A Conard County Homecoming. Rachel Lee

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      She hesitated. “I didn’t come to stay. I just wanted to give you this pie. You don’t have to entertain me.”

      “Good.”

      Well, that was blunt, she thought as her initial irritation began to give way to an unexpected, inexplicable amusement. So he was a hard case. Well, if that’s how he wanted it, fine.

      “I’m Ashley Granger, by the way,” she said as they entered the kitchen. “You probably don’t remember me.”

      “No.”

      Ah, monosyllables. When he waved at the kitchen table and its ancient Formica, she placed the pie on it. There was only one chair, and she wondered if she should even sit. But then he pointed to it, so she pulled it out and sat.

      He wheeled himself closer to the table and picked up the beer that was sitting there. Then, as if suddenly remembering himself, he asked, “Want one?”

      “No, thank you. Anyway, I live next door and Carol mentioned that you were arriving tonight, so I made a pie. No big deal. And I promised I wasn’t here to visit. You must be tired after your trip.”

      She felt a poke on her denim-clad thigh and looked down. Nell was looking up at her with great interest. “Um...”

      “Does she frighten you?”

      “No,” Ashley said. “But I’m not allowed to pet her, and I think that’s what she wants.”

      “Sit, Nell,” he said. “It’s okay.” Then those dark, strangely unrevealing eyes settled on Ashley again. “Go ahead and pet her, but just briefly. She’s not supposed to get spoiled.”

      So Ashley forked her fingers into amazingly silky fur, and she could have sworn the dog grinned at her. All too soon Zane called her to heel and she went to lie beside his chair.

      “So Carol mentioned me,” he said after taking a sip from his longneck. “How much has she said?”

      “Has she been gossiping, you mean? She’s no gossip. She said she’d taken a job as your housekeeper. The only other thing she said was that you were arriving tonight. Otherwise, not a word.”

      He nodded slowly. “Thank you for the pie. But I may as well be honest. I came home because I need my space and my quiet.”

      “A hermitage.”

      “Pretty much.”

      She nodded but felt a twinge of disappointment. She’d like to get to know him, and she didn’t feel isolation was the best way to deal with his problems. Surely, he needed a community, people to spend time with, to give him a sense of belonging.

      But it was not her decision. Having lived her entire life here, except during college, she was used to being surrounded by good friends and people she knew. She couldn’t imagine wanting to be as alone as Zane wanted.

      She had promised she wasn’t here to visit, but it felt oddly wrong to just leave quickly. Maybe that was her own social upbringing, not the situation. Then he startled her, just as she was deciding to depart.

      “Maybe I do remember you,” he said quietly. “Your hair. It’s almost exactly the color of a new-minted penny. I don’t think I’ve seen that before.”

      “Strawberry blonde,” she said, with a little shrug of her shoulder.

      “No, it’s almost unique. That’s why I noticed it once. You were just a kid, but the hair was eye-catching.”

      “Well, thank you.” Surprised by the tack he had taken, and feeling just a smidge uncomfortable over the attention to her hair, she didn’t know what else to say.

      “What do you do?”

      “I teach fourth grade.”

      He nodded. “Do you like it?”

      “Most of the time. It has its moments, like anything else, I suppose.”

      He pushed his wheelchair closer, so that it fit under the table, and rested his folded arms on it. “I’m not really good company these days,” he said flatly. “I need you and everyone else to understand that. Right now I’ve got a bag full of stuff I need to work through, and sometimes I can flip out a little. Noise and crowding bother me. So I’m better just left alone, because I don’t want to be rude and I don’t want to scare anyone.”

      She blinked. Well, that was food for thought. “You want me to tell everyone to just stay away?”

      “As many as you can. Just call me antisocial, because that’s what I am.”

      What a change from the popular high school athlete. She couldn’t even imagine what he’d been through or the ways it must have affected him. All she knew was that he evoked a very deep sadness in her heart with those words. “The detritus of war,” she murmured before she realized she was speaking aloud.

      “Exactly. That’s me. And while I appreciate the pie, I really don’t want a stream of people at my door.”

      “Okay.” She frowned. “Except that I didn’t mean you were the detritus. That’s what you’re dealing with.”

      “How the hell would you know?”

      Her legs started to gather under her. This would be a good time to leave, she thought, but then she saw his hand gripping Nell’s ruff. Clinging. This man needed more than himself, and he didn’t even know it.

      But it was pointless to argue. She had no background she could use to claim that she understood what he faced. What did she know, after all, about being paraplegic, or suffering from PTSD, which was what she guessed he meant about frightening people. Only what she’d read, and that simply wasn’t enough.

      Did he really think he could handle this all by himself? Or did he want solitude for something darker? She certainly couldn’t imagine healing in a vacuum.

      “I have a boy in my class who’s quadriplegic,” she remarked, trying to ease the tension he’d brought into the room with his confession.

      “So?”

      “I think he’d love to have a dog like Nell. I bet she can do almost anything.”

      He looked almost sideswiped by the change in direction. Maybe he’d hoped she’d get mad and walk out. But something in Ashley had stiffened. This man could be as rude as he wanted, but she wasn’t just going to walk away and forget him. That seemed wrong even though he was asking for it.

      “Anyway, Mikey’s family can’t afford a service dog. We’ve got a K-9 officer in the county now who trains police dogs, and he’s doing a little work with service animals for people who can’t afford them. Maybe, if you can crawl out of your shell long enough, you could tell him what a dog for Mikey would need to be able to do.”

      She was a bit startled to hear the acid in her tone, because she hadn’t intended it. But there it was, clear as the words she had spoken. That did it, she thought. He’d never want to set eyes on her again. Who was she to imply criticism of a wounded vet?

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