Amy Woods - An Officer And Her Gentleman

A wave of emotion swept over her like an evening tide and her knees nearly buckled beneath her. She was suddenly, desperately sad. And oh-so-tired. Tired of being dependent on others to keep her safe when she’d once been so self-reliant. Tired of being locked inside her own head. Tired of being afraid to go to sleep, knowing the nightmares would meet her there like a mugger waiting in the shade of night for his next victim, and tired of feeling crazy when she knew—even if everyone else believed otherwise—that she was not.

She gently pushed the dog away and sat down on the sofa. Jane jumped up, too, but sat a few feet away, as if giving Avery her space. Isaac moved across the room to sit in a chair on the other side of a mahogany coffee table. He folded his hands in his lap and looked at the floor. Avery knew she should keep an eye on him until she could get out of there but her lids felt weighted and she let them slip closed for just a second as she gathered her thoughts.

“How long was I out?” she asked, swallowing, not really wanting to know the answer. Her flashbacks, blackouts, whatever the hell they were, sometimes lasted for hours before she came back around. She hated the loss of control and the resulting feeling of irresponsibility, as though she’d had too much to drink and passed out at the wheel.

She looked up at Isaac, meeting his eyes. In them, she found none of the things she’d expected: pity, irritation, confusion. Instead, they were like deep woods in the middle of the night—quiet, dark, mysterious—but for some reason, she felt safe there. She knew enough to sense menace when it lurked, and so she knew then as sure as she knew her own name and rank that this man was not dangerous.

“About an hour,” he said, his voice smooth like strong coffee. “Took me half of that to get you here. My truck broke down just up the road and my cell had almost no charge left. You were pretty cold when Jane and I got you inside the house, so I covered you with a blanket and plugged in the phone for ten minutes or so. You didn’t seem wounded or anything, but it’s not every day I find people prowling around in the dark, so I figured best thing to do was call the authorities and let them make sure you’re okay and sort you out.”

Isaac paused, brow furrowed, and it seemed he might say more, but then he closed his mouth and looked at her expectantly.

She sifted through his comments, appreciating his effort and the fact that, other than to carry her, he hadn’t handled her any more than necessary; in fact, he seemed wary of being anywhere near her—a thought that touched her heart with the gentlemanliness it bespoke. His simple, strong kindness reminded her of some of the men she’d served alongside, and for a fleeting moment, she missed her comrades.

There had been a time, not that long after returning home, when she would have done anything to forget her tours overseas if it would have helped her blend back in to civilian society. But after being back in Peach Leaf for a few months, newly burdened with the knowledge that such a wish might never come true, she’d begun to long for another deployment, if only for the fact that she didn’t know how to be “normal” anymore, whatever that meant. She didn’t belong in her own world, and she hadn’t truly belonged in that barren, violence-riddled land, so the question was, as always: Where, if anywhere, did she belong?

“You could have left me there, you know,” Avery said. “I didn’t need any help.” The words sounded hollow and impractical even as she spoke them.

“We both know that’s not true,” he answered, his tone thankfully free of judgment.

She didn’t want to have to explain herself to a complete stranger. Even a kind, gentle, admittedly handsome stranger.

“All the same, though,” he continued, “I don’t think it’s safe for you to walk home on your own and, as I said, my truck’s out of commission for the night. Is there anyone you can call to—”

“No!” she shouted as her body simultaneously lurched forward a few feet, startling them both. She covered her mouth with her hand, the skin icy against her warm lips.

“Look, if you’re in some kind of dicey situation, it ain’t any of my business, but I can’t let you stay out here alone in the dark, either.

She shook her head and lowered her hand, clasping it between her knees. “No, no, it’s not like that. I’m not... I mean... I just have these episodes sometimes, and occasionally I lose track of where I am.” She stopped abruptly, not really knowing what else to say but thankfully, he didn’t seem to expect much more. Trying to put her problems into words was always a fragile balancing act of saying too little or too much. Even though they appreciated her service, she’d quickly discovered that most people would rather not think or talk about the things that Avery had experienced, and it was hard to describe something she herself didn’t fully understand.

Isaac swallowed and held out his hands, palms up. His face was difficult to read but not hardened, and his expression gave her the idea that he was genuinely waiting to hear what she had to say, who she was, before making his mind up about her. It was refreshing. In her small town, Avery was used to people thinking they knew everything about each other just because they’d racked up some years together in the same place. They made the frequent mistake of assuming that you’d always be who you once were.

“Speaking of,” she went on, struggling to hide her sudden embarrassment at having to ask, “would you mind telling me where we are?”

Isaac’s lids lowered and his mouth relaxed into an easy grin, as if he’d been waiting for her to ask so he could have something helpful to offer. “Sure thing. We’re about two miles outside of Peach Leaf proper, and my house is about half a mile from Ranch Road 64. Closest landmark is Dewberry Farms, my neighbor.”

His neighbor. Her brother.

Avery released an audible sigh of relief that she hadn’t wandered too far from home in her—she looked down, suddenly aware of the goose bumps that had formed a tiny mountain range along her arms—very thin pajamas. Thank goodness she’d been unable to shed the habit of sleeping in her sports bra or she’d have been sitting in a stranger’s living room without a shred of modesty.

“Dewberry is my home, at least for now,” she said, and Isaac nodded, seeming unsurprised. He probably knew her recent history as well as any of the other locals. It said a lot about his character that he wasn’t acting as though that meant he knew her.

“Well, as you know, it’s not far from here. I think I feel well enough to walk back now. If I don’t make it home before everyone wakes up, they’ll be worried, so—” she pointed a thumb in the general direction of the front door “—I should probably get going.”

Isaac held out a hand as she stood. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not?” She rolled her eyes almost immediately, sitting back down as the inside of her head did another dizzy spin. “I mean, I know why not, but how is it any of your business? I appreciate you helping me, but I’m okay now.”

Isaac shook his head. “For one thing, you’re pale as a ghost, and let’s not forget you were passed out for a solid hour. Plus, pardon my saying so, but you look like you could use some energy if you’re going to walk a half mile, which, for the record, I’d recommend putting off until the sun comes up.”

Avery bit her lip, considering. Everything he said was absolutely right, but she couldn’t risk letting Tommy or Macy find her bed empty again. She wouldn’t put them through that worry another time.

Her brother and sister-in-law had already given her a place to stay and a hell of a lot of support through the lowest point in her life so far, for which she’d never be able to repay them. They said they were glad to do it and they meant well, but Avery wasn’t naive, and she wasn’t blind; she could see the way they looked at her when they insisted she was no imposition, as if they weren’t sure what she might do next, or worse, how her involuntary actions might affect their kids. She could see the way they walked on eggshells around her. The familiar guilt made her empty stomach clench in pain.