Her Holiday Hero Page 4

  “They don’t give the Distinguished Service Medal for being wounded. That’s for serving your country above and beyond your normal duties. It’s awarded for meritorious and heroic behavior. It’s an honor you no doubt deserved.”

  “How would you know?”

  She winced at his reproachful tone. “Because my brother, Ben Spencer, told me what you did for him. You saved his life so I’m not surprised you’re receiving the medal, one of the highest awarded by the government.”

  The color drained from his face. “You’re Ben’s sister?”

  She nodded.

  “How is he? I haven’t had a chance to touch base…” The words faded into the quiet. Jake stared at his clasped hands. “I meant to see how he was once I was better.”

  “He’s doing all right. His injuries are healed, and he’s been coping with his PTSD. Making progress.”

  Jake lifted his head and gave her a searing look. “So what I heard is true? How’s he dealing with it?”

  She couldn’t have asked for a better opening to talk about Shep. Lord, give me the right words to say. This man is hurting.

  “Ben has a PTSD counseling group he attends in Tulsa, but he also has a service dog I trained for him. Butch has made a big difference in Ben’s being able to go out and to participate in life without having so many panic attacks.”

  His eyebrows crunched together. “He’s cured?”

  “No, but the incidences he has are few, especially lately, and he’s been able to work his way through them.”

  “I’m glad. He was a good soldier. I missed him when he returned home. Is he working?”

  “Yes, at Gordon Matthews Industries as a computer programmer.”

  “Does he like it?”

  “Yes, he’s really enjoying it.”

  “That’s good to hear. Sometimes it’s hard to go back. A lot of men’s lives have been messed up.” Jake stared at the floor for a long moment, lost in thought.

  Most likely remembering. The rigid set of Jake’s shoulders made Emma wonder about his particular story. Each soldier had his own, some more traumatic than others. Ben had been flown back to the States eight months earlier due to his encounter with a land mine that had blown up a few feet from him in a field where one of his friends died. He lost part of his left arm while several other soldiers were also injured. But Ben kept in touch with many of the ones still in his old unit—there to help if they needed it. Jake wasn’t staying in touch. Emma nudged Shep, giving him the signal to bark. He did.

  Jake lifted his head, turning his attention toward the German shepherd. “He’s a beautiful dog. How long have you had him?”

  “Almost nine months. I’ve been training Shep to be a service dog. His specialty is working with people with PTSD.” She watched Jake for a reaction.

  He looked at her, a frown pulling his eyebrows down. “Why did you bring him today?”

  “Because I like to take him out for a walk when I can and—” she swallowed to coat her dry throat “—I wanted you to meet him.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  Her gaze caught his. “Because I think you need a dog like Shep.”

  He rose, grappling for his cane. “I have work to do. Thank you for bringing the brownies.” His hard expression shouted, But don’t ever come back!

  She didn’t move. “Please. Let me explain.”

  He started to say something but pressed his lips together.

  She took his silence as an okay. “I want to help you. I know what my brother went through when he came home. He couldn’t hold down a job, even a simple one. He lived with our parents and didn’t leave the house hardly at all—often holing himself up in his old bedroom. He got angry at the least little thing. He had the shakes and would shut down if something even little went wrong. He had nightmares and didn’t want to sleep. When I gave him Butch, I saw how effective the dog was with him. Still is. Butch has a way of calming him down and centering him.”

  “That’s your brother, not me.” Jake took his seat again.

  From checking with a few of his neighbors, Emma knew Jake rarely left his house. Jake Tanner was hiding out. Easier to stay home than go out in crowds where he had little control of what would happen around him. Ben had been like that at first. Butch had made the difference.

  “I can help you if you’ll just give Shep a chance.”

  “I’m capable of dealing with my problems. Healing takes time.”

  “A service dog can help that along.”

  “How? My injury was my leg. I’m up and about. I can walk now.”

  “There are other injuries that aren’t so visible. A dog can help with those.”

  “What? Emotional ones?” He clasped his cane between his legs with both hands and leaned forward slightly.

  “Yes. Dogs can sense when a problem is going to occur and intervene before it becomes worse.”

  His grip tightened around the ivory knob on the end of his cane until his knuckles whitened. “I’ve heard of other soldiers using service dogs. I don’t want to have to care for an animal. I’m barely—” He snapped his mouth closed.

  “What? Barely holding it together?” Emma asked, returning his unwavering gaze. She hadn’t given up on Ben. Though they were virtual strangers, she could tell Jake needed help. She had promised her brother she would do what she could for his former commanding officer and she would, somehow.

  Jake stiffened. “I have work to do.”

  She sighed. “Sometimes I can be too blunt. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”

  “I respect a person who speaks her mind, but that doesn’t change the fact I don’t need a service dog. I’m coping.”

  “That’s good because Ben wasn’t.”

  “It hasn’t been that long since I came home. Recovery takes time.” Jake’s voice didn’t sound as convincing as the man probably wanted.

  “Time and help. I agree.”

  His gaze pinned her down. “I’m receiving help from my doctor.”

  Emma resisted the urge to squirm under his intense glare. “Is he here when you have panic attacks, flashbacks, nightmares?”

  Jake winced, a mask falling into place as if he were shutting down all emotions.

  The problem was a person couldn’t block his feelings forever. They were there in the background, ready to strike when he least expected. Emma said, “A service dog can help a person with those kinds of things. When someone has a panic attack, the dog’s trained to calm him. The animal can be trained to wake up a person who’s having a nightmare. Flashbacks often lead to panic attacks or at the very least, emotional upheavals. A dog can be there at all hours to console, be a companion. Not to mention they’re great listeners.”

  A tic twitched in his hardened jaw. “Does he talk back?”

  Emma grinned. “I can do a lot with the dogs I train, but I haven’t accomplished that yet. But they can understand a lot of commands, if properly taught. Shep has been trained in all those areas.”

  Jake stood. “Thanks for coming.”

  Jake’s polite words and neutral expression didn’t totally cover a hopelessness in his eyes. Emma could identify; she remembered how, when her husband died, she’d struggled to pay off his debts. She was still paying the hospital bill every month from the last time Sam was admitted.

  Emma followed Jake from the living room. Shep trotted next to her. Ben’s captain opened the front door and moved to the side to allow her to leave.

  She stepped outside and pivoted. “Where did the boys attack Josh?”

  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 ou
t 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.”