The Widow of Conard County Page 7

  Finally, he spied the intruder: little more than a dot in the distance, he saw a horse and rider coming this way. Admittedly, it was just a man on a horse, but in Afghanistan that hadn’t always been innocent.

  “Liam?”

  At the sound of Sharon’s voice, he spun around. She was carrying a pitcher of lemonade and a glass toward him.

  “There’s someone coming,” he said tautly.

  “Where?” Her brow furrowed and she looked around.

  “Rider on the hill.”

  She looked where he pointed. “Relax,” she said softly. “It’s my neighbor, the guy who owns the sheep.”

  He looked at her, saw concern on her face, and realized he was being an idiot. The anger surged then, in response to feeling like a fool, but more probably in response to an adrenaline rush that had no outlet. He dropped the painting supplies on a tarp.

  “I’m going for a walk.” He strode away, ignoring her as she called his name. At one point in his life he’d seen enemies on every hill. Now he felt threatened by every approaching car.

  Damn it. How was he supposed to live this way?

  Chapter Five

  Sharon watched Liam storm off across the field. She understood he needed to do it, but it broke her heart, anyway. That might have been Chet, and the thought was almost too much to bear.

  At least when she’d glimpsed these reactions in Chet when he was home on leave, they hadn’t been as strong, probably because when he came home he was in familiar surroundings and with familiar people. Liam didn’t have that comfort. None of it.

  He was a stranger in a strange land, a place so unfamiliar he couldn’t adequately judge the threats. She hated to think of the overload he must sometimes feel on top of his cognitive deficits. Hell, people who came home with post-traumatic stress lived in a hell beyond imagining. How much worse must it be when you added all the TBI effects?

  She was sure she hadn’t begun to plumb the depths of all that Liam dealt with.

  He’d seemed better the past few days but she didn’t delude herself into thinking he was necessarily healing. He’d merely been occupied with an exhausting task. He’d said himself he needed to keep busy, and that part she understood. But there was no way she could truly grasp the rest of it. No way at all. She felt so inadequate.

  She held the pitcher of lemonade in one hand, tucking the glass in her elbow so that she could wave to her neighbor. Then she turned and went back to the house, her mind spinning in a hundred different directions. There had to be more she could do. Something. Anything.

  But she couldn’t think of what it might be. The work wasn’t enough, and that would run out, anyway. Then what? Clearly he needed some kind of anchor, some kind of secure point from which he could start taking his life back. The faster he painted, the more she feared for him. Was he going to finish and then take to the road again?

  What then? Where would he go? What would he do?

  She felt sick to her stomach just thinking about it.

  She also knew in her heart that she didn’t want him to move on. She liked him. Never mind that every time she saw him her heart skipped a beat and her thoughts wanted to turn to sex. Sex was no solution, not for either of them.

  Although it might be quite a nice experience, she thought with a faint little smile as she mounted the porch steps. She certainly experienced a strong itch to run her hands all over that powerful body of Liam’s. He might have built it to fight demons, but wherever it had come from, it was a beaut.

  She’d spent three days watching his muscles ripple in the sun and admiring them. They’d begun to invade her thoughts on waking and when she fell asleep. Heat pooled between her legs all too often, and she wondered if she was just lonely or in danger of developing a dangerous obsession with a man she hardly knew.

  Oddly, the thoughts no longer made her feel guilty as they had at first. Good, because lately she’d become as determined to move on as Liam seemed to be determined to come to grips with himself and what he could still do.

  Chet would have hated for her to keep moping. He had hated moping. How often had he said, “Life deals, and then you deal.”

  The memory brought another smile to her face. He’d been right. His other favorite saying was, “Life is what happens while you’re making other plans.” She’d heard that quote attributed to John Lennon as well as an early-twentieth-century writer. She supposed the source didn’t matter as much as the sentiment. Besides, it was seldom that only one person had a particular idea.

  All of which was a distraction. She set the lemonade on the small porch table and sat in one of the lawn chairs they’d always meant to replace with something sturdier. Well, maybe she’d get out the plans for those Adirondack chairs and see if she and Liam could work their way through them. Maybe it was time for her to get handy, too.

  Ransom Laird was coming closer, she realized. She didn’t see him out this way often. She had a lot of neighbors she often didn’t see for weeks at a time or longer because running a ranch of any kind tended to be time-consuming. She’d have gotten to that point, too, once Chet had come home for good.

  Except he wasn’t going to do that now. And now she had Liam to concern her. Maybe she needed to look into getting some animals.

  “Howdy,” Ransom said as he rode up. He dismounted and tied his horse to the porch rail.

  “Lemonade?” Sharon asked.

  “I’d love some.” He took a seat as she poured. Even in his early sixties, Ransom was the kind of man who could make a woman’s heart flutter. Something about all that hard work outdoors, Sharon supposed.

  “How’s Mandy?” she asked.

  “On a deadline,” he said. “She may look up from her computer again in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, the boys and I are batching it. I throw her a sandwich from time to time.”

  Sharon laughed. “Isn’t she successful enough to give herself more time?”

  “She could have all the time she wants, but she says if she didn’t set a tight deadline she’d probably never finish a book. I don’t get it, but that’s the way she operates. So you have a handyman?”

  “Are people talking?”

  “When do I get to talk to people? Now, if sheep could gossip, that might be something else. No, I saw him painting when I came up. Did I scare him off?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. Liam was Chet’s best buddy in the army and he came here to deliver a letter.”

  Ransom’s face tightened. “So what’s going on?”

  “TBI.”

  He swore. “So you took him under your wing?”

  “I’m not sure who is under whose wing, honestly. I needed some things done and he needed a place to stop.”

  “Nowhere to go?”

  “Evidently not.”

  Ransom leaned back, sipping lemonade. “Mmm, that’s good lemonade. Mandy did that for me, you know. Gave me a place to stop. It was supposed to be temporary, while I healed, but obviously that changed.”

  “I didn’t know that.” She had heard vague mentions that Ransom had been a CIA agent who had been tortured before coming here a couple of decades ago, but had had no idea Mandy had taken him in. Someday she wanted to get the full story.

  “We don’t talk about it a lot. Anyway, all I’m saying is, good for you. Sometimes a person just needs a place to slow down without stuff crashing in all the time. This is a good place for that. And if he’s looking for some work after he’s through with the painting, I might be able to use some help. If he’s interested in sheep, anyway.”

  “Thanks, Ransom. I was thinking just a little while ago that maybe it’s time I got some animals out here.”

  “Chet always planned to,” he agreed. “Although I’m not sure all of us would have liked his choices.”

  She had to laugh. “I’m sure the
wolves would have been impossible.”

  “Most likely. I’m hearing we have two packs up in the mountains now. No incidents yet, but some are getting edgy.”

  “Aw, no.”

  “Aw, yes. It’s come up a few times at the grange meetings. There’s a relatively simple solution, though.”

  “Which is?”

  “Cowboys and good dogs, but I know some folks are running on the thinnest of margins. I’m thinking maybe we need to chip in and buy some really good herding dogs for those that are worried. We’ll see. Money’s tight, like, everywhere.”

  “Linc Blair, one of the teachers I work with, uses dogs. In fact, he gives a lot of his pups away, but I doubt he has enough of them to meet demand.”

  “I’ve talked to him. He’s got some ideas.” Ransom drained his lemonade and declined the offer of more. “Gotta get back to work. Sorry I didn’t get to meet Liam. Say hi for me.”

  “I will.”

  “But the main reason I stopped by is that we’re having a barbecue at our place the first Saturday of next month. I hope you can come, and bring Liam if he’s willing.”

  “Thanks.” Sharon smiled. “I love barbecues. What do I need to bring?”

  “Now, that’s something you’ll have to call Mandy about. Don’t expect her to answer the phone, though. She’ll get back to you or have one of the boys call. But right now she’s planning it as a celebration for finishing her book.”

  Rising, he touched the brim of his hat in farewell and descended the steps to his horse. Right then, Liam came around the corner of the house. He froze, his face tight.

  Ransom went utterly still, reacting to Liam’s evident hesitation. Sharon wondered what to do to bridge this awkward gap.

  “Hi,” Liam said finally, breaking the silence.

  “Hello,” Ransom answered. Holding his horse’s reins, he took a step toward Liam and held out his hand. “Ransom Laird. Those are my sheep that have been baa-ing at you.”

  Liam shook his hand. “Liam O’Connor. It’s a soothing sound, actually. They don’t seem to get upset about much.”

  “They’re pretty placid most of the time,” Ransom agreed. “Sorry to have to say hi and run, but work calls. You’re welcome to the barbecue at my place in a few weeks. Sharon has the information.” Again, he touched the brim of his hat with a finger and swung up into the saddle. “Pleasure to meet you, Liam.”

  He rode off at a slow gallop toward the distant herd of sheep.

  Liam remained where he was, looking at Sharon. “Seems like a nice man.”

  “He always has been. The barbecue isn’t for a few weeks yet, so you can think about it. Lemonade?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Let me get a fresh glass.” She carried Ransom’s inside and returned quickly with a pair of glasses. She poured for both of them and then resumed her seat. At last, Liam came to sit on the other side of the table from her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “For what?” She had seen his reaction earlier when he’d stood at the foot of the ladder, a man prepared for attack. “For being you?”

  “For being rude.”

  “Hardly. He was still on the horizon when you walked away. You might not have seen him.”

  “But I did.”

  “And I told you who he was.” She held the icy glass of lemonade, watching condensation form on its side. “What happened exactly?”

  “I realized that I’m not fit to cope with ordinary life. It makes me angry sometimes.”

  “You may not be fit right now, but you’ll get there.” She spoke firmly.

  “You can’t know that.”

  “I can’t? You got used to being in combat. Surely you’ll get used to a peaceful environment. TBI notwithstanding, you strike me as very adaptable, so don’t write yourself off yet.”

  He didn’t argue with her, but she didn’t know if that was good or not. In so many ways, as revealing as he was about some things, he remained inscrutable. Either there was a lot he didn’t want to discuss, or things he simply couldn’t.

  She sipped lemonade and stared out over the fields, which were beginning to simmer now as the afternoon warmed up. Emotional truths were the hardest to express. Sometimes all the words in the dictionary weren’t enough.

  “Painting,” he said suddenly.

  She looked at him. “What?”

  “I was painting. I left the stuff sitting there. It’ll kill the brush and roller if they dry out.”

  “The barn is killing the brushes,” she said humorously. “And the rollers, come to think of it. All that rough wood. Don’t worry.”

  “I finish what I start. Unless I forget.”

  Those last three words were so sardonic that her heart squeezed. “Clearly you didn’t forget.” She put her glass down. “Let’s go take care of it. Like you, I need to be busy, too.”

  She saw his eyebrows rise.

  “You think you’re the only one who needs not to think about some things?”

  He didn’t answer, but there was no mistaking the flicker of pain that crossed his face. “Sometimes I forget...”

  “That I’m Chet’s widow? Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I forget, too.” That sounded harsh, but it was true. She was stuck here, living a life, and forgetfulness could sometimes provide the only balm.

  She jumped up and headed toward the side of the barn where he’d been painting. He followed right on her heels.

  “I could do more today,” he told her.

  “Sure. If you insist. But it’s getting kind of warm, and I’d rather not see you fall from that ladder. You haven’t eaten in hours.”

  “I can handle the heat.”

  “I’m sure you can. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather not chance it. There are other things that need doing if you need to keep busy.”

  The paint had only just started to skin over, so it was easy enough to plunge the brush and roller into a bucket for soaking, and to rinse out the pan. The tiny amount of paint in the can didn’t seem worth the trouble, so she asked him to seal it up and put it on the stack of cans Ed would pick up for recycling.

  She sent him to shower while she made sandwiches for lunch. When he returned, he was wearing fresh but paint-spattered clothes. Well, of course. He’d arrived with only a backpack. He probably had only a few changes.

  She didn’t have anything around that might fit him, and didn’t know if he could handle shopping.

  Putting her chin in her hand, she watched him eat and thought about how complicated all of this was. She wondered if it really had to be this complicated. Dancing around everything only made it harder for both of them. He’d been blunt when he arrived. Maybe it was time for her to be blunt, too.

  “I need to go to town.” She wasn’t exactly prepared for feeding two, and she needed to remedy that. But there was another need now, too. “How about you get yourself some more clothes?”

  He looked down at himself.

  “You hardly want to go everywhere covered with primer and barn-red. And you might want some cooler clothes. Summer’s really arriving.”

  He thought about it, saying little while he ate another few bites. Then he startled her. “More clothes imply a commitment.”

  Astonished, her mouth hung open. “A commitment? How?”

  “More to keep me here.”

  She didn’t know whether to get mad or not. Seriously, that was either crazy or opaque. “Do you have a problem with being here for a while? Or is it inconceivable that you could just leave your messed-up clothes behind whenever you want to go?”

  Now he looked a little surprised. “I must have said that wrong.”

  “Maybe so.” She was glad when the phone rang. Jumping up, she went to answer it. It turned out to be the mother of one of her students from
the past year who wanted to know if she might consider tutoring her younger son in math.

  “I don’t know if he’s just unwilling or if he’s just not getting it, but you did such a good job with Mike, I thought you might be able to help Andy.”

  “I’d be glad to tutor if you don’t mind bringing Andy over here.” No way was she going to drive all over the county. She’d learned that two summers ago, when she started tutoring one girl and wound up with half a dozen students who were scattered around the county as if someone had thrown a handful of jacks. She didn’t know why, but once you took on one student, you acquired others. Last summer, she had been too raw to even consider it, but this year it would be welcome.

  After she hung up she found that Liam had finished his lunch and was carrying his plate to the dishwasher. “So you work over the summer, too?” he asked.

  “Just a little. Some tutoring. I like it. One-on-one interaction is very satisfying.”

  “Like teaching me to read.”

  “Yes. I get something out of it, too, Liam.”

  Those light green eyes of his creased at the corners with something like a smile. “Glad to hear it.”

  “I wouldn’t be a teacher otherwise.”

  He closed the dishwasher door. “What were we talking about before?”

  She waited, giving him the opportunity to recall if he could.

  His expression brightened another shade. “Town. Clothes.”

  “Yes.” She bit back the urge to question him again about what he meant by commitment. The possibilities in those words might be painful. She wasn’t ready to admit that she liked having him around, because that would mean it would be painful when he left. And he would leave. There was no reason on Earth for him to hang around here once he felt he had his feet under him. And day by day she watched him growing a little more confident. The work must be helping.

  Maybe that was most of what he needed, a sense that he could be useful again. She definitely understood that need.

  She knew he was going through a difficult time, but she hadn’t expected it to be so difficult for her, as well. The Liam she had heard about was a competent soldier and a great friend. The man she had met was still powerful, but facing difficulties, some physical, some emotional. She couldn’t examine all this thoroughly and didn’t intend to. The important thing to her was that he kept trying. As each new thing came up, whether going to town, eating in a restaurant, painting or learning to read, he insisted on trying it.