Lucy and The Lieutenant. Helen Lacey

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СКАЧАТЬ but Brant was broader through the shoulders. And Grady always looked happy...like he had some great secret to life. Whereas Brant...? Lucy only saw caution and resistance in his gaze. For the moment, though, her only concern was Joe Parker’s welfare. She explained the procedure for transporting him to the larger hospital and when she was done asked if he had any questions.

      “No,” Grady replied. “I do know Brant will want to go with him. They’re very close.”

      She nodded. “I can arrange something.” She turned to walk away when Grady said her name. “What is it?”

      He shrugged loosely. “About Brant. I know this might not be the right time to say anything...but do you think you could talk to the counselor at the veterans home about perhaps having a word with him...kind of on the down-low, if you know what I mean?”

      Lucy’s skin prickled. “Do you think he needs counseling?”

      “I think when he was a solider he went through some bad stuff and doesn’t want to talk about it,” Grady said and sighed. “Not even to me or Mom.”

      Lucy thought that, too. She knew enough about PTSD to recognize the signs. His isolation, irritability and moodiness could definitely be attributed to something like that. Of course, she had no idea what he’d witnessed in service to his country. But if his brother was concerned, that was enough for Lucy to do what she could to help.

      “I could have a quiet word with Dr. Allenby. He comes to the home once a week and he’s trained to deal with veterans, particularly combat soldiers.”

      Grady nodded. “Yes, my mom has mentioned him. That’s great. I’d really appreciate it if you could do that. But we might want to keep this between us, okay?”

      Going behind Brant’s back didn’t sit well with her conscience. This was a conversation the Parker family needed to have together. But she could clearly see the concern in his brother’s eyes and that was enough to get her agreement for the moment. “Don’t think there’ll be a problem with that. Your brother hardly talks to me.”

      “Self-preservation,” Grady said and grinned.

      “What?”

      His grin widened. “You know how guys are. We always do things stupid-ass backward. Ask Marissa how much I screwed up in the beginning. Ignoring her was all I could do to keep from going crazy.”

      Lucy’s mouth creased into a smile. “You know he’d hate the fact we’re out here talking about him, don’t you?”

      “Yep,” Grady replied. “Just as well we’re on the same side.”

      Lucy’s smiled deepened. “I’ll see what I can do.”

      Grady returned to his uncle’s bedside and Lucy headed to the cafeteria for a break. She ordered tea and a cranberry muffin and sat by the window, looking out toward the garden, an unread magazine open on the table in front of her. The place was empty except for the two people behind the counter and a couple of orderlies who were chatting over coffee in the far corner. She liked days like this. Quiet days. It gave her time to think. The hospital was small but catered to a wide area and some days she didn’t have time for breaks.

      “Can I talk to you?”

      Lucy looked up from her tea. Brant stood beside the small table. “Oh...sure.”

      He pulled out the chair opposite. “Can I get you anything? More coffee?”

      “Tea,” she corrected and shook her head. “And I’m good. What can I do for you?”

      It sounded so perfunctory...when inside she was churning. He looked so good in jeans and a black shirt and leather jacket. His brown hair was long, too, as it had been in high school, curling over his collar a little—a big change from the regulation military crew cut she was used to seeing when he came back to town in between tours. There was a small scar on his left temple and another under his chin, and she wondered how he’d gotten them. War wounds? Perhaps they were old football injuries or from school-yard antics? Or when he used to work horses with his brother? He’d always looked good in the saddle. She had spent hours pretending to have her nose in a book while she’d watched him ride from the sidelines. At twelve she’d had stars in her eyes. At twenty-seven she felt almost as foolish.

      She took a breath and stared at him. “So...what is it?”

      “My uncle is seventy-three years old, and I know he has health issues and might not have a lot of time left. I also know that he trusts you.”

      “And?” she prompted.

      He shrugged one shoulder. “And I was thinking that once he gets to the hospital in Rapid City there will be a whole lot of people there who he doesn’t trust poking and prodding and making judgment calls and decisions about him.”

      Lucy stilled. “And?” she prompted again.

      “And he’d probably prefer it if you were around to see to things.”

      She eyed him shrewdly. “He would?”

      His other shoulder moved. “Okay... I would.”

      “You want me to go to the hospital with him?”

      “Well...yes.”

      “I’m not on staff there,” she explained, increasingly conscious of his intense gaze. “I couldn’t interfere with his treatment or be part of his appointments with specialists.”

      “I know that,” Brant replied softly, his attention unwavering. “But you could be there to explain things...you know, to make sense of things.”

      Lucy drank some tea and then placed the paper cup on the table. “With you?”

      He shrugged again. “Sure.”

      “Won’t that go against your determination to avoid me and my wicked plans to ensnare you with my white picket fence?”

      His eyes darkened. She was teasing him. And Brant Parker clearly didn’t like to be teased.

      “This is about my uncle,” he replied, his jaw clenching. “Not us.”

      The silly romantic in her wanted to swoon at the way he said the word us. But she didn’t.

      “I do have the day off tomorrow,” she said, thinking she was asking for a whole lot of complications by agreeing to his request. But she did genuinely care about Joe Parker.

      “So...yes?” he asked.

      Lucy nodded slowly. “Sure. I’ll arrange for the ambulance to leave here around nine in the morning and we can follow in my car.”

      “I’ll drive. We’ll take my truck.”

      Lucy gave in to the laughter she felt. “Boy, you’re predictable. Clearly my little Honda isn’t macho enough.”

      “I need to get some building supplies from Rapid City,” he shot back, unmoving. “I don’t think the footrest for the bar that I’m having made will fit in your little Honda, Dr. Monero. Besides the fact that your car is unreliable.”

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