Truman was relieved to be out of the woods. I’ll never enjoy camping again.
After a painful ride on the quad that had continuously jolted Truman’s broken arm, Mercy took him straight to the hospital. Ollie refused to let Truman out of his sight and tagged along, which meant Shep was there too. The ER staff banished the dog and Ollie outside while Mercy and Truman spent the next three hours in the emergency room. His parents and sister showed up, and more hugs and tears were exchanged. After an hour he sent his family back to their hotel with promises to see them the next day.
Mercy had sucked in a deep breath at the sight of the colorful bruises on his back and ribs, but there was nothing to be done but allow them to heal. He pissed in a cup and was told his kidneys were doing their job. His head was scanned and his arm was x-rayed. The head looked good, but the arm was broken, as expected. “You’re lucky,” the busy ER doctor said. “We don’t cast this sort of break. Usually a splint is all we do, and it looks like you had a pretty good makeshift one. Keep the arm still and elevate it when you can.”
He went home and showered for thirty minutes, letting the horror of the past week go down the drain. Then he ordered Ollie to shower and gave him a spare pair of pajamas. When the teen was sacked out in his guest room with Shep on the bed beside him, Truman finally allowed himself to go to bed.
Mercy snuggled beside him, and they whispered in the dark and touched each other’s skin, hair, and face. He couldn’t stop touching her to make certain he wasn’t dreaming, and she seemed to feel the same. She asked a lot of questions, and he told her the bare minimum. Talking about it brought back too many memories. He pushed aside the flashbacks of extreme thirst and fear of losing circulation in his arm.
“What was it like for you?” he asked her.
“I had a lot of bad days,” she admitted. “My emotions were all over the place. The longer you were gone, the deeper I sank. The not knowing . . .” Her voice was raw and earnest. It was a poignant side she rarely exposed.
“This sounds stupid, but I think that you were in a worse mental and emotional situation than I was,” Truman told her. “Once Ollie got me out, I knew I’d be okay. You didn’t have that luxury.”
“You can’t say I had it worse. I saw the shed.”
“Yes, that was hell.” He shuddered. “My mind wants to block most of it. At least I wasn’t in there long.”
She told him she needed a shower, gave him a long kiss, and disappeared into his bathroom.
It’d been a very, very long day.
Truman would never take his home or mattress or gas heat for granted again. He closed his eyes and appreciated the soft pillow beneath his head, and the vibration of the cat purring on his chest.
Even under the cover of the sound of the shower, he heard Mercy’s sobs. Against every desire in his heart, he didn’t go to her. She needed to expel the pain and fear in private. She’d come to him when she was ready.
He’d nearly drifted to sleep on a glorious sea of painkillers when he felt her crawl back in bed, smelling of soap and fresh water.
“I love you,” she whispered as she formed her body to his.
“I love you more,” he answered and then remembered nothing else.
The next morning he woke to the scent of eggs, bacon, and pancakes. And coffee. The heavenly odors reached his starving caffeine receptors and lifted him out of bed. Ollie was coming out of the guest room as Truman stepped into the hall. The teen was following the smells too. Even Shep’s nose twitched. Ollie’s usually greasy hair was a wild but clean mop on his head. Truman ran a hand over his own facial hair. He hadn’t hated the sight of it in the mirror, but he had been shocked at the change in his facial shape caused by his weight loss. He shook his wrist, still not used to his single handcuff bracelet’s absence. Mercy had removed it at the hospital.
He and Ollie stepped into the kitchen, where the sight of Mercy cooking while wearing simple yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt brought tears to his eyes. He kissed her long and hard, not caring if Ollie was watching. The teen might as well get used to it. They all sat down at the table and feasted.
“I wasn’t sure what to feed Shep, so I cooked some ground beef from the freezer and mixed it with oatmeal,” Mercy told Ollie. “I figured that would be fine until we could buy dog food.” The way Shep was attacking his bowl of food on the floor indicated he was pleased.
The boy simply nodded, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth as fast as he could. Truman watched in amusement. Ollie’s eyes had grown huge at the sight of all the food, and he had served himself tiny helpings. Truman had finally loaded the teen’s plate for him. Mercy watched Ollie inhale the eggs, raised a brow, got up, and started scrambling more.
Simon wandered into the room and Shep lunged at the cat with a sharp bark. Simon promptly swatted the dog’s nose, and Shep howled and dashed to hide under Ollie’s chair, where he watched the cat with terrified eyes. Simon sat in the center of the room, ignored him, and groomed her back leg.
“That was settled quickly,” commented Truman.
Then the parade of visitors started. Kaylie was first, stopping in on her way to school. She’d insisted on FaceTiming Truman last night in the emergency room and had been horrified by his condition. This morning she launched herself at him, hugged him for a long twenty seconds, and then grabbed a tissue to dry her eyes. She eyed him critically over the tissue. “You look much better than last night.”
“Thank you.” He didn’t know what else to say.
“I don’t know about the beard, though.” She patted one of his hairy cheeks, her eyebrows coming together in concentration. “Maybe.”
She left for school after giving him a short lecture on never disappearing again.
As if I had control over it.
Mercy’s sister Pearl was next with a huge plate of pastries from the café and clothes for Ollie. Mercy had called her last night, asking if her son had some clothing that no longer fit. Her son was thin like Ollie but had sprouted several inches in the last year. Pearl had two paper grocery bags full of jeans, shoes, and shirts. “What doesn’t fit you can give away. None of it fits him anymore.”
Ollie vanished into his room with his bags of riches as Pearl hugged Truman and ran her fingers over his beard.
“What do you think, Mercy? Do you want him to keep it?”
Why does everyone need to touch it?
Mercy tipped her head, pretending to look thoughtful. “I haven’t decided yet. The mountain man look has never appealed to me. But it does make him look rugged, doesn’t it? Or maybe we could trim it down to a Tony Stark look.”
Both women eyed him with fresh speculation. “No Iron Man,” stated Truman.
Ollie emerged in jeans, a University of Oregon sweatshirt, and a baseball cap crammed on his mop. He looked pleased.
Truman’s men straggled in throughout the day. Ben was first and unashamedly wiped away tears after giving Truman a rib-crushing hug. His bruises shot pain directly into his brain, but Truman didn’t care. His senior officer’s affection was more important.
“Wondered if we’d ever see you again,” Ben muttered. His wife had sent food. Two casseroles and a cake.
Royce’s wife sent a complete turkey dinner to feed a dozen people, and Samuel handed him a six-pack of beer. “Thought this might taste good after that long stretch of alcohol-free days,” Samuel told Truman. The usually undemonstrative officer gave him a hug with manly back slapping and had a hard time looking him in the eye.
Truman was touched.
Lucas showed up and lifted Truman off the ground in a bear hug. “Damn, it’s good to see you.” Ollie watched the giant man in awe, his gaze never leaving Lucas’s burly arms. Lucas added cigars to all the food offerings, and Mercy wrinkled her nose at the gift.
Truman’s family appeared, and his mother and sister took it upon themselves to clean out his refrigerator and restock it. Their energetic presence overtook the house, and Ollie and Shep escaped to the backyard, where they discovered an old tennis ball. His father sat down in Truman’s favorite recliner in his study with some of the café’s pastries and then fell asleep the moment his wife and daughter left for the grocery store. Truman closed the door against his snores.
In the living room, Mercy had built a fire. She and Truman sat on the love seat across from it, getting as close to one another as possible. She had every part of her body touching him somewhere. I don’t want to get up. Ever. He didn’t use the fireplace often, but as the crackling flames warmed the room, he committed to doing it more. It reminded him a bit of the woodstove at Ollie’s place, which had been more efficient at warming a room than his fireplace.
Maybe I should put in a stove in case I lose power.
“I don’t think I have the survival skills I need,” he mused. “This experience was an eye-opener to me.”
“You were held captive and beaten. That’s a little different.”
“True. But being around Ollie helped me see what’s truly vital for survival. He’s got it down to a science.”
“He had to be lonely.”
Truman remembered how Ollie’s eyes had lit up during their card games. “Definitely.”
“What are your plans for him?”
“Get him in community college. Maybe a job so he can support himself and rent an apartment. I have no doubt he could easily attend school full-time and work full-time. He’s focused.”
“Is that what he wants?”
“I think so. Part of him would be content to live in the woods for the rest of his life, but I saw how the idea of college and an education appealed him.”
“You’re a good man, Truman Daly.” Mercy sighed and kissed him, leaning deeper into his arms.
“What have I missed over the last week or so?” His brain struggled to return to work. He’d grown used to letting it relax and focus solely on how to beat Ollie at cards. “Did you identify the adult skulls? Did they belong to the Hartlages?”
“Two of the skulls were the parents,” Mercy confirmed. “It feels odd that you don’t know this, but I found out the same day you vanished. There’s still one unidentified male skull. Dr. Peres sent in DNA samples to see if he’s Corrine Hartlage’s brother. We should hear back soon.”
“What about the other murdered family?” He searched his memory for the name. “The Jorgensens.”
“We’re stalled until something new comes out of the evidence’s lab tests. Right now we’ve exhausted everything.”
“That can’t be right,” said Truman. “That huge scene? Something left behind has to point to the killer.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.”
Something prodded him about the Hartlage case. “Wait a minute. You said one male skull wasn’t identified. Weren’t there two others? What about the Asian one?”
“Oh!” She sat up straight. “Dr. Peres doesn’t believe it’s a victim . . . well, not a victim from this century, anyway. Someone carved a tiny date and initials inside the skull. She suspects it’s a souvenir from the Vietnam War.”
“A souvenir?” Disgust created a sour taste in his mouth.
“Right? People collect that sort of thing. It was probably smuggled into the country somehow.”
“Then why was it under that road with the victims?”
“That’s a question I plan to ask when I catch who put it there.”
He had no doubts she’d succeed.
“Clint Moody is still missing,” she added. “We’d thought he was taken by the same people as you.” She described finding Truman’s burned-out Tahoe, her voice shaking as she detailed the damage. Then she told him about Clint’s sunken vehicle and her horror at the need to drag the pond. “His brother, Ryan, is going nuts, and I completely understand. Not knowing what happened to a loved one eats away at you,” she ended softly.
One-armed, Truman pulled her into him again, ribs and back be damned. She buried her face in his neck but then pulled away, rubbing her nose, an accusatory glint in her eye. “Your beard tickles.”
“I’ll shave it tomorrow.”
The doorbell rang, and she reluctantly pulled away to answer it. He was instantly cold, his body wanting her back.
“I don’t think you need any more food dropped off,” she muttered as she went toward the door.
It was Rose and Nick Walker. Truman watched Rose greet Mercy, her hand gently touching Mercy’s cheek. Rose’s pregnancy was highlighted by her formfitting top and the fullness of her face. As usual, Rose brought light and serenity to the room. Her smile and warmth were contagious, and Truman always felt peace in her presence. No wonder Nick was addicted. Truman shook hands with the lumberyard owner and then turned his attention to Rose.
Her resemblance to Mercy was strong, but the coloring was different. And Mercy exuded focus and intensity, not Rose’s softness.
That was fine with him.
“Oh, Truman.” Rose touched his arm and moved her hand to his face. She froze as her fingertips found unexpected facial hair. Then she grinned. “That’s a change.”
“It’s temporary,” he asserted. What is the fascination with the beard?
“We were thankful to hear you were okay,” Rose said with a wide smile.
Some of Truman’s anxiety immediately floated away. It was a skill of hers.
The four of them talked for a short while, and then Rose and Nick left.
“They’re crazy about each other,” Truman commented. “I see it in both of them.”
“I agree. Rose has had a few insecure moments, but she’s learning to trust him. We’ve talked about how she can communicate better with him.” Mercy grimaced. “Speaking of communication, do you know what ate away at me while you were gone?”
He knew instantly. “The fact that we argued.” It’d ripped up his insides too. “I overreacted about the cabin decisions. You should have the lead on that project.”
“You didn’t overreact. I need to be more aware of your feelings,” she said earnestly.
He kissed her to stop her from talking about it. It was such a small thing in the scope of what had happened.
“I know what’s truly important now,” he said against her mouth.
He felt her lips curve. “Me too.”