Gifts of Honor: Starting from Scratch\Hero's Homecoming (3 page)

“A Ranger’s tougher than that.” Except for the fingerprints he could feel burned onto his ass, he’d already forgotten about it. “That’s a good color on you.”

“You know me and red—my favorite color in the universe.” Then she bit her lips together, hard enough to turn them white. “Sorry. I, uh...I like red.”

“Right.” This was a bad idea, he thought, stepping back on the excuse of not blocking the sidewalk when someone approached. But the real reason was simple—he didn’t want to be in this conversation anymore. She wasn’t a part of his life, so it was a mystery why he’d found himself running to intercept her. Maybe it had been a good idea to get their first face-to-face meeting out of the way, but forcing something that wasn’t there was worse than pointless. It was painful. He was so sick of things that were painful. Simplicity was what he needed now. And
simple
wasn’t Lucy...Lucy...

His hands curled into frustrated fists when he came up empty. That blankness meant failure, and that was one thing the Ranger in him couldn’t accept.

“You’re not still going by Jax, are you?”

“No.” She gave him a veiled look. “You suggested that, to put all this behind us, I should take back my maiden name. I did.”

“Ah. Good.”

As she turned away she muttered something under her breath that sounded like,
nice
. “I’d better be going.”

As the vision of her back filled his view, a jolt went through him. A strange, frantic feeling he couldn’t control, while the diner door opened behind him. “Wait. Now you’re Lucy...?”

“Crabtree. Good—”

“Lucy!” His father, Lowell, hustled from the diner to sweep Lucy in a hug that took her off her feet. “How’s my queen of sweets? Since you moved out I never hear from you. Where’ve you been hiding?”

Sully winced at the lack of subtlety. Apparently while he’d been deployed, Lucy had stayed in the garage apartment on his father’s property, the same apartment where Sully now lived. From the moment Sully had walked through that apartment’s door he’d suffered an intense hatred of the place, when he usually didn’t give a crap about his surroundings. It just didn’t
feel
like home. No place did. He wasn’t even sure what
home
was supposed to feel like. All he knew was that the apartment wasn’t it.

“Lowell.” Lucy’s voice was muffled against his father’s shoulder as she was dumped back on her feet. “I haven’t been hiding, I’ve been working at Pauline’s and getting the loft transformed from a dirty storage space to a shiny new home.”

“Everyone knows Lucy’s the busiest person in Bitterthorn this time of year, even without having to sink new roots.”

The unfamiliar baritone snapped Sully’s attention to the man he’d seen approaching. The guy was a rough piece of work—unshaven, silver hoops gleaming in his ears, his dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. The new arrival’s attention glanced off him as though he’d sized Sully up as unimportant before he bestowed a thousand-watt grin on Lucy. “If she’s not under Pauline’s whip, she’s filling Pfeffernüsse orders on the side. It’s almost embarrassing, how my garage smells like Mrs. Claus’s kitchen.”

“Oh, Pfeffernüsse.” Lowell made a sound of swoony yearning. “Lucy, is it too late for me to sneak an order in? You know I can’t resist anything you bake, but your secret recipe is something I look forward to every year.”

She patted his father’s cheek, showing a familiarity that made Sully feel more like an outsider than ever. “For you, Lowell, anything.”

“Pfeffernüsse?” That edgy sense of failure growled to life while the foreign-sounding word whispered in his head. “What’s that?”

Silence—that awkward, something’s-not-quite-right silence he should be used to by now—froze them in place before Lucy shrugged. “It’s a traditional German-Dutch cookie, usually made during the holidays. The recipe I use has been handed down from generation to generation for at least two hundred years. Not even Pauline has been able to coax the recipe out of me.”

“Sounds good. I’ve been craving cookies lately.”

The man with the ponytail glanced his way. “So, Lieutenant Jax. I hear the mayor’s made you the guest of honor at the Christmas Ball, to celebrate the return of Bitterthorn’s big Silver Star war hero.”

Sully would have to be deaf to not hear the mockery. “Who are you?”

“Coe Rodas. Name ring any bells,
Lieutenant
?”

“
Coe
.” The admonition came from Lucy, and the white-hot fire behind the tone jerked his attention back to her. Strange, she’d never shown any fire around him before now.

Funny thing about fire. He’d always had a crazy kind of thing for it.

The tough guy, Coe, seemed to recognize all that heat meant danger, and backed down like an obedient puppy. “My apologies, Luce. I didn’t mean to mess with someone who’s, you know...fragile.”

Sully’s teeth snapped together. “I went through sixty-one days of hell in Ranger School, renowned as the toughest combat training course in the world, where on average nearly half the class washes out the first week alone. I did it because I wanted to become a part of the army’s most elite infantry, just to see if I was strong enough mentally and physically to handle it. My battalion specialized in personnel extraction behind enemy lines, and we never failed in retrieving our target. We could be deployed anywhere in the world in eighteen hours flat, whether it was desert, jungle, urban or mountainous—we trained for it all. I know more ways to kill you than you can probably count, so the one thing I’m not is
fragile
. And I may not have everything straight in my head, but I’d be willing to bet you and I always had a real goddamn problem occupying the same area. Am I right?”

“Pretty much.” But instead of going toe to toe with him like he wanted, Coe once again looked to Lucy with those puppy-dog eyes. It took all of Sully’s strength not to rip his fucking head off. “But that’s ancient history. The present and future are all that matter now.”

The phrase sounded so much like what he’d told Lucy when he’d pushed for a divorce—a merciful act to free them from an unwanted obligation—that he glanced her way. For her part, she glared at Coe as if she believed she could fry him with a look alone.

No thought could have pleased him more.

“It’s great to see you looking so healthy, Sullivan.” With a curt nod in his direction, Lucy turned away. “Welcome home.”

Chapter Two

“RA. Retrograde amnesia. The thing Fred Flintstone got whenever his bowling ball clocked him on the head.” Irritated and shaking from what she told herself was the cold and not emotional upset, Lucy slammed her purse on the kitchen island. “Also known as fucking brain damage. Why the hell would you say
ring any bells
to a traumatic brain injury victim?”

“I refuse to treat Sully with kid gloves. That selfish prick’s getting enough of that from you and everyone else in town, and it makes me want to hurl.”

Lucy’s jaw almost hit the polished wood floor as she turned on the loft’s lights. Since the divorce, the storage space above Lefty’s had become home. It was certainly better than Garden Court, the trailer park where she and Coe had grown up. After five months of working on the open space, the loft’s exposed brick walls and the recessed, massive industrial windows facing Main Street were softened by pendant lighting, comfortable red-upholstered furniture, including a feather-topped, futon-style bed on a platform, and a kitchen she’d spent a pretty penny on to meet her exacting tastes.

Until now, she’d told herself she could be happy here. But one unexpected encounter with her ex had her questioning that in a big way.

“Care to run that by me again?” Stalking back to the kitchen area, she debated whether or not to offer Coe a beer. He didn’t deserve it, but those pesky Southern hospitality rules had her reaching for a couple of longnecks. “Explain how I’ve treated Sullivan with kid gloves.”

Coe took the chilled bottles, opened them both and handed her one. “You’ve always bent over backward to accommodate Sully.”

“Bullshit.”

“When he joined the army, it was with the understanding that all he was going for was the G.I. Bill, right? He wanted to take the financial burden off his dad while still completing his bachelor’s in computer science. He was only supposed to be in for three years.”

“And he did complete his degree while serving, thanks to the continuing education courses he signed up for.” Lucy frowned at Coe, knowing full well where he was going with this. “Are you saying the plans you made in your twenties have gone exactly the way you wanted them to? Remember who you’re talking to.”

“I’m saying that when you guys got together, you had no clue Sully was going to be bitten by the G.I. Joe bug and change his recruiting contract. He entered the 75th Ranger Regiment while barely even mentioning it to you. Becoming a Ranger was the last thing you wanted him to do, because it not only dropped him in the most dangerous hot spots in the world, it also added another year of service thanks to that new contract.”

“Even if I’d had a crystal ball to see that Sullivan would one day be in Special Forces, what would that have changed? He’s always protected those who can’t protect themselves, and I’m damn proud of him for that. He stood up for me whenever someone picked on me because I came from Garden Court, remember?”

“I remember you wouldn’t give him the time of day until your senior year, even though he followed you like a shadow all through high school.”

“The only reason I held him off was because I didn’t want anyone thinking bad about Sullivan and his interest in trailer-trash.”

Coe swore sharply. “You can’t be serious.”

“Don’t worry, I got over that insecurity. By the time Sullivan was a college freshman and I’d been working at Pauline’s long enough to realize I wanted it as a career, I figured if I could dream about a future, I could dream about one with Sullivan in it.”

“You should have dreamed bigger.”

“Point to one person more determined to always do the right thing than Sullivan. One.”

“See? You’re defending him again.”

“It’s easy to defend a man who was born to be a hero.” But she took a swallow of beer to erase the bittersweet taste the words left in her mouth. “The problem is that I think we got married too early. Twenty-one and twenty-two. Who the hell knows what they want at that age? I don’t think I was prepared to be the wife of an Army Ranger.” The only thing that had inspired her to keep going had been the knowledge that no matter how tough it had been on her, it was nothing compared to what Sully endured wherever he’d been deployed.

“That leads me to the next thing you let Sully get away with.” Coe pointed his beer at her. “Originally that asshole promised he’d only be in for three years for the G.I. Bill, right? Then another year was added, along with Ranger School. Then he went on mission after mission, where you didn’t hear from him for months at a time.”

“Oh, this is fun, reliving the worst times in my life,” she muttered, the bottle at her lips. “For an encore you should eat a kitten.”

“But miracle of miracles, Sully made it through his tour without a scratch. The plan was for him to come home so you could finally settle down and start a family.”

The beer turned to acid in her stomach. “You know what? I don’t want to hear any more of this crap.”

“That’s when that bastard sprang his biggest surprise of all last Christmas Eve—he’d signed up for another tour of duty, leaving you high and dry
again
. And what do you do? You send him a box of Pfeffernüsse with a sweet ‘I love you’ note.”

She’d done that only after bombarding Sullivan with enraged hysterics and absolute silence when he’d whispered he loved her right before he’d shipped out. In the military, sending a soldier off without even one word of love or encouragement was a sin right up there with murder.

“You need to listen up, Coe, because I’m only going to say this once. Military families are trained to be
supportive
. There’s a program called Yellow Ribbon that teaches us how to cope with both the stresses of having our loved ones in the line of fire, and to be the support they need when they get home. Because of that, I’m not going to apologize for giving Sullivan whatever he needs now.” Jaw knotted, Lucy gripped her bottle so hard she was amazed it didn’t shatter. “Yes, I spent many sleepless nights with the phone in my hand, waiting for any kind of word. Yes, there were times when I worried myself sick when they were deployed under information blackouts. Every time I heard a car door slam I thought it was someone coming to tell me Sullivan was never coming home. But he
did
come home. Not whole, and not the man I knew. But he came home, and I’m thrilled about that. If you think that makes me weak, or if you think my putting up with the shit that comes with being a military wife makes me a doormat, you can get the hell out. You have no idea how much strength it takes to be the family that gets left behind.”

“I’d never suggest you should apologize for being a good wife.” The genuine horror in Coe’s tone barely touched her razor-straight hackles. “It was Sully’s lack of care about
you
that needs one big-ass apology, but that’s not going to happen now that he’s had his brain blasted. But not completely blasted, and that makes me even more furious. He can remember so many things—this town, his dad, even everything he went through as a Ranger. The only thing he can’t remember? You. The one person who sacrificed so much. Tell me how that’s fair.”

“It’s not. Life isn’t fair, I’m stupid enough love a man who doesn’t know me, and God obviously hates my guts. End of story.” She shrugged like she didn’t care, and hardened her heart so the agony inside could almost—almost—be ignored.

* * *

“This is worse than tangled wire coat hangers.” Swearing under his breath, Sully wrestled with a knot of Christmas lights the size of a basketball. Now that the wind had subsided and the sun was out, he and his father decided that doing ordinary chores would be good therapy for him.

So far, they were sort of right. While Lowell had gone out to get their tree, Sully began to unpack the Christmas decorations. A flood of warm memories came back when he found the old stocking his mother had made. He smiled when he found the simple brass star tree-topper he’d made in shop class in high school. The sight of a hand-painted angel a neighbor had given them when his mother had passed away brought tears to his eyes. Underneath that, he’d found a plate with
Santa’s Cookies
written on it, and without any effort he had a sudden memory of placing a glass of milk and a plate piled high with Christmas cookies next to the hearth.

Mmm.
Cookies.

Finding that plate was when Sully had decided to go ten rounds with the balled-up mess of Christmas tree lights. It was bizarre, but he’d been craving cookies for months now. He’d eat them morning, noon and night if he could get away with it. It was only when he noticed his abs were starting to disappear that he’d tried putting the brakes on the cookie craving, but it was never far from his mind. He wasn’t even sure what kind of cookie he wanted; nothing satisfied him. Nothing in
life
satisfied him. For all he knew, this incessant craving was a manifestation of what he truly wanted—completion. To no longer have so many blank spots in his memory.

The biggest blank spot of all was Lucy.

Sully scowled at the lights without really seeing them. In his mind, his first memory of Lucy was when he’d come to in a hospital bed with her at his side, cuddling his hand to her cheek as she dozed. It had startled him, this woman, and he’d jerked away yelling something...he couldn’t remember what. He only knew he’d wanted to get her as far away from him as possible.

Even now he couldn’t explain that fear. He didn’t remember what her reaction had been, but considering what he knew now—that she’d been his wife loyally comforting him in his time of need—he could only imagine her shock and hurt.

A stab of regret lanced his chest, and absently he rubbed at the ache. She seemed so good, this Lucy Crabtree. Smart-mouthed and sassy, but sweet as hell. And damn, she was an absolute stunner. Any man would be lucky to have her. That was why he’d felt compelled to sever the ties he couldn’t remember making between them. She deserved better than to be chained to a man who couldn’t remember or appreciate her.

Dammit all, he just knew she deserved better than him.

A bonging sound chimed, and after only a second he nailed the sound down as the doorbell. What a crazy brain he had, he couldn’t help but think, grinding his teeth in frustration as he made his way to the foyer. Couldn’t remember his own wife, but he knew that bell belonged to the front door. Go figure.

Shock froze him in place when the woman occupying his thoughts stood on the welcome mat, fussing with a couple of pink bakery boxes. She looked up with a ready smile, which vanished in a wave of horror when she saw him standing in the doorway.

If he’d had any doubts about how Lucy viewed him, that pretty much laid them all to rest.

“What are you... I mean, I thought you were living over there now.” She nodded in the direction of the detached garage about twenty yards away, the apartment where she’d lived during his final tour. “What are you doing here?”

“Currently I’m being outsmarted by a knot of Christmas tree lights.” Her hair was down, and he had no idea if he’d seen it that way before. He liked it though. The rich toffee-colored waves that brushed her shoulders made his fingers itch to sift through them. “It’s Christmas-decorating time here at the Jax house.” Too late, he realized she’d once been a Jax and could have bitten his tongue out at the flub.

Thankfully she didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, that’s nice. Is Lowell here? I’m here for Lowell.”

Not you
. She may as well have screamed the words. “Sorry, you just missed him. He’s gone out tree shopping, so he won’t be back for some time yet.”

“Ah.” She hesitated only a moment before offering up the boxes with one of those over-bright fake smiles—nothing like the lovely work of art she’d gifted that bastard Coe Rodas with a couple of nights ago. “I guess you’re stuck with playing delivery boy. I made Lowell his Pfeffernüsse, so hopefully this’ll tide him over until Christmas.”

He felt the weight of the packages and lifted his brows. “Man, I sure hope so, with two boxes.”

“Actually, one’s for you. I was going to leave instructions with Lowell to give you one, but since you’re here, feel free to arm-wrestle Lowell for his share. Who knows? You could walk away with both boxes.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

“You’re a big fan of these cookies, so I wouldn’t put it past you,” she added, gesturing at the boxes even as she took a backward step. Her retreat hurt his heart in a way he couldn’t explain. “Give them a try with a glass of milk. You used to call them ‘thirsty cookies’ instead of Pfeffernüsse, which kind of makes sense. All the powdered sugar they’re covered in makes for a very dry mouth.” She stopped suddenly as if realizing she was babbling before she raised a hand in farewell. “Enjoy. Tell Lowell I said—”

“Stay.” The word was out before he knew he wanted to say it. But once it was out there, a sense of rightness settled over him. “You can tell him yourself. I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”

All traces of the faux smile vanished. “I’d better not.”

“Why?” He knew why. Maybe she even had the right idea, letting sleeping dogs lie. But the need to earn one of her dazzling smiles—and not that pretend crap she kept giving him—was fast becoming an obsession. Just once, he wanted to make her happy enough to smile. “Is there someplace else you have to be?”

The way she looked at her watch made him suspect she was trying to think of an excuse, and he almost rescinded the offer. He was probably being a selfish bastard and making her feel uncomfortable—

“I have a shift at Pauline’s, but it starts an hour from now.”

“Downtown Bitterthorn is seven minutes away.” He opened the door wide, promising himself he wouldn’t press her if she still balked. No matter how much he might want to. “You can spend the other fifty-three minutes helping me untangle the worst Christmas light knot the world’s ever seen, eat some Pfeffernüsse and drink some milk.”

The step she took toward him made his blood sing. “Gee, what an offer.”

“Irresistible, right? And who knows—if I have some help with the lights, I might not work myself into a migraine.”

Dirty pool or not, the emotional blackmail worked. A flash of concern touched her face, and while it wasn’t the smile he’d hoped for, at least the tension that usually hovered around her whenever he was near faded. “I’ll help you with the knot, but I’m going to have to pass on the cookies.”