“Yes.” Shay sighed and gave him a frustrated look. “When I couldn’t find the savings ledger, I asked my father if he knew where it was. He blew up at me. He insisted the savings account was his and his alone. That it didn’t belong to me or the ranch. He told me he would always keep it in his possession.” She pressed her fingers against her brow. “I let it go, to tell you the truth. I just didn’t want him screaming at me anymore. I couldn’t take it . . . I was too raw from my own PTSD symptoms. It hurt too much to take him on and press for more information.”

  Reaching over, Reese didn’t give a damn anymore. He needed to touch her, soothe her. “I’m sorry, Shay. Is there any way I can help you with this situation?” He slid his fingers gently across the back of her hand. Her flesh was warm and firm. His body reacted. Reese couldn’t be around her and not become aroused. It wasn’t Shay’s fault. It was his. His fault for lack of control over his own emotions, but then, PTSD had a way of dismantling his feelings in ways that always took him off guard. Reese wouldn’t use that as an excuse, however. It was up to him to control himself around Shay. Period. Lifting his hand away, he saw her eyes widen slightly, shift to a hazy blue. Reese fought what he thought he saw. There was no way in hell that she was attracted to him! He was half the man, or less, that he used to be.

  Shay managed a strangled laugh. “Yes, be my shield, Reese. When I have to see my father three times a week, come and stand between me and him.”

  “I’d be more than willing to do that, Shay.” He tried to bite back all he wanted to say and ended up growling, “No woman deserves to be verbally abused by a man. And especially not by her father.”

  “I’m used to it,” Shay muttered, shaking her head. “I don’t like it. I find myself dreading seeing him. If I’m late, he screams at me. I can’t do anything right.”

  The kitchen hung thick with tension.

  Reese struggled not to ask obvious questions such as: Did Shay ever stand up for herself? Tell her father to stop how he was treating her? Sadly, Reese knew those answers because over the years he’d counseled so many young Marines who had come from dysfunctional families. Some had been mentally and emotionally abused. Others, physically abused by their father or a boyfriend. Sometimes, a few had been abused in all three ways.

  Reese had learned the hard way not to ask questions like that. It only served to make the Marine defensive and even more ashamed because they hadn’t fought back and stood up for themselves. Abuse survivors were branded with low self-esteem as young children. Fortunately it could be cured with the right help and support. Reese had worked to help rebuild that broken confidence and give it back to the Marine in question.

  “That’s why I left the Bar C at eighteen,” Shay said, running her finger slowly down the outside of the glass in her hand. “I couldn’t stand what he did to me. I knew it was wrong. I didn’t know where to turn, where to go for help.”

  “Most children growing up in a home like yours don’t realize there is help out there. But it means going to law enforcement, or telling a teacher or a trusted peer, about what’s going on at home.”

  “Right,” Shay agreed, her voice low. She glanced over at him. “I figured it out when I was in the Corps. I never thought I’d be coming back here. I was in for twenty. I loved what I did as a truck driver in the motor pool, and I was good at it. Until the PTSD caught up with me . . .”

  “And then your father had that stroke and you came home again?”

  “Yeah,” she muttered. She shook her head and pushed back on the chair, standing up. “It caught me off guard. I was given an honorable hardship discharge to return and take over the running of the Bar C. I knew what I was walking back into and I felt like a lamb going to slaughter. I was just too overwhelmed with anxiety, paranoia, and terror to think clearly.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “My father’s behavior just ratcheted up my symptoms. When he had the stroke—I hate to say this—I felt nothing but relief because it was going to get him out of this house and away from me.” Her mouth turned in at the corners. “I know that was wrong of me. He’s my father.” She pushed her fingers through her hair. “I’m not proud of what I thought.”

  Reese held her guilt-laden gaze. “When you’re in a survival reflex, Shay, you can’t judge yourself like that. You came from an abusive home. Your father continued to injure you verbally and probably emotionally. And if I’d been in your shoes, I think I’d have felt nothing but relief after he had that stroke.”

  She studied him, the quiet embracing her. “Because I was in survival mode? Doing what I had to do to survive rather than die?”

  “Exactly.” Reese gave her a sympathetic look. “When I left the Corps, I agreed to go see a shrink. I lasted with her for three sessions. But it wasn’t wasted time. The woman was a civilian and hadn’t a clue about what it was like to be in the military or battle situations, but she did help me see myself and where I was at. For that, I’ll always be grateful to her.”

  “She explained that you were in a survival reflex?”

  “Exactly. Like you were when you were forced to come home and take over running the ranch.”

  “It was hell,” she muttered. Shay paced the length of the kitchen. “I wanted to run away from all this responsibility, but how could I walk away from taking care of my father? Our family home? We’ve been in this valley for over 120 years.” She halted and made a choking sound. “I felt like I was dying all over again by living under this roof with my father. And yet, the fear of giving up on the ranch and letting it rot was ten times worse than what I was putting up with daily.”

  “The devil you know versus the devil you don’t know,” Reese agreed. “We all choose the devil we know. It’s the fear of the great unknown that makes us freeze. We’re paralyzed because we don’t know what will happen if we strike out on our own. Been there, done that.”

  She tilted her head, studying him intently. “You don’t seem like a man who’d run from anything, Reese. I know you have PTSD, but there’s something so solid and secure about you.” She opened her hands. “When I’m around you? All my anxiety goes away. That’s pretty amazing, and it has never happened to me before. You help me. Am I making sense?”

  “A little,” he said. “That’s the old part of me that didn’t get wounded by the PTSD. I’ve always been like that.” Reese smiled a little. “My mother would tell you that I’m the Rock of Gibraltar.” His smile faded. “But that’s no longer true. The PTSD . . . well, it destabilized me. Like it does everyone, sooner or later.”

  “Mmm,” Shay said, sitting back down. “Tonight at dinner?”

  “Yes?”

  “The guys are really starting to naturally gravitate to you, Reese. It’s not because you were a captain in the Marine Corps, either. It’s that steadiness you have; you exude leadership energy. I look so forward to meals with you. I’m not as good at assessing people as you are, but even I can see that Garret, Noah, and Harper all respect you. When you talk, they really listen and listen hard.”

  Shrugging, Reese said, “I honestly hadn’t noticed.” And he hadn’t, too wrapped up in his own internal processes, his confidence having taken such a hit two years ago. “And don’t sell yourself short: You see people very clearly. You picked us.” He let a grin curve the side of his mouth.

  “You know how to make me feel good,” she whispered, giving him a soft smile, gratefulness shining in her eyes. She opened her hands. “Just being around you, Reese, you make me feel more confident about myself.”

  “Well,” he drawled, teasing her, “maybe we’ll just rub off on one another a little at a time. In a good way.”

  “It is good,” she said, her voice filled with sudden emotion. “Living with you”—she gestured toward the ceiling—“you never raise your voice. You always respect a person talking to you and you don’t interrupt them. That’s so refreshing to me.”

  Anything would be, Reese thought. Her father probably interrupted her all the time and discounted anything she said or suggested. There was no respect given from father to daughter. He felt Shay’s pain because she felt responsible for Ray Crawford. And it was that push-pull between them, blood ties that would never be broken. Shay was suffering deeply from it and now Reese understood better why she had chronic insomnia and shadows beneath her eyes. It wasn’t the amount of work she was doing around the ranch. No, it was dealing with her father on an emotional battlefield three days a week that she had no control over. But maybe, she did.

  Reese felt a fierceness to protect her rise in his chest. It took everything not to reach out and haul her into his arms and allow her to feel a bit of safety for a while. Not all men were like Crawford.

  “My dad taught me a long time ago that everyone was my teacher. They had something to give me,” Reese told her. “It might be an awareness. Maybe an idea. Or a way to fix something. All I had to do was listen and not interrupt.”

  Shay sighed and finished off her glass of water. “I’d so like to meet your parents.” She gave him an ironic look. “You’re going to think I’m a horrible person, but as a kid, I used to lie in my bed at night creating a father that I could love. A man who loved me. Who never yelled at me or made me feel bad about myself . . .”

  “No shame in that. I’ve seen my share of young Marines who’ve come out of homes like yours and they think and wish the same things. It’s normal.”

  She gave him a relieved look. “Truly?”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  She grinned. “I’ll bet you were one!”

  Reese felt heat tunnel through him as her blue eyes danced with sudden joy. There was a heated, yearning connection alive and throbbing between them. He could feel it and he knew Shay sensed it as well. He smiled. “Guilty as charged. My dad is still a Boy Scout leader to this day. I’d like to think I watched and learned a lot from him.”

  “You’re a natural-born leader,” Shay said, smoothing down the front of her rumpled lavender granny gown. “I knew that the moment I met you.”

  “It’s pretty much trampled and gone,” Reese warned, leveling with her. Talking to Shay felt like a gift to him. To be able to speak openly to her, knowing there would be no confusion, no recrimination or misunderstandings, was like fresh air circulating through his entire being. Shay freed him in ways that he never thought possible.

  Snorting softly, Shay walked over to the sink and rinsed out the glass. “It’s not destroyed, Reese.” She turned and smiled warmly at him. “Your ability to lead is underground and, I’m sure, just waiting to be tapped and used again.”

  “You do hold out hope for the hopeless, don’t you?” he teased, falling beneath her radiant smile. She had an arresting mouth, well defined, her lower lip a bit fuller than her upper lip. How Reese wanted to drown in that smile of hers by taking her to his bed and loving her. His dreams were torrid. Realizing he was seeing the real and spontaneous Shay Crawford, he felt himself melting into his tortured and fractured soul, that smile of hers so damned healing and beguiling. He saw her smile deepen.

  “Always.”

  “Well,” Reese murmured, holding her gaze, “you need to take that heartfelt passion and apply it to yourself, Shay. No one deserves support and encouragement more than you do.” He saw his huskily spoken words touch her deeply, sudden moisture brimming in her large blue eyes. She was trapped with a parent who was always striking the frightened young girl that still lived within her. Everywhere else, Reese saw the woman living out her passionate vision for all of them. If only he could somehow release her from Ray Crawford’s talons. If only . . .

  Chapter Nine

  Shay could barely contain herself as she served coffee and cookies to the gathering at the kitchen table the next afternoon. At the head of the table was Maud Whitcomb. Next to her, Steve, her husband. Reese sat next to Steve. She took the seat across from the wrangler, her heart pounding with excitement.

  “Shay, we’ve had a few conversations before about your ranch and your dream of makin’ it a place for military vets to heal,” Maud said.

  “That’s right,” Shay said, giving her a warm look. “And you’ve been instrumental in helping me to make it happen because you’ve been helping them years before I arrived back home.”

  “So now we’re taking on a new project. Steve and I see it as a positive evolution of your vision for the Bar C.”

  Steve, who had already met Reese, said, “We’re having an arena-raising instead of a barn-raising.”

  Reese opened his portfolio and lifted his head. “Is everyone ready to get started?”

  Steve opened his binder. “Let’s get to it.”

  Shay followed along as the two men hammered out the time line and the details on the raising of the roof on the arena. They were all business, and she liked that they got along well with one another. Maud followed along and occasionally made comments or asked a question. Mostly, it was the two men creating the plan. At a certain point, Shay stood and brought over fresh coffee, filling everyone’s mug. She was excited and felt such pride over how Reese adroitly led the conversation and guided Steve into the areas that needed to be discussed and resolved. He was a true leader—quiet, listening fully, and able to incorporate good suggestions from Maud and Steve.

  “Okay,” Steve said with a smile over at Reese. “We’ve nailed this down. Nice work, Reese. You’re a man who has an eye for detail and that’s what a project like this takes.”

  Maud nodded, giving Reese a pleased look. “You’re everything and more than what Shay told me the other day at Kassie’s. Obviously, far more than an accountant.”

  “Thanks, Maud. I enjoy working on big projects like this.”

  Maud rubbed her chin. “Shay? Have you thought about enlarging this project a bit? We know that you have a three-room bunkhouse. Word is out that you’re wantin’ to expand and build on more rooms.” She gave her husband a warm look. “That got Steve and I to thinkin’ about this other project of yours.”

  “In what way?” Shay asked, interested.

  Her eyes sparkled as she looked at Shay. “Young lady, you don’t need extra rooms on that bunkhouse of yours, from where I stand. What you need is what we’ve been doing: building two-bedroom, single-story homes nearby for the vets you’re hiring and helping. We buy a log home package of their choice, but they do the building of it on their own, free time. We’d like you to consider something along this line, but a little different: If each vet had his own home, it would go a long way toward helping them reclaim themselves. It would help them acclimate, get used to having a home, not a room in the bunkhouse. It would instill responsibility in them, give them something to be proud of, to work toward paying a monthly mortgage. It’s a psychological thing. Having a home raises a person’s confidence, makes them proud, and they grow because of it. In a good way.”

  Steve added, “All our vet wranglers who have worked two years or more for us, now have their own log home on our ranch. We’re constantly expanding and building. It gives them something money can’t buy: hope, pride in ownership, and a future. Have you thought about this angle, Shay?”

  She shook her head. “No, I haven’t.” She opened her hands. “I love the idea, but we can’t afford to build a house for one vet, never mind the four who are here with me right now.”

  “But what if you had the funds?” Maud prodded. “Would you consider it as a possible option?”

  Shay smiled a little. “Of course I would. If I had millions of dollars, there’s so much I’d love to do around here for them.” She saw Maud give her a smile. The maven of the valley was up to something. But what?

  Maud sipped her coffee, took a bite of her cookie, giving them all a thoughtful look. “Okay then. What’s to stop us, on that same weekend for the arena roof completion, from building four houses as well? Steve has been calling the ranchers around the valley with the date and what your needs are. Right now, he has seventy-five volunteers. That’s a lot of muscle, and they can’t all be working on the arena roof-raising. Just not enough room. Why don’t we put them to work on something else?”

  “But,” Shay broke in worriedly, “I don’t have the funds for that. I mean, I wish I did.”

  “What if you did have ’em, Shay?”

  She turned to Maud, feeling her heart beat harder in her chest. “Well . . . of course, it would be a great time to do something like that. If I won the lottery.”

  Steve smiled over at his wife. “Shay, we’d like to donate the money it will take to build your four houses. I figured this all out the other night. We’ll provide you the funds up front. Once the homes are built, the vets who live in them can then send us a monthly mortgage payment on the house. We don’t want to loan you the money with interest attached to it. Rather, a friend-to-friend money advance. You all right with that?”

  Shay gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Her eyes went wide as she stared at Maud, who was smiling at her. “I-I don’t know what to say.” She gave Reese a stricken look, unsure. “That’s so much money . . .”

  “We can’t take it with us, Shay. Steve and I want to see good things happen to good people here in this valley. You’ve worked hard and I see the changes in the Bar C coming to life here because of the wranglers you hired. You’re trying your hardest to give them a fair shake.”

  Tears ran down Shay’s cheeks. “Oh . . . Maud . . . this is just overwhelming.” She wiped the tears off her face, giving the older woman a grateful look. “Th-thank you . . .”

  “It’s for them”—Maud pointed at Reese—“these men and women have been sacrificing their souls for this country. It’s about darned-good-and-well time that this country did something for them!”

  Reese looked into Maud’s angry-looking eyes. “Maybe you should run for president? We can use someone like you to go to D.C. and stir that political vat. Get something done.”

  Maud snorted. “I wouldn’t run, Reese. I’m too blunt and honest for most folks. What I can do is help locally, and that’s why Steve and you are gonna handle all the details and finances so that Shay can also, on that same weekend, have four new homes built on her ranch.”

 

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