Taking the Reins. Carolyn McSparren
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warned him that where Charlie was concerned, his smallest decision might cause a personal earthquake for both of them. His decisions hurt people and left him alone. She had enough on her plate without adding him to the mix.
She straightened and looked into the dark. “Is somebody there?”
She’d made his decision for him. “Just Jake,” he said. He came out and walked up to the patio. When she motioned to the glider, he sat down beside her. The roses around the patio smelled sweet, but the scent of pure woman was headier by far.
Where his thigh lay along hers he felt his skin tingle. How long had it been since he’d reacted to the nearness of an attractive woman? After the attack, his body had shut down along with his mind. The doctors told him it was his way to heal faster by pulling whatever energy he had into his core. He didn’t believe them.
He was used to being numb, but if he allowed himself to feel, could he control the intensity of his emotions? Or would they wake hungry for sensation like a newly wakened grizzly starved for blackberries?
Charlie had caught her breath when he sat beside her, and her shoulders tensed. Even though she’d invited him to sit with her, she might be afraid of him. That would be funny if it weren’t so disturbing.
Her hand lay on her thigh. He could reach over and take it. If he chose. She wouldn’t make that decision for him.
She’d probably slap his hand away and bolt for the house. He wouldn’t be able to stay here if that happened, and he admitted he wanted to stay. A small choice but a choice all the same. This woman, this place, were already beginning to smooth out his soul.
When she realized he didn’t intend to touch her, she relaxed and asked, “Where did you learn to drive draft horses?”
“In Missouri. On my father’s farm.” Simple question, simple answer. “Where did you?”
“Here. On my grandfather’s farm.” She waved a hand. “I spent every moment I could here—vacations, school holidays. I spent a whole year on the farm while my parents were stationed in Belgium. I wanted to graduate here, but the colonel said I had to join them after they came home.”
“You don’t sound happy about that.”
“Try furious. Granddad fought to keep me, but nobody fights the colonel and wins. Oh, he thought he was doing the best thing for all of us. He always does.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe I said that.” She touched his hand. “The colonel really is an excellent psychologist. I mustn’t undermine him in your eyes.”
She removed her hand, but he could feel the lingering warmth of her fingers. “Not so expert with his own family?” He’d assumed the colonel was a genius with everyone, not just his patients. Thanks to him, Jake could at least acknowledge that most of his problem with decisions arose from his survivor guilt.
Actually, to discover the colonel had feet of good Tennessee clay was somehow reassuring. “Haven’t you heard that old cliché that psychologists and psychiatrists raise bratty kids?” Charlie said. “You’ve plowed with horses, so you know the difference between telling a horse to ‘gee’ or ‘haw,’ don’t you?”
He nodded although she couldn’t see him. “Go right or left.”
“When I was twelve, I hung out at the post stables in Maryland after school nearly every day. I didn’t own my own horse, but there was a big half Percheron that I rode whenever I could. Daddy hated that I didn’t go in for golf or tennis or some team sport that would—and I quote—serve me in later life. When we moved, I wanted to buy Doyle and bring him down to Granddad’s, but Daddy wouldn’t let me. Mom, as usual, backed him up. He said I already had horses to ride during my vacations, and we certainly couldn’t ship a horse to the District of Columbia and pay expensive board. He just didn’t get it. Leaving Doyle for the next kid to ride nearly killed me.”
He felt his heart go out to her. When he left home, he’d missed the horses almost as much as he missed his family, even though leaving them behind had been his choice. “I’m sorry.”
“He still doesn’t think he did anything wrong.” She spread her arms wide. “What was the big deal? I could ride when I came down here. After Mom got sick, I didn’t have time for extracurricular activities anyway. We declared a truce for her sake, but I’ve never forgotten.”
She turned to him, and even in the dark he could see the glint of tears in her eyes. “After she died, when he said gee, I went haw.”
He longed to take her in his arms, but she might mistake his comfort for something else. Besides, if the colonel walked out to the patio, he might deck Jake. How could the man be so empathetic toward his patients and so blind to his daughter? “He does miraculous things as a psychologist,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll help you. I can’t believe you let me run my mouth like that.”
“I’m honored you told me.”
He expected she’d bolt, but she stayed quiet and moved the glider with her toe.
Maybe he could lighten the atmosphere between them. In the distance the sound of a bullfrog filled the silence. Jake took that as his cue. “Well, Mr. Bullfrog, I hope the lady you’re courting appreciates your fine bass baritone.”
Charlie sighed and relaxed. “I wonder what he did to shut down his rivals.”
An answering chorus settled that question.
“They sound like one of those Russian army choruses,” Jake said. “No tenors need apply.”
“The peepers have their own choir,” Charlie said. “And then there are the cicadas—they remind me of fingernails on a blackboard.”
“Not this late in the summer.”
Sitting beside him, Charlie felt grateful that he’d directed the subject away from her and her life. It was so easy to open up to Jake. Was that what Mary Anne had sensed? What had she told him when she was locked in her room? He might not trust himself, but Mary Anne trusted him. So did Charlie.
And boy, was that dangerous. “We’d both better get to bed,” she said, stopping the movement of the glider and standing up. “Tomorrow’s going to be a tough day.”
She left him sitting alone and fled up the stairs to her room. Did cold showers work for females? She washed off her makeup, brushed her teeth, pulled on the T-shirt she slept in and crawled into the big Lincoln bed, sure that she’d sleep. But her mind kept churning.
Jake was a stranger, a student and a soldier. Triple threat.
After Steve died, she vowed never to allow anyone remotely military into her life again. No more warriors. No more dragging around the world after them and making a new home each time, the way her mother had done for her father. No more sudden deployments to Nowheresville or the other side of the world. No more shaking with terror every time the doorbell rang for fear it was the bad one—the notification that her husband was dead. Once was enough. She and Sarah had never been enough for Steve. Oh, he’d tried, but in the final analysis the pleasure of being with his wife and daughter couldn’t compete with his need to be back in the action. Between deployments, he loathed being a garrison soldier. He was addicted to danger and eventually, like most addictions, it killed him.
Warriors were great to have around when Genghis Khan and Attila the Hun were just over the horizon and coming fast. Not so great when they weren’t.
Sitting next to Jake, she could feel her resolution to avoid warriors weakening. Bad. Bad and stupid. Jake might seem gentle, he might be an ex-soldier, but she could still sense the testosterone.
She’d fallen for Steve on sight. In the fourteen years they’d been married, she’d never looked at another man, even though that meant months of celibacy while he was on temporary duty or deployed somewhere she and Sarah couldn’t follow.
He’d really had to work to kill her love for him, but he’d finally managed.
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