Her Holiday Hero

“I like this.” Emma put the plate on the center island counter. “It’s cozy and warm. Do you cook?”

“No, unless you call cooking opening a can and heating up whatever is in it. My meals aren’t elaborate. A lot of frozen dinners.” Jake’s gaze landed on the German shepherd. Beautiful dog to go with a beautiful woman, but why did she bring the animal with her? Had his strange behavior the other day scared her somehow? When a panic attack took hold of him, it was hard for him to do much about it, which only made the situation worse.

“That’s a shame. You need to come to my house one evening. I love to cook when I have the time.”

“What keeps you so busy you can’t cook very often?” Jake asked, resolved to stay away from any topic about him as he began emptying the sacks on the countertop. Focus on her. A much safer subject to discuss.

“Training dogs, working a full-time job at the animal hospital and trying to raise a child who’s giving me fits.”

“Things aren’t any better?”

“No. The Cold War has been declared at my house. He didn’t appreciate my talking to his teacher.”

Jake whistled. “Yep, that will do it.”

“Are you taking his side? Are you saying I shouldn’t have talked with his teacher about his being bullied?”

Jake threw up his hands, palms outward. “Hold it right there. I am not taking anyone’s side. That’s between you and your son.”

“I could use your help with this situation.”

He scanned the room, looking for a way out of the kitchen and this conversation. He didn’t want to be in the middle between a mother and son. “I don’t know the boys who ganged up on Josh.”

“But you saw them. Can you describe the culprits? Even one of them?”

“Maybe the smallest kid. Brown hair, brown eyes.”

“Good. Do you have a piece of paper and a pencil?”

“Yes, but...” Staring at the determination in Emma’s expression, he realized the quickest way to get rid of her was to give her what she wanted—at least the little he knew. He crossed to the desk under the wall phone and withdrew the items requested.

Emma took them. “I love to draw. If you tell me what he looks like, I’ll try to sketch a portrait of him. Brown hair and eyes as well as a small frame fit a lot of kids in Cimarron City. So let’s start with what shape his face is—oval, oblong, heart shaped? Is his jaw square, pointy, round?”

Staring at the dog sitting near the back door, Jake rubbed his day-old beard stubble. He’d forgotten to shave this morning. He was doing that more lately. When he glanced down at his attire, he winced at the shabby T-shirt and jeans with several holes in them. If someone who didn’t know him walked in right now, that person would think Jake was close to living on the street. Suddenly he saw himself through Emma’s eyes. And he didn’t like the picture.

The military had taught him always to be prepared and to keep himself presentable. Lately he’d forgotten his training. The least he could do was change clothing. He wouldn’t shave because her visit was impromptu, and he didn’t want to give her the wrong impression—that he cared. He knew better than to care, not with the upheaval in his life.

“Your visit has taken me by surprise. I’ll be back in a minute.” He gestured to the kitchen. “Make yourself at home. I have a large, fenced backyard if you want to put your pet outside. A big dog like that probably requires a lot of exercise.” He wanted to add: I won’t hurt you. I’m only hurting myself.

“That’s great.”

As she walked to the back door, Jake slipped out of the kitchen and hurried to his bedroom. He felt encouraged she wasn’t afraid of him since she was putting her German shepherd outside. Somehow he would beat what he was going through...but he didn’t think he could by the time of the medal ceremony on Veterans Day.

After rummaging in his closet for something nicer to wear, he began to change. He caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door and froze. He didn’t know the man staring back at him in the reflection. He sank onto his bed and plowed his fingers through his unruly hair.

I just want some hope, Lord.

Chapter Three

Jake hadn’t kicked her out of his house yet. That was a good sign. Emma knew how much control meant to him right now because Ben had gone through a period where he tried to manage everything around him. He needed to know what was going to happen next. The trouble was life wasn’t predictable, and that was where Ben had problems. He’d lost his patience and laid-back attitude, but in the past nine months he was getting them back. He was realizing finally that God was the one in control and He was always there to help him through. Did Jake believe in God?

After letting Shep out into Jake’s backyard, Emma glanced around the neat kitchen, an olive-green-and-gold decor—no doubt his grandmother’s touch when she lived in the house. She’d asked Marcella Kime, who went to her church, about Jake and this place. His grandmother had lived here until she died last year. The family hadn’t sold it yet, so Jake must have decided to move in.

One sack of groceries was left on the counter. While she waited for Jake to return, she emptied the bag of food, then prowled the room. Maybe he skipped out the front door. When she heard a bark at the back one, she let Shep into the house.

She knelt and rubbed her hands along his thick black and brown fur. “I think the man is trying to send me a message,” she whispered near the German shepherd’s ear. “He doesn’t know yet that I’m relentless when on a mission. He needs help and you. He’s the reason Ben is alive. I owe Jake.”

She nuzzled Shep, relishing the calmness that came from loving on the dog. In her house, there was always a dog she was training. With her full-time job, bringing a trainee home helped her to be around more if her son needed her. But the animal would eventually move on to another person. She’d found it easier not to have her own dog in case there were territorial issues when a new canine came for training. But maybe one day....

“Did he decide not to stay outside?”

Jake’s question startled her, and she gasped. She swiveled around. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry. I’ve learned to move quietly.”

Emma straightened. “My husband made enough noise to alert the neighbors. Josh is just like his dad.”

“What happened to your husband?”

“He died three years ago. He had epilepsy. It got worse over the years, and then he had a seizure he never recovered from.” While on a ladder putting up Christmas lights because she had mentioned she wanted some. She’d intended for the teen next door to do the chore—not Sam. Guilt nibbled at her composure, and she shut it down. She was here to help Jake and possibly get some information concerning the kids bullying Josh.

“I’m sorry.”

“Life has a way of changing and throwing you a curve when you least expect it.”

He flinched. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

For a few heartbeats her gaze connected with his, and her stomach flip-flopped. The intensity in his look weakened her knees. She grasped the countertop.

As Jake moved to put away the canned goods and boxes from the last sack, she noted his change in clothing, trying to keep her attention somewhere besides those dark, compelling eyes. He still wore jeans but without any holes and a navy blue polo shirt. She saw his actions as a good sign. He wanted to look nicer for her, and that gave her hope.

“We can go into the living room, and I’ll try to describe that last child I caught bullying Josh.”

Emma retrieved the pad and pencil. “I appreciate it. I’m not sure what I’ll do when I find out who the bullies are, but I need to know, if for no other reason than to help my son deal with the situation.”

She went first toward the living area off the foyer. Shep walked beside her. Inside the room, she headed toward the couch. Her foot stepped on something, and she peered down. A sheet of paper—a letter? She picked it up as Jake entered. Her gaze lit upon the subject of the letter.

She swept around. “You’re being awarded the Distinguished Service Medal. Congratulations!”

Jake stiffened. A thunderous expression descended over his features. He limped toward her and plucked the letter from her hands. “No reason to congratulate me because I survived when many didn’t.”

She eased onto the couch behind her, Shep sitting at her feet, close enough that she could stroke the back of his head and neck. She looked up into Jake’s warring gaze as he skimmed the contents of the letter, then balled it up, crossed to the trash can and tossed it.

“They don’t give the Distinguished Service Medal for being wounded. That’s for serving your country above and beyond your normal duties. It’s awarded for meritorious and heroic behavior. It’s an honor you no doubt deserved.”

“How would you know?”

She winced at his reproachful tone. “Because my brother, Ben Spencer, told me what you did for him. You saved his life so I’m not surprised you’re receiving the medal, one of the highest awarded by the government.”

The color drained from his face. “You’re Ben’s sister?”

She nodded.

“How is he? I haven’t had a chance to touch base...” The words faded into the quiet. Jake stared at his clasped hands. “I meant to see how he was once I was better.”

“He’s doing all right. His injuries are healed, and he’s been coping with his PTSD. Making progress.”

Jake lifted his head and gave her a searing look. “So what I heard is true? How’s he dealing with it?”

She couldn’t have asked for a better opening to talk about Shep. Lord, give me the right words to say. This man is hurting.

“Ben has a PTSD counseling group he attends in Tulsa, but he also has a service dog I trained for him. Butch has made a big difference in Ben’s being able to go out and to participate in life without having so many panic attacks.”

His eyebrows crunched together. “He’s cured?”

“No, but the incidences he has are few, especially lately, and he’s been able to work his way through them.”

“I’m glad. He was a good soldier. I missed him when he returned home. Is he working?”

“Yes, at Gordon Matthews Industries as a computer programmer.”

“Does he like it?”

“Yes, he’s really enjoying it.”

“That’s good to hear. Sometimes it’s hard to go back. A lot of men’s lives have been messed up.” Jake stared at the floor for a long moment, lost in thought.

Most likely remembering. The rigid set of Jake’s shoulders made Emma wonder about his particular story. Each soldier had his own, some more traumatic than others. Ben had been flown back to the States eight months earlier due to his encounter with a land mine that had blown up a few feet from him in a field where one of his friends died. He lost part of his left arm while several other soldiers were also injured. But Ben kept in touch with many of the ones still in his old unit—there to help if they needed it. Jake wasn’t staying in touch. Emma nudged Shep, giving him the signal to bark. He did.

Jake lifted his head, turning his attention toward the German shepherd. “He’s a beautiful dog. How long have you had him?”

“Almost nine months. I’ve been training Shep to be a service dog. His specialty is working with people with PTSD.” She watched Jake for a reaction.

He looked at her, a frown pulling his eyebrows down. “Why did you bring him today?”

“Because I like to take him out for a walk when I can and—” she swallowed to coat her dry throat “—I wanted you to meet him.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Her gaze caught his. “Because I think you need a dog like Shep.”

He rose, grappling for his cane. “I have work to do. Thank you for bringing the brownies.” His hard expression shouted, But don’t ever come back!

She didn’t move. “Please. Let me explain.”

He started to say something but pressed his lips together.

She took his silence as an okay. “I want to help you. I know what my brother went through when he came home. He couldn’t hold down a job, even a simple one. He lived with our parents and didn’t leave the house hardly at all—often holing himself up in his old bedroom. He got angry at the least little thing. He had the shakes and would shut down if something even little went wrong. He had nightmares and didn’t want to sleep. When I gave him Butch, I saw how effective the dog was with him. Still is. Butch has a way of calming him down and centering him.”

“That’s your brother, not me.” Jake took his seat again.

From checking with a few of his neighbors, Emma knew Jake rarely left his house. Jake Tanner was hiding out. Easier to stay home than go out in crowds where he had little control of what would happen around him. Ben had been like that at first. Butch had made the difference.

“I can help you if you’ll just give Shep a chance.”

“I’m capable of dealing with my problems. Healing takes time.”

“A service dog can help that along.”

“How? My injury was my leg. I’m up and about. I can walk now.”

“There are other injuries that aren’t so visible. A dog can help with those.”

“What? Emotional ones?” He clasped his cane between his legs with both hands and leaned forward slightly.

“Yes. Dogs can sense when a problem is going to occur and intervene before it becomes worse.”

His grip tightened around the ivory knob on the end of his cane until his knuckles whitened. “I’ve heard of other soldiers using service dogs. I don’t want to have to care for an animal. I’m barely—” He snapped his mouth closed.

“What? Barely holding it together?” Emma asked, returning his unwavering gaze. She hadn’t given up on Ben. Though they were virtual strangers, she could tell Jake needed help. She had promised her brother she would do what she could for his former commanding officer and she would, somehow.

Jake stiffened. “I have work to do.”

She sighed. “Sometimes I can be too blunt. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”

“I respect a person who speaks her mind, but that doesn’t change the fact I don’t need a service dog. I’m coping.”

“That’s good because Ben wasn’t.”

“It hasn’t been that long since I came home. Recovery takes time.” Jake’s voice didn’t sound as convincing as the man probably wanted.

“Time and help. I agree.”

His gaze pinned her down. “I’m receiving help from my doctor.”

Emma resisted the urge to squirm under his intense glare. “Is he here when you have panic attacks, flashbacks, nightmares?”

Jake winced, a mask falling into place as if he were shutting down all emotions.

The problem was a person couldn’t block his feelings forever. They were there in the background, ready to strike when he least expected. Emma said, “A service dog can help a person with those kinds of things. When someone has a panic attack, the dog’s trained to calm him. The animal can be trained to wake up a person who’s having a nightmare. Flashbacks often lead to panic attacks or at the very least, emotional upheavals. A dog can be there at all hours to console, be a companion. Not to mention they’re great listeners.”

A tic twitched in his hardened jaw. “Does he talk back?”

Emma grinned. “I can do a lot with the dogs I train, but I haven’t accomplished that yet. But they can understand a lot of commands, if properly taught. Shep has been trained in all those areas.”

Jake stood. “Thanks for coming.”

Jake’s polite words and neutral expression didn’t totally cover a hopelessness in his eyes. Emma could identify; she remembered how, when her husband died, she’d struggled to pay off his debts. She was still paying the hospital bill every month from the last time Sam was admitted.

Emma followed Jake from the living room. Shep trotted next to her. Ben’s captain opened the front door and moved to the side to allow her to leave.

She stepped outside and pivoted. “Where did the boys attack Josh?”

He took two steps out onto the porch and pointed to the right near the wooded area. “There, and they fled into the trees. You didn’t get around to doing the sketch of the small one.”

“I’ve got another idea if you’re willing.”

His forehead wrinkled, wariness in his eyes. “What?”

“Josh has a yearbook from last year. Would you be willing to look through it and see if you recognize any of the kids?”

“I’ll try.”

She smiled. “Great. I can bring it by tomorrow after work if that’s okay.”

He nodded, a solemn expression on his face.

“Then I’ll see you around six.”

She had started down the steps when he called out, “Tell Ben I’ll be okay.”

With a glance over her shoulder, she said, “You should call him and tell him yourself.”

“I don’t have his number.”

“I can give it to you.”

“Maybe tomorrow.” He turned back into his house and shut the door.

As Emma walked home, she couldn’t get Jake Tanner out of her mind. That haunted look in his dark eyes when she had talked about Ben’s problems, and later what a service dog could be trained to do only reinforced in her mind that he needed help. Her brother had tried to deny it, too, and it had made things worse. She prayed Jake wouldn’t. Tomorrow she had another chance to persuade him to try Shep.

* * *

The enemy surrounded Jake and what men he had left in the small mountain village, gunfire pelting them from all sides. The terrorists were closing in. He was trapped.

He signaled to his men to fall back into a house. He covered them as they made their way inside the shelter, then zigzagged toward it, seeking cover wherever he could. But as he ran toward the hut, it moved farther away from him. Escape taunted him. A safe haven just out of reach.

Someone lobbed a grenade that fell a few yards in front of him. He dived to the side, the explosion rocking him.

Crash!

Arms flailing, Jake shot straight up on the couch, blinking his eyes. He couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. They burned. Everything before him twirled and swayed. He scrubbed his shaky hands down his sweat-drenched face, then drew in one deep inhalation then another. He folded in on himself, his arms hugging his chest, his head bent forward. Afraid even to close his eyes, he stared at his lap until his rapid heartbeat slowed. When the quaking eased, he looked up at his living room in Cimarron City. Not in a tent or hut in Afghanistan.

Safe. Quiet.

His gaze fell upon a lamp on the floor, shattered, along with a broken vase his grandma had cherished as a gift from his granddad. The sight of it destroyed what was left of his composure. His hands began to tremble more. Cold burrowed deep into his bones. He stuck them under his armpits.

Focus on the here and now. Not then. He shuffled through images in his mind until he latched on to one: Emma Langford, Ben’s sister. He zeroed in on her light blue eyes, as bright as sunshine. He shifted his attention to her dazzling smile. He couldn’t look away. The warmth of her expression chased away the chill.

He finally relaxed against the couch cushion. He couldn’t believe he’d invited her back today. That realization earlier had driven him to take a short nap before she arrived since he hadn’t slept much the night before. For that matter, since the nightmares began a couple of months ago, he slept only a few hours here and there.

He couldn’t keep going like this, or he would stop functioning altogether. The very idea appalled him. In the army he’d been a leader of men who went into tough situations to protect and defend. Now he couldn’t even leave his house without fearing he would have a panic attack and appear weak.

Lord, why? You brought me home to this—living in fear? How am I supposed to get better? What do I do?

His gaze returned to the mess on the floor, then trekked to the end table where the lamp and vase had been. He pushed to his feet to clean up the shattered pieces.

The chimes from the grandfather clock in the foyer pealed six times. Emma would be here soon. He hobbled toward the kitchen and retrieved the broom and dustpan. The glass lamp was beyond repair. He swept the shards and tossed them into the trash can.

Then he turned his attention to the vase. His granddad had created pottery bowls and vases in his spare time. This was one of the few left. He picked up each piece and laid it on the end table, trying to decide if he could fix the vase with glue. Maybe it was possible with time and a steady hand.

The doorbell sounded, jolting his heartbeat to a quicker tempo. Emma. She can’t see this, he thought, as though it were a symbol of his weakness. He opened the drawer on the end table and hurried to place what was left of the vase inside, then closed it.

It took him a minute to limp toward the foyer. Maybe she’d left. He hoped not, and that surprised him. When he opened the door, she stood on the porch with that warm smile and her hands full with a slender book and a plastic container.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get to the door,” was all he could think to say.

“I figured it would. You’re still recovering from a leg injury. It might be a while before you’re up for a jog.” She stepped through his entrance. “I hope you don’t mind, but I made beef stew this morning in the Crock-Pot and had plenty to share with you.” She lifted the lid for him to see.

His stomach rumbled. The aroma filled his nostrils and made his mouth water. He’d had breakfast but skipped lunch. “How did you know I haven’t eaten much today?”

“A lucky guess. I’ll put this in your refrigerator, and you can heat it up when you feel like it.” She walked toward his kitchen. Pausing at the entrance to his dining room, she looked back at him. “Then I’ll show you the yearbook.”

He started to follow her into the kitchen but decided not to and headed for the living room. “I’ll be in here when you’re through.” He wanted to make sure there were no remnants of the broken vase or lamp on the floor.

After searching around the couch, he walked lamely to the leather chair with an ottoman. His left leg ached. He must have wrenched it when coming out of his nightmare. As he laid his cane on the floor by him, Emma came into the room. He lifted his leg onto the upholstered stool.

She took the couch, sitting at the end closest to him. “I’d heat it up in the microwave for about six minutes on high. I put bread in to bake, but it wasn’t done when I left.”

“You make your own bread?” Jake remembered his grandmother baking bread once a week, a good memory. “I used to love that smell when I was a kid and came to see Grandma.”

“I’m not a coffee drinker, but I love to smell a pot percolating. As well as bacon frying and bread baking.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, the best smell I remember from my childhood is my mother baking a cherry pie. I loved to eat it with vanilla ice cream.”

“If I wasn’t hungry before you came, I am now.”

“Good, you’ll enjoy my stew.” She rose and covered the short space between them. “This is the yearbook I was talking about.”

He reached up to take it. Their fingers briefly touched, and his breath caught. He held it for a few extra seconds then released it slowly. Their gazes connected, and Emma paused as though not sure what to do.

He grinned, trying to dismiss the bond that sprang up between them for a moment. “Where’s your German shepherd? I thought you’d bring him again.”

She laughed, letting go of the yearbook, then sat on the couch. “I’ll never force a dog on anyone, even when I think it would be good for him. Besides, Josh was throwing the Frisbee in the backyard for Shep, complaining that he was stuck at home and not at a friend’s.”

“Any problems with Josh in the past few days?”

“Nothing I can pin down. He tells me nothing more has happened, but he comes home from school angry and silent. I have to drag what little I can out of him.”

“I remember those days when Mom tried to get me to tell her about my day at school, especially when the bullying was going on in the sixth grade.”