Masters at Arms (Rescue Me Saga, #0.5)(10)

Adam looked down at Daddy’s hand for a few seconds.

Go on. Shake it.

When Adam finally reached out, she knew he’d be staying. She let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Adam Montague. Nice to meet you, sir.”

“He’s a master sergeant, Daddy. In the Marines!”

She wasn’t sure what rank that was, but it sure sounded important. When Adam looked at her like he didn’t need her help, she just smiled. She didn’t have to say goodbye to Adam yet.

*

Adam let go of Paxton’s hand. The man had a firm grip and an honest face. Karla’s parents seemed like good people. What the hell was she thinking, running away from a nice safe home like this? If she were his daughter, he’d tan her hide.

Her dad looked down at Adam’s mouth. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing.” Adam licked at his wound. He tasted the iron on his tongue.

“His shoulder’s injured, too, Mom.”

Karla’s mom let her go and came at him like a mother hen. “I’m sorry. Let’s get you in out of this cold. Where’s your coat?”

Ahem.

Adam turned to see the taxi driver. Shit. He’d forgotten about him. He reached for his wallet, but Karla’s dad put a hand on his arm. “Go with the girls. I’ll take care of this. You’ve paid enough already.” The man pulled several bills from his wallet.

Outmaneuvered, Adam suddenly felt too tired to argue. Opening the back door to the taxi, he reached inside to pull out his seabag, just as Karla leaned in the other side to get her things. She looked across the back seat at him and smiled.

Damn. He could see how she wrapped her parents around her little finger. Hell, he had to admit her smile worked on him, as well. He probably wouldn’t have been able to tan her hide, either, even when she did deserve it. Her enthusiasm and innocence were sweet. He grinned back at her.

Before he had a moment to think, Karla and her mother flanked him and ushered him up the sidewalk. He looked up the steep stairs to the porch, noticing the pumpkin. Joni would have decorated their porch the same way. Fuck. He hadn’t thought about his wife much since he’d gotten caught up in Karla’s troubles.

God, Joni, I’m so sorry.

Guilt twisted his gut. In an instant, a deluge of two months of painful memories brought his mood back down to where it ought to be. What the f*ck was he doing bringing his foul mood into this family’s home on Thanksgiving Day? Just what the hell did he have to be thankful for? He turned around to stop the taxi, just as it pulled away from the curb.

What a clusterf*ck.

With reluctance, he turned and began climbing the stairs to the porch, feeling each of the dozen steps in his shaky legs.

Paxton caught up with them and opened the door. To his wife, he said, “I’ll make some calls to Karla’s friends’ parents and let them know she’s home safe.”

Inside, the house was warm. Smelled like cinnamon. Karla’s mother led him to the kitchen, where she sat him down on a chair at the table for six. Several pies were lined up on the counter.

“Off with the shirt.”

Adam hoped his expression conveyed to her that no f*cking way was he removing his shirt. “I’m fine, ma’am.”

She just laughed. “Don’t go there with me. I’m a nurse. I’ve seen more naked bodies than you can shake a fist at. Off.” Her fingers motioned for him to follow her order. “I am going to take a look at that shoulder, one way or another.” When he still refused to move, she added, “Now!” She’d have made a great drill sergeant.

Adam looked over at Karla, who seemed to be waiting for a show to begin, her eyes wide open, chin propped on her palm at the island in the middle of the room. No f*cking way was he going to let her see his back. He did a half turn in the chair.

Mrs. Paxton seemed to notice his discomfort. “Karla, run up to the bathroom and get me the new first-aid kit. There are some things missing from this one.”

He saw the disappointment in the girl’s eyes, but she did as she was told. She seemed like a good kid. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. God, the muscles in both shoulders ached, not just the bruised one. He was getting soft in his old age.

When Karla’s mother moved around to check the damage from the back, he cringed when he heard her gasp. “You’ve seen your share, haven’t you?”

“Mostly superficial, ma’am. I survived.” Knowing she had a son in harm’s way, he didn’t add that two of his men hadn’t made it out of that ambush alive. She traced a finger over the spot where he had his tattoo, but he let her draw her own conclusions. He wouldn’t talk about it.

Adam recalled the ambush outside Kandahar that had taken out half his recon unit earlier this year as they’d tried to establish a foothold in the area. Two men dead, seven injured. Fucked-up mission. His shrapnel scars were reminders of his failure—his inability to bring all his men home. He prayed he’d never have a repeat of that day during his remaining time in the Corps.

Thankfully, she didn’t ask. “I appreciate this, ma’am, but it’s just a little bruise.”

“Please, call me Jenny. And that bruise is going to be more than little. What did you run into?”

“Brass knuckles. Didn’t duck fast enough. Getting old.”