Page 10

Courage.

The word had continuously entered my mind over the last few days. After careful examination, something recommended by my former shrink, I’d determined that the concept had presented itself in the forefront of my mind because Tank had shown exemplary courage since losing his former owner.

We’d gotten closer, the dog responding to my moods better than almost any human had managed. He knew when to keep his distance and when to crowd my space. Tank had also allowed me to experience something I’d thought forever vanquished from my life.

Peace.

Peace of mind.

Peace of body.

Peace of soul.

That didn’t mean the edge wouldn’t return. I knew better than to think I was cured. According to the experts, that wasn’t feasible. I had what I’d been told was PTSD on steroids. Yeah, well, I had good goddamn reasons.

I chuckled as I hopped from my truck. Now that Tank had resumed eating, he’d gone through an entire bag of dog food in just five days since we’d first started playing with tennis balls.

Not that his food consumption bothered me.

I was happy someone had an appetite.

When I walked into Jasper’s, a local bar near the pet store, the old angst flushed through my system. I didn’t like crowds, loud music, or people. Most of all, people. But the crotchety older man behind the bar had quickly recognized another kindred soul when he’d seen it.

As I slid onto a barstool, Jarvis nodded. He was chatting with a couple of locals, one of whom gave me a not so friendly onceover. Durango, Colorado was a small enough town everyone knew when a stranger had arrived in town who wasn’t a tourist craving snow peaks and skiing.

Plus, my size alone frightened most fine upstanding individuals.

Seconds later, Jarvis slapped down a glass of whiskey, the lines around his eyes crinkling when he smiled. “How’s mountain life?”

“Not bad,” I answered, immediately taking a swallow of liquor. I had no clue what had prompted me to drop by the joint. It wasn’t as if I didn’t have a stash of booze of my own. Maybe I was craving human companionship. Yeah, right.

“I heard you got yourself a companion.”

I snorted. “News travels fast.”

“It ain’t tourist season yet. We got time on our hands and mental apathy to change.” He laughed. “Man’s best friend. Getting Ralph was the best thing I ever did.”

“Ralph?”

“Hey, I got to name him after my wife’s ex, a fucking shithead of a man. No offense to the Great Dane.”

At least the former Marine could make me laugh. We’d exchanged benign war stories a couple of times, although I’d sensed he had the same kind of stories I did, the kind you reserved for nightmares and drunken spirals into hell. “Tank’s a great boy. We’re just getting to know each other.”

“Tank.” Jarvis looked away. “Big black lab?”

“Yeah, you know him?”

Jarvis scratched his beard. “Didn’t he belong to some Marine that got shipped out?”

“So I heard. Corporal David Banks.”

His eyes opened wide, one of the looks crossing his face I knew too well. “Sad fucking shit.”

“Meaning?”

“I heard he lost his parents in a terrible car crash weeks before he was shipped out earlier than expected. Poor guy. He came in here a couple times with the dog. Always had a smile on his face.”

“He comin’ home any time soon?”