One Day in Apple Grove(72)

When she cried out his name and went limp in his arms, he dug deep and found the strength to bring it home. Whispering words of love to the woman who held his heart, he urged her to come with him with each thrust, until she lifted up to meet him again and again.

With one final surge, he lifted her up and let go of his tight control. He emptied himself, wishing he could feel her velvet-soft walls pulsing around him, instead of the latex barrier that protected her.

Not yet, he thought, but soon.

Their heartbeats slowed as he rolled so she was on top, and he was still inside of her. Closing his eyes, he let sleep claim him.

***

The rumble of thunder sounded in the distance; snuggling closer to Jack, she ignored the coming storm and drifted back to sleep.

The crack of thunder directly overhead shook her from sleep. But it was the heavy weight pressing down on her that had her gasping for breath.

“Incoming,” Jack’s voice shouted as he pressed his body over hers, covering her, protecting her.

“Can’t breathe,” she protested, punching him in the shoulder to get him to ease up. Lightning flashed and another crack struck right outside the window. Jack’s weight was making her light-headed. She needed air.

Shifting, she kneed him hard. The weight lifted and she drew in a breath.

“What the hell?” he gasped, cupping himself.

“You were having a nightmare.”

The way he fell quiet, she knew he understood what had happened. “I’m sorry.”

“You need to talk to me about it.”

“No,” he said, “I don’t.” He got out of bed and pulled on his jeans.

“But—”

She may as well have been talking to the wind because Jack never stopped; he kept right on walking.

“Damn you!” she ground out. “You’re going to tell me,” she vowed. “Even if you hate me for it,” she whispered. “I’m going to help you face whatever demons you have locked inside of you.”





Chapter 14




Even though she waited for him, Jack never came back to bed. At four o’clock, she dragged herself to the bathroom, took a shower, and got dressed.

He was sitting on the deck, wrapped in a blanket, fast asleep when she walked outside. “Do you think staying away from me will protect me?” But he didn’t rouse from sleep to answer her question.

Since he didn’t feel he had to tell her what he was doing or where he was going, she didn’t either. Keys in hand, she walked to her truck, got in, and drove home. No one was up yet when she let herself into the house, so she made coffee and sat down with her dad’s laptop.

Getting on to the Internet, she started to search out different types of trauma until she found what she was looking for—PTSD, post traumatic stress disorder. Reading the symptoms again, she bookmarked the page. Now that she had a better understanding of what was happening to Jack, she needed to find a way to help him.

She was on her second cup of coffee when her father walked in. He took one look at her and summed up the situation. “You have about five minutes and then you are going to start talking,” he told her. “I’ll have downed my first cup of caffeine and will be able to help you get to the heart of whatever is bothering you.”

She didn’t bother to argue. She needed help and could trust her father not to talk about Jack’s problem until Jack was ready to. With a nod, she walked over to the fridge, pulled out the makings for breakfast, and set aside her worries while she fried up sausage patties and eggs—scrambled, just the way her dad liked them.

“Smells good,” he said, putting the toast down a second time. When it popped up, he slathered both pieces with butter and carried them over to the table. “Is this about Jack losing Jamie or just Jack?”

“A little of both, I think,” she said.

“He really took to that little guy, but it’s understandable. Jamie’s quite a dog.”

She let the tears she’d held back fall freely. Her dad gave her time to cry it out and then handed her a wad of paper towels to blow her nose with.

When she did, he asked, “So, now what else is going on?”

“I think Jack’s suffering from PTSD.”

Her father sat back and crossed his arms in what Cait recognized as his thinking pose. “You sure?”

“I double-checked the symptoms online.”

“The Internet isn’t infallible.”

“I know, Pop,” she said, “but it’s only happened during a thunderstorm. I read where it could sound like an explosion and trigger a reaction.”

He nodded. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“I’ve tried, but he just shuts me out. I need to help him face whatever he has locked inside him.”