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He took two steps out onto the porch and pointed to the right near the wooded area. “There, and they fled into the trees. You didn’t get around to doing the sketch of the small one.”
“I’ve got another idea if you’re willing.”
His forehead wrinkled, wariness in his eyes. “What?”
“Josh has a yearbook from last year. Would you be willing to look through it and see if you recognize any of the kids?”
“I’ll try.”
She smiled. “Great. I can bring it by tomorrow after work if that’s okay.”
He nodded, a solemn expression on his face.
“Then I’ll see you around six.”
She had started down the steps when he called out, “Tell Ben I’ll be okay.”
With a glance over her shoulder, she said, “You should call him and tell him yourself.”
“I don’t have his number.”
“I can give it to you.”
“Maybe tomorrow.” He turned back into his house and shut the door.
As Emma walked home, she couldn’t get Jake Tanner out of her mind. That haunted look in his dark eyes when she had talked about Ben’s problems, and later what a service dog could be trained to do only reinforced in her mind that he needed help. Her brother had tried to deny it, too, and it had made things worse. She prayed Jake wouldn’t. Tomorrow she had another chance to persuade him to try Shep.
* * *
The enemy surrounded Jake and what men he had left in the small mountain village, gunfire pelting them from all sides. The terrorists were closing in. He was trapped.
He signaled to his men to fall back into a house. He covered them as they made their way inside the shelter, then zigzagged toward it, seeking cover wherever he could. But as he ran toward the hut, it moved farther away from him. Escape taunted him. A safe haven just out of reach.
Someone lobbed a grenade that fell a few yards in front of him. He dived to the side, the explosion rocking him.
Crash!
Arms flailing, Jake shot straight up on the couch, blinking his eyes. He couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. They burned. Everything before him twirled and swayed. He scrubbed his shaky hands down his sweat-drenched face, then drew in one deep inhalation then another. He folded in on himself, his arms hugging his chest, his head bent forward. Afraid even to close his eyes, he stared at his lap until his rapid heartbeat slowed. When the quaking eased, he looked up at his living room in Cimarron City. Not in a tent or hut in Afghanistan.
Safe. Quiet.
His gaze fell upon a lamp on the floor, shattered, along with a broken vase his grandma had cherished as a gift from his granddad. The sight of it destroyed what was left of his composure. His hands began to tremble more. Cold burrowed deep into his bones. He stuck them under his armpits.
Focus on the here and now. Not then. He shuffled through images in his mind until he latched on to one: Emma Langford, Ben’s sister. He zeroed in on her light blue eyes, as bright as sunshine. He shifted his attention to her dazzling smile. He couldn’t look away. The warmth of her expression chased away the chill.
He finally relaxed against the couch cushion. He couldn’t believe he’d invited her back today. That realization earlier had driven him to take a short nap before she arrived since he hadn’t slept much the night before. For that matter, since the nightmares began a couple of months ago, he slept only a few hours here and there.
He couldn’t keep going like this, or he would stop functioning altogether. The very idea appalled him. In the army he’d been a leader of men who went into tough situations to protect and defend. Now he couldn’t even leave his house without fearing he would have a panic attack and appear weak.
Lord, why? You brought me home to this—living in fear? How am I supposed to get better? What do I do?
His gaze returned to the mess on the floor, then trekked to the end table where the lamp and vase had been. He pushed to his feet to clean up the shattered pieces.
The chimes from the grandfather clock in the foyer pealed six times. Emma would be here soon. He hobbled toward the kitchen and retrieved the broom and dustpan. The glass lamp was beyond repair. He swept the shards and tossed them into the trash can.
Then he turned his attention to the vase. His granddad had created pottery bowls and vases in his spare time. This was one of the few left. He picked up each piece and laid it on the end table, trying to decide if he could fix the vase with glue. Maybe it was possible with time and a steady hand.
The doorbell sounded, jolting his heartbeat to a quicker tempo. Emma. She can’t see this, he thought, as though it were a symbol of his weakness. He opened the drawer on the end table and hurried to place what was left of the vase inside, then closed it.
It took him a minute to limp toward the foyer. Maybe she’d left. He hoped not, and that surprised him. When he opened the door, she stood on the porch with that warm smile and her hands full with a slender book and a plastic container.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get to the door,” was all he could think to say.
“I figured it would. You’re still recovering from a leg injury. It might be a while before you’re up for a jog.” She stepped through his entrance. “I hope you don’t mind, but I made beef stew this morning in the Crock-Pot and had plenty to share with you.” She lifted the lid for him to see.
His stomach rumbled. The aroma filled his nostrils and made his mouth water. He’d had breakfast but skipped lunch. “How did you know I haven’t eaten much today?”
“A lucky guess. I’ll put this in your refrigerator, and you can heat it up when you feel like it.” She walked toward his kitchen. Pausing at the entrance to his dining room, she looked back at him. “Then I’ll show you the yearbook.”
He started to follow her into the kitchen but decided not to and headed for the living room. “I’ll be in here when you’re through.” He wanted to make sure there were no remnants of the broken vase or lamp on the floor.
After searching around the couch, he walked lamely to the leather chair with an ottoman. His left leg ached. He must have wrenched it when coming out of his nightmare. As he laid his cane on the floor by him, Emma came into the room. He lifted his leg onto the upholstered stool.
She took the couch, sitting at the end closest to him. “I’d heat it up in the microwave for about six minutes on high. I put bread in to bake, but it wasn’t done when I left.”
“You make your own bread?” Jake remembered his grandmother baking bread once a week, a good memory. “I used to love that smell when I was a kid and came to see Grandma.”
“I’m not a coffee drinker, but I love to smell a pot percolating. As well as bacon frying and bread baking.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, the best smell I remember from my childhood is my mother baking a cherry pie. I loved to eat it with vanilla ice cream.”
“If I wasn’t hungry before you came, I am now.”
“Good, you’ll enjoy my stew.” She rose and covered the short space between them. “This is the yearbook I was talking about.”
He reached up to take it. Their fingers briefly touched, and his breath caught. He held it for a few extra seconds then released it slowly. Their gazes connected, and Emma paused as though not sure what to do.
He grinned, trying to dismiss the bond that sprang up between them for a moment. “Where’s your German shepherd? I thought you’d bring him again.”
She laughed, letting go of the yearbook, then sat on the couch. “I’ll never force a dog on anyone, even when I think it would be good for him. Besides, Josh was throwing the Frisbee in the backyard for Shep, complaining that he was stuck at home and not at a friend’s.”
“Any problems with Josh in the past few days?”
“Nothing I can pin down. He tells me nothing more has happened, but he comes home from school angry and silent. I have to drag what little I can out of him.”
“I remember those days when Mom tried to get me to tell her about my day at school, especially when the bullying was going on in the sixth grade.”
“How did you handle it?”
“My mom found out and told my dad, who paid the parents of the instigator a visit. Tom Adams’s parents didn’t do anything to him, but Tom was furious at me. I won’t ever forget his name. I did learn one thing. I learned to defend myself if I had to and to let others know I could take care of myself. Also, I made sure I was always with a group of friends. That way it was hard for Tom and his buddies to find me alone. They only attacked when I was by myself.”
“Kids shouldn’t have to worry about this. Did you have trouble at school?”
“Yes, especially at recess.”
“Josh has been misbehaving so he doesn’t go out for recess.”
“Then it’s probably happening at school. Some bullies can be very sneaky. They might even have a lookout.”
Emma frowned. “When did the bullying stop?”
“Not until we moved here when I became a seventh grader.” He quirked a grin. “I also started growing over the summer and began to lift weights. I wanted to go out for football.” He flipped open the yearbook. “How old is Josh?”
“Eleven.”
“He’s small for his age. I was, too.”
Her eyes grew round. “But you’re what, six-four or five now?”
“Yes. I shot up not long after I was Josh’s age and used my size to help others who were bullied. Lifting weights helped me to bulk up. That’s what I mean by looking as if I could take care of myself. My dad taught me some self-defense but stressed I should only use it if it was absolutely necessary. Telling Tom’s parents didn’t work at all. I think his dad was actually proud of his son for being big and tough.”
“How can a parent...” Her tight voice trailed off into silence.
“I’m telling you what happened to me, so you’ll be aware there could be a backlash. That course of action doesn’t always take care of the problem.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she stared at her lap. “This is when I wish my brother or father lived nearer.”
“Maybe Ben can teach Josh some self-defense.”
“You mean to fight back?”
“Not exactly. There are techniques he can use to protect himself from getting as hurt when he’s outnumbered. One’s to run as fast as he can. He needs to know it’s okay to do that, and if he makes that decision, to do it right away or the first chance he gets. He needs to know he isn’t a coward for running but smart for protecting himself. Also, a child who knows he can defend himself is more self-assured.”
“My brother’s going to be on the road for his job for the next month or so. And my father wouldn’t know how. Not to mention he’s frail.”
Jake didn’t have a reply to that. He didn’t want to commit himself, not with the way his life was going. “You’ll think of something,” he said finally, realizing how lame that sounded. “Many bullies fight because they have low self-esteem. Make sure Josh knows that, and build him up. Bullies try to tear down others. It makes them feel superior. If Josh lets them know they can’t do that, it might help.”
She glanced up at him with that look that sent warm currents through him. “Will you have a talk with Josh and explain some of this to him? He won’t listen to me.”
Chapter Four
The seconds crawled by as Emma held her breath, waiting for Jake’s answer.
His expression went blank, and he stared at his leg propped up on an ottoman. “All I can tell him is how I handled it. I don’t know if that would work for him or not.”
“I’ll have you to dinner and you can talk to him. Anything you can tell him is better than nothing. He shuts me out. I don’t know what else to do.” She hated the desperate tone in her words.
“I can’t come to your house for dinner. I don’t want you going—”
“How about I bring the dinner here? I’ll throw in fresh-baked bread, too.”
Shaking his head, he chuckled. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“No, stubborn is one of the traits I need to work on. When would you like me to bring dinner?”
He pressed his lips together, forming a tight, thin line, then said, “Do you work on Saturday?”
Hope flared in Emma. “I work at the Caring Canines Foundation until the early afternoon. Saturday night would be good for me. How about six-thirty?”
He nodded, then began looking through the pages of the yearbook. Halfway through the book, he tapped a picture. “That’s the smallest one of the three.”
Emma moved to glance over his shoulder at the photo. “Carson McNeil. He was in the same class last year with Josh. I don’t think they’re in the same one this year. His family goes to my church. Josh and Carson were friends at one time. I can’t believe he’s part of the group.”
“Let me see if I can recognize the other two.” Jake continued turning the pages and scanning each child until he pointed to another one in sixth grade.
She leaned forward to read the boy’s name. “Sean Phillips. I haven’t heard of him.” She got a whiff of Jake’s lime aftershave and pulled back, realizing how close she was to him. Her heart raced.
She retook her seat while he continued his search for the third kid. Catching herself staring at him, she dragged her attention away and scanned the living room, taking in the decor. Focusing on anything but the man across from her. As in the kitchen she saw his grandmother’s touches in the knickknacks, a quilt thrown over the back of the couch and a myriad of pictures on the wall. She didn’t see anything of Jake other than a photo of him on the wall in his dress uniform with his arm around his petite, white-haired grandma. Was this a place he would recuperate then move on?
The sound of Jake closing the book drew her away from her survey and back to him. “The third one wasn’t in there?”
“Not that I could tell, but then I didn’t get a good look at him. He was the first to run off.”
“With Sean and Carson’s names, I have something to go on.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“I’m not sure. I guess I need to talk with these boys’ parents, then see what happens.” When his eyes darkened, she asked, “What would you do?”
He stiffened. All emotions fled his face.
“Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked you. This isn’t your problem.” She started to rise.
Sighing, he waved her down. “Since you know Carson’s family, I would start with him. But Josh needs to know what you’re doing.”
“I know. That’s the part I dread more than talking to the parents. Why not Sean’s? He’s more likely the one behind the attack.”
“I noticed he’s older, in the sixth grade. You’re probably right. That means either he or the unknown boy is the leader. Not Carson. You have a better chance of getting something from Carson, and since you go to the same church and know his parents, they may step in.” Jake massaged his left thigh above the knee.
“I think so. Sandy McNeil and I are friends. We’ve lost touch these past couple of years since Carson and Josh aren’t playing together the way they used to, but I can’t imagine her condoning what her son’s doing.”
“But you can’t say that about the other parents. Start with the known first.”
A clock somewhere in the house chimed seven times. Emma glanced at her watch and bolted to her feet. “I’ve overstayed my visit. I need to get dinner on the table.”
“I’m sure I’ll enjoy my supper. It beats opening a can of soup.” Scooping up his cane, he struggled to stand.
As she watched him, she forced herself to remain still and not try to assist him. That would be the last thing this man wanted. He needed to feel he could do it on his own. But that didn’t make the urge to help any less strong. She was here because of Ben, but she would stay because she wanted to.
At the front door, Emma waited until he came nearer before saying, “Thanks for looking at the photos. The more I know about what Josh is going through, the better I’m equipped to help him.”
