Ro was thankful for the numbness that settled over her. It was like her body and mind had gotten together and decided she didn’t need to process whatever the hell had just happened. It was certainly better than feeling like Graham had ripped several vital organs from her body and ground them beneath the heel of his combat boot. In front of her father, no less. That was a humiliation she’d rather not relive.
Her reeling mind said she probably wouldn’t have to worry about the possibility of a repeat while locked in whatever bunker her father had provisioned. After this morning, the lack of men in their party might merit a solid check in the ‘pro’ column if she was weighing her alternatives.
Her dad sat on one of the picnic table benches on the covered patio outside the mess hall. She cynically supposed she probably owed him a thank you for bringing Graham’s true colors to light sooner rather than later. Although, after last night, that thought rang false. The declarations of love and then making love ... It had been more than just sex. It had been … reverent. She’d felt worshipped when they’d taken her together. It had seemed like they’d finally figured out how to move forward as a unit. But now, in the light of day, it was like Graham would rather push her away than risk deepening their connection and eventually losing her. Ro stumbled. Was that his motive? Or did he really not care? The latter was hard to swallow, but Ro’s confidence in her ability to discern a person’s motives was still too tattered after the Evelyn-Charles incident. People made declarations of love all the time without meaning them, and apparently Graham was no different. Her dad stood, interrupting her musings.
“Now, sweetheart, before you get upset …” he started.
“I’m not upset with you,” she said, cutting him—and the conversation—off. “But why are you up and around already? Shouldn’t Beau have you chained to a cot in the clinic?”
“You know me, broke my leg and the next day I was harvesting the west field, using my crutches to help me steer. Life doesn’t stop just because it’d be more convenient for you.”
Ro smiled weakly as her father dished out his own brand of wisdom. For a paranoid country bumpkin, he was a pretty smart man. One who’d never waivered in his support of her, her sister, or their dreams. Graham and Zach had been dealt piles of shit when it came to their childhoods; she’d gotten so lucky, but hadn’t appreciated what she had. A rush of emotion pummeled the wall of numbness. She dropped onto the bench next to him and rested her head on his uninjured shoulder. If there were a ‘Worst Daughter of the Year’ award, it would go to Rowan Callahan.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry I made excuses and didn’t spend more time with you. I’m sorry I didn’t come home more. I’m sorry it took this to make me realize I was terrible daughter.”
He slid his arm around her and pulled her close. She breathed in the familiar spice of his bay rum aftershave; it was a scent she’d forever associate with him. “What’s this nonsense? A bad daughter? I don’t know why you’d think that, Ro. I’m so damn proud of you; there are days I think my chest might explode from preening like a peacock.”
“But I was never home, and I ...”
“You were chasing your dream. There’s no harm in that. No apologies necessary. You were living your life and going after your goals with the same single-minded focus that your mama applied to hunting me down and bagging me like a dog.”
Ro couldn’t help but smile. “Is that how it went? She chased you?”
“She sure did. Haven’t I ever told you that you get your drive and your guts from her? I was just a simple country boy, but your mama, before she was sick, was a sight to behold. There was nothing she couldn’t accomplish if she put her mind to it. Smartest woman I ever met.”
Ro couldn’t help but wonder how her mother would have tackled the situation she faced. “What would she have done in my shoes?”
“She would’ve found a way to have her cake and eat it too. And your mama liked her cake.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible. You won’t stay, and they won’t go. They’re mutually exclusive options.” Ro looked up at him. “Please explain to me again why you won’t stay. This place is perfect. They’ve got everything.”
He pulled away and turned to face her. “Well, sweetheart, that’s the problem. It’s too perfect, and that means there’s a giant red bull’s-eye painted on this place. It’s obvious these boys are former military. Which means they still know people in the military. Which means people in the military know them, know where they live, and probably know what kind of preps they’ve made. It all comes down to how loyal those people are and how long that loyalty will last when things start to get real tough out there and they’ve got orders to carry out.”
He had a point, and it was one Rowan couldn’t refute. And even if she could, once his mind was made up, there was little to no chance of changing it. Ro sighed, the impossible nature of the situation weighing her down until the welcome numbness returned.
He picked up the shotgun from the picnic table. “You want me to go back and shoot ‘em? Or maybe just one? It’s not like you really need ‘em both, right?”
Ro covered her face with both hands. “We are never talking about this again.”
Now, if only she could train her mind not to think about them again. She forced a fake smile and went into the mess hall for breakfast.