“Sandy always loved getting your emails. She said there was a lot you couldn’t tell her.”
Nodding, Talon said, “My military life is top secret. I can never talk about it.”
“She said you’re a hero.”
Talon cringed inwardly. He didn’t feel like a hero. More like a failure. He’d failed to rescue Hayden. His mouth flexed. “I’m not.”
Cat regarded him for a moment, sensing his pain. Maybe it was in the sudden tightening of his face or the way his fork and knife hesitated over the food. “She said you’d earned two Silver Stars, a Bronze Star and two Purple Hearts. In my world, that makes you a hero even if we never know what you did to earn them.”
“They’re just medals,” he growled. “They mean nothing.”
Cat remained silent and cleaned up the rest of the food on her plate. She risked a look at him. His mouth was hard. Zeke was watching his master intently, as if sensing his withdrawal.
Standing, Cat said, “Do you want some dessert? Coffee? I’m going out to get mine.”
Talon shook his head and gave her his unfinished tray. “No...thanks. Tell Miss Gus it tasted good. I’m just not up to eating that much right now.”
There was misery in his expression. She ached for him. “After we’re done with dinner, are you up to walking down the hall to your room? I’ve got it ready for you.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I just need to rest a little bit.” Because he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, Hayden’s death. His inability to save him.
“Sure,” Cat murmured, taking the tray and putting it on top of hers. “I’ll be back later.”
Talon stretched out on the bed. Outside, it was dark. “Could you turn the light off when you leave?” he asked.
“Will do.”
* * *
“HOW IS TALON?” Gus asked as Cat sat down with her rhubarb pie with vanilla ice cream.
“He’s tired. His fever is lower, but he’s really underweight, and pneumonia can fell the strongest of men.”
“I had pneumonia once as a kid,” Griff said. “Miserable stuff. Took me almost a month to recover fully from it.”
“It’s nothing to mess with,” Gus agreed, grim. She looked over at Cat. “How’s Talon really doing?”
“I think he’s on an emotional roller coaster. He talked to Sandy and he’s upset,” Cat said.
“Anyone would be,” Val offered, giving Cat a gentle look. “How are you doing, Cat? You’re on the front lines with Talon. He’s got PTSD.”
“He sure does,” she admitted, enjoying the tart, sweet rhubarb pie. “I accidentally walked in and woke him up earlier. He sat up in the bed, his fists cocked, and the look in his eyes scared the hell out of me.”
Gus shook her head.
Val reached over and touched Gus’s arm. “Talon just left the hospital. He’d been wounded. I’m sure he’s reliving all the hell he went through.” She looked pointedly at Cat. “And you have to be careful with him. Those black ops guys, when they’re wounded, they pose a threat to the nurses and doctors. They’re taught how to kill with their hands and if you get too close to them accidentally, they can take you out. If you have to wake him, just stay by the door and call his name. That way, you’re not within arm’s reach.”
“That’s what he told me afterward,” Cat admitted. “Val, you’ve never talked much about your Air Force service or being an intelligence officer. How do you know so much about what Talon did?”
“Because from time to time, as an intelligence officer, I went out with black ops groups into the field. It was dangerous, clandestine work.”
Griff studied his wife. “And I’m glad you’re no longer doing it.”
“Makes two of us,” Val assured him. “I’m glad I came home.”
“Makes three of us,” Gus said. “The Bar H is coming back to life under your and Griff’s guidance.” She grinned and rubbed her hands together. “And now, with Talon agreeing to work for us full-time, that’s going to help us with the plans we’ve got on the back burner for the ranch.”
Cat smiled, always enjoying Gus and her fiery personality. “Don’t expect him to start doing much of anything for about two weeks.”
“Don’t worry,” Griff assured her, picking up his coffee mug. “May is always testy and we get more snow than spring sunshine. I’ll go easy on him.”
“Good,” Cat murmured, “because he’s really underweight, Griff. He’s lost forty or fifty pounds from what I can tell.”
“Why so much?” Gus demanded, scowling.
“Maybe six months in the hospital did it,” she suggested. “He doesn’t talk much about himself and he didn’t like my questions when I asked him.”
Val nodded. “Just give Talon time. Don’t press him too much, okay? Chances are him getting wounded has something to do with it. He’s probably going through a lot of emotional trauma he can’t share with anyone.”
“That must be tough,” Gus muttered, “not being able to talk about it to anyone.”
Val put her empty pie plate aside and slid her fingers around the coffee mug. “It’s being caught between a rock and a hard place, Gus.”
Griff sat back, watching his wife with concern. “And that’s why after we got married, on some nights, you’d wake up screaming.”
Val sighed. “Yes. I still get them, but not as much as before.” She reached over and touched his cheek. “Because I have you, I feel safe now.”
Cat tilted her head. “So, you have PTSD, too.” It shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did, because Val seemed so calm and collected.
“Yes. I’m sure not one-tenth as bad as Talon has it. He was out on the front lines against the enemy all the time. My work was off and on for a couple of years over in Iraq. Still, when your life is on the line, it affects you.” Her voice lowered and she held Cat’s gaze. “Talon has probably seen terrible things, Cat. He’s jumpy and he’s been finely trained until his reactions are all based on muscle memory. He doesn’t think about his defensive moves—they are a part of him. That’s why you can’t be near him when he suddenly jolts awake for whatever reason.”
Griff nodded. “I remember the first time you sat up screaming in bed shortly after we got married. You scared the living hell out of me. I thought you were hurt.”
Val smiled sadly. “Yes, I remember that night. That dream.”
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