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1
Dallas
I’m like a bear with a sore paw, ready to snarl and snap at the world. But to hear Mac and the Lieutenant tell it, I’m more closely resembling a pouting little girl. They’re both sitting in my cabin, staring me down. Well, Mac is leaning against the wall with his arms folded, but the effect is the same. They’re kicking me off the mountain, effective immediately.
“Dallas, coughing up blood isn’t something that goes away on its own,” Mac finally snaps. Fuck, I know that. I just don’t want to deal with the consequences. People, hospitals, traffic.
The Lieutenant frowns harder. “If it’s the money…”
I hold up a hand. “Fuck that, Lieutenant. I got that extra endorsement deal. After the movie, remember? It’s not the money. It’s everything that goes into spending it,” I grouse, earning me a small twitch of the lips. These two are no better, just that now they have wives and kids to keep them grounded in the real world. Before that they were grumpy loners just like me.
“There’s some good news,” Mac offers slowly.
I raise an eyebrow in disbelief. Mac rolls his eyes. “Two pieces of good news, actually. The first is Commander McBride, the surgeon that first worked on you is now operating as a civilian out of Destiny Bay. I already contacted him and he’s agreed to meet with you and go over the scans. You need surgery asap, Dallas. And someone that’s already seen your messed up plumbing will make for a better outcome.”
I nod, feeling defeated. The shrapnel fragments that were lodged too close to my spine to remove before have shifted, hence the bleeding lungs. God only knows what the others are next to. I’m not feeling like I’ve got a lot to live for, but I’m hardly in the mood to just give up and die, either.
“And the other good news?” I ask sardonically.
“Well,” the Lieutenant drawls. “You’ll have post-op appointments so you can’t return here after surgery.”
“Fuck!” I start to jump to my feet until Mac glares at me and I sink down on to the side of the bed again.
“So we’ve arranged for you to stay at a friend’s place and another connection’s daughter has agreed to spend a few months looking after you. She’s fresh out of school and hasn’t found a job yet, so you’re going to give her the start of some work history. She’ll earn it, but she’s young, so watch the foul mouth, Summers.”
“Double fuck,” I growl, thinking the last thing I need is a do-gooding young woman trying to take care of me, smothering me with blankets and affirmations.
“You’ll be weaker than a wet cat and likely twice as ornery, Dallas, so go easy on her. You’ll need the help. If for nothing else, then don’t waste the good doctor’s work.”
I hear the order in his words and don’t bother defying it. I sigh and give them both a lazy salute.
Esme
I’m a sucker for wounded animals. My mother knows this and so did my grandma. So when mom invokes Grandma’s recent passing as the reason why I should feel inspired to spend the rest of the winter feeding soup to an injured soldier, I can feel my will softening to jelly almost immediately. I need to be hitting the phones and social media in an effort to make the right contacts to even get my foot in the door for a job interview. But looks like I’m giving back in the form of soup and sponge baths instead.
In place of how-to-start-life-as-an-adult advice I’m listening to, “He’s older and never married, Es. He’s got nobody to take care of him and his home is too remote for an invalid.”
I’m now picturing a man in his seventies, surrounded by black-and-white photo albums of his war adventures.
“What kind of soldier was he?” I ask idly, curious about the war stories I’m likely in for.
“Oh, he was a Navy SEAL. Do you remember the movie about theSan Sebastian? He was one of them.” My mom waves her hand around in the air like that’s going to help. But I sit up straight. Because first of all, a SEAL? And he’s too weak to take care of himself? Somehow that makes me think he might die on my watch. And second, that movie isn’t that old, nor were the events it was based on. Of course he’s older than me. But he can’t be much over forty.
“So if he’s not allowed to go home, where is he going to live? Are you inviting him here?” I ask dubiously, because there is no guestroom with me living here again temporarily since I’m no longer in school. I’m not so selfish I wouldn’t move to the sofa for someone that truly needed my bed. But I’m not looking forward to it.
“Oh no. His friends have made arrangements. He, and you, will be staying at the Lodge at Angel Lake just a couple of hours from Destiny Bay. You’ll need to take him to his follow-up appointments, but as long as you keep him from doing anything stupid, there shouldn’t be too many of those. And you’ll be high in the mountains on a lake. There’s even a spa!”
She holds that out like she’s volunteering me for a vacation. I don’t quite see where there’s a space in the schedule she just described to nip out for a massage. Or the money for that kind of extra. But I also can’t stand to think of someone hurting with absolutely no family or friends to look after him.
“Your grandma stopped by their compound once, you know. When she took that road trip with Bhodie.”
Oh Lord. That journey is legendary. My cousin Bhodie has never quite recovered from three weeks with an octogenarian, although he is now a resident specializing in geriatrics, so I guess some good came out of it.
“What compound?” I don’t remember Grandma ever mentioning a military hangout.
“Some old roadhouse diner that she remembered from the old days. But this group of SEALs turned it into their command center. She wasn’t too impressed with their housekeeping, but apparently they made up for it with surveillance tech. And their good looks,” my mom adds dryly. She can do that because grandma was Dad’s mom, not hers.
“Whose good looks?” my dad asks as he comes into the kitchen, dropping an automatic kiss on my mom’s cheek. It used to annoy me how nice they are to each other. And then I went away to school and saw how rare that was, not just among the students. Now I’m a tiny bit jealous because I think they’ve spoiled it for me. If I can’t have someone that likes me that much, I’d rather be alone. Which I am. And have been. And probably always will be.
