Buried Memories. Carol J. Post

her decor.

      “Thanks. I had Meagan Kingston, a local artist, do it for me. It was my birthday present to myself.”

      “Happy belated birthday. And what about the stained glass wall hangings?”

      “Those are mine.”

      “I thought so. I saw your supplies when I was checking the window locks.”

      “That’s my hobby. Or maybe it’s more than that, since I sell them. I’ve got them downtown at the Cedar Keyhole Artist Co-op and Darci’s Collectibles and Gifts.”

      She led him into the kitchen. “The prior owners stripped and refinished the cabinets and replaced the appliances. I had the granite countertops put in. But I’ve got to get rid of that light fixture.”

      “Yeah, it looks sort of industrial. Do you have something picked out?”

      “Not yet.” She walked from the room and headed down the hall. “I plan to make one trip and do it all at once.” She stopped at the open door to the bathroom. “Pedestal sinks look great, but they’re not very practical. I’d like to replace it with a vanity and a cultured marble top. Are you up to it?”

      “Sure.” He was more than up to it. The broken arm had mended, and the burns were as good as they were going to get. All that was left of the smoke inhalation was some shortness of breath if he overexerted. Most of the damage to his body had healed. The effects on his mind, not so much. Splints and bandages couldn’t blot out the images.

      Or justify his returning home when his men hadn’t.

      He shook off the thoughts and followed her into the bedroom across the hall.

      “This is technically the guest room, but it’s where I sleep. So I’d like to get some more space in the closet.”

      “Closet organizers?”

      “Yep.” She opened the louvered doors. “On this side, I’d like the top shelf raised to make room for double rods. I’ll keep a single rod on this side. In the center, I’d like a small set of drawers with a shoe cubby above. Twenty or thirty slots, if possible.”

      He eyed her with raised brows. “You got enough shoes?”

      “You don’t know the half of it.” She grinned up at him.

      Warmth filled his chest, and he grew serious. “It’s good to see you again, Nicki.”

      “Yeah, same here. I’ve missed you.”

      He held her gaze for several moments. The years melted away, and they were once again connected by that invisible bond that tied his heart to hers. Distance hadn’t severed it and neither had time. Did she feel it?

      She turned, and he followed her into the hall. When she reached the large room at the end, she made a wide sweep of her arm. “As you can see, this is my work area.”

      He walked to a table where a partially completed stained glass scene lay. Peaks and valleys rose and fell, outlined in what looked like copper. Some kind of flowering trees occupied the foreground.

      “The room has a his and a hers closet.” Her words drew his attention, and she swung open one of the doors. “I’ll leave the smaller one as it is, with the rods and all, because if I ever have company, this is where they’ll sleep.” She motioned toward the daybed against the far wall, then turned back to the closet.

      “I want to have several shelves installed on all three sides here. Right now, I’m storing a lot of stuff in bins, and it’ll make my life a lot easier to have everything more accessible.”

      “Let me know what you want, and I’ll build it.”

      “Awesome.” She pulled a pushpin from the corner of the bulletin board and handed him a sheet of paper. “Here’s my wish list. Do you think you’re up to it?”

      “And then some.” The work she’d laid out would keep him occupied for quite a few evenings. And it would give him somewhere pleasant to focus his mind, far away from the horrors of war.

      “Are you out for good now?” She walked from the room and headed down the hall.

      He followed her into the living room, shaking his head at her uncanny way of reading his thoughts. “I’m out for good.”

      “They can’t call you back?”

      “Nope.” They’d retired him. And he was still trying to find his purpose.

      She leaned back against the entertainment center. “I thought your first months or years out, they can always recall you.”

      “Not always.”

      His clipped answers weren’t what she was looking for, and he knew it. But he didn’t want to talk about it.

      The progression from enlisted to retired didn’t happen overnight. Those things never did. They reassigned him to a warrior transition unit for a year. The cast eventually came off his arm, but the skin graft procedures seemed to go on and on. Finally the doctors decided he was as good as he was going to get, and the medical board made their determination. He could no longer do the job. And that was that.

      He shifted his gaze to the window overlooking her front yard. Drapes in earth tone patterns hung on each side, connected by a matching valance. Lacy sheers occupied the space between, partially obscuring whatever lay in the lengthening afternoon shadows. Another task he would add to his to-do list—installing some blinds behind the sheers. The bedrooms had them, but the living, dining and kitchen areas didn’t.

      “How should I go about getting the materials you need?”

      Her words pulled his attention from the window, but movement in his peripheral vision snapped it back. For a brief moment, a vague shape hovered at the left portion of the sheers, then disappeared. He tensed and raised a hand. What had he seen?

      “Stay here.”

      He made a dash for the door, jerked it open and pulled it shut behind him. As he rounded the corner of the house, a figure melted into the woods lining the back of Nicki’s property. Tyler pounded through the grass and ran into the tree line a few moments later. Seeing no one, he stopped to listen.

      A rain-scented gust whipped the trees around, the steady shhh drowning out the rustle of the intruder’s movements. He turned slowly, all senses on alert. Some distance to his right, the snap of twigs underlay the steadier sounds of nature. He moved in that direction, his own footsteps little more than a whisper. His pulse picked up as he closed in on his prey.

      Soon a voice drifted to him, soft and distinctly feminine. Then another, this one male. Both young. And a flash of clothing. Moments later, two figures came into view, and he shook his head. He’d followed a couple of teenagers on an early evening hike. And the intruder had gotten away.

      As he approached, the guy took her hand, pulled her to a stop and drew her into his arms. Fifteen years ago, that had been him and Nicki. The hanging-out, walking-through-the-woods part, anyway. The other had been only in his dreams.

      He cleared his throat, and they both started.

      “Did you see anyone pass by in the last few minutes?”

      They shook their heads. There was no sense continuing his search. Nicki’s Peeping Tom was long gone. And she was probably inside wondering if he’d lost his mind. He hadn’t taken the time to explain.

      When he got back, though, Nicki wasn’t in her house. She was standing at the edge of the sidewalk, face angled downward. She looked up as he approached.

      “You were supposed to stay inside.” His tone was stern.

      “I did, for a minute, anyway. What’s going on?”

      Judging from the furrows in her brow and the concern in her eyes, he could have asked her the same thing. He cast a glance down. A wicked-looking knife lay in the flower bed, partially obscured by the daylilies planted there.