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“It has something to do with the war,” she said. “You keep reliving the battles?”
“Yes and no,” he said. “Anyone can have PTSD after a terrifying life event. A traumatic event. Something that they live in fear of happening to them again. Or something triggers it and they are right back there in the event. That’s what happens to me.”
Over and over, it was the same battles with the same outcomes. Just once, he’d like to see his dead friends rise from the battles and live again. Just once.
“Oh my,” she said.
“Some people never get over it,” he said, knowing that was what he feared. “For some people, it takes time, therapy, and drugs to help them learn how to cope with the disease.”
She flew over to a chair and sat.
“I’m not willing to put anyone I care about through the trauma of seeing me have an episode. When I feel one coming on, I get away from our guests, but even that terrifies me. What if I react to something in front of them?” Shaking his head, he remembered the first time a child had seen him and how he’d frightened her.
The little girl had run to her mother sobbing and when he came out of it, he’d been heartbroken.
“I’m better off alone,” he said, knowing it was the only solution.
The ghost rose over the bed. “No one is better off alone. You just need someone who understands, who knows how to live with your problem. Someone who can help you when you have one of these events.”
Maybe so, but until he felt certain that he could have an episode without hurting someone he loved, he would remain alone.
Now, they’d both had a chance to say their thoughts and he was ready to go to sleep. He didn’t need a matchmaking ghost staying in his bedroom while he closed his eyes.
“You got anything else to say?”
Her mouth dropped open and she almost growled at him. “You can be such an impertinent child. Your great-great-great-great uncle was the same way. Stubborn right up until the end. I still have plenty to say, but the question is are you going to listen to me?”
He gave a little laugh. “Probably not. I’m tired. I have to work tomorrow. Thank goodness Travis and Samantha are returning. Why don’t you rest up, so you can bug them for a while?”
She laughed. “No need for me to bother them again. They’ll soon be married.”
“Travis said they were going to wait,” he told her.
A giggle ensued from her. “That’s what he says now. But that won’t last long.”
Why was that? He wanted to ask but knew that would open up a whole new line of questions that he didn’t want to hear tonight.
“I’ll just be glad when he’s back, so he can run interference between me and Aunt Rose,” he said.
Oh my God, he was talking to a ghost like they were friends. Confiding in her. Now he was certifiable crazy.
“Don’t worry about Aunt Rose,” she said. “You’re my grandson and you have nothing to worry about regarding your place in the family business. If she bothers you, she’ll have a lot of sleepless nights with me singing her to sleep with an off-key rendition of ‘Buffalo Gals, Won’t You Come Out Tonight.’”
The thought of his Aunt Rose being serenaded was enough to have him laughing out loud. Oh, he couldn’t wait to tell his brothers about this conversation. They would all enjoy how the ghost planned on getting even with their aunt.
“Now, you get your rest. Tomorrow is a new day with new opportunities. I think you should ask Emily out on a date.”
With everything that was going on at the ranch in the next few days, that wasn’t going to be possible and he didn’t need the entire family sticking their nose into his business. Or his Aunt Rose sending him a nasty gram via email. She’d done that before.
“Not happening,” he said quietly. “I need to keep away from her. This thing whatever it is needs to end.”
The ghost threw her hands up. “Just when I think I’m making progress with you, you disappoint me. This date is going to happen, even if it has to be a date neither of you planned on.”
He wouldn’t tell her that could not happen. But he would do his best to avoid Emily. Only problem was he had to convince his heart that she was off-limits and that was going to be hard to do.
