Embattled Hearts 1 (9 page)

D
uncan stared out his apartment window at the swirling snow and tried not to worry about the homeless man. But it was fifteen degrees outside and colder than a witch’s tit. The concrete alleys around the office offered little escape from the weather, and it was only supposed to get worse overnight.

Once again, he bundled up and limped for his truck. It was worth going out in the weather if it would ease his mind. Although he hadn’t seen the man’s face or heard his voice, there’d been something about him that said “military”.

He started at the office, where’d he’d seen him before, and began searching outward in a grid pattern. There was very little traffic this late, so he idled back and forth on the streets. At times the snow got so heavy he wouldn’t have been able to see the man if he’d been standing right in front of him.

When it got too blinding to drive, he pulled to the curb and waited for it to ease up. He’d just pulled over for a third time when he spied an odd lump wedged against a dumpster. What caught his attention was a flag of light blue cotton flapping in the wind, the same color as the blanket he’d given the man the day before.

Duncan shoved the truck into park and turned the heater on high. Tugging his hat down over his ears, he stepped out of the cab and circled the hood. He was glad he’d thought to bring his cane, because the footing was treacherous.

The man seemed to be curled into a ball, with that blanket wrapped over top of him. Snow had accumulated on top of the blanket. Duncan called out a hello, but the ball didn’t move. He reached forward with his cane and poked at the lump.

In a blinding swirl of snow, the man lurched to his feet and fell into a defensive stance, with his fists up. Duncan backed away and held his hands palm out to show the man he wasn’t armed, but his own adrenaline spiked as well.

“I’m sorry for poking you, but I didn’t know how else to get your attention.” He motioned to the idling truck. “Can we sit inside for a minute where it’s warm?”

The man didn’t move from his defensive position. By the light of the headlights, Duncan could see he was still only wearing the black hooded sweatshirt, not nearly enough in a Colorado snowstorm. His hood was down and Duncan could see light brown hair blowing in the wind, and a stubbled, haggard face.

“My name is Duncan Wilde, former Marine MP, Combat Logistics Battalion 26. I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to help you out. Please, come sit in the truck where it’s warm.”

Duncan backed away through the headlights, went to the driver’s side and climbed behind the wheel. Then he waited. The man stood just outside the beam of light, but there was enough illumination to see when he finally moved. He walked to the passenger side, opened the door and slowly climbed in, staring at Duncan the entire time.

Duncan made sure to leave his hands on the wheel, though he had a weapon within reach. As much as he wanted to help this guy out, he wasn’t going to get hurt doing it.

The man blinked and looked away, toward the dash. He raised his hands and cupped them around one of the heater vents, then leaned his face into the air. With a shudder, he basked in the warmth.

Duncan slowly reached down to the seat and moved a couple of granola bars beside the man. It had been the only thing he’d had in the apartment. Most of the time he ate at work or just ordered drive-thru.

The man’s eyes flickered to the food, then Duncan, then back to the heater. He wasn’t in any hurry to move away from the warmth.

“What’s your name, soldier?”

“Willingham. Aiden Willingham.”

“Nice to meet you, Aiden. Do you have someplace I can take you so you can get out of the cold tonight? Family, or a friend’s house?”

Aiden shook his head, still wrapped around the vent. He did take a minute to grab one of the bars, rip it open and shove it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, obviously savoring the granola. Duncan wished he’d brought something else for him.

“I know of a shelter downtown. Can I take you there?”

Anger flashed in the man’s eyes before he looked away. “No, thank you.”

Duncan frowned at him. “Is there any reason why not? You’d have a warm place to sleep and food in your belly.”

“And be disgusted with myself. I don’t go to those places. I do fine out here on my own.”

Duncan couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at the statement. “Why don’t you go to those places? They’re there for a reason.”

Aiden shook his head. “I just don’t. There are people that need it worse than me around here.”

“Probably not very many. Dude, you’re going to die of exposure if you don’t get out of the weather.”

Aiden looked out the windshield and seemed to realize how nasty it actually was. Or maybe he realized how cold it was going to be when he left the heater.

Duncan let him stew on it a few minutes. “So, can I take you to the shelter? It’s only going to get colder tonight.”

With a weary glance outside, Aiden nodded his head. “Let me get my stuff, though.”

Cold swirled into the cab as he stepped out to gather his belongings. He snapped the snow off his blanket and bundled it into his arms. He dug a pack from beneath the dumpster he’d been leaning against and swung it over his shoulder, then came back to the truck.

As Duncan shifted into gear, he felt the tension increase on the other side of the cab. “You okay?”

Nodding, Aiden turned to look out the window.

Catholic Samaritan House was usually the only one with empty beds when it got this cold, so Duncan turned the truck in that direction. But the closer he got, the more tense Aiden became. Duncan pulled over and parked between two cars.

“What’s wrong?”

Aiden shook his head. “I don’t know if I can be in there. It’s going to be crowded and people are going to want to talk to me.”

“Well, it probably will be because of the weather, but I think if you let them know you need to be alone, they’ll respect that.”

But the anxiety didn’t leave his face. By the time he pulled up in front of the building, Aiden looked ready to leap out of the truck.

Duncan shifted into park and leaned back in the seat, deliberately trying to look relaxed. “Let’s just sit here a bit, okay?”

The younger man nodded and seemed relieved not to be pushed.

“Is this how you ended up on the streets? Anxiety? PTSD?”

Aiden shrugged, looking out the window. The snow continued to come down steadily, highlighted orange from the vapor lights on the street. But the heater continued to pump out hot air.

“Answer me one question. Were you in Iraq or Afghanistan?”

“Iraq.”

As much as twenty percent of returning veterans from Iraq had post-traumatic stress, some thought even more. Aiden’s anxiety was par for the course. Duncan wondered why he hadn’t gotten therapy at the VA.

“Well, how about I go in and talk to the manager here and see what we can do for you? Maybe they have a secluded area where you can stay away from the crowds or something.”

Aiden glanced at him and nodded.

“Can I trust you if I leave the truck running?”

“Yes, sir!”

Duncan fastened his coat and slipped out of the truck, being sure to plant his feet and cane before he moved. It was slow going across the snowy walk. He glanced back at one point and Aiden was watching him. Duncan’s mind blanked out for a moment, and he had the thought that he would not see young Aiden again, but he brushed it away, hurrying into the building.

The manager on duty was harried and kind, but she shook her head regretfully when he told her what Aiden needed. “We separate the men from the women and families, but I’m almost at capacity now. I have room for him but he would have to go into the group.”

Duncan nodded and headed back out to the truck. Once on the sidewalk, he could see Aiden was no longer inside.

Glancing up and down the street, Duncan looked for his form, but he didn’t see him anywhere. He debated driving around looking for him, but he had a feeling Aiden would be hiding now. Not wanting to be found. He’d gotten spooked, and Duncan honestly couldn’t blame him. With a regretful look around, he climbed into the idling truck and pulled away.

*****

Shannon woke up at three having to use the bathroom, just like every other night. As she padded her way back to bed, she heard something bump out in the living room. She peered out the crack of her door, but couldn’t see anything. Stepping out quietly, she tugged her nightgown down her thighs as far as it would go before heading down the hallway.

The glow from the fire had died down, but she could still see John’s outline. One long arm rested across his forehead while the other twitched beside him on the couch. Shannon could see now that one of the backrest cushions had been knocked off and into an unlit candle on the coffee table, and bumped it askew. It wasn’t hurting anything where it was, so she just left it alone, rather than risk waking John up.

Shannon bent to put a fresh log on the fire. The hot coals felt good, warming her front as they began consuming the log. She rubbed the gooseflesh away from her arms.

“Did I wake you?”

Shannon jumped as the deep voice came out of the darkness. She spun and sought John’s eyes in the weak light.

“Jeez, you scared me! I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was. A dream woke me up.”

After she put one more log on the fire, Shannon crossed the room and sat on the corner of the coffee table. “I think you knocked a cushion down and into the candle. That’s what I heard.”

He rubbed a rough hand over his face and turned his head toward her. “I looked up and saw you in front of the fire, and thought it was a different kind of dream.”

Shannon sat back as his words sank in, then she felt her face burn. With the fire behind her, her nightgown had probably been transparent. She gasped, placing her palms over her cheeks to try to cool them. “Oh, my gosh. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I’m not,” he told her firmly. “It’s the best thing I’ve woken up to in years.”

Her heart pounded heavily as she savored his words. Was it just the darkness that was creating this…intimacy? “Well, thank you, then.”

“No, thank you,” he returned firmly. “I’m sorry I was an ass earlier. I just…Roger makes you laugh.”

Surprise straightened on the corner of the table, confused. “And that’s bad?”

“No,” he grumbled. “Just…” He hesitated, running a hand over his face. “Frustrating. Never mind.”

Not sure what to do, she tried to redirect the conversation. “Do your dreams wake you up every night?” she asked softly.

John folded his arms under his head. “No, not all the time. It seems like when I’m especially tired they get worse. Tonight I’ve been restless.”

“I’m sorry. Is the couch not comfortable?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he told her. He briefly rested a hand on her bare knee before drawing away quickly. “I’ve actually been very comfortable in your home, Shannon. It’s just…other things.”

“Oh, well, if there’s anything I can do to help you out, just let me know.”

For the longest time, he didn’t say anything, and Shannon thought he had gone back to sleep. She couldn’t see his eyes very well, because she blocked the light from the fire.

“Would you mind…” he started quietly, before he stopped to clear his throat. “Ah, don’t worry about it.”

“No, what?” Shannon leaned forward, fighting to keep her hands to herself.

After a long silence, he finally asked her, “Would you mind just sitting and talking for a while?”

“Absolutely,” she told him with no hesitation. “I like talking to you, John. You’re a hard-ass, but you’re interesting.”

“A hard-ass?” he asked in affront, obviously teasing her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Shannon laughed at his expression, outrage mixed with twinkling devilment in his dark eyes. This side of John appealed to her desperately and Shannon was beginning to see it more and more. Was it just because he was getting used to her in the office, or was it something a little more personal? Did he see her as a woman he had an interest in? She had no clue.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” she asked him.

“Hell, I don’t know,” he told her as he propped himself up on one elbow. “You’re the talker, you come up with something.”

For the first time, she noticed that his shoulders were bare. The quilt was over his chest, but his heavy arms were exposed. Her eyes traced over the line of his biceps, highlighted by the firelight. Did he work out, like, all the time? Only heavy-duty weightlifters usually had those kinds of arms. Or was all that bulk from being in the chair? An intricate Marine insignia tattoo wrapped around the deltoid of his right shoulder. The quilt covered most of his chest, but Shannon knew it had to be just as impressive. The tight cotton t-shirts he wore left little to the imagination. Shannon’s mouth watered at the thought of tugging the quilt down just a bit to explore.

She forced her eyes away, and struggled for something to talk about.

“Where did you get your tattoo?”

John’s dark brows raised in the weak firelight.”Uh, some little tattoo shop off base. Working on service personnel was pretty much all the guy did.”

“What base were you at?”

“Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. 24
th
Marine Expeditionary Unit.”

Shannon her satisfaction lacing his rough voice.

“Sounds like you liked it there.”

He looked down at the couch for a moment before meeting her gaze. “Very much so. More than any other place I’d been in my life.”

Smiling at her slightly, he shrugged his shoulders, which dislodged the quilt a bit more. Shannon forced her gaze away again, and swallowed heavily as she rubbed her hands over her goose bumped flesh. The man could probably turn on any woman from eighteen to eighty, so she didn’t castigate herself too much. He just had too much natural testosterone.

John apparently noticed her goose bumps, and assumed it was because she was cold. He sat up and tugged the quilt toward her. “Here, I didn’t mean for you to get chilled out here.”

Shannon waved a hand and lurched to her feet. “No, no, don’t worry about it. Keep-keep yourself, uh, covered. I’ll get another blanket.”