Chapter 41

Nathan slept fitfully, the puppy by his side.

Nightmares wove in and out of his head all night. Fights, his parents yelling. The serenity of their once peaceful home shattered. Cruel, harsh words exchanged for the loving touch of his mother’s hand on her husband’s shoulder. His hands on her waist. All gone.

And his uncle’s judging eyes, watching him, watching his family, since he was seven.

Other memories intruded.

His mom sitting by his sick bed, wiping his feverish brow. His dad hovering behind her, tight-lipped but anxious.

And the new toy he’d gotten when he’d recovered, though they were in a tight spot and couldn’t afford it. He’d asked his mom one day why she didn’t put cream in her coffee lately, and why dad didn’t have beer on the weekend.

She’d just ruffled his hair with those soft hands of hers, and dazzled him with one of her smiles. “We had a better use for the money, Nate,” she’d said. “Much better.” And he’d always wondered if giving up beer and cream, luxuries like that always had that effect on people.

Joy. It was a funny business.

Then, later, after his dad’s brothers moved to the area and he’d fled, the shocking news his mum was dead. They hadn’t found her body, but her blood was all over the family car. His dad was either dead somewhere or on the run, hadn’t been found.

Unbearable pain. The feeling he’d failed those he loved that it was his fault. He’d ditched the girl he was with, a sweet one, but he couldn’t handle it. Dove into the military, wiped everything else from his brain.

Then Ryker was in those dreams.

How he’d looked just hours ago, when Doc Talbot had presented him to him. Such a limp little lump. But he’d raised his head, wagged his tail when his eyes lit on Nathan.

The dog who’d bit him so many times was glad to see him.

And now this pup depended on him.

Did he dare take that on?

From past experience, he knew. He’d always get a glimpse at what was good, just before he lost it. Like with Lisa. That had been the second strike, the proof, that that life wasn’t for him. Would never be his.

Now he reached out to touch the pup whose life hung on him. The feeling was odd. Unpleasant.

Once his heap out there was fixed, he could jump in it. Hit the open road. Leave Jack’s Bay and the dog he’d never wanted, the beautiful woman who’d probably tell him to take a hike one day too, because he’d disappointed her.

The silence in the cabin in the woods weighed on him. The pines, the sentinels, stood guard just outside the door, but they had no answer for his dilemma.

He had no idea what his decision was going to be.

* * *

He woke, curled on his side, a spot of intense warmth along his belly. And up, higher, along his chest.

Levered into him, with no space between them, one dog. He felt his back rising up and down, with each doggy breath.

Ah, well. He knew he’d survive the night, Doc had said he was fine.

But he still wanted to celebrate. Fist bump someone, many someones.

Ryker’s fine! He made it through the night!

So he spoke to the tall pines outside his window, part of the legion around his cabin.

Guys—he’s fine! My little dog is fine!

He eyed the old relic of an alarm clock on the night table, the fluorescent numbers floating, disembodied in the curtain-shrouded darkness of the room.

The day was starting, no matter what decisions he had to make. And Ryker was fine. For the moment, he was fine.

He could breathe, do what needed doing next.

So if he was going to move all his stuff today—not that there was that much—plus handle the delivery of materials the home supply place had promised and get started on the renovations, he was going to have to haul his sorry ass out of bed.

And try not to think of the huge decision facing him.