Page 12 of Dangerous December (Northern Pines Suspense #8)

Devlin pulled to a stop in front of the old motel and stared at the dreary row of units with the cheap, ill-fitting front doors. That, and the potholed dirt parking lot made his skin crawl.

He’d stubbornly stayed here too long, despite the peeling paint, the musty curtains, and the black mold creeping across the bathroom ceiling, unwilling to take the next step and move into the cottage at his parents’ house.

A move that seemed chillingly final, somehow, as if returning to that address would weld him to this town forever.

But now, he thought bitterly as he looked at the envelope on the dashboard, it was all a moot point.

He’d resigned himself to six months of medical leave in the States.

But one trip to the Twin Cities and one twenty-minute appointment with a harried young doctor at the VA had just changed his entire future, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

Not one single thing.

He slammed his palm against the steering wheel.

Stared at the cockeyed number 16 drooping dead center on the motel door in front of his bumper. What am I going to do now, God? What now?

That last explosion in Iraq had sounded the death knell on his career. He hadn’t even heard it because of the instant, permanent damage to his hearing that compounded what he’d suffered before.

Hearing aids or not, he would never again qualify for the Force Recon team that had been his life...and his shoulder had been blown out too badly to manage more than basic civilian life.

Ironic, because he had no civilian skills, unless someone needed to keep a sniper handy or had to mount covert ops against a feisty neighbor.

He leaned his head against the headrest and closed his eyes against the bleak images of what his future would hold.

The Marines didn’t want him, unless he chose to work as a trainer or man a desk somewhere... After fifteen years in action neither sounded remotely appealing.

But how was he going to start over when nothing else mattered?

At a loss, Dev paced his musty motel room, then changed into old jeans, running shoes, and a faded Wisconsin Badgers T-shirt.

He went outside to run, ignoring the flare of pain in his shoulder with each stride. At the end of the block, he took a right, crossed the railroad tracks, and headed out into the country.

The deep valleys and rocky, towering bluffs were ablaze in ruby, molten gold, and brilliant orange set against the dark pines, the air so crystalline clear that it almost hurt to breathe.

He pushed himself until his muscles burned and his lungs ached. He picked up an even faster pace when he reached the turnoff for the state park outside town.

The narrow park road wound through the forest, and up a sharp grade until opening out onto the highest point in the county. His heart pounding, he braced his hands on his knees and drew in deep breaths.

He walked out the soreness in his muscles as he surveyed the patchwork quilt of rolling land spreading out in every direction.

Dense forest, brilliant with a kaleidoscope of rich reds, oranges, and yellows. Sparkling streams and azure lakes, twinkling in the midafternoon sun. Black-and-white dairy cattle in emerald pastures with crisp white fencing and red, hip-roofed barns.

Whenever he tried to imagine heaven, he thought of the lush, pastoral beauty of southwestern Wisconsin.

But now he was here, trapped by the stipulations of his mother’s will and facing even greater circumstances that were out of his control.

If he’d been just six feet farther away, he wouldn’t have been so badly injured. He’d still have the military career he loved.

But far worse, if his men had been farther away, they’d still be writing home to loved ones and complaining about the food and joking with each other at the base, instead of lying in their graves.

Surely an all-powerful, loving God could have interceded just that much.

If He cared.

With a bitter laugh, Dev performed a couple of quick stretches and started down the park road to head back to town at a blistering pace, wanting to feel the pain and the endorphin high that would follow.

He needed just one good thing in the midst of his terrible memories.

Back in town, Dev staggered to a halt, his muscles and lungs burning. Despite the cool, crisp October air, his T-shirt clung to his back and sweat rolled off his face.

Swiping at his forehead with the back of his wrist, he looked around and realized that he’d slipped back into old childhood habits and had ended up in front of his old home.

Sloane House, he corrected himself silently. It hadn’t been his home for a long, long time.

“Now, a workout like that looks plain miserable to me.”

At the sound of Carl’s familiar, crotchety voice, Dev straightened and looked over to find the old guy standing on the porch, his hands braced on the railing.

His dark mood started to lift at the sight of Carl’s perpetual scowl. “Feels good,” he called. “Join me?”

“Only if I want to die.”

Dev choked back a laugh. The old codger was as cantankerous as they came. “We can’t have that.”

Someone was sitting in the shadows of the porch and now stood to join Carl at the railing. Reva, he realized, when a beam of sunlight hit her pale face.

“If you’ve got a minute, we could use some help,” she called out.

He glanced at his sweat-stained T-shirt and muddy running shoes. “I’ll go change and be right back.”

“No need,” she said archly. “The attic isn’t the cleanest place around.”

He dutifully jogged up the porch steps and followed her and Carl up to the second floor. At the landing, Carl paused to catch his breath.

Reva marched around the corner and ascended the much narrower steps leading to the attic.

At the top, she flipped on a switch for the three bare light bulbs hanging from the rafters.

“I have a trunk and some boxes that need to go to my room, if you don’t mind. I need my fall wardrobe for an interview coming up.” She pointed them out. “While you’re up here, maybe you’d like to take a look at your parents’ treasures.”

Treasures. More like outdated clothing in mothballs, he guessed, but he dutifully followed her to the far wall of the cavernous attic, where stacks and stacks of boxes had been stored, along with a great deal of dusty furniture.

His childhood desk and bed. Why had his parents kept them?

The beautiful old dining-room set that had come from his grandmother Lydia’s home.

A surprising number of end tables and whatnots. Sofas and overstuffed chairs, and large, mysterious pieces that loomed in the shadows.

Reva lifted an eyebrow. “Did you know this was all still up here?”

“Not a clue,” he admitted. “I have no idea what to do with it all.”

“You’ll need furniture if you use the guest cottage. I don’t suppose you’d want to buy anything new, since you’re going back into active duty when you get done with us. Right?”

Her words slammed his thoughts back to his appointment this morning, when the doctor’s casual words had changed his future in the space of fifteen seconds.

She rested a slim hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry—did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

Her thin, softly wrinkled face furrowed with concern. “I’m afraid you aren’t very convincing. I promise that we aren’t as hopeless as we might seem. Every one of us is trying to move on.”

“It isn’t that.” He shifted uneasily, hating the thought of discussing anything personal. Despising his own weakness.

But the worry in her eyes deepened and he had no choice but to elaborate just to reassure her. “I...was just thinking about my appointment at the VA, is all. I can’t get back into active service...quite as soon as I’d hoped.”

“Oh, dear.” Her hand fluttered at her throat. “I hope you’ll be all right. If there’s anything—”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” He wheeled around, picked up her trunk, and started for the stairs.

“Wait—maybe you shouldn’t be carrying that after all,” she called out as she trotted after him. “I can handle it....”

So now his life had been reduced to hearing a fifty-something woman offer to carry a trunk because she thought he was disabled.

He gritted his teeth against the gnawing pain in his shoulder and silently continued down the stairs to the door of his parents’ second-floor master bedroom suite, where “Reva” had been engraved on a brass doorplate.

She reached around him and pushed the door open. “Anywhere is fine.” She worried at her lower lip. “I can get the others, really.”

“It would be a sad day if I couldn’t do this much,” he managed through clenched teeth. “I’m fine. And I’m supposed to be helping you, remember?”

He loped back up the stairs and brought down both boxes in one trip, settled them on her bedroom floor and dusted off his hands. “Anything else?”

“No, nothing at all,” she fretted, eyeing him with considerable worry. “I just hope this wasn’t too much for you.”

Dev felt heat climb up the back of his neck.

He could handle himself in combat, but fluttering, hovering women were so far beyond the scope of his experience that he was at a dead loss as to how to respond.

“That boy is fine,” Carl barked. He rose from the settee under the window at the top of the stairs leading to the first floor.

“Don’t send him off—there’s plenty to do around here.

Someone needs to move my favorite chair, because it’s all wrong for the TV.

He can check out the dryer vent...and there’s a broken screen on the back porch.

“And if he’s got time, I could use a ride to the shoe shop over on Willow. Sam is slow as molasses, but surely he has my Oxfords resoled by now. He’s had ’em for two months.”

“Carl,” Reva snapped. “Can’t you see—”

“If the boy can go out running, he isn’t an invalid. Plain as day to me.” Angling a keen look at Devlin, Carl pursed his lips. “Unless he don’t have time.”

“No problem.” Relieved at the opportunity to escape, Dev nodded at Reva and headed downstairs. “Just tell me what you want me to do first.”

His life was in ruins.

Old people pitied him.