“I’ll check in the car.”
“Mom, forget it.”
“Then let me help.” Worry lined his mother’s delicate features as she hooked her arm through his, the way she had when he was a preschooler. To avoid a scene, he indulged her, figuring it could be worse. She could be holding his hand like a toddler.
“I wanted a small party tomorrow, but your father said everyone would show up whether we invited them or not and reasoned we might as well ask them to stay.”
Owen had figured the get-together had been more his father’s idea. The chance to show off the latest Crawford carrying on the family tradition serving his country.
As he and his parents made their way inside the two-story brick house, Owen shook hands. Unable to sort out the voices to make appropriate responses, he nodded, and smiled instead. How long would he have to stay before he could plead exhaustion from jet lag and head for his room? An hour? No, better make that an hour and a half.
Once in his parents’ comfortable country-style house, Owen stared at the folks piled inside like a litter of pups on their mom at dinnertime. He shook his head and changed his mind about half the people he knew in town being present.Everyonehe knew in Service, and a few he didn’t recognize, was here.
The good news was he could get the good-to-have-you-back/catching-up conversations out of the way today. The bad news was, there was no way he could speak to everyone who’d want to bend his ear in an hour and a half.
Plastering a grateful smile on his face, Owen prepared as best he could for showtime as the crowd closed in on him. He backed up, trying to keep some semblance of personal space, but the hoard moved with him. His heart rate accelerated at the sea of faces looming around him. He fought back the panic, knowing if the emotion gained control, he’d be lost.
“I was sorry to hear about Landon, but I’m glad you made it back.” Miles Fisher, one of Service’s Gulf War vets clapped Owen on the back. “From what I read on that internet you were damned lucky.”
The words, said with genuine affection and meant to offer comfort, had the opposite effect, adding to Owen’s guilt. Lucky wouldn’t have been the word he’d chosen.
“Landon’s funeral was really something, worthy of a hero who gave his life to save his buddies,” the veteran continued. “Everyone in town turned out. Not only that, but the governor showed up to pay his respects.”
Owen nodded, swept his hat off, and resisted the urge to wring the bit of khaki fabric in his hands as grief bubbled up inside him with surprising speed and force. Mentioning Landon damn near broke him. How long would it be before hearing his best friend’s name or thinking of him didn’t threaten to level him?
After regaining control, Owen glanced toward the older soldier, and damned if the man wasn’t waiting for him to respond. What was he supposed to say to his comment?I’m glad Landon’s funeral was a first-class event? Wish I’d been there to see it and pay my respects to the best friend a man could have.“I’m glad Landon got the recognition he deserved.”
“Us veterans made sure of that. We wouldn’t let one of our heroes get slighted.”
Owen considered heading for the couch to sit, but any half-decent soldier knew better than to select a spot leaving him penned in and an easy target. Instead, he remained on his feet. He almost laughed. As if standing would help him execute a quick escape in his shape.
The older men, who clustered around him, kept multiplying like flies in a cow pasture. “But we’ll make ’em pay by putting all the intel you and your buddies found to use.”
When Owen failed to take the bait and launch into a story of what they’d found, the older man continued, “Course, when I was in the Green Berets, we didn’t tell everything to the media, but now you’re here with friends. How ’bout you give us the real scoop on what went down?”
An hour and a half? He’d be lucky if he could handle another fifteen minutes.
He scanned the room hoping an escape route would appear, and his gaze settled on Carly. Her slender shape had turned into feminine curves that could keep a man entertained for weeks. He turned to the men hovering around him. “Excuse me, I need to speak to Carly about tomorrow.”
*
Carly stood ina far corner of the room watching the well-meaning folks of Service swarm Owen as if he were the last cookie at a town picnic. Then she chided herself for not following up with his parents after she’d left the message. She’d meant to, but instead she’d been caught up with her own issues.
It turned out her father had been right about laying down the law with Ryder making the situation worse, at least with her. Since her father’s talk, Ryder hadn’t acknowledged her existence. The angry words he hurled at their father when he explained the consequences if Ryder’s behavior didn’t change still rang in her ears.Take away my truck? The hell you will. This is her idea, isn’t it? Be a man and stand up to Carly. Quit letting her run our lives. Tell her to get a life of her own and to mind her own damn business.
Now as she watched Owen shuffle into the living room, his face tight, his green eyes dull, her concern multiplied. How could he cope with this crush after being released from the hospital a few days ago and spending all those hours on a plane?
Dressed in a wrinkled Army uniform, he stood out among a sea of plaid and denim. He’d lost as much as fifteen pounds since she’d last seen him. His normally muscular frame now lacked its previous tone and definition. Not that he appeared gaunt, but he was headed there. The dark blond hair growing back near his right temple hadn’t returned enough to conceal the fresh pink scar, where he’d undergone surgery to remove shrapnel and relieve his brain swelling. Other smaller shrapnel scars dotted his scalp. Still, his handsome face and dazzling smile would make any girl’s heart go pitter patter. Hers included.
With his parents beside him beaming the way only proud parents could, the crowd tightened around them. The noise level rose, making Carly’s ears ring. Poor Owen. Between everyone talking and the background noise, he stood as much chance of following a conversation as a two-year-old had of doing advanced calculus.
“I wonder how Owen will manage in Service without Landon,” Caroline Sharp, Owen’s former kindergarten teacher, said when she joined Carly. “That loss has to hurt worse than his physical injuries.”
Carly nodded. Growing up, people pretty much ran Owen and Landon’s names together, since one was rarely seen without the other. They’d played sports together, were in the same Scout troop, attended the Texas A&M, and entered the Army together. Owen had to feel as if he’d lost part of himself.
Not knowing what to say, and not really wanting to discuss the subject, Carly said, “I’m sure his parents will help him cope.”
The elderly woman grinned like a child who’d conned her brother out of the bigger piece of cake. “I know people say high school sweethearts often don’t last, but I would’ve bet on you two. I always thought you were meant for each other. Maybe this is your second chance.”
