A Hero to Come Home To (11 page)

“Does that bother you?” She tilted her head to one side, her gaze level on his face, focused on him, giving him the sense that she’d shut out everyone else in the place.

It was a feeling he could grow used to.

He cleared his throat and his mind at the same time before answering her question. “Less every day.” It was true, too. Despite Anna Mae’s insistence on talking about her, Sheryl was in the past. He would probably never see her again, and if he did, it wouldn’t mean anything. They’d had their time together; it was over.

“And what about you? Do you have your alcohol limit?”

He watched as the waitress returned with two cups, a pot of coffee and a dish of individual creamers. “I like a cold beer now and then.” In combat zones, liquor had been hard to get, and in the hospitals, he’d had a lot more to worry about than alcohol, to say nothing of all the medications he’d been taking that could interact badly with it.

“Everything in moderation,” she remarked.

The words brought memories rushing back, of his father, always easygoing, never settling for less but never asking too much, either. “My dad used to say that.”

“Oh, not my parents. They believe in giving everything you do one hundred ten percent—though every one of them would argue that that statement is illogical because a person’s maximum capacity is one hundred percent, period. You can’t give more than exists.” She fingered her napkin a moment before meeting his gaze again, her expression sheepish. “They see things from a totally different logical, pragmatic point of view.”

“Geniuses are a different species.”

She grinned. “Absolutely.”

The conversation broke off for a moment while the waitress took their orders. The restaurant was filling up, the dining room getting noisier. Dane glanced around, noting no familiar faces, not expecting any, either. He’d never had trouble making buddies—an excellent thing since the Army had kept him moving every few years—but since Landstuhl, the hospital in Germany he’d been medevaced to from Kunar Province, he’d had little interest in friends, new or old. Justin, at rehab, was an exception. He was like an overgrown puppy, eager and friendly and impossible to push away without feeling like you’d kicked that puppy.

But Dane wasn’t in a place yet where he could be much of a buddy. Wasn’t sure he cared enough to want friends. Wasn’t sure his future would be worth sharing with anyone.

And yet here he was with Carly. Wasn’t she a friend?

Yeah, sure, that was what he’d call it. Though he’d had enough female friends over the years to know that friendship was the least he wanted from this one. But he didn’t have a clue whether she was interested in anything more. Her husband hadn’t been dead that long. She clearly was still in love with him. She hadn’t given any hint she was ready to move on, other than having pizza with him Thursday night. And going out with him today. Suggesting dinner tonight.

All as applicable to friendship as dating.

She knew more about him than anyone else in the state of Oklahoma, but she didn’t know he was lying to her with his silence every time they were together. She didn’t know that when he should be thanking God every day that he’d come home at all, he was bitter and ashamed that he’d literally left part of himself behind. She didn’t know how angry he was, how cheated he felt, how hopeless his future seemed if he didn’t learn to deal with his past.

And with nothing more than that to offer, friendship of a sort was the best he could hope for with Carly.

He smiled thinly before easing his gaze back to her. For a long time, he hadn’t been able to muster the least bit of hope. Now he’d found some, buried somewhere deep inside him.

It was a start.

D
ogs or cats?”

Carly pushed a chunk of carrot around her nearly empty bowl, pretending to consider the question, before saying, “Dogs. You?”

“When I was a kid, Mom had a giant orange cat, this big constantly shedding fur ball with beady eyes and a wicked swipe. He always behaved when she was in the room, but when she wasn’t…” Dane shook his head. “I’ve got more scars than I can count from that monster, and I could never do anything about it, or she would have freaked out, so definitely dogs.”

She laughed. They’d spent the whole meal trading forced-choice questions. He preferred Coke over Pepsi, hot over cold, and adventure vacations over beach-lazing. He liked his books in paper, his music with an edge, coleslaw on his hot dogs, and mustard-based barbecue sauce over slow-roasted beef.

As if everybody in the universe didn’t know “barbecue” meant tomato-based sauce on pork.

“Potato salad,” he said. “Chunky or creamy?”

Before Carly could open her mouth, the answer came from above. “Oh, definitely creamy,” Jessy drawled, appearing at the end of their table. She wore sweatpants in grungy gray and a tank top fitted so snugly that the only thing left to the imagination was the exact shade of her skin beneath the fabric.

As they turned their gazes her way, she zipped her sweat jacket halfway up before sliding onto the bench beside Carly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Carly squirmed inside at her friend’s probing gaze, but pulled off a pretty good shrug, she thought. “We were downtown anyway, so we decided to stop for dinner.” When she continued to stare, Carly gestured across the table. “Dane, you remember Jessy?”

Jessy turned that way, too, leaning across to offer her hand. “Of course he does, doll. No one forgets Jessy Lawrence. And Jessy never forgets a handsome caveman.”

His smile seemed forced to Carly, though she doubted Jessy noticed. He shook hands with her, didn’t pull away when she held on a tad longer than necessary, and said a quiet hello. Carly would have assured him that Jessy didn’t bite, but she didn’t know for sure it was true. The girl was bold.

But she was also a solid friend. She flirted with everyone and carried through with no one.

And it wasn’t as if this was a date she was interrupting. Hanging out was just hanging out. It didn’t imply any interest beyond the general, fun kind. He hadn’t suggested dinner; she had. When he took her home, he might walk to the door with her. He might even go inside for a cup of coffee or something. But he wouldn’t kiss her good night because this wasn’t a date.

But if he did…She hadn’t been kissed by a man in so very long.

“—live upstairs and one building over,” Jessy was saying when Carly tuned back in. “Between Serena’s and all the other restaurants around here, I don’t have to ever cook if I don’t want to.” She elbowed Carly. “And I generally don’t want to, do I?”

“She lives on fast food and takeout,” Carly agreed.

“So do you, darlin’.” To Dane, Jessy said, “It’s so nice seeing her outside of The Three Amigos. Before you came along, the margarita club was her only social life. We’re fun, trust me, but we are not her type.”

Carly’s cheeks flushed, and she pinched Jessy under the table, but her friend’s grin didn’t waver. Bumping her foot didn’t bring a response, either. Then she looked under the table. “You’re wearing flip-flops!”

Jessy shrugged. “I just finished treating myself to a pedicure. You can’t expect me to screw that up by putting shoes on. Besides, I was only outside for five seconds.”

A voice called from across the room, and Jessy flowed to her feet in one fluid motion. “That’s my food. An Angus burger, extra-crispy fries, a piece of pecan pie with vanilla ice cream, and a slice of carrot cake. Yum.”

“I hope your heart doesn’t explode,” Carly said drily.

Jessy’s only response was a wave over her head as she walked off.

“Where does she put it all?”

Carly watched her a moment before shifting her gaze to Dane. His smile was gone, but so was the tension that had made him look so stiff. “She eats, and I put on weight. It’s one of the mysteries of the universe.”

His smile slowly reappeared. “You know, most guys like curves.”

Sweet, innocent pleasure flooded through her. It wasn’t just the smile or just the words, but the combination made her feel…She didn’t even know what to call it. Appreciated? Reassured? Flattered?

Rather than find the right word, she feigned a forlorn look. “Not fashion-designing guys. Or Hollywood guys. Or modeling guys.”

“Maybe not, but
real
guys do.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep telling myself that next time I go shopping and have to go up a size.”

He made a dismissive gesture, then wrapped his hands around his coffee cup. “What’s Jessy’s story?”

“Sadly, nothing you haven’t heard before. She and Aaron got married as soon as he graduated from Basic. He did a tour in Iraq, survived several times when he shouldn’t have and came home without a scratch. He was only two weeks from the end of a twelve-month rotation in Afghanistan when he was killed by a sniper.”

“Too bad.” He stared into his coffee. “What about Jeff?”

“Helicopter crash. Twenty-million dollars or more invested in equipment, weapons, and the training of the crew and troops onboard, and they were brought down by a single rocket-propelled grenade.”

“Sometimes that’s the way it goes,” Dane said softly.

“Such loss. Such heartbreak.” But—
sorry, Jeff
—she didn’t want to think about loss and heartbreak right now. “Do you know it’s supposed to snow tonight?”

He shook his head. “I don’t watch the news much.”

“An inch or more by morning, then probably in the seventies again on Monday. They say you can’t be sure winter’s gone here until the last part of April.
Then
I can start working in the yard.”

“You like that, huh? My grandmother planted a garden big enough for five families. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cursed every single weed to ever rise through the Texas soil. I got blistered, sunburned, covered with gnat and mosquito bites and had more than a few run-ins with snakes.”

“Aw, and you didn’t even get hazard pay for it.” It was easy to imagine him as a little boy, in overalls with a straw hat and barefooted, skin turned brown by the summer sun and always on the lookout for an escape from weed duty. Granted, overalls and straw hats were more likely from his father’s generation; for Dane, it had probably been a T-shirt, shorts, and disreputable sneakers.

Regardless of how he might have dressed, she liked the idea of him working, however unwillingly, at his grandmother’s behest.

“No hazard pay,” he agreed, “but there were rewards. The first ripe tomato of the season, still warm from the sun, with a little salt to sweeten it. Grandma’s new potatoes and green beans and her zucchini bread and homemade bread-and-butter pickles.”

There was an ease to his expression that didn’t show up often, but she was happy to see it. For a man who’d been through years of combat, life wasn’t as simple as it had been for that young weed-hating boy, but as long as he could remember the simpler times, he was all right. She believed that.

With a sigh that was more wistful than not, she nodded toward the front. “There’s a line at the door of people wanting our table. We should probably go.”

“And without even a piece of pie.”

She grinned as she shrugged into her jacket. “We can get it from Miss Patsy. She’s the cashier and Serena’s grandmother.”

They both reached for the check at the same time, their knuckles bumping. Carly’s fingertips were curled over one end. Dane held the other similarly. She tugged, but there was no give. “You paid for the pizza the other night.”

“I invited you out today.”

“I offered to buy you a cup of coffee.”

“But I didn’t accept.”

“Crossing the threshold into the restaurant and then ordering implies acceptance.” Faking a stumble, she grabbed for him with her other hand, then scooped up the bill when he released it to catch her. Swinging the strap of her purse over one shoulder, she gave him a broad grin before heading for the counter, circling around tables to avoid the family making a beeline for their booth.

“Can you add a couple of to-go desserts to the check, Miss Patsy? One pecan pie and…”

“Coconut cream pie.”

Carly loved coconut cream pie, and the meringues here rose six inches above the cream in towering peaks. She persuaded herself the pecan pie, so much smaller in volume, was also lower in calories, though sadly that didn’t make it true.

After swiping her debit card, then signing, she picked up the smaller foam carton Miss Patsy had retrieved from the counter, and they squeezed their way past patient diners huddled inside the door. As soon as she stepped outside and the wind rushing east down Main Street caught her with a faceful of fat snowflakes, she shuddered.

The snow was starting to stick to the ground. Thankfully, there was no ice under it. Put ice on the streets, and she’d be missing in action everywhere from church to school to the margarita club until it cleared.

When they reached the corner curb, Dane reached for her free hand to steady her on the slushy snow between them and the truck. A tiny smile curved her mouth. Her fingers were safe and warm inside Dane’s hand. It felt natural, when nothing between a man and a woman had been natural for her in a long time.

“Did you learn to ski while you were in Colorado?”

“Oh, no. Racing down a slick hill on sticks in the cold is
not
my idea of fun. What about you? Did you learn in Italy when you were with the Hundred Seventy-Third?”

“I did. So close to the Alps, how could I not? I was like an elephant on ice skates. I tried a half dozen times and took harder falls than the worst parachute landings I’d ever had. I decided I would stick with hiking the lower mountains in the summer, when I had relatively stable footing.” He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for her, his hand at her elbow steadying her on the slick running board.

The stiff leather of the seat made her shiver, the chill seeping through her jacket and pants. She set her pie on the console, then pressed her hands together between her knees. She imagined she could feel the warmth from Dane’s grip seeping slowly from one hand to the other.

In five minutes, eight tops, they would be at her house. A small sensation fluttered in her stomach. Her living room was a mess, but there was room to sit on the couch and eat dessert. Would asking him in seem pushy? After all, when he’d invited her to do something, he probably hadn’t intended to spend the entire afternoon and most of the evening with her. He might already have plans to meet his buddies at one of Tallgrass’s numerous bars or clubs. He could have a date. He could be tired of her.

She couldn’t think of anything to say as they drove slowly down Main to the cross street nearest her house. The snow was beautiful in the headlights, thick wet flakes that made the best snowballs and snowmen. She’d hardly blinked, it seemed, and they were turning onto Cimarron Street. Her house in the middle of the block was brightly lit by the lamp she’d left burning and the blinds she’d forgotten to close. It was a pretty place, not just a house but a home.

For one.

Dane turned into the driveway, and for a moment they both sat motionless and quiet. Then, abruptly, he shut off the engine and opened the door. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

Go ahead and say it, Carly. “You want to come in for some coffee to go with that pie?”
But the chill from the open door sapped her confidence. She couldn’t get the words out. Instead, with a tight smile, she picked up her own pie and slid from the truck, digging in her bag for her keys as she met him in the headlights.

She climbed the steps and went to the door, sliding the key in the lock.

Dane stopped at the edge of the top step. “Thanks. For dinner. Dessert. Your company.”

“You’re welcome.”

What was the protocol these days for kisses? Second date, third, fourth? Or, rather, meeting, since this wasn’t really a date. She’d known once, but that was a long time ago, and life had changed. Societal norms had changed.

But it turned out she didn’t need to know the protocol, because instead of moving toward her, Dane smiled politely. “I’ll see you.”

Realizing he was waiting for her to move, she opened the door, went inside and closed it. After turning the lock, she moved the few feet to the blinds and, as she twisted them shut, watched him walk to his truck.

“Yeah,” she whispered to the empty house. “I’ll see you.”

And they weren’t just empty words. For the first time in ages, she was anticipating something other than the margarita club’s adventures. Something personal. Something with potential.

One thing she had in common with her family: she
loved
potential.

The snow stopped falling and started melting soon after the sun rose. Carly lay in bed, listening to the drips from the eaves. The lazy part of her wouldn’t have minded being snowed in this morning, puttering around in her pajamas and fuzzy house shoes until she got energetic enough to put on clothes and go shopping for paint.

But there wasn’t much point in trying when she knew Therese would be calling soon, offering to pick her up for church. Therese knew how much she dreaded driving on slick streets. Having grown up in Montana, her friend had no such qualms. She considered it a challenge: Point the car where she wanted to go, stomp down on the gas, and hold on for the ride.

Besides, even if Carly managed to convince Therese she was perfectly all right, just being a bit lazy, what would she do all morning? Cry over Jeff? Sigh over Dane?

Sliding her feet into her slippers, she pulled on an old sweat jacket of Jeff’s that she used for a robe, then shuffled to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and the last bite of pecan pie. It wasn’t enough to replace breakfast, so she glanced through the pantry before choosing—surprise—oatmeal, setting the water to boil while the coffee brewed.