Rescuing Baylee (Nightshade #3)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Baylee turned back and started weeding again, hoping he would get the hint. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be more familiar with him.

“Listen,” he said eventually, “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you before.”

Sighing, Baylee swiveled around on the ledge. Obviously, he wasn’t going to go away until she heard whatever he had to say.

The man had his arms crossed again, and she wondered if he stood that way a lot or if it was just when he was with her. Seemed like she frustrated him a little.

“You have no obligation to talk to me,” she murmured. “I understand not wanting to be social.”

Maybe he would get the gigantic hint she’d just dropped. The two of them had invaded her Zen time. But how Zen was it if the emotional support dog she didn’t know was reacting to her wild emotions?

“It’s not that I didn’t want to talk to you. It’s that I didn’t want to get pissed when I talked to you.”

Yep, that was it. Baylee stood and began gathering her tools, tossing them in the bucket she carried them in. “Well, we can’t have you getting pissed, then. I’ll get out of your way.”

Landon reached out and grabbed her elbow, and Baylee spun on him, the tools flying. Fists up, her body tensed in preparation for a fight. Immediately, he let go and held his palms up in a non-threatening manner. “Please, stop,” he said, voice low. There was a frown on his face, and he’d lowered his head slightly toward her, “and listen just a minute.”

Baylee went still, but she was still tense. And her heart was racing.

“I’m very sorry I grabbed your arm,” he said softly, his eyes showing his regret. “That’s exactly what I shouldn’t have done, I know. It was instinctive. I didn’t want you to storm off before I could say what I needed to.”

Baylee crossed her arms beneath her breasts, wishing she’d left when they first arrived. She’d shown him too much with that reaction. “So, get on with it.”

Emotion twisted his handsome face, and his eyes had gone dark.

“I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry for not being personable. But every time I look at you and see that scar on your beautiful face, I know someone did that to you. It’s not from a wreck. Those are healed knife cuts. I can tell the difference. And the anger that fires in me is more than I can articulate. I’m sorry if you felt like I was snubbing you or something. I really wasn’t. I knew I would say something inappropriate if I opened my mouth, though.”

Baylee stared at him for a long moment, shocked. She wondered if she could trust his words. Most of the time she went through her day not even thinking about the scars on her face, at least until she encountered people. The scars were shocking to people—she knew that— but she’d never had anyone say something like that.

Maybe he wasn’t the dick she suspected he was. “Fine. I appreciate the clarification.”

He straightened, his hands going into the pockets of his jeans. “I tend to get angry when women are abused. It’s why I became a cop. My dad used to whale on my mother daily. And if she wasn’t around, he would move on to us kids. I have a little brother and two sisters. It took us a long time to get out of that situation.”

“I’m sorry,” she said simply.

It was a story she’d seen a lot, and she supposed she understood the anger.

He shrugged, looking out over the grass. “Nothing for you to be sorry about. It wasn’t your issue.”

It was interesting to her that he was opening up to her on a personal level. Maybe she needed to extend an olive branch. Hell, she’d already decided she’d been bitchy to him and had planned to make him cookies. “We see a lot of abused kids come through pediatrics. There are more safeguards in place now than there used to be.”

He nodded lightly, hands still clenched in his pockets. “I am aware. And I use them every chance I get.”

She smiled slightly, appreciating that he felt that way, and advocated for the ones with no voices.

“How did you make it out?” she asked, curious, very aware that she was being a little invasive. But then, he’d offered the personal knowledge first.

He looked at her for a long moment, the setting sun glinting off the blue of his eyes, then he glanced away, as if he didn’t want her to see his eyes. “He hit my mother so hard one day that I heard her jaw break. Then he moved on to us kids. It only stopped because my older sister hit him in the back of his head with my baseball bat.”

A smile quirked her lips. “I think I would like your sister.”

A slow, answering grin spread his full lips. “Yeah, you probably would, actually. You both have that take-no-prisoners kind of mentality. Warrior women.”

Baylee glanced away. “Sometimes you have to take care of yourself.”

He bent down enough to catch her eye. “I’m not criticizing. I know as well as anyone a person has to do everything in their power to be safe.”

She nodded, running her hands down her pants. It was hard not to be defensive, but it sounded like he really did understand. She sank back down onto the side of the raised bed. “So, did your sister get in trouble?”

He settled beside her on the edge of the brick, a few inches of space between them. “Nope. The cops knew what went on in the house, and once he got out of the hospital, they put him in jail for a long time. We all had injuries, so it was easy to document. Mom had her jaw wired shut for three months. Once she healed, we moved and they divorced. He died in prison serving another DV charge about five years later.”

“Wow,” she breathed, glancing at him. “I’m glad you made it out okay.”

He jerked his shoulders in a shrug. “We had no other choice.”

“Is your mom still living?”

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned, planting his elbows on his knees. “She lives outside of Amarillo and watches my sister’s kids. We all get together every few months.”

Baylee smiled, appreciating that he had that kind of family. It made her a little homesick. Her family was a long way away, up in Ohio.

“Well,” she said slowly. “Just to clarify, this wasn’t exactly a domestic violence situation.” She waved lightly at her face. “I was attacked in Afghanistan by Taliban.”

Hunter glanced at her sharply. “Fuck,” he breathed. “But, you’re a nurse…”

“Yeah. I was on Nightshade.”

That shut him up. There had been enough interviews, documentaries, books, and even a couple of TV series done about the attack, and it was common knowledge how horrific it had been. Baylee had been approached several times with book deals and the like. Sadly, the survivor list from FOB Nightshade was significantly smaller that the killed in action, and it was easy enough to look up who had been there.

As the years went by, the interest waned a little, but then three years ago there had been a push to make the date a national holiday. All the sensation and hype had surged. And this year there had been even more attention because of the anniversary. She’d gotten multiple invitations for everything under the sun, because they wanted to ‘recognize’ the survivors.

They didn’t understand that Baylee would literally do anything to forget that day.

She jerked when a warm hand closed over her fist. Blinking, she looked at the man beside her. “Sorry, I kind of get lost in it sometimes.”

“I think I would too if I’d gone through that,” he said softly. “No worries. Seriously. I think I understand you a little better now.”

Baylee suddenly felt exposed, but she appreciated him taking her hand. It had brought her back. She didn’t know this man well, though, and it was a little awkward. With a squeeze, she let his hand go.

The sun had faded well below the horizon. “I should go in. I need a shower after working out here.”

Landon stood with her, and even with the space between them, something about him affected her. Maybe it was because she understood why he was a protector now. She looked at his broad shoulders and again felt the urge to burrow into his arms.

“All the hype about the anniversary must be hard for you,” he murmured softly.

Emotion tightened her throat at his understanding, and she had to glance away. “Yes,” she said simply.

“Gunnar is an emotional support dog trained to respond to PTSD. Cass got him a year ago, after she’d been shot. He must have sensed that you were struggling.”

She smiled sadly and took a deep breath before meeting his gaze. “Yes. Perhaps. Night, Landon.”

“Night, Baylee.”

Landon watched Baylee walk away, and he felt… unsettled. Intrigued. Angry. There was a whole gamut of emotions running through him about the woman, and he couldn’t untangle them.

Baylee had to be one of the strongest women he’d ever met. And he knew a lot of strong women. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and protect her from the world.

Nightshade. Fuck… that was a whole new level of fucked up. He’d seen the coverage on the event and 60 Minutes had recently done an in-depth investigation into what had gone on, so he thought he knew some of the details.

If Baylee had been there, she’d seen things no one should ever have to see. Were the knife cuts to her face from torture? They had to be.

One of his greatest regrets in life was not serving in the military. At the time he’d graduated high school, he’d been taking care of his family and working a part-time job to bring in money. He couldn’t even think about leaving his mother and siblings alone.

Veterans had saved their country more times than he even knew, and he appreciated the fuck out of those that had committed the time and grit to do it. A lot of his friends were vets, so he had some insight into the ways they thought.

As he remembered her scars, though, he knew some had given a lot more than others.

Baylee Mitchell held an appeal to him he didn’t want to acknowledge. Despite, or perhaps because of, the scars, she had a natural beauty to her that drew his gaze repeatedly. Strong and competent, she knew what to do in an emergent situation. When he’d talked to her supervisor, the woman had flat out told him that Baylee was indispensable in the pediatrics department. And here at his apartment, he’d heard over and over how great she was from the other residents.

No one person could be that perfect, could they?

His mind drifted back to Nightshade. The name alone sent shivers down his spine. The mere mention of it conjured up images of chaos and devastation. Even though the Army had published pictures and video of the aftermath, he couldn’t imagine what Baylee had endured there, what horrors she had witnessed. The thought made his stomach churn with a mixture of anger and sorrow. The videos had mostly been a blur because they hadn’t wanted to show all the bloodstains.

But amidst the somber thoughts, there was a flicker of something else—admiration. Despite everything she had been through, Baylee had emerged from the depths of hell with her spirit intact. She was a survivor, a warrior in her own right, and Landon couldn’t help but feel drawn to that strength.

As he pondered over his conflicting emotions, a voice interrupted his thoughts. It was his neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins, her gentle tone breaking through the silence of the courtyard.

“Landon, dear, are you alright?” she asked, concern evident in her voice.

Landon forced a small smile, masking the turmoil brewing within him. “I’m fine, Mrs. Jenkins. Just lost in thought.”

She nodded understandingly, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer before she continued on her way. Alone once more, Landon let out a heavy sigh, his mind still swirling with questions and uncertainties.

Baylee Mitchell was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve, a mystery he couldn’t resist unraveling. And as much as he tried to deny it, he knew deep down that she had already made an indelible mark on his life—one that he couldn’t ignore.