Scars, page 21
She didn’t know about Bill Schuster’s threats, and so he didn’t share his suspicion of Bill sneaking around the property had triggered his PTSD. Or that having failed to recognize her, shredded his insides. Reid turned back to Keira and his tone went mild. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“You’re right, I don’t.” Keira closed the distance. “It scared the living shit out of me, too.”
Seconds ticked. “Jeez.” Reid raised his eyes to the sky. How had he fucked this up?
Keira touched a hand to his arm, “But I’m still here. So, try me. I’m great at listening.”
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, curiosity stood in his eyes as he leveled his gaze on her. “Why did you come here?”
A deflection. She pursed her lips. “You know, I almost forgot the reason for coming here. Bones. There’s an adopter who wanted to see him, and Haley couldn’t get a hold of you.” Her mouth twisted into a warbled smile. “I thought you’d just turned off your phone. I came to pick up Bones.”
“Yeah, I’ve turned off the ringer.” Another pause. Reid didn’t offer any explanation as he swung around and started toward the cabin.
“This isn’t his day to be adopted. I’ll call Haley,” Keira said, but he’d already turned his back.
“Your call.” All of a sudden, he sounded gruff.
What the hell had he been thinking, wanting to date her? She was the kind of woman—self-assured, quirky, gentle, and kind—who deserved more than falling in love with a man whose ghosts would pop up at any time, any place. The prosthesis, had it been an excuse to push her away? To spare her precisely from what happened, back there in the woods? Hell if he knew.
Keira followed Reid into the clearing, catching up with him. He’d stopped at her truck, expecting her to leave. Instead, he saw the hesitation, the speeding pulse in the vein below her ear. Nerves. He anticipated her questioning. Was this what riled him? The questions, the prying?
“Reid? Don’t shut me out again. Please?” Uttered as a soft plead, she crossed her arms and leaned against the tailgate. “Something is happening that you say I don’t understand. Why don’t you explain it to me?”
In one fluid motion, Reid braced his hands against the truck to each side of her head, his frame trapping her. Reid’s face was inches from Keira’s, his smile dark. “You want to get to know me? Really get to know me? Figure out what makes me flip a lid? Is that it?”
Yard’s ears perked, his low growl barely audible.
Keira’s mouth went dry as dust, and she swallowed hard as Reid stared at her, blades of steel slicing through jade. And she nodded.
“Yes. All of that.”
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” Jaw tightening, Reid’s stare didn’t waver as he pinned her gaze.
“Then tell me.” Bold and unafraid, her eyes challenged.
For an endless moment, his gaze lingered as he regarded her thoughtfully. “There is something you need to know about me, Mossy.” He’d used her nickname, but his tone was flat. “There’s the leg—but you know about that.” Reid huffed a laugh, low and murky. His breath slid hot across her cheek as his face closed in. “But that’s not all. Know what we called someone like me in the Army?”
When Keira just shook her head, his gaze skipped to the wildly pulsing vein in her neck. “We called him ‘messed up like a soup sandwich.'” With a flick of a wrist, his hand cupped the back of Keira’s head. Fisting hair, he crushed his mouth to hers. Lips, rough and ready, parted her mouth, his tongue exploring hard and demanding. And Keira matched his rough caresses in a dance bearing the marks of lingering darkness.
His hips pinned her against the truck, his erection pressed into her stomach. Locked in the tidal wave of this kiss, his free hand tore down her side, pulled and tucked in a white-hot frenzy, slipped under her shirt, and cupped her breast.
“No. Hold it.” Keira’s heart galloped when she shoved her hands against his chest.
Yard barked. A warning?
Wide-eyed, she panted, gasping for air. Unlike the forest encounter, Reid stopped cold. Releasing her from his grasp, he willed himself to step away. His breath, too, came in ragged bursts, a volcano under pressure. “You still want to get to know me, Mossy?” he sneered, his hand rubbing at the tension in the back of his neck.
Green eyes measured. Keira smoothed her shirt and stalked to the driver’s side of the truck. Her lips were puffy, and the scruff on his chin had scratched her cheeks, turning her pale skin a hot pink.
“Color me crazy. I do—but not like this, soldier.” Keira spoke quietly, using the name she’d called him on their first date. Her pulse still stuttering, but deceptively calm, she climbed into the truck’s cabin. With an air of indifference, she kept her dignity intact.
Through the open driver’s window, she lowered her eyes to him. “You ask me out on a date, and I mean a date that includes dinner and a show, I may say yes.”
Gravel crunched under her wheels as she slowly backed out the vehicle.
His phone buzzed inside his pocket. Staring after the disappearing red lights of the F-250, he pulled it from his pocket.
Jesus Christ. This woman. Surprisingly, she hadn’t driven away like a bat out of hell. Messed up like a soup sandwich, and it didn’t seem to faze her.
“Mack. What the fuck? About time you answered the damn phone. Where are you, and what in the hell is going on?” Houston’s deep tone boomed through the speaker after Reid answered the call.
“Whoa, take it easy, man.” Reid climbed the steps to the front porch. From inside, Bones kept barking. He could just see the dog pushing up on his hind legs, scratching on the door. “I seem to recall telling you I was heading for the cabin. So, what’s your problem?”
An exasperated huff reached his ear. “What’s my problem? Let me see. I get a call from your number, but all I hear are disturbing sounds – frantic movement, rustling noises, and you’re yelling, ‘Drop your weapon.’ The chill in your voice, man . . . it raised the hair on my back. And then the line went dead. So, you tell me.”
Reid opened the front door, Yard pushed inside while Bones jumped for attention. With the chase now a hazy blur, talking about it was the last thing Reid wanted to do. What a rollercoaster to come down from. Clamping the phone between shoulder and ear, he picked up Bones, shuffled into the great room, and sunk onto the sofa.
Bracing an elbow on his knee, Reid dropped his head into his hand and took a jagged breath. His friend deserved the truth, but he stalled. “Butt dial. Damn phone,” he said.
Bones scooted to his side, sniffing and licking with great curiosity at the scents clinging to Reid’s clothes and skin.
“No kidding, Sherlock. I figured that much. I only called back a thousand times without an answer. So, what happened? What about that truck you asked me about? Was it Schuster’s? He came by to make trouble?”
Reid’s gaze went to the ceiling. “That was my first thought. But nope, not Schuster. I wish it had been.”
Houston must have heard something in Reid’s voice that gave him pause, because a second passed before he asked, “So, what happened?”
“Shit, man. You don’t want to know.”
“A flashback?” Empathy vibrated in Houston’s voice.
A groan. “Yeah.” Defeated, Reid rubbed across his forehead as if it could clear the shredded veil behind. “It happened again. Keira came over to pick up Bones. I wasn’t there, so she waited, took the trail into the woods. When I got to the cabin, there was a truck, but you know that. Only there wasn’t anyone. Schuster, I thought. And shit happened, the fog rolled in.”
“Jesus, Mack. Where’s Keira? Is she all right . . . are you all right?”
“She’s heading home right now. And before you ask, she’s okay.” Reid swallowed. The kiss, possessive and with a measure of aggression—well, it had turned his insides. And her response to it, deep and intense, had cemented a need. His throat felt dry as sandpaper. Getting up from the sofa, he went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water. He felt as thirsty as a man stranded in a desert. Reid guzzled the chilled water, but his thirst went soul deep.
“Mack. I’m about to leave Louisville; I’ll be over later.”
Reid ran a hand through his hair. Jeez. The day had stirred a stew of emotions. Compassion for Matt, a rush of perceived danger, and feelings for a woman who’d kindled a bonfire in his blood—he needed to get out of here. And do something to rid himself of this restless energy twisting his insides. Maybe the gym. His eyes fell on the cardboard tubes containing posters and folders bulging with brochures and information on Heroes Rise, and he had a better idea.
“No worries,” he told Houston. “I’m okay now. I’ll be out of here for a while. Text me when you get back? I’ll meet you in town.”
Reid ended the call and after taking a shower, he pulled a lightweight shirt over his head and stepped into a clean pair of jeans. Picking up the phone from the bed, he gazed at the screen, contemplating whether to call or text Keira and settled on texting. There was no hesitation in his thumb as he typed, are you okay?
The answer pinged as he got into his hiking boots, yes, are you?
Despite this horrible experience today, she’d answered right away, so he made up his mind and went for it. About that dinner and a show, are you free tomorrow? Why wait?
I’ll have to get back with you. That little smiley face she’d tacked on? For some reason, it made him grin. You do that, Mossy.
Chapter 27
Ten minutes later, Reid circled Main Street. Downtown bustled with shoppers and diners and out of town folk, and parking places were in high demand. “Here we go, boy,” he said when a spot opened up. Yard yawned and lifted his ears as Reid backed the Jeep into the vacant spot. He’d wanted to bring Bones but decided it was too soon.
Getting out of the Jeep, he released and leashed Yard, and picked up the cardboard tube containing Heroes Rise posters from the passenger seat. There were bubbles in the air. The kind that transformed grumpy to cheerful the way only a sunny spring day could do. The kind that charged his spirit and breathed energy into his core.
“You smell that?” From the coffeehouse behind him, the aroma of dark roast wafted through the open door, challenging his taste buds. “Let’s have some of that before we get going, bud.” The dog just tilted his head as if saying, “What are you talking about?”
Next to the coffee shop’s entrance, he ordered Yard to stay. “I’ll be right back,” Reid said in the same manner as he would tell a small child to wait.
He returned with a large to-go cup and dropped into one of the bistro chairs sitting on the bricked sidewalk in front of the store. He placed the tube on the table and stretched his legs. A voluptuous middle-aged woman stepped outside, her smile friendly and warm, her attitude solicitous. It appeared to Reid the woman was about to strike a conversation, and right on target, she proved him to be correct.
“This is a good day.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered respectfully, placing her accent somewhere in the Balkans. She touched her gaze to Yard, who laid next to Reid’s chair. “And your dog, he is good, too.”
“Yes, ma’am, he’s the best.” Reid, who’d been slouching in the chair, straightened his frame. When waiting for his coffee in line, he’d observed her talking with the barista. Hands flying up in the air, giving off the vibe of someone in charge, he’d pegged her as the owner.
“I’m Tanya.”
“Tanya’s Beans,” Reid smiled, stood, and extended his hand in greeting. “Of course. I’m Reid McCabe. May I talk to you about something?”
“Ah. The perks of being the owner.” She waved to a passerby across the street in answer to her greeting. “I can take a break,” she said, directing her attention back to Reid.
He’d picked up on the hesitation, the way solicitation stood written across her face. It occurred to him that Main Street businesses were prime targets for donation requests.
“Please, won’t you join me for a minute?”
“Hmm. Reid McCabe. I know your name. But I don’t know how.” Tanya’s lips pursed as she sat.
“May I,” she asked when Yard’s head popped up. Reid nodded, and she stroked the dog’ back, crooning how soft and pretty he was.
“Perhaps, Heroes Rise sounds familiar?”
The question brought her attention back to Reid. “Yes, yes. Of course.” Tanya injected, and that warm smile returned. “You’re the fella who talked with Buck. On the radio.”
Tanya’s eyes skipped over Reid from head to toe, brazen and unapologetically blunt, and he perceived what she’d ask before it came over her lips.
“That’s me.” On the inside, Reid cringed. It’s how it always would be. How people would differentiate between Houston and him—the guy with the missing leg. Unlucky bastard is what he wanted to say, but that would not be polite. Would it? Not when he was about to ask her to become a sponsor. Or to place a donation box inside her store.
In place of a rebuke, he gave her a dazzling smile. “May I talk to you about our sponsorship levels?”
Seeing the cloud coming over her face again, he pitched, smiled, and told Matt’s story without naming him. When he finished, Tanya didn’t sign up for a monthly sponsorship, but she donated a grand.
Self-satisfaction spiked at the first success, but it made his day. “Of course,” he said. “Just as soon as our Tax ID comes in, your donation will be tax-deductible. In the meantime, I’ll leave you this colorful poster to place inside the store or window display. Would that be all right?”
Tanya stood, and Reid pushed to his feet as well. “I’m happy to help,” she said. “Bring your hand-out sheets, and I’ll put them on the counter.”
Tanya extended a hand, they shook, and he saw the surprise glint in her eyes when he turned over her hand and placed a kiss on top. “You are very generous, Tanya. Thank you.” He kept his eyes on hers just a bit longer than necessary.
“Oh, you are welcome.” He’d cranked up the charm, and it had put a blush into her cheeks.
Reid took Yard’s leash and disposed of his to-go cup. “You’re my lucky charm, boy,” he said. “Let’s go and pound these pavers.” And on fickle wings of first success, he sat out to make a pitch for Heroes Rise with store owners along Main Street.
An hour had passed when Reid’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He was inside a western store, listening to the entertaining stories of the owner’s life as a cattle hand on a large-scale Wyoming ranch. Fascinating as they were, it was time to move on. Jim, the owner, had taped the Heroes Rise poster to the glass of the entrance door, but hadn’t committed to a donation yet. Reid excused himself and answered Houston’s call.
“Hey. You back in town?
“Yep. What are you up to?”
“I’m downtown, hitting up some stores for our cause. Tanya’s Beans is donating a grand—how do you like those beans, Tex?” Reid chuckled and kept talking while he headed from the side street toward Main. “I spoke to a few others, and we’ve got some posters up in store windows now. I’ll fill you in later.”
“Cool, man. Come over to my place. Unless you still want to meet in town?”
“Yeah, let’s meet at Pat’s? Give me thirty minutes?”
“A’ight. I’ll see you around five o’clock.”
Reid tugged on Yard’s leash. “Okay, boy. Let’s get you back to the cabin.”
By now, a few of the novelty stores were closing for the evening; three-story buildings shadowed the side street, and traffic had slowed.
His phone pinged. A message this time. Keira. About tomorrow. What time will you pick me up?
Reid grinned. The no-frills, straight-forward message a reflection of Keira’s nature. And it was precisely that. The absence of ruffles and lace around the edges of Keira’s personality, linked with warm-heartedness, affection, and one hell of a lot of strength, had stirred an attraction unlike any before. Jeez. What depth of character she’d revealed this morning after the attack. It hadn’t killed her compassion.
Reid started typing out a message but changed his mind and pressed the green phone icon instead. Ahead, at the pedestrian crossing, the light flashed down seconds. The Jeep parked curbside on the other side of Main Street, and he hotfooted it.
Easing his truck onto Main Street, Bill felt hot, dizzy, and nauseated from the all-you-can-eat buffet. He needed an antacid. It would help; it always did. Traffic moved at a steady pace. In just a few minutes, he’d be home.
Closing in on the center of town, Bill squinted against the setting sun, blinked, and squinted again. And he felt his blood pressure rise. There he was—McCabe. Strutting towards Main Street with that mongrel next to him, his phone pressed to his head. No effing care in the world. His resentment was a burning ulcer in the pit of his gut. Bill felt sick. Acid washed into his throat, and red spots danced before his eyes as he swallowed the burning bile.
Ahead the traffic light changed from yellow to red, but Bill didn’t see. It took all his attention to focus on that smile spreading across the bastard’s face as he spoke into his phone. Loathing churned in his gut. His vision blurred, the blood roared through his veins, his damp shirt clung. Bill couldn’t breathe.
A thud against the fender. Iron bands squeezed his chest, choked him. A last coherent thought sprinted through Bill’s head—stop the truck. Oh, God. This was it. A heart attack. Would his life end on Main Street, a public spectacle?
Overwhelming regret surged—for losing Billy, having failed Carol, and for letting hate shade his soul and blot out empathy. Maybe it was a survival instinct, or perhaps the resurgence of scruples, but with single-minded focus, Bill stomped on the breaks. Aware of metal screeching against metal, he slumped and folded like a wet towel.
