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The boy’s pace slowed until he came to a stop in front of a one-story, redbrick house with a long porch across the front. “Yeah. The big one has since he moved here,” he said, his head still hanging.
“Do your parents know?” Jake studied the top of the child’s head, some blood clotted in the brown hair. The urge to check the wound inundated him. He started to bring his hand up.
Josh jerked his chin up, anger carved into his features while his eyes glistened. “I don’t have a dad. I don’t want my mom knowing. You can’t tell her.” He took a step back. His hands fisted at his sides as if he were ready to defend that statement.
“I won’t.”
The taut set of the child’s shoulders relaxed some, his fingers flexed.
“But you will.”
“No, I won’t. I can take care of this myself. Mom will just get all upset and worried.”
“She’ll know something is wrong with one look at you.” Jake gestured toward the house with a neatly trimmed yard, mums in full bloom in the flower bed and an inviting porch with white wicker furniture, perfect for enjoying a fall evening. Idyllic, as if part of the world wasn’t falling apart with people battling each other. “Is this where you live?”
Josh stuck his lower lip out and crossed his arms, wearing a defiant expression.
Instantly, Jake flashed back to an incident with a captive prisoner who gave him that same look. His heartbeat raced. His breathing became shallow. His world shrank to that small hut in the mountains as he faced an enemy who had been responsible for killing civilians and soldiers the day before. He felt the shaking start in his hands. Jake fought to shut down the helplessness before it took over.
“Josh, what’s going on?” A female voice penetrated the haze of memories.
Jake blinked and looked toward the porch. A tall woman, a few inches shy of six feet, with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail that swished, marched down the steps toward them, distress stamped on her features.
“What happened to you?” Stooping in front of the boy, the lady grasped Josh’s arms. When he didn’t say anything, she peered up at Jake. “What happened?”
“Is Josh your son?”
“Yes.” The anxiety in her blue eyes, the same crystalline color as the boy’s, pleaded for him to answer the question.
Jake shifted. He’d done what he said he would do. He’d delivered the child safely home. It was time to leave Josh and his mother to hash out what had occurred in the park. He backed away, his grip on the cane like a clamp. He spied the imploring look in Josh’s eyes. “Your son needs to tell you,” he said.
She turned back to the boy. “You’re bleeding, your eye is red and your clothes are a mess. Did you get in a fight?”
The boy nodded.
“Why? That’s not you, Josh.”
The kid yanked away from his mom and yelled, “Yeah! That’s the problem!” He stormed toward the house.
Jake took another step back.
She whirled toward him, her face full of a mother’s wrath. “What’s going on?”
“He was in a fight.”
“I got that much from him.”
“I broke it up and walked him home.” Jake could barely manage his own life. He didn’t want to get in the middle of someone else’s, but the appeal in Josh’s mother’s eyes demanded he say something. “Three boys were beating up Josh.”
“Why?”
“That you have to ask him. I came in after it started, and he wasn’t forthcoming about what was going on.”
“But something is. I get the feeling this wasn’t the first time.”
“A good assumption.”
“I’m Emma Langford.” She paused, waiting for him to supply his name.
He clamped his teeth down hard for a few seconds before he muttered, “Jake Tanner. I live around the corner, across from the park.” Why did he add the last? Because there was something in her expression that softened the armor around his heart.
The woman glanced up and down the street, kneading her fingertips into her temple. “I don’t know what to do. It sounds like they ganged up on Josh. Have you seen them around?”
“No, but I know what they look like, especially one of them close to Josh’s size. The other two were bigger than him. Maybe older.” He could understand a mother’s concern and the need to defend her child. He’d often felt the same way about the men under his command.
“So my child is being bullied.” Weariness dripped from each word.
Jake moved closer, an urge to comfort assailing him. Taking him by surprise. For months he’d been trying to shut off his emotions. Hopelessness and fear were what had him in his current condition: unable to function the way he had before his last tour of duty.
“He never said a word to me, but I should have known,” she said in a thick voice. “No wonder he’s been so angry and withdrawn these past few months.”
“That would be a good reason. Chances are he doesn’t know how to handle it, either.”
“Do you think they live in the neighborhood?” She panned the houses around her as if she could spot where the bullies lived.
“Maybe. They were in the park when the fight occurred.”
“I need to find out who’s bullying my son and put a stop to it.”
“How?” Jake could remember being bullied in school when he was in the sixth grade.
“I don’t know. Confront them. Have a conversation with their parents.”
“Often that makes the situation worse. It did for me when I was a child.” The reply came out before he could stop the words.
“But maybe it would put a stop to it. Make a difference for my son.” Her forehead creased, she glanced back at the house. “I want to thank you for what you did for Josh. Would you like some tea or lemonade?”
He hesitated. He needed to say no, but he couldn’t, not after glimpsing the lost look in the lady’s eyes.
“Please. I make freshly squeezed lemonade.” She started toward her house. “We can enjoy it outside on the porch.”
Part of him wanted to follow her, to help her—the old Jake—but that guy was gone, left in the mountains where some of his men had died.
She slowed and glanced back, anxiety shadowing her eyes. “I’m at a loss about what to do. Tell me what happened to you when you were bullied. That is, if you don’t mind. It may help me figure out what to do about Josh.”
It was just her porch. He wouldn’t be confined. He could escape easily.
He took a step toward her, then another, but with each pace closer to the house, his legs became heavier. By the time he mounted the stairs, he could barely lift them. He paused several feet from the front door and glanced at the white wicker furniture, a swing hanging from the ceiling at the far end. Thoughts of his mother’s parents’ farmhouse where he’d spent time every summer came to mind. For a moment peace descended. He tried to hold on to that feeling, but it evaporated in seconds at the sound of an engine revving and then a car speeding down the street.
The sudden loudness of the noise made him start to duck behind a wicker chair a couple of feet away. He stopped himself, but not before anger and frustration swamped him. His heartbeat revved like the vehicle, and the shakes accosted him. He clasped his hands on the knob of his cane and pressed it down into the wooden slat of the porch.
What was he thinking? He should never have accepted her invitation.
“I’m sorry. I can’t. I have stuff to do at home.” He pivoted so fast he nearly lost his balance and had to bring his cane down quickly to prevent it.
“Thank you for your help today with my son,” Emma quickly got out.
Sweat popped out on his forehead and ran down his face, into his eyes. He concentrated on the stinging sensation to take his mind off everything rushing toward him. As fast as his injured leg would let him, he hurried toward his house and the familiar surroundings where he knew what to expect. The trembling in his hands had spread throughout his body by the time he arrived in his yard.
Once inside his home, he fell back against the door and closed his eyes, trying to slow his stampeding heartbeat. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he gulped air. He slid down the length of the door and sat on the tiled foyer floor, blocking the deep ache that emanated from his recent injury.
Rage at himself, at his situation swamped him, and he slammed his fist into his palm. Pain shot up his arm. He didn’t care. It wasn’t anything compared to how he hated what was happening to him.
What are You doing, God? I want a normal life. Not be a slave to these panic attacks. Why aren’t You answering my prayers?
Chapter Two
From the front porch, Emma watched Jake Tanner limp down the sidewalk toward the corner at Park Avenue. Mr. Tanner had saved her son from getting hurt worse than he already was. Had the situation with Josh brought back bad memories of the man’s childhood? Was that why he’d left so quickly? Why there was a poignant look in his dark brown eyes? She guessed she shouldn’t have asked him about what happened to him when he was bullied. That couldn’t be easy for anyone to remember.
Mr. Tanner rounded the corner and disappeared from her view. From what she’d seen of the man, it certainly appeared he could take care of himself, even with his injured leg. She was five feet ten inches, and he had to be a good half a foot taller. He might be limping but clearly that didn’t stop him from doing some kind of physical exercise. Dressed in tight jeans and a black T-shirt, he looked well built with a hard, muscular body—a little leaner than he was probably accustomed to.
“Jake Tanner” rolled off her tongue as if she’d said it before. Why did it sound familiar to her? Where had she heard his name? Had she run into him somewhere in town? She wasn’t from Cimarron City but had lived here for years. But then he would be a hard man to forget with his striking good looks.
Had he hurt himself recently? Was the injury to his left leg permanent? Questions began to flood her mind until she shook her head.
No. He made it clear he’d helped Josh, but that was all. Besides, she had her hands full with a child who was angry all the time. And there were her two jobs—one as a veterinary assistant at Harris Animal Hospital and the other as a trainer for service dogs with the Caring Canines Foundation with Abbey Winters, her best friend. Abbey had founded the organization that placed service and therapy dogs with people who needed them. Emma didn’t want any more complications in her life, and she certainly wasn’t interested in dating, even though it had been three years since her husband died, leaving her widowed at twenty-nine with a son.
Who is my top priority—Josh.
Emma threw one last glance at the corner of Sooner and Park, then headed inside and toward Josh’s bedroom. They needed to have a conversation about what had happened today whether her son wanted to talk or not. Her child would not be used as a punching bag. The very thought tightened her chest and made breathing difficult.
She halted outside his closed door, drew air into her lungs until her nerves settled and then knocked. She half expected Josh to ignore her, but thirty seconds later, he swung open the door. A scowl puckered his face, and he clenched his jaw so tightly, a muscle in his cheek twitched, underscoring his anger. He left her standing in the entrance, trudged to his bed and flung himself on his back onto his navy blue coverlet.
“I’m not telling you who those guys are.”
“Why not?” She moved into his room and sat at the end of the bed, facing him.
“You’ll say something to them or their parents.”
“Are you being bothered at school? Is that why you haven’t wanted to go these past six weeks since school started?”
He clamped his lips together until his mouth was a thin, tight line.
“I’m going to talk to your teacher whether you say anything or not. I can’t sit by and let someone, or in this case, several boys bully you.”
“Don’t, Mom. I’ll take care of this. It’s my problem.”
The sheen in Josh’s eyes, the plea in his voice tore at her composure. She wanted to pull him into her arms and never let go—to keep him safe with her. Sam, I need you. This is what a dad handles with a son. What do I do?
She’d never felt so alone as at this moment, staring at Josh fighting the tears welling in his eyes. “I know Mrs. Alexander would want to know. Every child should be safe at school. This is not negotiable. I can’t force you to tell me, but I need to know who is doing this to you.”
“I’m not a snitch. That’s what they’ll call me. I’ll never live it down.”
“So what’s your plan? Let them keep beating you up? What if Mr. Tanner hadn’t seen them and stopped them? What do you think would have happened?”
Josh shrugged, turned away from her and lay on his bed.
Emma remembered Jake Tanner’s words about how talking with the bullies’ parents sometimes only made the situation worse. Then what should she do? What could Josh do? “At least make sure you have friends around you. Don’t go anywhere alone. It’s obvious now you can’t go to Craig’s house through the park. I’ll have to drive you to and from your friends’ houses. I’ll pick you up from school and take you in the morning. I’ll talk to Dr. Harris and figure out a way to do that with my work schedule. If I can’t, I’ll see if Abbey will. She takes Madi to and from school.” As she listed what she would do, she realized all those precautions weren’t really a solution.
Then in the meantime, she’d talk to the school about the bullying. She had to do something to end this. The thought of her son hurting, physically and emotionally, stiffened her resolve to help him somehow whether he liked it or not. She hated that bullies were almost holding her son hostage.
“Don’t say anything to Mrs. Alexander, Mom.”
Emma rose and hovered over Josh. “I have to. It’s my job as your parent. I can’t ignore what happened.”
He glared at her. “I hate you. You’re going to make my life miserable.”
The words hurt, but she understood where they came from—fear and anger at his situation. She knew those feelings well, having experienced them after Sam passed away. “I love you, Josh, and your life right now with these bullies isn’t what you want or deserve.”
Her son buried his head under his pillow.
“I need to check your cuts and clean them.”
“Go away.”
“I’m not leaving. You aren’t alone.”
He tossed the pillow toward the end of the bed. “I wish Mr. Tanner hadn’t interfered. Then you wouldn’t be making such a big deal out of this.”
“Thankfully he did, and believe me, I would have made a big deal out of it when I saw you in this condition whether he’d stepped in or not. I’ll be right back with the first-aid kit.”
Josh grumbled something she couldn’t hear.
As she gathered up what she needed, a picture of Jake Tanner flashed into her mind. Short, dark hair— military style like her brother’s... Emma snapped her fingers. That was it. Ben had mentioned a Jake Tanner on several occasions because he was the army captain Ben had served under in his Special Forces Unit. Could this be the same man?
After she patched up an uncooperative Josh, she left him in his bedroom to pout. When she really thought about Josh’s angry behavior and keeping to himself, she realized it had begun during the summer. She’d hoped his mood would improve when school started and he saw his friends more. But it hadn’t. She’d tried talking to him. He’d been closemouthed and dismissive of her concerns. Why hadn’t she seen it earlier?
She made her way to the kitchen to start lunch but first decided to call her brother. She knew it would nag her not to know whether the Jake Tanner she’d met was Ben’s company’s commanding officer. She remembered Ben’s commenting they both had lived in Oklahoma so it was possible.
She called his cell phone number. “Hi, bro. Do you have a moment to appease my curiosity?” Emma leaned against the kitchen counter, staring out the window over the sink at the leaves beginning to change colors.
“For you, always. What’s going on?”
“Josh was in the park and some boys jumped him and beat him up. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time they’d approached him.”
“How’s Josh?”
“Some cuts and bruises but I think his self-confidence is more damaged than anything.”
