Operation Soldier Next Door. Justine Davis
PTSD to compare to, and was more than grateful he wasn’t one of them. Since this last injury, he’d felt only a bit numb to life in general. They told him that would pass. He wasn’t so sure.
“I’ll bunk in the shop for now, until I can get the repairs done,” he said, regretting the sharpness in his first response.
Quinn seemed to understand.
“Keep it in mind. We’re just around the corner a bit. Got a spare room.” The man grinned. “And a dog.”
Tate ignored the wistful longing that crept in at the thought of loyal canine companions. “And some dog he is.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
Quinn gave him a solid but not jarring clap on the shoulder as he turned to go.
“Thanks, anyway,” Tate said belatedly, realizing some response was appropriate to the generous offer. His social skills needed some repairs, just like the house.
“Always open,” Quinn said, then left to round up his wife and dog.
Tate went back to surveying the interior damage, calculating what it was going to take to fix it. He wanted it back the way Gramps had built it, the way it had always been. He’d do whatever it took. He knew enough to repair the guts of the wall and the siding outside, but the roof and the drywall patching would take pros. He should probably have a structural check on it, too, the way the roof was damaged.
Then he could handle the paint, and maybe repair the scorched flooring, depending on whether it could be sanded down and refinished, or had to be replaced. He could—
“You’re lucky you hadn’t unpacked yet.”
He nearly jumped. As it was, he whirled too quickly and the cut on his foot, he guessed from the broken bedroom window glass, protested. He supposed he was staring at her, but he was a little stunned that twice now people had come up on him without him being aware. Quinn he could understand. He moved like the fighter he’d been—and still was, Tate guessed—but the girl next door?
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I didn’t realize you’d come in.”
She took a half step back. As if she were offended. Or hurt. He wasn’t sure. He’d gotten out of the habit of reading civilian reactions, especially women’s. But he realized he must have sounded curt when she held up her hands, palms toward him.
“My apologies. I’m afraid I got used to coming in on my own to check on Martin. I didn’t think.”
He didn’t know what to say. His thoughts were careening around, bouncing off each other. He hadn’t meant to sound so sharp. Should he say he was sorry himself? Or never mind? And how could he be irritated at her uninvited intrusion when she’d explained it was a habit from checking on his grandfather? Not when he was glad she had. What was it about women that made them do things like that?
The same thing that made Lori the best medic. And Sunny the most determined to protect. Whatever it was women had...
And his new neighbor was most definitely a woman. The T-shirt and shorts she wore did nothing to hide that fact. A sudden image, an imaginative one very unlike him, shot through his head. Of her curled up asleep, that long, dark hair in a tangle around her head, eyes closed, those soft lips slightly parted... It was more a peaceful image than a sexual one, he told himself. Not that another glance at the soft swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, couldn’t change that in a hurry. For a girl-next-door type, Lacy Steele—she of the oxymoronic name—was having an odd effect on him.
Abruptly he was aware he was still standing around in nothing but the boxers he’d been sleeping in. And if he didn’t derail this train of thought in a hurry, it was going to become obvious.
“Guess I should put on some of the clothes I’m lucky to still have,” he said, looking toward the two duffel bags still unopened on the floor of the living room. Again, it sounded more gruff than he’d intended, but he hadn’t been in a position like this in too long. A long hospital stay tended to make you surrender whatever dignity you thought you still had anyway, so he hadn’t even realized how he must appear, standing around all this time in just underwear. With his scars visible to everyone, including her. Not a pleasant sight,
“At least it wasn’t raining.”
Her tone was just a shade too cheerful, leavened perhaps with a touch of sarcasm. He was not doing well in this first contact with his new neighbor. Even the image her words invoked of the rain this region was known for pulled him two ways; it would have lessened the threat of fire after the explosion, but also would have left what little he had on soaking wet and him as good as buck naked.
That it would have done the same to her was something he didn’t dare think about.
She turned to go. He felt a sudden urge to stop her somehow, but felt hopelessly out of practice at this.
He wasn’t even sure what “this” was.
Was even less sure what had brought on the urge to tell her not to go.
She turned back, and for an instant he wondered if he was so rattled he’d spoken without realizing it.
“Come get those panels later, if you want them.”
“I... Thank you.” That seemed safe enough.
“I’m really sorry your first night here ended up like this. It’s normally a very peaceful neighborhood.”
“That’s what I wanted.”
Again that look flickered in her eyes. Was she thinking he meant she was disturbing that peace?
Did he mean that?
Before he could formulate an answer she was gone, leaving him alone with the rather startling revelation that he felt alive again in a way he hadn’t since he’d come home. Interested, rather than just going through the motions. Is that what it took, a middle of the night explosion? Had he truly become one of those people who only found purpose amid chaos and destruction? One of those guys who comes back from war unable to live in peace? He suppressed a shudder at the thought.
But the alternative was just as unsettling. That the new energy and interest he was feeling was the result of his attractive new neighbor.
Don’t make any big decisions for a while. And for God’s sake don’t fall for the first normal girl who catches your eye. You’re on a pendulum, and at first it’s going to swing back hard the other way. Give it a little time.
Greg Parker’s words, spoken in their last counseling session, had resonated with him. He knew the man had been there himself and trusted him the way he’d trusted his squad mates, with his life, albeit in a different way. And he’d been right; the euphoria of being back in the States had eventually given way to a moody depression that had lasted awhile, especially when Gramps died while he’d been trapped in a hospital, unable to get to him.
After that his focus had been to battle back to health, and then to readjust to a life where a crack of sound behind him was more likely to be a car backfiring than a shot. Finally he’d leveled back off, and only then had he made the decision to do what had been in the back of his mind all along. To go to the place he’d loved above all else as a kid, the house Gramps had left him. There he would decide what to do with the rest of his life.
...don’t fall for the first normal girl who catches your eye... Give it a little time.
It had been more than a little time, but no one had caught his eye in that way. There had been only that enveloping numbness.
At least, until tonight.
It was just the circumstances, he told himself. Who could fail to notice a woman like his neighbor when she was standing in your yard wearing next to nothing, with a look of concern in her big, blue-gray eyes? He was just numb, not dead. In fact, maybe this was just a sign he was coming back to life.
Problem