The Thanksgiving Target. Laura Scott
Even the water tasted good.
“Lieutenant, tell me, how long will you be staying in St. Louis?” Tara asked.
“Please, call me Max. I’m home for just a twenty-day leave, but my tour of duty ends in another year. After that, I’ll have to decide whether I’ll reenlist or go back to the private sector.” Not that he had any clue as to what he’d do once he was out. The army had quickly become his life, and his men had become his brothers. He’d lost his best friend, who had died in his arms shortly after their deployment to Iraq, but even that tragedy couldn’t break the bonds he had with the rest of his men.
But his sister obviously needed him, too. More than he’d realized.
“Reenlist?” Tara’s big blue eyes widened. “I’m surprised you’re even considering another tour of duty. You’ve put in your time in Iraq, haven’t you?”
“Yes.” He finished his water and placed the empty glass toward the edge of the table, hoping someone would refill it for him. “But there is still a lot of work to be done there. To be honest, my decision was going to depend on Lissa.” His mouth tightened as he thought of his sister.
“Have you called the police officer assigned to her case yet?” she asked.
Max nodded. “I left him a message. I guess he works the day shift.”
“I’m really glad you’re here for Melissa,” Tara admitted, sitting back in her seat with a sigh. “And I’m relieved to know the police are involved. Gary needs to be arrested for what he’s done, and this time, I don’t think Melissa will be able to protect him.”
He scowled, wondering again why Lissa had even gotten mixed up with someone who’d hurt her. He simply couldn’t understand it. He and Lissa had been raised Christian, but maybe Lissa had fallen away from the church, just like he had. Losing Keith had made it impossible to maintain his faith. What had caused Lissa to lose hers? He shook off the depressing thoughts. “I’ll take care of her, don’t worry. I’ll move in with her and refuse to leave until he’s safe behind bars.”
She laughed, a light musical sound that tightened his stomach in awareness. “Sounds like a great plan to me.”
Their food arrived promptly, diverting his attention from Tara. His mouth literally watered at the wonderful scent of his burger and fries, and he hoped he wasn’t being too much of a pig as he heartily dug in to his meal.
Tara didn’t seem to mind. She was enjoying her grilled chicken just as much. “This is delicious. Thanks for inviting me,” she said between bites.
He knew he was the lucky one, sharing this meal with her. He wanted to savor the food and the time with Tara, drawing them out for as long as possible. But she was nearly finished, so he polished off the rest of his burger quickly.
“Are you up for dessert?” he asked hopefully.
She shook her head with an amused grimace. “Sorry, nothing for me, thanks. I need to get home. My poor dog is going to be sitting at the door wondering where I am.”
He understood she didn’t want to linger and signaled for the waiter to bring the bill. “What kind of dog do you have?”
“A cute little Westie. A West Highland white terrier,” she clarified at his puzzled look. “His name is Beau. I rescued him from the local shelter a couple years ago.”
“Well then, let’s not keep Beau waiting, especially if he’s been home alone all day.” He paid for the meal with cash, and thinking of Melissa living off her tips, he left a hefty sum.
“Well, I do have a neighbor lady, Mrs. Henderson, who comes over to let him out at lunchtime for me. She has a key and lets him out in the early evening too if I’m working late,” Tara said over her shoulder as they left the restaurant.
“Which way to your house?” he asked, feeling much better with food in his belly. Now if only Lissa would get well, he’d be happy. Or at least content. Was it selfish of him to want her home from the hospital in time for Thanksgiving? Maybe. “Should we walk, or do we need to catch another bus?”
“We can walk. It’s only about six or seven blocks from here.” She headed off in the opposite direction from where Lissa’s apartment building was located. She stopped and glanced at him. “If you’d rather head back to the hospital, I’d certainly understand.”
“Ma’am, it might be only six or seven blocks but it’s ten-thirty at night. I’ll walk you home. There’s no way in the world I’m leaving you alone at this hour.”
“If you want me to call you Max, then you should probably stop calling me ma’am,” she pointed out, as they headed down the street. “You’re making me feel old.”
“Old?” he chuckled, a rusty sound even to his own ears. “You’re young, probably the same age as my sister.”
She arched a brow at him. “I’m a couple years older than Melissa,” she corrected in a prim tone.
“Still very young.” Especially when lately he’d felt as if he were a hundred years old. Maybe in part because he’d seen things no man should have to endure. Despite the hardships, he firmly believed freedom was worth the effort.
Tara set a brisk pace, and he wasn’t sure it was because she was cold or because she was anxious to get rid of him. He couldn’t blame her if she felt uncomfortable being in the dark alone with him. After they walked several blocks she lifted her hand and pointed. “My house is over there, the third one from the corner.”
“The little red brick house with the white trim and black shutters?” he asked.
“Yes.” As they approached, she frowned. “I wonder why Beau isn’t barking his head off by now. Usually he hears me coming long before this.”
An icy chill snaked down his spine, and he grasped her arm. “Tara, wait. Maybe I should go up first.”
Tuning in to his abrupt wariness, she sucked in a quick breath. “Why? You think something happened to Beau?”
He couldn’t explain his trepidation, and he held on to her arm, bringing her to a halt. “Give me your key,” he commanded.
She handed it over, and he swept a glance over the area, making sure no one was lurking around.
He put the key in the lock and turned the doorknob, slowly pushing the door open. The house was eerily silent. From where he stood outside, he stretched until he could slide his hand over the inside wall of her foyer, seeking the light switch.
“Stay here.” The area flooded with light, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad sign that the dog wasn’t lying there on the floor directly in front of the door.
“No way. I’m coming with you.”
He wanted to argue, but then he heard it—a little whimper of sound.
“Beau?” Tara must have heard it, too, and she pushed past him, rushing down the hall into the kitchen, with blatant disregard of her own safety.
“Wait!” He grit his teeth with anger and followed, intent on keeping her out of harm’s way.
“Oh, no. Beau!”
When he rounded the corner, he saw what had caused her cry of distress. Beau was lying on his side—obviously sick, unable lift his white, fluffy head off the floor.
“Beau?” Feeling helpless, he watched Tara anxiously kneel beside her dog, gently gathering his limp body into her arms. She cradled him against her chest, nuzzling his head with her face as she stood. “What happened? Are you sick?”
“Here, let me take a look at him.”
She obviously didn’t want to let Beau go, so Max simply placed his large palm over the dog’s chest to check his pulse, relieved to feel the thready, irregular beat. “I think we need to get him to a