marks.
But for now, he turned the knob himself and allowed Nell to do the rest of the work as he backed away to make space for Ashley to enter. She had her arms full.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Dinner,” she said cheerfully. “I’m cooking it here, because I am not running back and forth with plates of food. I mean, really.”
Nell closed the door, then the two of them followed Ashley into the kitchen.
“Oh, good, coffee,” Ashley said. “I’ve been jonesing for a cup all day. Can I pour you one when it’s ready?”
He could do it for himself, but for once he bit the irritable retort back. “Sure. Thanks. I didn’t mean for you to go to all this trouble, Ashley.”
“Maybe not,” she answered as she unpacked her bag and the rice maker. “I seem to remember asking you. My idea. Not a problem.”
She hunted around to find what was available. Kitchen utensils had been left there since his parents’ time, and he was reasonably certain that Carol had included them in her cleaning.
Out came a wood cutting board, a chef’s knife, some small bowls, a measuring cup and a microwave dish.
“I am so grateful for microwaves,” she said as she bustled about. “I’d starve to death if I couldn’t thaw and cook in one. That’ll do for the broccoli. But first the yellow rice.” She lifted a yellow bag. “Personal recipe.”
He had to chuckle a little in spite of himself. “I think I’ve had that recipe before.”
“Probably. Someone stole it from me and put it on supermarket shelves everywhere.”
She dumped the contents into the round rice cooker, then began to dice a thick slab of ham. “Meals in minutes, that’s me,” she remarked.
Soon she swept the ham into the cooker with the edge of the knife, added the water, plugged it in and pushed a button. “Maybe twenty minutes on that,” she announced.
Then she headed for his refrigerator. “I hope you have butter.”
“I do.”
“Good, I like it on my broccoli.”
After putting the frozen broccoli in the microwave dish and dotting it with butter, she pulled a spice container out of her brown bag and sprinkled it on the veggies.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Mustard powder. It makes the taste milder, and anyway, it’s good.”
He backed away until he was beside the table, watching her whirl around his kitchen with practiced ease. It had been a long while since he’d enjoyed the sight of a woman cooking, and she seemed to like it. She shortly proved him right.
“It’s always better to cook for someone else,” she said. “Cooking for one is so boring. I make a lasagna, put most of it in my freezer in meal-size containers and then eat it forever. I also do that with other foods that freeze as well to try to give myself some variety. But... I slipped up the last few weeks, so tonight I cook. Nothing fancy, but if I’m going to do it, it’s nicer to share.”
He was sitting there like a lump, he realized. At least he could try to make conversation. “So you don’t like to cook?”
“Not for just me. Sometimes I cook for my friends, which is fun. A bunch of us gals get together regularly and take turns. Not doing that this weekend, though. I guess we’re meeting for coffee.”
It almost sounded like an alien world to him. Meeting friends for coffee. How many times had making coffee meant freeze-dried crystals and water warmed over canned heat? When he had the crystals and dared to make even a small flame.
Finally she brought two mugs of coffee to the table. “Black?” she asked.
“Nothing else.” After all these years, he wouldn’t know what to make of any other kind.
She handed him a mug then took the seat across from him. “I’ll clean up after.”
“I can do that,” he said quickly.
“Sure, if you want. It means I get to hang around longer waiting for my rice cooker.”
His eyes popped to her face, and he realized she was teasing him. Teasing him. The fact that he hadn’t recognized it immediately, the fact that it had been so long since anyone had teased him when it had been a routine part of his life in uniform...well, he really had put himself in a long, dark tunnel. And maybe not all of it was necessary.
But until he could trust his reactions, be sure some little thing wouldn’t just cause him to blow, he felt it was safest to protect others.
But who was he protecting, really?
Shaking his head a little, he remained silent while Ashley served dinner, giving him a plate heaped with yellow rice and a good-size portion of broccoli.
“Thank you,” he managed to say. Did one ever get tired of always having to thank others? He sure did. He was used to taking care of everything himself, and his new status in life often irritated him.
Yet, he reminded himself, this woman was guilty of nothing except kindness. He could have turned down her offer of dinner. He could have kept his fortress walls in place. But he hadn’t, so the least he owed her this evening was courtesy.
The problem was finding something to talk about. God, he’d been so self-absorbed for so long he had only one subject—his own problems. Disgraceful.
“How was your day?” he asked. That seemed ordinary and safe.
“Pretty good,” she answered. “I used apples to teach fractions, which are always a pain to kids, but hey, they got to eat the results of the work.”
He drew up one corner of his mouth. “How many kids in your class?”
“I’m lucky. Nineteen. A pretty good size at that age. Not so many that we can’t do class projects. And Mikey seemed to be in a great mood today.”
He nodded, eating some more rice. “This is great.”
“I love it, too,” she agreed.
“So, Mikey. How does that work when he’s quadriplegic?”
She sighed, and her face shadowed. “His mom has to come with him every day. Bless her, she never seems to mind. But someone has to be able to turn pages for him and write his answers on worksheets. There are a whole lot of people working on a fund-raiser to get him a motorized chair he can control with puffs of air, and someone’s looking into mounting an ebook reader on one for him. I mean...well, you’d know. Independence isn’t easy to find. This world is not designed for the disabled.”
“No, it’s not,” he agreed. Although he was pretty sure it was getting easier in some ways. But still. He thought of a fourth grader consigned to a future of quadriplegia and it pained him. Talk about the unfairness of life. At least what had happened to him had been a known risk of his job. All that kid had been doing was going for a fun horseback ride.
“Anyway,” Ashley continued, “he’s adapting remarkably well. Very resilient. He impresses me.”
Unlike him, Zane thought sourly. Although paraplegia wasn’t his biggest problem; his mind was. If he ever managed to whip that into shape, life would probably be better.
However, a sudden change in perspective gave him a view of himself as others might see him, and he didn’t like it. Oh, well. He knew the rages that could bubble up unexpectedly inside him. He never wanted anyone else to suffer from that. Who cared what anyone on the outside thought? All they’d ever see was the guy in a wheelchair.
“Do you know anyone around here?” Ashley asked.
“After all these years? I doubt it. Doesn’t matter, anyway.”
“No, I guess not.”
Well, he had told her he wanted to be left alone. Then the first asinine thing he did was let her bring him dinner. “I told you I’m antisocial.”
She nodded, then studied him with those startling blue eyes. “It can’t have always been that way. In the military you were part of a team, right?”
“I’m not in the military anymore.”
“No kidding,” she said a bit tartly. “However, we have a few guys in this county who might get where you’re coming from. They’ve walked in your shoes, and some of them have had to struggle with being home.”
“So?”
He guessed that was it for her. She rose, leaving the remains of her dinner on the table. She grabbed her jacket and slipped it on, then picked up the rice cooker and the bottle of mustard powder. “You said you could clean up. Have at it.”
Then, without another word, she walked out. He heard the front door close behind her.
A whimper drew his attention to Nell, who was sitting beside him.
“Damn it, dog, I don’t need your opinion, too.”
She gave a little moan then settled beside him with her head on the floor between her paws.
Yeah, he was a jackass. He knew it. He nurtured it. Better to be alone with his demons than inflicting them on innocent people. That had become his mantra.
At that moment he wondered if it wasn’t also his excuse.
* * *
Ashley sighed as she stood in her kitchen cleaning the rice cooker at her sink and wondering where that burst of temper had come from. That man seemed to bring out the worst in her. Yesterday she’d gotten acidic with him, and today she’d walked out on him—rather rudely, if she were to be honest about it.
And why the heck had he accepted her offer of dinner? He’d obviously been uncomfortable, and finally he’d felt it necessary to make it clear yet again that he wanted to be left alone. He didn’t even want to talk with other vets.
When she summed up the total of conversation that had passed between them, she figured it wouldn’t fill one typed page.
God, she didn’t want to be a snippy, sarcastic person. A good reason to grant his wish for solitude. It would be easy enough to pretend he wasn’t even there.
Her life was full enough anyway, what with school and helping with the project to get Mikey a better wheelchair. In fact, there was the fund-raiser at the church on Saturday evening that she still needed to do a few things for.
But she couldn’t help feeling bad for a man so alone, even if it was by choice. She spent a lot of time as a teacher making sure that no child was left out or ostracized, because a sense of belonging was so important to human beings.
Well, Zane was a grown man. None of her business, no matter how she felt about it. Plus, he’d kind of warned her that he was still a bit unstable mentally. PTSD. Awful. Certainly not something she could help him with.
She dried her hands, then pulled out her folio to start correcting papers. Except for taking dinner over to Zane, she’d have started a while ago. Time to catch up. Immediate feedback was important to learning. Nothing the kids had done today would matter to them in a week.
The phone rang just as she was spreading her work on the table. She picked up the cordless handset to hear her friend Julie on the line.
“Hey, word has it you were seen visiting Zane McLaren. How is he?”
“Very much antisocial and very much wanting to be left alone. Straight from his lips.”
“Oh.” Julie sighed. “That’s sad. Any number of people have mentioned him to me, wondering how he’s doing.”
“And he said he’d very much appreciate not having a parade of well-wishers at his door, so pass it along.”
“Well, dang. I thought we’d have something new to talk about.”
Ashley laughed. “Hurry up and have your baby. Then you’ll be too busy for gossip.”
Julie’s answering laugh poured through the phone. “I’m sure Trace would agree with you. I can’t figure out if he shares my impatience or if he just wishes I’d settle down.”
“Maybe a bit of both. Listen, I’ve got a bunch of papers to correct. Saturday, right?”
“Oh, that’s why I called. The weather’s going to be beautiful Saturday. A couple of the girls suggested we meet at your place and have our coffee on the porch. You have a big enough porch and enough chairs.”
And she lived next door to the mystery man, Ashley thought wryly. “Sure, that’s fine. Who’s bringing the coffee cake?”
“Marisa said she would. She’s looking forward to turning the youngster over to Ryker for a few hours.”
“I can imagine. Okay, Saturday. Here.”
“Done.”
Ashley hung up, shaking her head. She wondered if she ought to give Zane a warning, then decided she was being ridiculous. He didn’t have to poke his head outside. He could just tough it out indoors.
Chapter Three (#uca9c3da9-09b7-5c84-badd-12a901cbfede)
Saturday afternoon turned into the last taste of summer. Autumn leaves still blew gently around on the breeze, but the weather was warm enough that light clothing allowed the women to sit outside on Ashley’s porch.
Julie Archer had been Ashley’s friend forever, and now that they taught at the same school, the friendship had only deepened. They could discuss various student problems with a deep understanding. Julie’s auburn hair and green eyes had always made her a striking woman. She also rarely withheld her thoughts.
Connie Parish was older than the rest by a little over a decade, but she had fit seamlessly with them. The mother of three as well as a sheriff’s deputy, she had her hands full and she swore the Saturday get-togethers were a lifeline.
Marisa Tremaine had been widowed a few years ago, and now was married to her late husband’s best friend, who also happened to be a good friend of Julie’s husband.
Ashley sat as the lone spinster among them and she was quite happy with her lot, thank you very much. She honestly couldn’t imagine how she would handle the addition of a family to her already busy life.
“So Nora and Hope couldn’t make it?” Ashley asked about two of their other kaffeeklatsch regulars.
“Getting ready for the fund-raiser tonight. Hope must be out of her mind. She promised ten dozen cookies. And Nora is bringing five pies.”
“Wow.” Ashley blinked. She felt like a skinflint with her offering of a few dozen rum balls.
“We’re getting there,” Julie said. “With the bake sale tonight and the donations, I bet we come close to our mark for that wheelchair.”
“I hope so,” Connie remarked. “I was blown away by the price of those things. It’s not like you’re buying some toy for your amusement. It’s essential.”
Ashley answered, “And it has to be able to do more, like change his position so he doesn’t get sores and lift him so his mother can help him get into bed. It’s not your basic model.”
The women sat silent for a moment, and Ashley guessed those with children were imagining themselves in the shoes of Mikey’s mom.
Then Julie visibly shook herself. “We’re close. And Trace’s friend Ken is working on a tablet to attach so Mikey can do a lot of things simply by using his chin on a push plate. I have half a mind to wrap that chair in aluminum foil and put NASA stickers down its side. It’s going to be halfway to a spaceship.”
That leavened the moment. Soon laughter returned and stories about everyone’s kids began to be shared. Ashley never ceased to be amazed by the inventive hijinks kids could get up to. She didn’t see a lot of that in the classroom, where they were usually on their best behavior...or what passed for it.
She went inside to get a fresh pot of coffee and warm up her friends’ mugs. When she stepped outside, Nell was standing there, wearing her saddlebag.
“So you have a secret admirer,” Julie joked. “Whose dog?”
“Zane’s. I guess he sent something over. Nell is a service dog.”
“Oh, wow, wouldn’t Mikey like that,” said Connie.
“I’m trying to persuade Zane to work with Cadell on the kinds of things Mikey might need. Or at least I mentioned it.”
Curious, she passed the coffeepot to Marisa and let her pour for everyone. Opening the saddlebag was easy enough; it wasn’t snapped closed. Inside she found an envelope addressed to her.
A message from Zane? Surprised, she dropped onto her chair and opened the flap of the envelope. Inside a brief note was wrapped around a check: “For the wheelchair.”
Not even signed, but when she looked at the check, she gasped and her heart slammed. “Good heavens!”
“What?” the other women demanded.
She looked up. “Zane just sent a check for five hundred dollars for Mikey’s chair.”
A chorus of exclamations greeted that news. In a moment everyone was talking at once. This brought them a long way toward their goal and doubled what they had expected to make from the bake sale at the church.
The check was made out to Ashley, probably because Zane didn’t know the name for the fund-raising group, but as she held it, her resistance to Zane and his attitude melted away. It was a generous act, very generous, and a trusting one. He clearly had no doubt she would put the money where it was intended to go.
Wow.
But Nell still sat in front of her, looking up as if her mission wasn’t complete. Ashley jumped up, saying, “Stay, Nell,” and went inside. She tucked the check in her wallet, then pulled open the drawer where she kept writing materials for rare occasions when a handwritten note was needed.
On a notecard that said Thank You on the front, she wrote, “We are all so very grateful for your generosity, Zane. This will go a huge way to getting Mikey his chair. We can’t thank you enough.”
She signed her name and the name of the group, then stuffed it in an envelope with his name on the front.
Outside, Nell still waited patiently. Ashley lifted the flap of the saddlebag and tucked the note into it. She gave Nell a scratch behind her ears, then said, “Take it to Zane, Nell.”
Tail wagging, the dog was off like a flash.
All heads turned to follow the dog as she dashed across the yard, leaped onto the ramp and disappeared inside.
“Wow,” said Julie.
“Wow,” agreed Connie.
“We’ve got to get Mikey a dog like that,” Marisa said.
“Next step,” said Connie. “I think trained service dogs are nearly as expensive as the wheelchair.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ashley said. “I was talking to Dory and Cadell last week. He’s working on training a dog already, and Dory said she’d meet any expenses on that.”
Marisa nodded. “And she made a large contribution to the wheelchair fund. She’s serious about helping.”
Marisa stood up. “This has been fun, gals, but Ryker is probably desperate for some relief. Jonni’s going through a difficult stage. I think no is the only word she doesn’t understand.”
“And I need to get my daily walk in,” said Julie.
Soon everyone had said their goodbyes and left, and the porch was empty of everyone except Ashley. The afternoon was beginning to cool a bit, and she thought idly about getting her jacket or just going inside. She had time before the bake sale tonight.
She closed her eyes, enjoying the fresh air, full now of the scents of autumn. Then something bumped her knee.
Her eyes flew open, and she saw Nell sitting in front of her. No saddlebag this time.
“What are you doing here?” she asked the dog.
Her answer was a doggie grin and a tail wag.
Then she heard Zane call, “Dang it, Nell, what are you doing?”
She looked over to the house next door and saw Zane sitting on his porch. “You didn’t send her?”
“I absolutely did not, and she’s never supposed to leave me unless I tell her to go. Now look at her.”
“Are you blaming me?” Because that’s what it sounded like.
“Hell, no. But that dog thinks for herself, and I can’t imagine what she’s thinking now. Nell, come.”
Nell started to rise then sat down again.
“Nell,” Ashley tried, “you need to go to Zane.”
Nell looked over at Zane.
“Go on,” Ashley urged.
“Nell, come,” Zane repeated.
With something that sounded very much like a sigh, Nell rose and trotted back over to Zane.
“That was weird,” he said. “She’s never done that before.”
“Well, I swear I’m not encouraging it. I didn’t even give her a treat of any kind.”
“I’m sure you did nothing wrong,” he answered. “She just took a notion. If this happens again, she may need a training refresher.”
“Maybe curiosity overcame her. Or maybe since you sent her once, she thought it would be okay to come again.”
“I wonder.” Then he astonished her with a laugh. “She’s far from an automaton. That’s why I said she thinks for herself. And she’s bright. Maybe she’s getting bored over here. As soon as I get my trike together, I’ll get her some more exercise.”
“Trike?”
“An extra wheel attached so the front of my wheelchair so if I hit an obstacle while moving fast my chair can’t tip and throw me into a face-plant.”
She nodded, picturing it. “Need any help putting it together?”
A long silence greeted her offer. She had just about decided to go inside when he answered. “If you can spare an hour or so sometime, it would be helpful.”
Ah, a crack in the armor. Well, every step was a good one. And after that donation he’d made, she’d have gladly done a whole lot to help him out. “Tomorrow afternoon?” she asked. “About two, maybe?”
“That would be great.” Then he turned and disappeared inside with his dog.
Well, well, well, she thought, deciding to head indoors as the chill began to get to her. Time to get ready for the bake sale tonight, anyway. She had a shift from seven to nine. Anything left over would be sold tomorrow after services, but she hadn’t signed up for that. There were plenty of willing hands when it came to Mikey.
And very few when it came to Zane, but he wanted that way. At least he could accept help when it was offered. She supposed that was a big step for a professed hermit.
* * *
The next day when she came home from church, Ashley was practically walking on air. Not only had the bake sale gone well, but upon seeing how close they were getting to the goal for the wheelchair, quite a few checkbooks had come out to add larger amounts.
Then, this morning, the pastor had announced that they’d received the grant they’d applied for. They could now order Mikey’s wheelchair, “with racing stripes if he wants them,” the pastor had joked, causing the entire congregation to rise and applaud.
The standard coffee and doughnuts afterward had been a happier-than-usual affair, with a lot of smiles and laughter. Everyone was feeling pretty good, and the pastor was going to make the trip out to the Landau ranch to tell Mikey and his parents the good news.
For her part, Ashley was looking forward to sharing the news with Zane. His check had been a huge help in putting them over the top, as had the grant. Now they had a little elbow room to get the child exactly what he needed.
She was still surprised that Zane had sent so much money, though. After announcing he was a practicing curmudgeon, apparently Mikey’s plight had touched him.
She knew so little about being paralyzed. She supposed she ought to frankly ask Zane what other things they might be able to help Mikey with. So much that the family had had come from disability aid, the bare minimum, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine the lacks the family might still be experiencing. Right now either parent could lift Mikey into bed or onto a couch to sit, but what would happen as he grew? How many other needs must be met?
Zane would probably have a good idea, if he was willing to share.
* * *
Zane cussed himself for being a stubborn mule. At some point, he was going to have to admit that he couldn’t always be completely independent, and he was looking at a case of it right now.
The toolbox had a handle. He’d been able to lean over the side of his chair, heft it and carry it into the kitchen. The box of parts for his extra wheel was a different matter. It sat on the floor in the small extra downstairs room defying him, and he had no way to reach it or move it.
Nell watched him, tilting her head quizzically from side to side, unable to do a damn thing about it. He was glad he’d swallowed his pride enough to ask for Ashley’s help, even though it galled him, because otherwise...well, he’d have had to hire someone, he guessed. Not impossible, but he didn’t know where to begin in this town, and anyway, he didn’t feel comfortable about it. Maybe it was some leftover machismo, but for some reason he didn’t want to hire someone to put his wheel on. He wanted to do as much of it himself as he could.
Stubborn cuss, that was him. Unfortunately, stubbornness could lead to stupidity, and he was coming dangerously close. Instead of just hiring help, now he was imposing on a neighbor. Didn’t that make a lot of sense, he asked himself with a snort of disgust.
Nell apparently heard Ashley’s arrival before he did. She dashed away to the front door and waited for the knock or the bell. Trusting Nell’s instincts, Zane wasn’t far behind.
He opened the door to see that beautiful strawberry blonde dressed for work in jeans and a flannel shirt. She’d even caught her hair into a ponytail, which was cute. And she was smiling.
“Ready to start?” she asked.
He hesitated even as he began to roll back from the door to give her entry. “I should have just hired someone. I can’t keep imposing on you.”
“I didn’t have to say yes, and I don’t feel imposed upon.” She looked down at Nell. “Okay to pet her?”
“You might as well. She seems determined to become part of your life, too.”
Ashley laughed, then squatted, giving Nell a good rub and scratch around her neck. Then she rose and stepped past, allowing the dog to close the door. “So what do we need to do?”
“Assemble the parts to attach the wheel to this chair. Once it’s all together, I can put it on or take it off with some locks. Naturally, because it wouldn’t work indoors, but...” He shrugged. “Thing is, I like to get a good speed going when I’m out with Nell. She wants to run, and the workout feels good to me, too. So...this is all about stability.”
As he spoke, he was wheeling his way back to the spare room. Nell’s steps followed him.
“Will Mikey need something like this?”
“I doubt a motorized chair will allow him to go fast enough to worry about it. How’s the fund-raising, by the way?”
“Fantastic,” she answered enthusiastically. “Between your check—which was awfully generous—the bake sale last night and a small grant we finally received, Mikey’s new wheelchair will be ordered soon.”
He summoned a smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”
She touched the box on the floor with her toe. “Parts in here?”
“All of them.”
She nodded, as if grasping why he couldn’t get to it himself. “Do you want to assemble it here?”
“In the kitchen. I’m going to need a place to sit while we do it, because I need to get out of this chair.”
“Got it.” She squatted and began to pull packing tape away. “Anyhow, if you have any suggestions for things Mikey might need, let me know. We’ve got a small list of things, but who knows what we overlooked.”
“He lives on a ranch?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, if he wants to get outside, he’s going to need good, wide wheels. Like these,” he said, patting his own. “Like you’d find on a mountain bike.”
She peered up at him. “I’m quite certain none of us thought of that. Any other ideas, let me know. As the pastor said this morning, we now have enough to give him racing stripes if he wants them.”
Once again Zane felt an unusual smile on his face. “Flames. I suggest flames.”
Ashley laughed. “Yeah, he’d probably love that.”
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