Hero by Night (4 page)

“No.” Lena put the truck in park and opened her door. “It belongs to Malcolm. My ex. I don't know how he found me here.”

She climbed down with Hero following close behind her. As soon as they were out of the truck, Hero moved in front of her, demanding to take the lead, his yellow duck clutched tight between his teeth.

“Lena, wait,” Katie called. “Should I get my brothers?”

“No.” Lena held her head high following her dog. “Malcolm's harmless. I just wasn't expecting him.”

“If you're sure,” Katie said, eyeing Malcolm as if trying to assess whether the tall, lean man with the boyish good looks and expensive clothes that screamed,
Tech nerd
was a threat.

“I am,” Lena said. “Why don't you head inside?”

Katie gave Malcolm a little wave and turned to the main farmhouse. Knowing it was only a matter of time before one of the Summers brothers appeared—­Katie would send them despite Lena's reassurances—­Lena approached her ex-­husband. She stopped a few feet away, allowing enough space for Hero to stand between them.

“Hi Lena.” He offered the goofy grin that once had the power to make her knees weak and her heart race. “I tried calling, but you turned off your cell.”

“I'm thinking about changing providers. There's not a lot of ser­vice out here.”

While that might be true, her phone had been turned off when she'd stopped paying the bill. But if she told her ex, he'd try to write her a check or offer alimony payments again. She needed the cash, but her foolish pride stood in the way. She'd pushed a decent man away, ending their marriage because she'd succumbed to post-­traumatic stress. Yes, he'd been impatient. But a year was a long time to wait. And he'd already put in the time while she served her country. He'd thought the waiting was over when she left after fulfilling her five-­year commitment to the army. She had too. And then she'd fallen apart. That was on her. Malcolm didn't owe her anything.

“Yeah, you're kind of in the middle of nowhere,” he said.

“It's not that far from Portland,” she said, falling into her defensive habits. “You found your way here.”

“I guess not.” He looked past her to the mountain peaks in the distance. “Nice views.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. Hero moved closer, keeping his canine eyes focused on her ex. “What are you doing here, Malcolm?”

“This came for you.” He stepped forward, holding out a large manila envelope. “You're being awarded a Silver Star.”

“What?” Shocked, she took the envelope. “For what?”

“I didn't read it. A woman from the army called the house and told me. She said the vice-­president is coming to an Oregon base next month to present the medal to you. Just you. When this came, well, I thought you would want it so I drove down, asked around town, and found you.”

“Thank you.” She stared down at the sealed envelope. A Silver Star. The army's third highest honor, and rarely given to a woman. Why had they picked her? The memory descended swift and fierce.

Gunfire. Men, and some women, but mostly men screaming. The noise was deafening. She'd raced to the front lines carrying important information before, but she'd never seen anything like this. These soldiers were dying. Unless someone carried them to safety. . .

“Lena, someone is coming this way.” She could tell from his gentle tone that Malcolm was trying to warn her. “From the house,” he added.

She glanced over her shoulder and spotted Chad, striding toward them. He moved with purpose, but his expression remained calm and easygoing.

“Hey Lena,” he said, stopping at her side, offering her a smile. “Heard you hiked up to the falls today. Nice right?”

“Beautiful,” she murmured, her mind shifting to the present, the peace and quiet of Independence Falls, and the reassuring tone of Chad's voice.

“That's one of my favorite places,” Chad said. “Now how about introducing me to your friend?”

Her hand went to Hero's fur as she made the introductions, her gaze moving back and forth between her ex and the man she'd threatened to shoot for climbing into bed with her last night.

“I drove down to give Lena her mail,” Malcolm explained. “But I should probably hit the road. I need to get back to Portland and set up for poker. Remember our weekly games, Lena? With the crew?”

“I remember,” she said. It had been years since she'd played, but she recalled the ­people who'd been her friends when she first moved to Portland, before she deployed—­before her marriage dissolved.

Malcolm moved toward her and she stiffened. Hero stepped forward, ready and willing to create space for her. But her hand reached out and took hold of Chad.

And then she could breathe again. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until the anxiety slipped away. Chad didn't move a muscle. He simply let her hold his hand as if it were a normal, everyday thing, and not a miracle in her war-­torn world.

Malcolm's gaze dropped to their joined hands. And he knew. She could see it in his eyes. Her ex knew that the man standing beside her had touched her, held her, maybe more. There was a question mark there too, shining in his familiar face. If this man she'd known for a matter of hours could hold her hand, why did she shy away from the one who'd been her lover, who'd done his best to support her in those first few months home?

Because she'd been too broken, too different—­and Malcolm's best hadn't been enough.

“Lena?”

Dropping Chad's hand, she gave her head a quick shake. She didn't have an answer to his unspoken question.

“OK,” Malcolm said, stepping back. “OK, Lena. I'll head out now. But please think about it. It's a Silver Star, given by the vice president. After all you've been through, I think you should go to the ceremony and let them honor you. You earned this.”

She nodded. “I'll think about it.”

“And Lena.” Her ex hesitated, glancing at the ground. She waited for him to say the words:
Come home.
Now that he had evidence that she'd pushed past the barrier that had driven them apart. Now that she could allow someone to share her space and touch her hand.

But I still can't let you in
, she thought. They'd suffered together, trying to find a way through her mounting fears in those first months. But in the end, they'd had nothing left but frustration when she'd failed to meet the timeline in Malcolm's mind for her recovery.

“Your father called and left a message at the house. He's going to the ceremony with your brother and mother.” Malcolm looked up at her. “Do me a favor and call them. Give them your new number when you get one, and your address. They're worried about you too.”

“I will.”

Malcolm turned and headed to his car. He paused by the door. “Bye, Lena. Take care of yourself.”

“Good-­bye.”

Her mind pushed her ex-­husband into the past, focusing on her present. Chad Summers. She owed him an explanation, one she didn't feel like giving. Slowly, she turned to him, noting the amused twinkle in his brown eyes.

“So,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “You thought I was your dog there for a second, didn't you?”

 

Chapter 5

L
ENA LAUGHED, AND
Chad knew he'd picked the right words. A smiling, amused woman placed him squarely within his comfort zone. But he couldn't stay within the boundaries. Her ex had sought her out on his land. And she hadn't looked overjoyed to see him.

“Your unexpected visitor must have shaken you if you reached for me,” Chad said. “Anything I need to worry about?”

Her smiled faded. “Malcolm won't be coming back. Believe me. He gave up on me a while ago. He was probably just annoyed my parents were calling him.”

“All right then,” he said, shoving his hands in his jeans' pockets to keeping from brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face. He'd keep an eye out for her ex and ask Brody to do the same, but beyond that, he'd take her at her word. She didn't seem the type to bury her problems. She faced them head-­on with a dog at her side.

And now him.

Last night, he'd left the studio apartment pretty damn certain she wouldn't want to touch him again. She'd allowed it the first time because she'd popped a sleeping pill. But unless she'd been sleepwalking on her hike to the falls, she was stone-­cold sober today—­and still she'd reached for his hand.

“So you won a medal?” He nodded to the envelope in her hands. “And the vice president is going to give it to you?”

“If I go to the ceremony,” she said.

“Sounds like a pretty big deal. I have to agree with your friend in the fancy suit. You don't want to miss that.”

“My family will be there.” Her fingers clutched the envelope as if the thought of her relatives might leave her with hives. “They've had a hard time with my adjustment to being home.”

His eyebrows shot up. Her family was having a hard time? She was the one who slept with a loaded gun at her side. Her relatives sounded like a bunch of jackasses, but he didn't think she'd appreciate his opinion. All families faced struggles. Shit, he knew that. And outside judgment didn't help.

“I don't like crowds. Or ­people touching me. Except you, I guess.” She let out a mirthless laugh. “It must be your charm.”

“You say that like it is a bad thing.”

Her lips formed a thin line banishing every trace of her wry smile, along with the witty sense of humor he found pretty damn attractive. Not that he had any business adding to the things-­I-­like-­about-­Lena column.

“I'm the last thing you want in your life right now,” she said.

“You don't know that.” His trademark smile slipped. He wanted to fly a helicopter for Moore Timber. That was the number one item on his list. But the drop-­dead gorgeous woman standing in front of him was nowhere near the last item. A relationship with a woman looking for a ring was close to the bottom, somewhere around double root canal. But he had a feeling diamonds didn't even make Lena's list of wants right now. Maybe that made her the perfect woman for him—­apart from the fact that she'd turned a gun on him when he'd kissed her.

“I do,” she said. “I want a lot of things I can't have, not until I piece my life back together.”

She said the word “want” and his mind stumble-­tripped back to last night. The way she'd responded to his touch . . . Yeah, he'd like to know a thing or two about her wants. But he wasn't a horny teenager anymore. He understood that her needs extended beyond the bedroom.

“What do you want, Lena?” he asked.

She pursed her lips as if debating what to tell him.

“Try the honest answer. I think I can handle it. I've got charm on my side, remember?”

“I'd like to leave the house without a dog at my side.” Her voice started out soft and low as if she was worried someone—­maybe the retriever chewing on his yellow duck at her feet—­would overhear. But with each word, her tone grew stronger.

“I want to prove that I've moved on,” she continued. “To show everyone that I never gave up and I never will. A lot of ­people have given up on me, but I haven't given up on myself. I want a home. A job. A normal life. I want—­” She drew her lower lip between her teeth. “I want all of the things you promised last night when you thought I was someone else.”

Chad studied the too-­serious expression on her beautiful face. How could anyone look at her and see someone who'd given up? But he had a feeling hearing it from him wouldn't help.

“I'd like to help you—­”

“Why?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “Because you're pretty.”

The look in her blue eyes called bullshit.

“OK, it's more than your looks. I want to help because I think you should have a home. And my sister would kick my ass if I didn't offer the apartment over the barn to you right now. So if you need a place to stay, you have one. For as long as it takes to get back on your feet.”

“I can't afford to pay rent. Not yet. Not until I find a job.”

The image of her ex's convertible flashed in his mind. Yeah, they'd split, but didn't the guy owe her something? But now wasn't the time or place to ask. “You'll find a job.”

“It's not that easy,” she said, glancing at Hero. He could see how it would hurt her chances to walk into an interview and start by explaining her fears. He had a bad feeling a lot of ­people, even strangers, would write her off before she said a word.

“Lena, I'm not one of the ­people who has given up on you. My dad was in the army. I was just a kid when he got out, but . . . he was my hero. He's gone now, but I think he'd be pissed as hell if I didn't at least offer you a place to stay while you get back on your feet.”

He saw tears threatening in her eyes and knew he should have kept his mouth shut about his dad. Before the dam broke and the teardrops started flowing, he backtracked to safer ground. “Maybe it's because I haven't known you long. But hey, Georgia and Katie seem to like you, so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Thank you,” she said. Her voice wavered, but not a single tear fell.

“Hey now,” he said. “Before you place me up on a pedestal beside your dog, aren't you going to ask if I have an ulterior motive?”

Suspicion replaced the awe and wonder in her blue eyes. Right now, she looked a lot like the woman he'd met by Eric's pond—­wary, standoffish, and stunning. “Do you?”

Just a little problem I think you can help me solve
, he thought. But she wasn't the answer to Eric's ultimatum. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't offer friendship.

“Have you had lunch?” he asked.

“No.”

“How about a picnic? I'll make sandwiches.” Her stomach rumbled. “Which I'm guessing you'll like.”

She nodded and turned to her truck.

“Wrong way, Lena.”

“If I'm going to be staying for a while, I need to bring my bag up.” She unlocked the cover of her pickup and lowered the gate. Reaching inside, she withdrew a long duffel and set it on the ground. Then she pulled out a bag of dog food. Hoisting the puppy chow over her shoulder, she picked up the bag and headed for the door to the studio apartment.

“Need a hand with anything else?” he asked.

“No, this is everything.”

Chad nodded and turned to the house with a sinking feeling that when she said “everything,” she meant that all her possessions fit into that one bag. He glanced over his shoulder, watching as she disappeared up the stairs leading to the apartment above the barn, her dog at her heels. She was right to be suspicious, but this time he didn't have an ulterior motive.

He'd asked Lena to lunch because liked being around her, plain and simple.

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in a floor-­length, sleeveless sundress, Lena buckled her sandals, slid her revolver into her purse, and grabbed a sweater, her stomach still rumbling. In spite of the noisy reminder, Chad's sandwiches weren't at the forefront of her mind.

Hand on the knob, she cast a backward glance at the envelope Malcolm had dropped off. The medal ceremony. Her family. The vice president. It was too much, too big. But it was also validation. If only she could walk up on that stage and allow the vice president of the country she'd served to pin a medal on her uniform in front of her family.

Hero nudged her free hand with his nose and she turned to the door. She'd come so far since that first month home when she'd gone to visit her parents in Texas and suffered her first nightmare. From there, it had been a downhill slide. But she was finding her way back. Today she'd reached for a man's hand. She'd wanted to touch someone. And holding on to Chad hadn't sent her spiraling into a panic attack.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped outside, careful to lock the door behind her. “If that ceremony were next year, maybe I'd have a shot.”

Because one touch didn't mean she was better. Of course, she could always test her theory by touching him again. Maybe his arms this time, to confirm if his biceps felt as good as they looked.

“Hungry?” Chad called as he crossed the parking area between the house and the barn, his cowboy boots kicking up dust with each step. He wore the same jeans and button-­down flannel shirt he'd had on earlier, the sleeves rolled up. “I have turkey and cheese, mystery soy meat, and peanut butter and jelly.”

“Mystery soy meat?”

“Katie's a vegetarian, so it is always in the house. Just in case you were too, I made one up. I'll eat anything. If you prefer meat, the real stuff is yours,” he said, now halfway across the parking area.

She liked the way he started the conversation as he approached, giving her time to adjust to his presence. Hypervigilance was a bitch, and often left her feeling as if everyone around her was sneaking up on her.

“I eat meat, but I also like a good PB&J.”

Chad stopped a few feet away, his easygoing trademark grin in place. “I knew we had a lot in common. Ready to check out my favorite picnic spot?”

“Do we need to walk far?” She'd completed one hike today and had no intention of attempting a second.

“Nope.” Chad turned and headed for the open field in the backyard. “Just past the clearing there is a good spot by a creek. Brody, Josh, and I camped out there when we were kids. Katie was too chicken to sleep in a tent all night.”

“What was she afraid of?” she asked, following Chad across his backyard.

“Bugs mostly.” He held back a low-­lying branch and waited for her to step into the forest. “Don't worry, I brought spray.”

“I wish there was a repellent for the things that scare me.” She paused by a tree and waited for him to lead the way. He stayed true to his word, stopping not far from his backyard and pulling a blanket out of his backpack. She helped him spread it out on the ground, took a seat, and accepted a sandwich. “If I could pull out a spray bottle and erase my fears . . .”

“Your dog would be out of a job,” he said, nodding to the golden retriever who'd claimed a corner of his blanket, content to chew on his toy.

“True. But he might enjoy retirement.”

“What frightens you, Lena?” He stretched his long legs in front of him, easing down on the blanket.

She let out a mirthless laugh. “I have a laundry list of triggers. Loud noises, ­people getting too close, intimate situations. My ex wasn't fond of that last one. He didn't like the fact that I braced for hugs as if insurgents were about to storm our house, or that I shied away from his touch.”

“That's why he gave up on you?”

“Yes. But it wasn't his fault,” she said before Chad joined his sister in labeling Malcolm a jerk.

“It doesn't sound like anyone is to blame, Lena. Some things just happen. Like my little brother getting hit in the head while helicopter logging. It was an accident. Sure, there were a million ways to prevent it. He could have stayed home that day. The pilots could have flown a different route, or the copilot could have paid better attention to what was happening on the ground. But you can't think that way.”

He handed her a bottle of water. “I try to save my energy for the problems that I know are my fault. Right now, I can't fly until I fix my reputation or start a serious relationship.”

“Relationship?” Lena focused on keeping her voice steady. She'd struggled with reading ­people even since she'd returned home. Her life while deployed had been drawn in black and white. Home felt more like a rainbow with the colors constantly shifting. But she'd come a long way in the past few months, far enough to know that helicopter logging and relationships did not go hand in hand.

“I was under the impression you'd banned that word from your vocabulary,” she added.

“You're right.” He smiled as if every word out of his mouth made perfect sense. “But it turns out, I need a girlfriend.”

She listened as he explained how his position at Moore Timber, and his dreams of helicopter logging, meant he needed to appear serious about one woman.

“Now I'm aware of the fact that this crazy situation is my fault. Hell, you saw the proof last night that I've earned my reputation,” he added. “And fixing it? That's on me too. But what you're going through? You were just doing your job, Lena. The way I see it, the fears following you now aren't that much different than Josh's short-­term memory loss. And I haven't met a single doctor or nurse who expects my little brother to solve his problems on his own.”

Lena froze, the peanut butter from Chad's homemade sandwich stuck to the roof of her mouth. She'd spent months surrounded by ­people pushing her toward an imaginary timeline as if she could check the boxes one by one—­therapy, ser­vice dog—­and become the person she'd been before. She had the tools, now it was up to her to do the rest, to fix her troubled mind.