Lone Star Survivor. Colleen Thompson
“The psychologist, right, and ex—the old friend.” Jessie shook her hand in greeting, looking up to meet Andrea’s gaze. “Hi. I’m Jessie Layton.”
“Jessie Rayford now,” her mother-in-law corrected, that same disapproval in her tone.
“I thought we’d had this discussion. Several times, as I remember.” An undercurrent of annoyance rippled beneath an attempt at pleasantry. “Since I write under my maiden name—”
“But you’re not writing now, Jessie. This is a social situation, and as Zach’s wife and Eden’s mother, I’d expect you’d want to—” Nancy Rayford cut herself off as the Rottweiler interposed herself between the women, as if to ward off her harsh words. Scowling, she added, “Really. That animal.”
“Gretel, platz,” Jessie said, and at the command—which Andrea thought might be in German—the dog dropped into the down position. “Sorry, but whenever she perceives a threat—”
“So what happens if you have an argument with my son?”
Jessie smiled at the Rottweiler. “Big traitor usually takes his side.”
Eager to defuse the tension, Andrea cleared her throat. “I read the article you wrote on Ian’s return. It was incredibly well done, very moving.”
Jessie ducked a nod, the relief in her green eyes making it clear she appreciated the diversion. “Thanks, Andrea. It was important. To get the word out quickly, I mean. Ian might not remember why, but he’s pretty paranoid these days. When he first came, he worried that someone might come take him away in the dark of night if the public didn’t hear he’d come back. He’s pretty short-tempered these days, too. But I guess you’ve already found that out for yourself.”
“Please, Jessie,” Nancy Rayford said. “He’s been through so much. And you’re making him sound like some sort of madman.”
“I promise you, I’ll never think of him that way,” Andrea assured her. “I work with returning vets. A lot of them have anger issues, and it must be even more confusing when he doesn’t consciously recall the reason why.”
“It was those horrible terrorists,” Mrs. Rayford whispered, tears shining in her eyes. “Heaven only knows what they did to my poor boy for almost a year. When I think of how he’s suffered...”
“It must be hard for you, too.” Andrea looked from one woman to the other in an effort to remind them of their common ground. “Not knowing what might set him off, not knowing what will help him.”
Jessie gave her a look that seemed to weigh and judge her. “You’ll help him. I see that.”
“It’s a shame that Ian won’t allow it,” her mother-in-law said, talking right over her. “But you heard him a moment ago. You’ll have to leave, Miss Warrington.”
“But I just—” Andrea started, more concerned about the swift dismissal than she was the omission of the “Dr.” before her name.
“He’s been through enough. We mustn’t upset him.”
Jessie looked down at the small, frail woman, the impatience in her expression melting into compassion. “You want him to get better, don’t you?”
“I do, more than anything.”
“Then can’t you stick with the plan we made, you and Zach and me?”
The older woman hesitated. “I only want to be a better mother. I swear I do, but...she confuses him.” With this pronouncement, she pinned Andrea with an accusatory gaze. “He thinks she’s still his fiancée.”
This time, however, Andrea heard the fear behind the woman’s words, the terror of losing her son all over again. “He knows the truth now, and if he forgets it, I’ll remind him...gently, carefully. I promise you that. Believe me, I don’t want to hurt him any more than you do. But I also don’t want to leave him in pain the way he is.”
She knew the grim statistics too well, had seen up close in her work how many returning soldiers suffering untreated PTSD chose to end their lives. Or to obliterate their pain with drugs and alcohol, which often amounted to a slower form of suicide.
Ian’s mother hesitated, but for Jessie, this was apparently good enough.
“Let me show you to your room,” she said. “Then, if you want, you can ride along with me to pick up Eden from her playdate, and I’ll fill you in on everything you’ll need to know about this family.”
Andrea didn’t miss the panic that flashed through Nancy Rayford’s blue eyes. But for the moment, Andrea pretended not to see it as she took up Jessie on her offer and followed her to the wing that housed the mansion’s guest quarters.
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder, What is it Ian’s mother is so afraid I’ll find out about the Rayfords? And how can I enlist this frightened woman’s help to save her son?
* * *
When he couldn’t convince his brother, Jessie or even his pushover of a mother to send the shrink packing, Ian decided instead to ignore Andrea’s presence. It was a hell of a lot easier said than done, though, since his mind kept replaying the warmth of her curves when he had pulled her into his arms and the strength of the connection he’d felt coursing through him that moment their lips met. The only way he could manage, could keep his eyes from locking on to every move she made, was by avoiding her as much as possible.
Over the past two days she hadn’t made it any easier, “happening” upon him whenever he came inside and pretending to be no more than a concerned friend. But he’d brushed her off in a hurry and retreated to his room each time, not giving a damn about the look of disappointment on her gorgeous face.
What difference did it make anyway? Whether or not he ever spoke to her, she was sure to get paid for her efforts. He was a job to her, or at best some pet project, a screwed-up loser she’d dumped so she could ride off into the sunset with a guy whose brains weren’t scrambled eggs.
This morning, it was the sunrise that he planned to ride off into after leaving a note in the ranch office, a space more like a studio apartment, with its own seating area, kitchenette and a small bath where Zach could wash up after getting dirty with the livestock. His brother had taken the opportunity to expand the office, which had been built into a corner of the barn after an arsonist had burned down the entire structure last year. Ian knew his family had gone through a rough stretch, a time of grief compounded by intense fear and worry, but at least some good had come of it, if his brother’s relationship with Jessie was anywhere near as solid as it looked to Ian. Though yesterday he’d overheard them squabbling over Jessie’s “scaring the liver out of him,” as Zach had put it, with her refusal to share details of the new exposé she was working on, it was clear they loved each other deeply, and they had fun together, too.
Seeing how they worked as a team with Eden and how much joy the little girl, who’d started school just last week, brought them struck Ian with a sense of loss—and anger, sometimes, creeping up on him when he didn’t expect it—for the life he’d been missing out on, a life centered on a family he’d never even known he wanted. Or maybe that wasn’t true. He couldn’t say for certain these days. Along with his memory, he’d lost so much more, including a true sense of who he was.
He left a brief note on his brother’s desk, grateful that Zach would be running later than usual this morning since it was his turn to drive Eden into town for school. If he were here, Ian knew, there’d be another lecture and maybe an argument like yesterday’s, when Ian had told his brother what he could do with his advice to quit acting like a stubborn jerk and give Andrea a chance.
He did miss his brother’s coffee though, he thought as he eyed the fancy espresso machine longingly. But no way was he taking a chance on messing with Zach’s prize possession, which had enough buttons and levers to rival the fighter jets he’d once piloted.
Ian