Bound to You: A Military Romance (You and Me Series Book 3) Page 3

  “What am I going to do?” I said to no one in particular. “I’m no good to anyone.” That’s when I noticed the mountains in the background of the young woman. Why hadn’t I noticed them before? But from my tracker training, I knew that different mountain ranges had their own features. And an insane idea formed in my mind, but nothing as crazy as the life I lived now and descended on me. I now had a purpose and a goal. And to fill that goal I had to get as healthy as possible. So when my father came to speak to me about seeing a local psychologist, I didn’t object at all.

  I told Dr. Thorne about my training, my deployments, the death I was trained to rain on my targets. It was nothing that bothered me previously, but now knowing I frightened my family, it become a sore point.

  Then there was Jack. And the awakened memory of his death haunted me. I didn’t want to talk about it, but I finally did.

  I did because I had a mission. And that meant getting healthy. But it wasn’t easy, and when I finished speaking, anger rose through me.

  “That must have been insanely frightening.”

  I sat staring ahead, my jaw set, not looking at the civilian doctor who had no idea what terror was. But this was my father’s condition to staying in the house after my discharge, that I get regular counseling sessions for what the docs blithely called PTSD.

  Post-traumatic stress disorder. More like walking in hell every day, but wasn’t it the price of defending my country? No. Jack paid a greater price, while I was fucking around retrieving a stupid photograph.

  “Doc, I know what the fuck it was. My buddy and sniper partner was strewn in little bits in the sand. His head lay to the side like a goddamned soccer ball. One arm was two feet away from me.”

  “Nothing is going to take away those memories, Matthew. But we do need to find a way to manage your symptoms. Your mother—”

  “Stepmother,” I cut in coldly.

  The doctor nodded. “Stepmother said you scream every night in your sleep.”

  “So she says.”

  “And she found you the other day in the living room ‘clearing land mines.’ She says all the throw pillows were ripped apart.”

  “They were small and round, and ugly as shit anyway.”

  “Matthew,” said the psychologist firmly. “Sergeant,” the psychologist said when he failed to gain my attention. I went into Marine mode, and my head snapped automatically toward the psychologist. It was a reflex trained into me by Parris Island drill sergeants, and right now I cursed it.

  “PTSD is not a condition that gets better on its own. It is not a wound that the body will heal itself. And most times it gets worse. Are you taking your medication?”

  “I’m not stupid,” I said defensively.

  “I’m also concerned that your level of defensiveness is rising. Perhaps living at home isn’t the best solution for you.”

  “Is that what my stepmother says?”

  “No, she didn’t say that.”

  “Until my disability comes in, I don’t have any other options.”

  “I think I have one for you.” The man handed me a brochure. On it was the picture of a dog wearing a service vest. “It’s a two-month training program where you and a service dog work together to learn your needs and how to intervene.”

  “A service dog? Like what blind people use?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Look, dogs are great, but I don’t need one to lead me around.”

  “It’s not like that. Dogs have many remarkable qualities, one of them is sensing the emotional states of their masters. These dogs train in a variety of techniques to defuse a PTSD attack and to protect their master in case of an episode.”

  “A dog can do that?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  “A friend of mine runs this facility, and yes, I’ve seen it.”

  “Look, Doc, I know you are trying to help, but no dog will help me deal with this shit.” I stood. “I’ve got to go.”

  The psychologist pursed his lips. “Okay, Matthew. I can’t force this on you. But think about it.”

  “Sure, sure,” I said absently. I gave the therapist a desultory wave as I left.

  “See you in three days,” the man said.

  I didn’t answer.

  Okay. I knew I was being a shit about therapy. I tried, I really did, but nothing relieved the pain in my chest when I remembered Jack laughing one minute and laying in pieces on the road the next. We had been cutting up, playing around when we should have kept our eyes on the road. But I had to show him that picture.

  Why the hell did I do that?

  It was all so fucking senseless.

  As if my truck was on autopilot, it swung into the parking lot of my favorite bar. Though I lived in Boise, Idaho, this bar had a particular Texas flare, complete with a riding bull and regular line dancing on Fridays and Saturdays. It was neither Friday nor Saturday, but that hardly mattered to me. This was the closest I could come to the man that died because I was being stupid.

  At the bar, I ordered my usual jack and coke, but the bartender looked at me warily.

  “You going to keep it together today, Matthew?”

  I frowned. “When don’t I?”

  “Last Tuesday, for one.”

  “I told you and that guy I was sorry. Sorry.”

  “Look, Matthew, if you weren’t a war hero, we’d ban you by now. But if you kick up a ruckus again, we will. We have a responsibility to our other patrons.”

  “I get it,” I said. “Are you going to serve liquor or lectures?”

  “Suit yourself, man.” He pushed the drink in front of him.

  I pulled out the photograph of the blonde woman who stayed with me all through my tours of duty, the one that kept me alive, time and again. If I hadn’t gone after the picture, I’d be just as dead as Jack. That sucked in more ways than I could count, but I didn’t blame the gorgeous woman in the picture. No. That was on me. This woman, the one who had no name, did everything she could.

  I studied the background for the umpteenth time. There were waves of purple mountains behind her, undulating in successive waves like a wind-whipped sea. Trained as a tracker, I felt I should recognize the mountains, but I hadn’t found them yet. I pulled out my smartphone and racked up more internet time looking for the mountains. As I ordered one drink, then another, I thought I found something that looked like it. I stared at a picture of the Blue Ridge Mountains from an overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway that looked very much like the mountains behind my mystery woman. Wait, when did she become “my” mystery woman?

  I ordered another drink.

  “Sorry,” said the bartender. “You’ve had enough.”

  “No, I haven’t,” I growled.

  Footsteps alerted me to someone entering my personal zone. The bouncer crowded my exit point from behind and put his hand on my shoulder.

  And that’s when shit hit the fan.

  Meleyna

  “I hear Randy Barker is dating Cherie Tate.”

  My grandmother spoke as she stepped out onto the porch holding two iced teas. She handed one to me. I took it and set it on the table beside the rocking chair I sat in. She took the other rocking chair and stared at me pointedly. I took out my phone and got busy unlocking the screen.

  “That’s nice for him,” I said, still staring at my phone. I searched online once again, looking at veterinary schools and what they cost.

  “He might have a nice friend for you.”

  I took a sip of my ice tea.

  “We haven’t spoken in a while, grandma. You know that.”

  “Are you ever going to tell me what you two argued about?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s just not important and the kennel takes up all my time.”

  “Meleyna Margaret Harris,” my grandmother spouted in her sternest tone, “don’t you be lying to me. A young woman like you should be out there having fun. Instead, ever since you graduated college you’ve been h
anging around here, acting like an old woman and her animals are the most important thing in your life.”

  “But they are.”

  “And they shouldn’t be. You should be living your own life.”

  “And who is going to feed the animals, clean their cages, pins, and dog runs. Who is going to look after you?”

  “It shouldn’t be you. You are only young once. You’re young, beautiful, feisty and you act just like your father…”

  “Grandma, if you are going to give me the ‘you are stealing my youth talk’ again, I’m going to go for a ride.”

  “And that’s another thing. Perhaps taking on more “girly” hobbies could attract you a good man, honey.”

  I rolled my eyes, stood and picked up riding boots from the corner.

  “Meleyna,” said my grandmother in a warning tone, “don’t dismiss what I’m saying.”

  “Grandma, I’m doing exactly what I want to do.” With that, I walked off toward the horse corral.

  “I suppose, dear. Oh, and while you’re at it, check the cabin to see what repairs it needs,” she called after me.

  My grandmother schemed to rent the old cabin built by my great-grandparents. She thought a little rent money would go a long way to helping pay expenses. I walked by the log cabin often but didn’t pay much attention to it. I might be a capable woman, but repairing an old cabin wasn’t in my repertoire.

  Actually, it was this place that Gram fell and broke her hip in trying to inspect the cabin. It was hell getting her out of the woods that day. I had to wait for the paramedics to arrive to lead them where I had left her with one of the dogs for company.

  I’d aged ten years that day.

  It was the wrong time to take a ride. The best time for a ride was early in the morning or in the evening, and now it was after the noon hour. I had already fed and watered the animals and taken a bunch of the dogs for a walk in the woods earlier.

  All I wanted was some time for myself. But I stopped by the cabin to do as Gram requested.

  I took the front steps carefully. They were a little green with moss, but they still held firm, which was good. I pushed open the door and stepped into the cabin. There were some water stains on the hardwood floor, which indicated problems with the roof. I moved through the living room with the huge stone fireplace and the smallish kitchen with a huge ancient wood stove oven. I didn’t know what kind of person would put up with that. Perhaps instead of renting to one person, maybe we could fix up the place as a vacation cabin. I turned on the water spigot in the enamel sink, and no water came out. Instead, there was a hissing sound and groaning from the pipes. I’d have to check the water pump in the well. It sounded like it needed replacing, which was either a messy job or an expensive one. I took one guess as to how that was going to play out.

  Finally, I checked out the bedroom and the attached bath. I didn’t bother to check the water in the bathroom, but it needed a thorough cleaning. Shoot, I’d be out here a good solid two to three weeks getting things fixed, cleaned and ready for a tenant.

  “Hello,” I heard. I felt my back stiffen. The voice belonged to Randy Barker. What the hell was he doing here?

  I walked out of the bedroom to see him standing in the middle of the living room dressed in his sheriff’s uniform. My lips formed a tight line, but it was a defense for my heart. Randy was as handsome as ever, and my heart couldn’t help but skip a beat.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to say hello. Your grandma said you were up here.”

  “So, you ran right up the trail?” I said sardonically.

  “Can’t I see an old friend?”

  “Depends. What for?”

  Randy looked away as if I annoyed him with the question.

  “Damn it, Meleyna. Are you going to make me say it?”

  “Say what?”

  Randy moved closer to me, forcing me to back up to the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen. I licked my lips. It was an involuntary act. But the advances of Randy were totally out of my control.

  “Can’t we just spend time together, like we used to.”

  “Aren’t you dating Cherie Tate?”

  “I have to date someone, don’t I?”

  “No one is stopping you.”

  “Thing is,” said Randy as he stopped inches from me, “I keep thinking about you. What we used to do. I miss that.”

  I swallowed hard. Randy was standing too close, looking too handsome and smelling too damned sexy. He put his hands on my shoulders with his gaze boring into me. It had been a long time for me too, and now the man who had been my one-time lover and mostly friend and companion for nearly ten years stood here acting like he wanted me.

  Randy took my hand and pulled it to his cock straining against his uniform pants. It was hard and thick, reminding me of how I used to wrap my lips around it. My mouth became dry as I remembered.

  My former lover’s hands gripped my ass now and yanked our hips together. It felt good, too damn good, especially when he ground his cock against my crotch. My pussy started to get wet in response, and I closed my eyes as my breath caught in my throat.

  I didn’t protest when he nipped the side of my neck, growling as he moved to lick my ear, which always drove me crazy. He tugged at my belt buckle with both hands, and I was suspended between protesting and allowing him to continue. Entangled sexually and emotionally with this man since my mid-teens, Randy’s intimate touched sparked memories of nights of passion and shattering orgasms.

  Nights in the bed of Randy’s pickup where he placed an air mattress, weekends in my tent in the woods, this very cabin. And I liked how he took charge, and drove me to the edge of reason, taking my all-too-willing body to the brink without thought or consequence. With Randy, at moments like this, there was no right or wrong thing, just the joy of touch and the need of raw desire.

  Randy sunk to his knees and pulled my jeans and panties down at the same time, exposing my soaking pussy to the cool air of the cabin. And this alone snapped me out of my sexual haze. He pressed his face to my pussy, and this shocked me. Randy never, ever went down on me, though I had desired it many times.

  “Missed this,” murmured Randy and his tongue lapped at my pussy lips, causing me to take a sharp intake of breath.

  “Yes,” I groaned. Every nerve ending prickled with a rush of pleasure, and my hips pushed forward involuntarily, my body wanting and anticipating more.

  But then I felt Randy’s hands reach down as he spread my pussy lips apart with his thumbs, and I jolted back to reality. It had been four years, long years of torture for me as I denied the feelings that crawled through me in my loneliest moments of wanting this and this man. And this is the first thing the man goes for?

  “Stop,” I muttered weakly.

  “What?” said Randy with confusion in his voice.

  “Stop,” I said again, my voice stronger this time. “We agreed that this was over.”

  “No. I did not agree,” said Randy angrily. “You decided that.”

  “Get up,” I said firmly. I hooked my forearms under Randy’s armpits and pulled and forced him to his feet. He glared at me.

  “What the fuck is this?” he demanded.

  “Not fucking,” I said flatly as I drew my jeans and panties from my ankles to my waist and buckled them.

  “Why?”

  “Seriously? You’re asking that?”

  “Because of Cherie?”

  I scoffed. “No. You and I both know how far that goes which isn’t to her bedroom.”

  “Are you saying I’m not man enough to fuck her?”

  “No. I’m saying you aren’t man enough to fuck me. Now get out of here, and don’t bring your sorry ass back, not unless you are willing to live in the light of day instead of the shadows.”

  Randy’s face grew very dark for a second, and then his shoulders dropped.

  “Meleyna,” he said in a pleading voice

  And what did that plea mean, anyway
? Don’t send him away? Or don’t make him face who he was? Maybe both because Randy was very good at straddling the fence. But our days of fucking were over. Why he continued to persist, I didn’t know.

  I just stared at Randy and then flicked my eyes to the door.

  “I’ll leave,” growled Randy. “But don’t think this is over. You’re mine, you’re my bitch, do you understand that?”

  At another time, I might have been thrilled by Randy’s words of ownership. I wouldn’t even have minded Randy’s crude assessment of our relationship. But not now, not when I had spent too many sleeplessness nights trying to understand just exactly how I fit into Randy’s life. And it certainly wasn’t as the beard to the dirty secret that Randy meant to keep.

  “No, Randy. I’m not your bitch, or your woman, or your anything. If I ever was, I’m not now. You want me, then man up and decide what we are. If you can’t, I have no place for you. Do you understand that?”

  “Fuck you,” said Randy angrily.

  I resisted slinging the easy retort, but I thought it.

  Tried and failed.

  Instead, I shrugged my shoulders and nodded toward the door.

  “Later,” I said.

  “You better fucking believe it,” said Randy. “Bitch.”

  In the emotionally charged atmosphere, that almost set me off. It would have at a younger period in my life. But Randy only pushed my well-worn buttons to get a response, and I wouldn’t give it to him. I crossed my arms and planted my feet apart. I just stared at him until the man dropped his head and walk out of the door.

  But he grabbed it and slammed it hard just to punctuate his feelings in the matter. The hard noise rattled through the cabin and startled me.

  I walked to the grime-streaked window by the front door and watched him shuffle down the path toward my grandmother’s house. He looked over his shoulder toward the cabin a couple times until he moved out of the cabin’s line of sight.

  As I stood there, I grew angry now that the storm had passed. Fucking Randy. Nothing had changed and never would. As long as he thought being a man meant fucking women and lying to yourself, I would always be a second-rate substitute for what should be.