Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (42 page)

Timbrel eased back, forehead against his. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Your leg—”

Tony drew back. “I still have half of it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Anger punctured the moment. “I know what you meant!”

Timbrel straightened. Frowned.

“I don’t need pity.”

“That’s not—”

“Ya know what?” Why did he think she could do it? “Just … just leave.”

“Tony.” Her pretty face knotted up. “You’re misunderstanding—”

“No, actually, I think I’m understanding just fine. You couldn’t bring yourself to accept me, to risk it for me before I lost my leg, but now …
now
you’ll do it?” He raised his hands, stomach cinched. “Forget it. I don’t need your sympathy. I don’t need your pity.”

“Are you out of your mind? That is not—”

“Stop.” He speared her with a glare. “Get out.”

Timbrel shook her head rapidly. “Tony, no. Let me finish a sentence.”

“Out!”

        Twenty-seven        

One Week Later
A Breed Apart Ranch

T
imbrel threw her duffel into the back of the Jeep and turned back to the front porch. She lifted the plastic tub that held Beo’s gear, including bandages, medicine, food, treats, Kongs, etcetera, and set it in the back with her bag.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Timbrel eyed Jibril, who stood at the door. “I have to try.”

“Just be … gentle.”

She smiled. “When am I not?”

“Most of the time,” Jibril teased as he joined her. “Remember, he is wounded. As much inside”—he thumbed his chest—“as here”—tapped his temple—“and here.” He rapped on his prosthesis. “I’ve been there.”

“Yes, but he’s also not a quitter. And I’m not going to be shoved out of his life without a fight. He’s going to hear my side if it kills us both.”

“What if it does, Timbrel?” Jibril’s amazing blue-green eyes twinkled at her. “What if you say things you regret, that sever the thin cord of hope you are clinging to?”

Her heart thunked against his question. She did have a tendency to mouth off. For her defenses to come screaming to the surface and shove off any threat. That’s pretty much what she’d done that day, leaving Tony in Arkansas. He’d never fully forgiven her for that. She’d wanted him to forgive and forget. But he said no.

She still didn’t know why, and it bugged her.

Timbrel looked away, across the training yard and the new training building Jibril’d constructed recently. What if Tony didn’t want her?

Then he sure shouldn’t have kissed her the way he did. “I can’t
not
try, Jibril.” She pushed her hands through her hair, formed a ponytail with the long strands, then slid her black baseball cap on and tugged her hair through the opening at the back.

“Why?”

She slapped her hands against her thighs. “What do you mean? He needs to listen to me, hear me out. Tony believes I was there for sympathy, to feel sorry for him, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He needs to know that.”

“Why?”

Timbrel jutted her jaw. “I’m not going to defend myself—”

“Is this for you or for him?”

Timbrel whirled on him. “I hope it’s for us.” She signaled Beo closer, lifted him in a cradle hold, and set him in the front seat, attentive to his still-bandaged paws. “I have to get going.”

“I will be praying.”

“Good. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.” Timbrel hopped in the Jeep and started the two-day trek to Northern Virginia armed with her guy and a ton of anxiety. The first night they rested up at a pet-friendly hotel outside of Nashville, then headed out before dawn the next morning, so she pulled into Leesburg around dusk. She hit Route 7 and sweat coated her palms despite the forty-something temperature outside. It wasn’t the weather that slickened her skin. It was the proximity to a certain medical center and the most powerful force in her life—Tony.

A glance at the in-dash clock told her it was too late for visiting hours. She GPS-mapped the nearest hotel and aimed in that direction. Stretched out over the bed, boots on and fully clothed, Timbrel wrapped her arms around Beo, who lay on his side, long legs and bandaged paws dangling off the bed.

Eyes closed, Timbrel willed herself to rest. To sleep so she’d be fresh faced in the morning. With an exaggerated sigh, Beowulf rolled onto his back, paws poised in the air, right along with his belly. Timbrel scratched his belly and wished she could doze off as easily as he did.

Funny how “quiet” wasn’t really quiet in a place like this. Take for instance the thrumming mini fridge. And the vending machine that sat in a small alcove two doors down. Or the whine of traffic. And Beo’s snoring.

Timbrel willed her mind to quiet, to shut out the other noises and just rest.

What if Tony really didn’t want her there? Would he yell and throw her out again?

The thought pinched her nerves. She didn’t want to upset him. If he really was through with her, then she could accept that. Just walk out. Never look back.

Never see him again. Never hear his voice.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Timbrel sat on the edge of the mattress. She couldn’t sit here all night thinking. Worrying. She had to talk to Tony. To be so close … to not know …

She wanted to believe he was just upset, still in shock at losing his leg.

Rubbing her forehead, she tried to imagine what he’d gone through, waking up with no leg. How terrifying! She thought of his father, how Tony had been there for his dad. Faithful, loyal, resolute.

Timbrel pushed off the bed. Grabbed her jacket and keys. Slinking through the night toward Walter Reed, her mind buzzed. Or was that the TBI she’d incurred? Traumatic brain injury had a way of messing with her. She pulled into the parking lot then trotted toward the front doors.

With Beo at her side, she entered and slunk through the halls. With Beo wearing his harness and paws bandaged, maybe they wouldn’t get stopped. She made it to Tony’s floor and slowed, trying to bring her pulse and nerves under control.

Beo trotted onward as if this were a walk in the park. He angled to the left, and Timbrel realized he was leading her. Then he nosed a door. Timbrel eyed the number. “Good boy,” she said, a little in awe of his ability to find Tony in this maze.

Timbrel gave a soft rap on the laminate door before pushing it open.

Sitting with the upper portion of his bed inclined, Tony stared up at a wall-mounted television screen. The wash of blue on his face made him look pale. No, he wasn’t watching TV. He was … was he crying? Tony took a hard breath and looked down. At his legs. Probably at the portion that wasn’t there anymore.

Again he looked up.

Dear God, why … why did You do this to
him? He didn’t deserve this. The best there was in the world came in packages like Tony. Protecting innocents. Protecting the not-so-innocent. Timbrel would give just about anything to undo what happened to him. To return what had been ripped from him.

Snap. Bad timing
.

Beo charged ahead.

She tried a signal.

Beo must’ve missed it. He raised up and planted his paws on the bed’s edge and gave a low growl.

Tony started and jerked toward her. Yanked the blanket over his leg and glowered.

Stomach in her throat, Timbrel moved forward. Dropped her bag into a chair. Then before her mind could register her own actions, Timbrel yanked the blanket back.

“Hey!”

“Hey, nothing.” She pointed to his leg. “That’s nothing to hide or be ashamed of.” She jabbed her hands on her hips. “And if you think I’m here out of pity, you’re giving me more credit than I deserve. I’m not that good.”

“Thought I told you—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. You’re going for grump of the year.”

“Just leave.” Tony tugged the blanket back over his legs and aimed the remote at the television.

“No, I’m here. And you’re going to hear me out.”

He cranked the volume on the television.

Timbrel turned, eyed the monitor and the cables that ran into the ceiling. She whipped the extra chair over, climbed up on it, straddling the arms, and reached for the cord.

“Hey!”

She yanked it free. The power cut. She hopped back down.

“Timbrel.”

Back at his side, she bent over the bed. “Tony, listen to me. I am here because—”

“I don’t care why you’re here. I just want you to leave.”

“No, you’re going to listen.”

“I’m not. You had a week to figure out a defense. I’m not interested in your rehearsed lies.” He shook his head and touched his temple.

Had someone smacked her, she wouldn’t have been so surprised. But to hear Tony accuse her of not only lying, but
rehearsing
… “Why you self-absorbed—”

“I’m not doing this.” Tony reached for a cable attached to the bed.

“I expected juvenile behavior from the other soldiers on your team, but not from you. Not like this.”

“Just leave.”

“When I’m ready. And I won’t be ready until I tell you that I’m
not leaving you
.” Timbrel huffed. “You can be a Class A jerk—which you do very well, in case you were wondering—but I am not going to let that determine what I do.”

“Whatever.”

Bereft at his lackluster responses, Timbrel eased closer. “Tony, please.” She swallowed the frustration that pushed her to get angry, to get loud. He was in a bad place. A really bad place.
Give him room to breathe and figure things out
.

“I’m not leaving, Tony. I’m here for you the way you were always there for me, even—
especially
—when I didn’t want you to be.” She smiled through the emotion clogging her veins. “I didn’t realize until after it all how much that meant to me. And I will not abandon you in your time of need.”

“Need?” Tony slapped the bed. “This isn’t
need
. This is—” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. Took several long breaths. Then glared at her. “What will it take for you to get it through your thick skull that I don’t want you here?”

“More than loud words and a ticked-off attitude.” Timbrel folded her arms over her chest. “You forget, I grew up with that. I’m impervious.”

A stonelike transformation slid over his face. “I’m over you, Timbrel.” Tony just held her gaze, his expression flat. His tone flat. “I want you to leave. I never want to see you again.”