Buch lesen: «The Marine Finds His Family»

This is for my editor, Karen Reid, who somehow gets my vision and makes me strive for my very best. The creative process is not always easy, but she makes even the painful parts enjoyable.

Thank you to Paul and Caleb, who lent me Hamlet and Pork Chop.

And as always, Ron.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“AW, MAN. IS THAT what I think it is?”

Captain DJ Hawkins heard his buddy Colin’s words the same instant he spied the bright red-and-white postal box. He hoped—just as he knew Colin hoped—it was from his sister Addie. Getting a closer look, he saw that the return address confirmed it. Yes. Cookies.

The box rattled and Colin reached over and tried to swipe it. No way. DJ wasn’t sharing. Not yet, anyway. Not until he’d stuffed himself to the gills, and then only maybe.

Stowing the last of his gear, DJ ripped open the box, yanked out the plastic bag Addie had wrapped the cookies in and stuffed one very broken, very delicious peanut butter chocolate chip beauty into his mouth. He sank to his bunk in pure bliss.

Just to torment Colin, he groaned aloud in near ecstasy. For a minute or two he was no longer in this godforsaken hole in the world, waiting for the next enemy attack. He was a five-year-old whose big sister made the world’s best cookies.

“You gonna share?”

“Not a chance.” DJ laughed. He could feel the disappointment rolling off Colin. “Don’t pout about it.” He tossed the plastic bag to Colin—it wasn’t as if the crumbs could get any more busted up.

“She should just pack a spoon.” Colin reached into the bag and scooped out a handful of the sweet, gooey mess.

Most days DJ really did love his life. He hadn’t joined the military with the notion that he’d stay safe all the time. He’d figured out a long time ago that he wasn’t a stay-at-home, family kind of guy. He’d watched his older siblings shoulder too much responsibility after Dad’s death. He’d seen the life go out of them when they were just kids. He would never let that happen to himself.

But that didn’t keep him from missing his family.

The care packages helped. And his three sisters were great about sending them—cookies, toothpaste and really bad books were the norm. His two older brothers managed to send emails every now and then. He laughed at the image of either Wyatt or Jason baking. Yeah, their expertise ran more in the area of picking out a bag of Oreo cookies.

Expecting the package to include a letter, DJ wasn’t disappointed, though the feminine handwriting didn’t look familiar. For an instant he wondered if he’d gotten the right package.

His taste buds confirmed these were Addie’s cookies, though. Plus, his name and his last stateside address, Mom’s house, were clear on the envelope. Then he noticed Addie had written on a little yellow sticky note and stuck it on the outside. “This came in the mail. Thought I’d send it along.” Yep, it was his.

He tore open the seal, surprised in this day and age of email and computer-printed letters to see the old-fashioned lined school paper. Several drugstore-printed photographs fell out.

Slowly, he unfolded the letter and stared at the date. Two months? This had been sent, or at least written, two months ago?

The words flowed in pretty curls of blue ink.

DJ,

You probably don’t remember me. I don’t know why you would. It was only one week. A single week in your life that completely altered mine. I can’t blame or regret it...though it saddens me to think of it that way.

It’s time you know. You have a son. I’ve stuck in pictures of him. He looks like you. So much like you. You’ll see. But that isn’t the purpose of this letter.

His name is Tyler. He’s in Texas. I can’t do this anymore.

The name Tammie was scrawled across the bottom of the page, the ink smudged.

He stared at the pictures. What the...? A boy and a familiar young woman smiled at him from the dozen images.

Distant, banished memories rushed in. Eighteen. He’d been a grand total of eighteen years old. Fresh out of high school, prepping to head to basic training in two months. He and three buddies had packed a car and headed to the Gulf Coast beaches of Florida. He couldn’t recall why they’d picked Florida. Someone’s harebrained idea.

Two weeks of no school, no parents and no commanding officers. Heaven. Pure heaven.

DJ’s memories, foggy and age-worn, flickered. He recalled the pretty blonde, too much beer and a long night on a sandy beach. He smiled. Those carefree days seemed so far away.

Picture after picture. His mind raced. How long had it been since he’d been with Tammie? Eight...nine years? The baby photos didn’t show him the resemblance, but the others... Three years old, four, six, eight...

DJ’s vision narrowed and nearly went black. The whole world moved in slow motion around him. The tent flapped in the wind and the scrape of blowing dirt against the canvas sounded like a lion fighting to get in.

Despite the desert heat in this outpost, a chill shot through him, icicles instead of sand particles cut across his heart. This wasn’t possible.

He had a kid?

A kid he hadn’t even known about?

He scooped up the pictures scattered across his bunk. As he stared at the boy with the wide grin, he couldn’t deny it. The boy looked exactly like him at that age.

My God. The words in the letter tumbled through his mind over and over again.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? His brain was mush half the time these days, what with the long hours, the heat and all the energy he gave his job. He couldn’t wrap his mind around any of this.

“Hey,” Colin said around a mouthful of cookie as he lounged on his bunk. “What gives?”

DJ paced, his eyes staring at the child—his child—in the pictures. His heart pounded and the desert heat washed over him. Words? He was supposed to be able to say words? Think words?

His stomach revolted and Addie’s sweet cookies threatened to return to the world. He couldn’t speak. He simply shoved half the photos into his buddy’s hands.

“What the...?” Colin looked first at DJ, then back at the picture and back at DJ again. “Whoa!”

DJ cursed again. What was he supposed to do now? He needed to get back to the base and see if he could get ahold of Wyatt, or Jason, or Addie. Someone. Tyler—was that his name?—was in Texas. They needed to find him—he needed to see his son.

His son.

He looked up just as his commanding officer, Major Dixon, walked into the tent, a cloud of dust on his heels.

The frown on the older man’s face didn’t bode well, and DJ knew he wouldn’t get the chance to call home anytime soon. He stuffed the pictures and letter back into the envelope and shoved it all into the cargo pocket of his uniform. He had to go to work now.

But later—

Meanwhile, halfway across the world...

TAMMIE EASTON DROPPED the tattered curtains back in place. The old, fragile lace didn’t so much waft as thunk against the frame. Vaguely, she wondered if Cora had ever had them cleaned. Looking around at the tiny, old house, Tammie shook her head. Of course she hadn’t had them cleaned. Cora could barely afford to feed herself.

Even though the curtains hung over the window, Tammie could still see what was happening across the street.

Tyler, her son, at all of eight years old, the only person who mattered to her in the world, was leaving. Never mind that she was the one who’d set all this in motion. Never mind that she was sending him to live with his dad’s family to keep him safe. Never mind any of that. Her heart hurt and she doubted it would ever stop. Even if...no...when she got him back, she’d never forgive herself for sending him away.

The images blurred, and she blinked furiously to clear her eyes. She couldn’t bear to miss even an instant of his life. She might never... No, she reminded herself again, she would see him again. She was coming back. He’d be with her again. Soon. She’d promised him.

Footsteps came up beside her, and Tammie glanced down briefly to see the diminutive older woman come up beside her. Cora patted Tammie’s arm and gave her a warm hug. “You’re doin’ the right thing, hon. He’ll be fine.”

“I know. I’m the one who’s a wreck.” Tammie wiped her eyes and watched as the man she knew was Wyatt Hawkins helped Tyler into the passenger seat of a big black pickup truck. He was taking Tyler home with him since DJ was deployed overseas.

Maybe she should have waited. But she knew the answer to that, too—she couldn’t have waited. And she’d sent DJ a letter before learning he was overseas. Doing it all over again—writing a letter to his brother—had torn her apart. Tammie had thought she and Tyler had escaped when they came here to Texas. But the other night someone had broken into the apartment she’d just moved them into. Nothing was missing. The intruder just tore the place up, looking for something. Just as they had at the last two places.

That’s how she’d ended up here with Cora.

She looked down at the coworker who’d become her friend. “I’m sorry to put you in the middle of all this.”

“Don’t you go apologizin’ again. I told you, that’s why we got Rufus.” The old coon dog lifted his head at the sound of his name. “And Bubba.” Bubba was the twelve-gauge shotgun Cora kept propped up beside the front door. She didn’t need one at the back kitchen door, as it was nailed shut with easily a hundred tenpenny nails.

Tyler loved Rufus, and the dog lavished love on the boy every chance he got.

Tammie hoped Wyatt had animals for Tyler to play with. He loved animals. Her mind filled with all the images of things her son loved. Dogs and cats. Horses. Stories about monsters. Video games. And snuggling while she read to him on cold rainy days.

Could she actually die from the pain of her broken heart?

The truck’s taillights glowed, and Tammie leaned closer to the window to watch until they vanished around the corner at the end of the block. Finally, Tyler was well and truly gone.

Tammie lost it. Burying her face in her hands, she gave in to the sobs. Cora rubbed Tammie’s shoulder, making all the soothing noises that people made when they didn’t know what else to do.

* * *

THEY WERE ON the hunt. This was the province where intel had placed the terrorist cell they’d been tracking for months. It was right in DJ’s backyard. The team had assembled quickly with Dixon’s orders—not surprising since they stood at alert around the clock. Now, slowly, methodically, the four-man team moved through the backstreets of the small town DJ knew intimately, having lived here for over a month.

Silence was thick. A strange silence, unlike the norm of a small town. In the middle of the night the few residents who remained were, hopefully, asleep and tucked away safe.

Safe? DJ would have laughed if it weren’t so important to maintain that silence.

He knew the other men were nearby, moving slowly, quietly like him. He sensed rather than heard or saw them. Even with the night-vision goggles they were mere shadows.

A trickle of sweat slid down the center of DJ’s back, like a finger of foreboding.

Something was off, but he couldn’t identify it. This operation felt different. With the next step, he acknowledged it. Life, work, the mission wasn’t different—he was different.

The sharp edges of the photos had dug into his thigh all the way here. Twice, a bump in the road had thrown him into the edge of the truck, and the packet. A sharp reminder of all he had to lose.

A son.

Where was Tyler? DJ glanced at his watch. Probably just sitting down to dinner? Where? With who? If Tammie couldn’t do this anymore, had she dumped him somewhere?

He had a son. Over and over again that thought bounced around in his brain. He wanted to see him. Hear what his voice sounded like. How tall was he? The pictures gave little in the way of reference points.

DJ had promised long ago that he wouldn’t let himself be bogged down by family. Not like the other guys who carried pictures of girlfriends, wives and kids. Distractions. Enemy leverage. Vulnerabilities to be exploited.

Focus! He mentally swore and blinked to shift the gears in his mind. He had a job to do. The others needed him to be 110 percent.

Footsteps broke the silence and, thankfully, jerked him back to sanity. He shut out everything except his awareness. The others did the same.

Silence returned. Too silent. DJ stood, his finger on the trigger, sensing the others on the team moving into position. No one else on this side. Nothing.

The sound of hasty footfalls broke the night, shattering the quiet. Shots rained down. The shadows disappeared, finding cover.

Images flashed in DJ’s mind of a little boy’s smiling face. His eyes burned. No. Not acceptable. He forced the faces of the men around him into his mind. Tyler was part of the why of their mission—the shadows with DJ were the how.

Silence returned. No sounds of pain or injury. Shadows moved. One, two, three. All here. All whole. DJ breathed an instant’s relief.

Seconds later, noise erupted everywhere around him. DJ dropped to the ground, knowing he’d crawl out if he had to. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Gunfire broke the night and tufts of dirt and pieces of rock shot up into the air. He felt the sting of a dozen cuts across his face.

No. Not now. He didn’t know if he said the words aloud or not. A soft click echoed through the streets. “Oh, shit!” DJ froze.

The air shifted and time slowed. The roar behind him shattered the quiet. A ball of fire shot up the street. Language, his and others’, blistered the night.

Searing pain tore a scream from his throat and ripped DJ from his feet. His back, his shoulder, his legs roared with agony.

Light surrounded him, and in the glow, he saw a pair of startled eyes. So far away. So damned far away. DJ tried to speak, but the heat stole his words and burned in his gut.

The night returned. Pure silence. Nothing but pain engulfed him.

“Tyler!” A name that sounded strange in this land, so far from home, echoed down the deserted streets. A name DJ whispered into the darkness that took him.

And then the nothing was simply blank.

CHAPTER TWO

Two months later

MORNINGS WERE THE WORST. DJ lay there, listening to the ranch come to life, not moving, because once he moved, reality and pain came back. For those first few minutes, he could pretend that he was still normal.

And then he’d do something stupid, like breathe, and the pain would shoot through him with a knife’s vengeance.

He cursed, long and loud, before forcing his body into a sitting position and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He didn’t know how long he sat there trying to convince himself that getting up was a good idea.

“Dad?” A small voice came through the door, reminding DJ that he didn’t really have a choice. DJ closed his eyes and let the sweet sound rattle around in his head. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of hearing Tyler call him Dad.

It had taken months to build a relationship with his son. Tyler had called him DJ at first.

“Yeah?” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “Just a sec.” He grabbed the jeans he’d tossed over the back of the captain’s chair that now sat in his room, and yanked them on with the chair’s support.

The sturdy chair had been his father’s and the extra leverage the arms provided was a huge help when his scarred legs didn’t want to cooperate. Half-dressed, he called, “Come on in, buddy.”

Moving around, while it hurt like hell, loosened up the damaged muscles and skin of his back and legs.

Tyler came through the door slowly. A stab of concern overrode the pain in DJ’s legs when he saw Tyler’s furtive glance up, then back down. Uh-oh. What’s going on?

“What’s up?” DJ tried to be nonchalant, but curiosity was killing him. He focused on trying to get his boots on.

“I wanna ask somethin’.”

“Ask away.” DJ watched Tyler out of the corner of his eye. His son was holding a notebook from school, the wire binding bent sideways in places. Tyler climbed up on the foot of DJ’s bed. Sitting a minute, he began swinging his legs to kick the edge of the mattress.

“Well, ya know. My birthday’s coming up.”

DJ fought the grin. “Yeah. It is. In a couple weeks, right?”

The smile on Tyler’s face made DJ’s heart hitch a little.

“Yep. Less than a month. I’ll be nine. I was sorta thinking maybe I’m big enough for this.” Slowly, reverently, Tyler reached into the notebook and pulled out a pristine magazine picture.

A picture of a dirt bike. Bright green.

“Whoa!” The kid had taste. The bike was top-of-the-line. “It’s a beauty.”

“It’s a Razor Dirt Rocket, and Morgan in my class has one. It’s so cool.”

“I don’t know, buddy.” His brother Wyatt, who owned this ranch, would kill him. Kill them both.

“Aw, come on.” Tyler slid off the bed and came over to stand beside the chair. “All the guys were talkin’ about it at recess. And everyone’s gettin’ ’em.”

DJ doubted that, but didn’t say anything. “We’ll see. I don’t think Uncle Wyatt would be too thrilled with you riding it near the horses.”

“He doesn’t say nothin’ about you and your motorcycle.”

“That’s different.” DJ pulled on the first worn combat boot and took a deep breath. “And he says plenty, believe me.” Boot two coming up.

“How is it different?” Tyler’s voice rose in frustration.

“It just is.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Who told you life was fair, kid?” DJ mumbled, his back aching from bending over to struggle with his boots. The silence grew long, and DJ looked up when Tyler didn’t say anything more.

“Mama always said to play fair.” There was a sheen in Tyler’s eyes, but DJ didn’t dare point it out.

Nearly two months had passed and there was still no word from Tammie—no sign of her promise to Tyler to return. And while Tyler seldom spoke of her, when he did, the pain was sharp in his voice. That pain made DJ ache.

“Look.” DJ left his second boot untied and turned to face Tyler. “I won’t promise anything right now. Let me think about it, okay?”

“’Kay.”

“Keep that picture in a safe place, though. Just in case I need a reference.” DJ winked at Tyler and the smile that bloomed on the boy’s face warmed his heart.

“When Mama says she’ll think about something, that’s almost always a yes.” Tyler turned and ran from the room.

“Hey, now wait—”

Yep. Wyatt was gonna kill him. With a sigh, DJ followed Tyler downstairs. While the kid ran, DJ took his time. He could move much easier these days, especially after loosening up with the past few weeks of physical therapy, but it was still slow going.

Finally, he reached the ground floor and breathed a sigh of relief. Another day without a tumble down the stairs. It was looking good.

The old ranch house was big, with four bedrooms upstairs, a huge kitchen and several living areas on the main level. DJ’s grandfather had built the place, and they’d all come out here in the summers as kids to visit, and later in life to work and play—in his case mostly play. Of the six siblings, Wyatt was the only one who took to ranching. It seemed only natural that he take over after Grandpa passed.

Wyatt was just where DJ expected to find him. In the big country kitchen, at the counter pouring himself a cup of coffee. Though it was early, DJ would bet this was not Wyatt’s first cup. “Mornin’,” they spoke in unison and both laughed.

DJ bypassed the coffee and grabbed a hunk of the ranch cook Juanita’s always-amazing coffee cake and stuffed it in his mouth. He poured himself a glass of orange juice before sitting down at the huge ranch table.

“You weren’t dumb enough to promise you’d get him the dirt bike, were you?” Wyatt wasn’t known for being subtle.

“No.” DJ’s hackles rose. The younger brother in him wanted to remind Wyatt that Tyler was his son, and he’d promise whatever he wanted. The adult in him knew that was childish. Besides, this was Wyatt’s home, Wyatt’s ranch, and they were living here at his discretion.

“But?”

Wyatt knew DJ. His brother patiently waited—they both knew there was a but.

“I have an idea.”

“Uh-oh.” Wyatt grabbed a chair, scraping it away from the table to sit across from DJ. “Spit it out.”

“He wants the bike, right?”

Wyatt nodded.

“I need him to tell me about Tammie.” He met Wyatt’s gaze.

“You think that’s a good idea? Bribing him?”

DJ shrugged. He couldn’t think of anything else at this point. Tyler refused to talk about his life with his mother. He wouldn’t share even the smallest details. The first bit of information they’d had was, of course, the house where Wyatt had picked up the boy—and they’d figured out that was a lie, too. Tammie and Tyler hadn’t lived there. No one had for years. Tammie had found an abandoned house and borrowed it.

“You don’t think that dredging all that up will hurt him?” Wyatt said, his voice thick with concern.

They’d had this discussion a dozen times already. Maybe Tyler had been so badly abused that the horrors returning would be too difficult. But DJ didn’t think that was the case. Tyler didn’t behave like an abused kid. Concerned, scared at times, but not abused.

“That’s the thing.” DJ decided to share his thoughts with Wyatt. “I think he’s not talking because he’s protecting his mom.” DJ would bet his Harley on it.

“From us?”

“No.” DJ took a deep swallow of the juice, buying time to organize his words. “Something or someone else.”

“That boyfriend?”

DJ shrugged, not really wanting to go there in his mind or this conversation. But he knew what Wyatt was talking about. Before DJ had returned home, Wyatt had taken Tyler to the emergency room when he’d cut his hand. That was the only time Tyler had let anything slip. Some guy named Dom had hurt Tyler. Hurt him bad enough to warrant an earlier ER visit that scared Tyler for life. But other than that, he hadn’t said anything about his mom.

And now they finally had a key to get Tyler to talk.

Wyatt’s simple nod was all the go-ahead DJ was going to get. He’d take what he could.

* * *

THIS TIME OF NIGHT was the worst time to work. Tammie liked it better when the dinner crowd was in full swing, or when the late-night-after-the-movies-and-the-bars-were-closed crowds came in. She didn’t have time to think...or feel.

This dead, middle-of-the-night calm between the two rushes was almost painful. She’d already rolled all the silverware, filled the saltshakers and stacked the dishes in the front stations.

“Take a load off.” Cora pointed at the diner’s ugly green counter. Her feet throbbing, Tammie didn’t question the older woman’s instruction. Who was she to argue with seniority?

Cora poured coffee into two plain earthenware mugs, leaving enough room for cream. Cora had been the one to teach Tammie the perfect way to pour a cup of coffee. “Just enough cream to watch it bloom to the top. Not a drop more.” It was how Tammie served it all the time now. And her increased tips from customers proved the value of the woman’s advice.

Now, though, Tammie was serving herself. She tipped the silver-topped sugar dispenser, counting to five before she stopped the white stream. She needed the energy to get through the rest of the night.

She tossed her order pad and pencil on the counter beside her coffee, waiting for Cora to join her. The steam of the second cup swirled upward, and Tammie watched it with tired, nearly unfocused eyes. The shape morphed and swayed in the air conditioner’s breath.

“What’s that?” Cora leaned over the counter, peering down at Tammie’s order pad. “It’s pretty.”

Tammie stared in horror. Her fingers had instinctively picked up the pencil and sketched the steam, creating flowing waves and pockets where her creativity planned to settle precious stones. It was a good design. She could take the gold and fold it just here—

No! Tammie ripped the page free and tore it into tiny pieces. If she had a match she’d have burned it. Instead, she scattered the pieces into the bus tray behind the counter, watching, painfully, as they sank into the dumped ice waters and coffee. The pencil lead disappeared into the damp.

“What’d you do that for?” Cora wasn’t accusing, just curious, as she climbed up on the old vinyl stool and settled.

Tammie shrugged, knowing that would be answer enough, at least for Cora. She couldn’t let Cora see her work, and she couldn’t let anyone ever know what she could do. Not until she figured out a solution—until she figured out a way to escape for good.

“It was just silliness.” She dismissed the design with a wave of her hand, but cringed when she saw the spark of curiosity linger in Cora’s faded blue eyes. Despite having destroyed the drawing, Tammie still saw it in her mind, felt her fingers itch to pick up the pencil and finish it, felt the longing to hold her tools and work with the materials she’d so loved.

They finished their coffee in silence, both women fighting exhaustion as their shift stretched out.

“I’m gonna get a quick breath of air,” she told Cora. “Be right back.” Tammie needed, just for a minute, to be alone. And while the alley out back was the last place in the world she wanted to be, with its hefty thick stink and dirt, it was dark and empty. At least for now.

The back door was heavy metal but it was never closed. A supposed fire door, it gave little protection. The screen door was all that separated the kitchen from the alley. She let it slam closed behind her, needing something to separate her from this life she’d been forced into.