Sunrise Canyon (New Americana 1)

* * *

It’s over. She’s gone. It doesn’t matter anymore. . . .

Lying on his back, staring up into the darkness, Jake let the words flow like water through his mind.

It doesn’t matter... Maybe if he repeated the thought long enough, he’d begin to believe it. But it wasn’t getting any easier. He kept remembering Wendy’s lovely face on Skype, her lying lips telling him how much she loved and missed him, while she was thinking about her lover the whole time.

Drake.

Jake wanted to beat the man to death with his bare fists.

He imagined Drake and Wendy making love, her long, white legs clasping his hips as he pumped into her, her cries of pleasure as he brought her to a shattering climax.

The son of a bitch hadn’t even cared enough to use protection.

It’s over. . . . It doesn’t matter . . .

Jake tried to concentrate on the words, repeating them like a mantra, but he could feel the rage building inside him. Wendy had betrayed him, betrayed her marriage vows and her family. But angry as he was, he couldn’t blame her. Even with a baby to take care of, she would have been lonely, starved for attention and excitement. And during his last time home, he’d been withdrawn and unsympathetic to her needs, the man he’d once been already lost to the war.

He couldn’t even blame the bastard who’d taken advantage of her. Who could resist a woman like Wendy? Whether she was married or not, what man could look at her without wanting her?

His real fury was focused inward, on himself.

A beautiful, passionate woman, left alone too long—how could he have missed what was happening? He’d taken Wendy for granted, drawing on her strength, her love, to give him courage—and he’d given her next to nothing in return. Everything had been about him, about the war, about the danger and his homesickness.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

It was as if he’d killed her himself.

The darkness was closing. Desperate for distraction, Jake found the remote and switched on the TV again. By now, it was after midnight. Nothing was on the air but infomercials, a tacky jewelry sale and, on the last channel to come on, a wild-eyed evangelical doomsday rant that became part of his nightmare. Outside, more rain had moved in, hammering the roof and lashing the windows with a sound like AK-47 fire. Jake’s head amplified the racket to a scream of sound.

Incoming!

He had to end it, had to make it stop. . . .

Lunging off the bed, he grabbed a wooden chair and smashed it with all his strength into the TV screen.

* * *

Kira had tried to sleep, but she’d been too concerned about Jake to relax. After what seemed like hours of restless tossing, she’d thrown her flannel robe over her pajamas and stepped out onto the front porch. From there she could see across the side yard, through the pelting rain, to Jake’s cabin. The flicker of light through the curtain had been reassuring. Maybe he was just watching TV. Maybe he was all right.

Or maybe not.

The window curtains were closed, but the light that filtered through told her the TV was still on. Suddenly, outlined against the curtains, a silhouette rose and swung something hard. Almost in the same instant, the window went black.

She’d left her wet sneakers on the porch. Pulse slamming, she jammed her feet into them and plunged down the steps. As she raced out into the rain, the security light came on, its gleam reflecting in the rain-specked puddles.

She was halfway across the yard when Jake’s door opened. Barefoot and still wearing his sweats, he walked out into the storm and stood under the gutter spout that drained the water off the roof, letting the water stream over his head and down his body.

Was he trying to calm himself? Maybe wash away some awful memory? Did he even know what he was doing?

She hesitated. Jake didn’t appear to be injured, thank heaven. But if he was having a severe episode, he could be like a wounded animal—a danger to himself or even to her. In a treatment center, like the one where she’d trained, she’d have called for someone to back her up before approaching him. But he could be in pain and needing her help—and this was Jake, a man she’d come to care deeply for, maybe even to love, if such a thing was possible.

Speaking his name, she walked straight toward him. Rain streamed down his face as he watched her come. His dark eyes were lost in pits of shadow. Kira’s own eyes felt the sting of tears, blending with the rain. This good man had wanted nothing more than to serve his country and return home safe to the family he loved. Through no fault of his own, he had lost everything.

He stood rigid, not responding as she opened her arms, pulled him close and drew him away from the pouring water. She could feel him quivering against her, feel his heartbeat galloping hard, driven by the adrenaline pumping through his body.

“You’re cold, Jake,” she said gently. “Let’s go inside and get you warm.”