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“How did you know?”
“That you’ve experienced pain and loss?” She laughs at me now. “Everyone has, dear.”
“How do I do that? Fill in the broken spaces? When he needs me or has a nightmare, I don’t know what I should do.”
“He’s still having the nightmares?” She tisked at that. “Oh, poor Connor. He seems angry when he’s triggered, I know. But really, he’s just scared. And big, burly Army rangers with tattoos and that tough biker look don’t get scared. And that scares him, too. It’s a vicious cycle. Just hold him, dear. Tight and close. That’s all he needs. To know he’s got no reason to be scared.”
“Thank you, Georgia,” I say quietly. She picks up her coffee cup and half walks, half waddles to the door.
I head upstairs to take a long hot bath. I want to think about what Georgia has said to me. By the time I’m dried off, dressed and back downstairs, reading a copy of interior design magazine I found in the living room, Morris and Connor have come back from riding and fishing. A long string of fish is clutched in Connor’s fist. His face cracks into a wide smile. It’s the same amused little grin I used to just enjoy — but I see it now. He does love me. And I love him.
* * *
Dinner with Georgia and Morris is at 4:30 in the afternoon. By 5:30 p.m., they’ve dozed off in their recliners in front of a baseball game they’re watching with the sound turned off. I have no idea where Connor has disappeared to. I spend an hour cleaning candy wrappers out of the Minnow Bucket and wash a couple of loads of laundry.
“Hey, Lainey Bird,” I hear Connor’s voice call from just outside the camper. I poke my head out and give him a big smile. “What are you doing?”
“Searching for candy wrappers. It’s a fun game, wanna play?” I taunt.
“I know, it’s a terrible habit. I can help you clean up.” He pops up the two camper steps and pulls me to him. He kisses me. His skin is so warm and he smells like sweat and sunshine.
“I’ve got it. What have you been doing?” I ask. Knowing Connor, he is probably working on something special for Morris and Georgia before we leave tomorrow.
“Setting up something for us to do. You wanna go, or do we need to finish here first?”
“I’m done here. I just want to get the clean linens back on the bed, but I can do that later. What did you set up?” Miss Adventure is intrigued.
Connor just gives me his sweet smile and a wink. “You’ll see.”
We walk hand in hand through a wide meadow that Connor explains will be cut for hay for the horses for winter. We stop by a piece of broken wooden fence where a line of empty cans has been set out about three or four feet apart.
“What’s this?” I ask, pointing to the cans.
“You’re going to learn to shoot.”
I spin on my heel with a hearty “hell, no.” Connor grabs my arm and spins me back around.
“Hell, yes. Lainey, I didn’t like that look on your face today. I know the snake really freaked you out, but if I had to guess, I’d say my pistol did more. It’s not some sort of a trigger of a bad memory or something, is it? No one you know has been hurt by a gun?”
“No, but they’re dangerous. They kill people.” I think about the fact that Connor has probably killed people in battle. I instantly regret what I’ve just said. I bite my lip and feel the heat of an embarrassed blush wash over my neck.
“This gun has never killed a single person. People kill people Lainey, and they don’t need guns to do it. Trust me.”
“You’ve killed people.” It’s not a question, but he answers anyway.
“Yes, I have.” His gaze is stern and almost warns me not to take this conversation further.
“Guns scare me,” I confess.
“I know. And this pistol is in our RV all the time. If you ever need to use it, I want you to know how. So, I want you to feel comfortable.”
Before he hands me the gun, he releases the magazine inside containing the bullets. He slides back the top half of it and a final bullet falls into his hand. “It’s not loaded.” His index finger slides to the trigger and he pulls several times, demonstrating the weapon won’t fire.
“Just hold it,” he says, offering it to me.
I take it in my hand. The metal is warm where Connor has been gripping it and it’s a good deal heavier than I imagined it would be.
Connor takes his time to show me all of its features, the magazine release — never call it a clip, he warns. Clips are what girls wear in their hair. The slide release, the double safeties, the sights. The thing is much more complex than I originally thought and I’m now very impressed at people who can master it.
