With an effort, he dropped his arm again, not wishing to overstep, the way that jackass boss of hers had.
“There are good days and bad days when you’re grieving.” He knew firsthand.
“Yeah.” She nodded, startling a little as a frog splashed into the water beside them. “And that was a bad few days. By the time I hauled myself out of it, I realized I missed the window when the morning-after pill was most effective.” She tipped her face up to a patch of sunlight through the leaves. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if, subconsciously, I didn’t mind the idea of having a baby. Nurturing another life when one so important had been taken from me.”
“Whatever the reason, you’ve got a child to plan for.” He had more questions about that, but he knew it wasn’t his place to ask her those things.
It surprised him how very much he wanted to, though. How was she going to manage her work with an infant to care for? After the statue was completed in the children’s ward, she still had a commitment to develop a bigger, interactive installation.
Her art involved chisels and saws. Power tools that make her studio off-limits for a child. She would have to hire help.
“I do.” She nodded, a dark curl blowing against his shoulder as she shifted on the log beside him. “I’m going to focus all of my energy on preparing for this baby and creating a sculpture so beautiful and moving that my sister would be proud.”
Her smile dazzled him, even more so since he could understand the bittersweet emotion that came with it. Ruby settled again behind them, her tail wagging slowly through the pine needles and dried leaves.
“That’s a healthy way to express mourning.” How often had his counselor told him he needed more constructive outlets in the early days of battling PTSD? He’d never found one. But maybe he could make another kind of positive step. He could share something of his journey that might help Abigail, even though that kind of thing was tough for him. “I know that, actually, because I’ve never been successful at finding my own. Healthy expressions of grief, that is.”
The admission was awkward. But not as difficult as he’d imagined. Something about Abigail’s presence relaxed him a fraction, taking some of the edge off his too-sharp emotions.
“I’m sorry, Vaughn.” Her hand reached to cover his where it rested on his thigh. “Did you lose someone close to you, too?”
Too many.
He mulled over the best way to answer the question without ripping open his own hard-won control. He focused on a water bug swimming circles in a still patch of water off to the side of the brook.
“I took a yearlong deployment in Afghanistan with the army.” The simple statement didn’t come close to conveying what the experience meant. How deeply it had affected him. Changed him. “I can’t claim the same blood ties to the guys lost during that time to the bond you had with your sister. But there’s a definite brotherhood with men you spend your rec time with. Guys you share meals with.”
Each piece of information hurt to share. As if speaking about that time made him relive it. Which was foolish, since he relived the worst of those times often enough in his mind.
Ruby must have sensed the tension because she left her spot on the ground behind him to sit by his knee, her face lifted to his. She was such a good dog. And he appreciated her helping him hold it together in front of Abigail.
“You don’t need blood ties for that connection,” Abigail assured him, her fingers threading neatly through his, filling in the empty places. Squeezing. “I’m sorry you lost brothers over there.”
She tipped her dark head to his shoulder, and he breathed in the sweet, tangy sent of cinnamon and oranges.
The ache in his chest eased a fraction at the feel of her against him. He closed his eyes for a moment, while dueling songbirds called to one another overhead. He tried to steady himself because he wasn’t the one who was supposed to be receiving comfort. He was supposed to be offering it.
“Ruby has been a big help,” he admitted, wanting to put the rest of his brokenness on the table for the sake of honesty. Abigail had already battled the disappointment of one man’s deception. He wouldn’t make the same mistake of hiding the truth about himself. “She’s a service dog, and she’s trained to give me extra assistance for dealing with PTSD.”
“I noticed her collar,” Abigail confessed, “but I know it’s rude to ask about it.”
He smothered a chuckle.
Abigail lifted her head, confusion in her eyes. “What’s funny about that?”
“Remember the way we met?” He wanted to touch her again. Stroke her hair. Pull her into his arms. But he knew he needed restraint after what she’d shared. “I was incredibly blunt and tactless. You owe me a rude question or two, Abigail, to even the score. You can ask me anything.”
He could tell she wasn’t sure how to interpret his shift in conversation. But he couldn’t linger in those dark places. It was all he could do to share as much as he had with her today.
“I don’t know if I have it in me to be rude. Too much of a good Southern girl.” A small smile curved her lips.
She was so lovely. And in spite of everything she’d shared with him today, he still wanted her. He wanted to know how she tasted. What her lips would feel like on his. How the rest of her would
