A Scarred Soul: A Small Town Love Story (Safe Haven Book 2) (14 page)

T
hey listened
to Vince take the steps in one leap and stride across the yard. “How’s it going having Vince there?”

“Having him living over there, as in, having somebody about the place; that’s going fine. He’s neat, tidy, respectful, quiet.” Lulah paused, “Yep, that’s mostly what he is. The other side of him is hot and volatile and messy.”

“So what do you want out of this?”

“I want Vince to commit himself to getting help. I want him to prove that he’s willing to invest in himself.”

“You know, in your heart, that’s asking a lot for someone in Vince’s position.”

“The ball’s in his court, Marlo. When I first met him, I thought I could help him, fix him, but I can’t.”

Marlo started to clear the plates away. “You know what he does around you?”

“What’s that?”

“He watches you the same way a dog does. Not with that needy sort of infatuation, but watching for clues, learning what you do, your movements and behaviors. It’s a bit like the way Calliope used to watch him before her training started, before you gave her some guidance into how to manage being with him and being able to help him.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

“It’s nice, it’s not creepy. He cares and he seems to be working out his way in. He might need some guidance the way Calliope did. You can probably help him more than you know. Tell him what you want, what you expect from him. Consider his military training, too. Not that he’s any sort of puppet needing a master to work the emotional strings, but simply that he respects the clarity of good battle orders.”

“Do you know people in the military?”

Marlo grinned. “Adam’s the nearest. His police background helps, but now we’re about to have regular contact with combat PTSD sufferers, Adam’s learning more about their culture. Mr. Fixit decided he was under-equipped for the job.”

“I’m feeling my way here, too. I don’t have clear battle orders and I’m not sure this is the type of battlefield I’m willing to enter. I have to be able to rely on command, Marlo, because the last guy in charge was no leader and now there’s, you know, fallout. The next person I allow into my life is going to be the kind of person who has my back and best interests, someone who is there for me.”

“And while we’re near the subject, don’t even think about taking a job with Mike. We need you here.”

“Tell that to CRAR. If I fail my qualifications I’m stuffed.”

“But there are plenty of other things you can do here.”

“And watch somebody do the job I should have?”

“I thought you wanted to buy this cabin.”

“I do, but if I have to move, I will buy a different cabin.” She grabbed Marlo’s arm before she started running water into the sink. “Come on, leave those, let’s make tea and I’ll take you over to the barn to show you what Vince is making.”

A
t the barn
, Lulah opened the door before Vince reached it. Although his workbench was well-lit, the rest of the barn was in darkness. He took the tray from Lulah, setting it on his bench, and switched on the lamp by the sofa. The light it threw played off the ancient timbers of the barn’s interior, giving off a warm, amber glow.

“I hope we’re not disturbing you.”

“Too late for that, something disturbed me a couple of years ago,” Vince said with a grin.

Marlo had already gravitated to the drawings pinned on the board behind the workbench and they waited for her reaction. She stood for an impossibly long time before turning to Vince. “You drew these?”

Vince nodded.

“They’re stunning. I’m speechless. You’ve captured Justice perfectly. His character spills from those sketches. Why have you hidden this talent, Vince?”

Lulah watched him tug his shoulders down, amputating the start of a shrug. “I didn’t think I could do this anymore.” He gestured to the pictures. “It’s all from another life, another time. I’d started sketching again after hanging about at the artists’ co-op in town. One day somebody brought in a wooden sign that needed fixing, and I helped a guy with that. It needed a new bit carved, so I made that up for him. Gradually I took on other pieces of work. When I took care of Gable that weekend and I had to clear out the shed, I found my old wagon that I had as a kid. Fixing that up for Gable gave me the confidence to have a go at this again. Now it’s really helping me. To be able to do something good with these hands again, it’s…”

He stood beside Marlo as she studied his working drawings. “So this is Justice, obviously. I’m going to make him like a carousel dog but instead of mounting him on a pole, I’ll mount him on two rockers. He’ll be bigger than life-size, like a rocking horse, but a dog. I want to donate him to be auctioned for the Sanctuary fundraiser. I hope someone will want to buy him.”

“I think you can be certain many people will want to buy him. Me included. A replica of Justice is so appropriate—perfect, really. Having come to the Sanctuary with his own form of PTSD, and finally trusting us and healing so well makes him the ideal mascot for the service dog training program.”

Lulah started to pour the tea.

“None for me,” Marlo said, “I had better get Fala home and I’m expecting Adam to phone. Do you have any idea what it’s like if I’m not there to answer? Instant panic, call in the troopers.”

“The guy’s a pussy, Marlo. I thought those Kiwis were supposed to be rugged.”

“He’s rugged when he needs to be.” Marlo winked and went back to the drawings. “Such a talent you have here, Vince. It’s a gift, you know, be sure to treasure it.”

“I will, I understand I’m lucky to have it.”

Marlo called the dogs to her and headed towards the door. Vince watched Lulah. “Will you stay a while?”

She handed him a mug of tea. “For a bit.”

“Good, thank you.” Back at his workbench he waited for her to settle on the sofa. “How’s your leg?”

The bruise was spectacular this morning, even darker and spreading like a marauding army taking over a large continent. It still hurt with a deep and thorough ache. “It’s much better.”

“What about the rest of you, any other aches? No, don’t answer that, I know you’ll try to hide it from me. See how that’s not working?”

She wasn’t trying to hide it, but admitting to it felt weak. Lulah leaned back on the armrest of the sofa and studied the roof of the barn. Did Vince have his favorite boards, joints, or beams up there in the old, vaulted oak ceiling? Places where the color was exactly right or a flaw drew his gaze? She closed her eyes and listened to the dull thwack of the mallet hitting his chisel as he carved. The energy around him changed when he worked, as if his concentration allowed his creativity to surface and protect him. Joker laid a paw near her arm, his soft muzzle nudged her elbow in a request to join her. She shifted a little and pointed towards her feet and the dog took his cue, climbing up and resting against her legs. He shuffled his head around a bit before deciding her knee was the best pillow. In seconds, his eyes were closed as he fell into that instant sleep dogs did so well.

Vince stopped carving and she heard the settle of his tea mug on the wooden bench. “So any other aches?”

Yeah, you see there’s this one in my chest and if I think about it, it aches. Mostly I can keep it dull, but when I spend too much time with you, it grows
.

“Stiff more than achy. I’m fine once I’m on the move. Listen to me sounding like an arthritic Labrador.”

“Would you honestly take that job with Mike?”

She squeezed her eyes closed. Vince was probably the last person she wanted to discuss this with. “I don’t know. Of course, I want the promotion at the Sanctuary, but even if I qualify, there’s no guarantee. I have to go through the interview process the same as any other applicant. If I miss out on the position, well yeah, I’ll check my prospects with Mike.”

“I hate seeing you with him.”

“Oh, Vince.”

“I do. Why is that? Anyone else is fine, but Mike…he does my head in. And it’s entirely irrational. There’s nothing wrong with the guy. He’s probably a good person. Look what he’s doing with Calliope for me.”

Most likely, Mike was everything Vince wanted to be, maybe he’s how Vince once was, but his chance of reaching that level of holding-his-shit-together was so unlikely it didn’t seem to be a viable goal. “I think you know why. You’ve probably gone over that a number of times in your head, and you need to find a way to put those thoughts to rest.”

Vince’s laugh was short and harsh. “My mind doesn’t work like that anymore. It’s hell trying to pull away from obsessive thoughts when an idea or emotion becomes jammed in this sort of tumbling barrel. The thoughts knock from side to side, no escape, and when the barrel stops the thoughts are still there. They don’t leave.”

“Yes they will, because you’re getting help.”

“I’m glad you have faith in that system.”

“Come on, you have to have faith, too.”

H
e did have
faith in the system because that was all he had left. His only route to Gable. To gain access to his daughter without racking up too much lawyer time or pushing up the needle on Taryn’s Eternal Shit Meter, he had to make it through counseling. And not just make it through, but make it work.

“Faith…yeah. I’m so pleased to be working back with Doc again. It’s as if he gets me, you know? He doesn’t have to ask the questions all the others do because it’s like he already understands. Right now, he gives me the confidence that this time it will work. This time I’m going to pass through the tunnel.” While he spoke he’d walked towards her, dropping into a crouch at the sofa near her head.

“I believe you will make it through.” Her belief she underscored by reaching her hand for his cheek in a slow, snake charmer’s move.

He took hold of her fingers, straightening them and pressing her full palm against the side of his face. The warmth of her hand, slightly damp from holding the hot mug of tea, gave him a rush of pleasure. There was no attempt from her to withdraw from his clasp, and as he watched carefully for any apprehension, he slid her palm down to his mouth, pulling her fingers back to trace her lifeline with the tip of his tongue.

Her gaze never faltered: no startled blink of her eyes, nor twitch of her head. He continued to the base of her little finger, tracking a line across the mounds of her palm, finger to finger and when he stopped, his tongue at the base of her index finger, she flexed her hand from his grip. She turned it a little and covered his mouth and pressed against his nose to hamper his breath. “Do you trust me, Vince?” she whispered, her eyes earnest.

At that moment, he believed he did. He breathed through her fingers, taking in the barest amount of air through the small gap she’d granted him. He nodded, accepting that if she wanted to squeeze harder and cut off his breath, he’d allow her that. He went through several inhalations, working through the jags of panic, the desire to gasp or knock her hand away.

“It feels good, doesn’t it, conquering that battle you’re having, remaining calm as your brain sends requests for more air? Even though I somewhat control the amount of air you get, you’re controlling what you do with it. Your instinct tells you to take my hand away; you know you can do that, but it feels better to work with what I’m giving you. Am I right?”

He grunted his assent. He only had to twist his head, and he would be free from the clasp of her hand, but he stayed with her, curious to know her next move.

“Impulse control. We teach it to the dogs, and it’s amazing the difference in them once they grasp the idea. It stops them being so reactive and gives them a chance to make the right choice. All round, the dog becomes less stressed, because he learns that there is a right choice to make, a way to make it better. This is the control you want over your emotions, yeah? When they’re all rushing at you, giving you too much, and jerking with your arousal, you want someone to smother them so that you can filter them through your psyche, feeding it a meager scrap, and holding back until it begs for one scrap more. Let your emotions trickle over your memories to drag some order into the chaos.”

Her hand was wet now as his rasping breath condensed on her palm. Whenever he moved his mouth, to open it a little, to swallow, she gave his nose a quick squeeze, completely shutting off the airway until he stopped and ceded control back to her. All the time, she remained still. Between them, there was no fight, no manipulation, merely this play with control, backwards and forwards, both accepting and both giving.

The way she made him stronger by taking something so vital away amazed him. She gave him courage through the power experienced each time he curbed a surge of panic. He wanted to swallow again, yet he tried to keep his mouth and tongue from moving, because almost as much as he needed to comfort himself, he needed to obey Lulah’s unvoiced request that he stay still.

He remained in the crouched position by her head, his thigh muscles begging for relief, yet despite this discomfort and brief moments of emotional turmoil, he was getting hard. Was this arousing for Lulah, too? When he pulled from the locked gaze of their eyes to slide a quick look down her body, she made a sound of reproof, tucking her little finger under his jaw to tilt his head back a bit more.

“Stay with my eyes, Vince.”

“Uh-huh.” In trying to speak, his hot breath flowed back over his face.

“Are your legs tiring?”

He shook his head with the smallest movement she allowed, and that helped him to subtly shift his weight. Sure, it was a lie, the muscles of his thighs were on fire, but there was this odd thought that if he admitted to fatigue, it would disappoint her.

“How’s the chaos in your head?”

Was this a test or a game? Did she have an end result in mind? His thoughts raced along the path of where this might go, returning quickly to the point they were at now, the junction. And how should he communicate with her? Eyes? Hands? If he slipped his tongue between his lips, he could get at her palm with the tip. The commotion in his head—the usual shit—was nowhere to be found, because all he could think about was Lulah and how much he wanted to swipe her hand away, take it over her head, and pin it with her other hand against the arm of the sofa. Fuck, that idea wasn’t helping his cramping thighs nor the struggle for supremacy between his brain and his cock
.
The only way to answer her was to stay calm.