Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Jude
“See? That didn’t take long at all,” I said to Carson as we finished up at the barn.
This time of year, with the summer temperatures, the horses were stalled during the day and turned into the paddock in the evenings to minimize heat exposure.
Evening mucking could be more laborious as a result, but we’d made fast work of the task, coordinating our efforts as easy as if we’d been ranch hands together for decades.
“Thanks for helping.” Carson put away the remaining feed and neatly stacked his work gloves in the tack room before notating on the chart which horses had been fed and watered and when.
“No problem. My job is usually more about handling emergencies, so it’s nice to get to do some basic animal care once in a while.
” I liked being a vet, but I did miss my carefree FFA and 4-H club days in high school, where keeping up with our animals was my hardest task.
I led the way out of the barn to where I’d parked. “My truck’s this way.”
“That’s a classic.” Carson whistled low as he took in Sarge, my older, faded green Ford work truck.
“Not quite. Luna—our other vet—keeps on me to get a replacement, but Sarge here gets me where I need to go. Usually.”
“Usually.” Carson snorted. His gray T-shirt made his hazel eyes appear greener as they sparkled with amusement. “Should’ve gone Chevy.”
He had the tone of someone with a decided opinion in the eternal Ford-versus-Chevy truck debate.
“My dad drove a Ford, and his dad before him. We’re a loyal bunch.” I chuckled. I likely would have bought Earnest’s truck off his folks regardless of make, but the fact that it was a heavy-duty Ford had made the decision a no-brainer.
“I remember…your dad.” Carson measured each word solemnly. “Condolences.”
I had vague memories of his dad too. A sheriff who had been killed in the line of duty. Our gazes met in the way that only those who had lost a parent could understand.
“Thanks. Been a number of years.” I waved a hand as if eight years was the magic number for the ache to subside.
It wasn’t. I didn’t want to ask what Carson might have heard regarding the loss of either of my parents.
I wasn’t in the mood to dig deeply into ancient hurts that had yet to scab over, so I forced an easy laugh.
“Enough time for all his old clients to start trusting me.”
“That’s good.” Carson’s expression stayed somber as he climbed into the passenger seat of the truck. “He’d be proud.”
“I hope so.” I fiddled with my keys as my mouth kept right on rambling.
“I like what I do and what Luna and I have built, so that’s something.
He was proud when I joined the army to get funding for college, same as him.
And proud when I graduated from his alma mater for veterinary school.
He wanted me to come back home then, but I did a post-doc with the equine sciences program. ”
I couldn’t say why Carson had earned my honesty, but he certainly was easy to talk to, something I’d noticed from my first visit earlier in the week. He had a way of taking everything I said seriously, considering each sentence carefully, an active listening most folks never bothered with.
“Post-doc is impressive.” Carson was someone who respected rank, and indeed, it had been a plum position to land. I’d loved the work, but even years later, the bitter tang of regret resurfaced.
“Eh. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that.” I looked out over the horizon as I drove away from the ranch.
Late July in Colorado meant the sun remained bright overhead, although we were getting on toward evening.
Summer had a way of fooling a body into thinking winter would never come.
I knew all too well the perils of thinking I had all the time in the world.
I didn’t. “Wish I’d come back sooner, but all I can do is try to do a good job now. ”
“You do good work.” Carson’s tone was factual. He wasn’t the sort to give idle praise. As I turned onto the main rural highway that would take us into Durango, Carson gave a little chuckle. “If wishes were fishes…”
“We’d all be fried.” I joined him in finishing the saying, which was a favorite of his aunt’s.
She ran a diner in Lovelorn, so I’d been on the receiving end of her advice more than a few times.
“Your Aunt Georgia’s always good for some wisdom.
And yeah, I can’t wallow in regrets. Keep marching forward. ”
“Embrace the suck.” Carson’s voice took on the hardness of every drill sergeant I’d met. More than a suggestion, the army-based saying was a call to welcome every task from scrubbing toilets to painting miles of hallways to completing endless inventory.
“Ah. You were one of those sergeants.” I laughed.
Unlike me, Carson had likely found fulfillment in his military service.
From the way his relatives bragged about how he’d risen up the ranks, going from a transport operator to a certified Master Driver to Sergeant First Class in charge of entire transport and cargo missions, he’d been damn good at embracing the suck himself.
“I would guess there’s plenty of menial maintenance jobs in the transportation corps to go around as well. ”
“No job too small.” Carson chuckled as he continued his spot-on cranky drill sergeant impression.
“Trust me, I did my share of small jobs. I was infantry and only served six active-duty years and two reserve years, so I never advanced into NCO status like you. Did you miss driving in the field as you moved up the ranks? “
“Miss driving now.” His mouth twisted as he looked out the passenger window.
“I bet.” Crap. I hadn’t meant to wander into painful territory.
I flipped on the radio to spare Carson more small talk. My truck was too old for smart anything, so most of the time I made do with the limited assortment of local stations. I landed on a country station playing an older ballad, and Carson made an approving sound.
“Takes me back.” He stretched back in the seat, and I let a comfortable silence settle over us on the remainder of the drive to the community center where the veterans’ support group met.
“We’re here,” I said as I turned into the parking lot. “Do you want me to introduce you around, or do you prefer to hang back?”
I had a feeling which Carson would choose, but I wanted to leave it up to him.
“Hang back.” He gave a self-conscious laugh. “Thanks.”
“No problem. We’ll grab some seats near the door.” I would have happily introduced Carson to all the regulars, but I was also happy to keep to my usual routine of propping up a wall. “I don’t usually share much anyway.”
“I get that.” Again, our eyes met in an understanding that some things were easier to talk about than others. I could talk for hours about horses and random tidbits, but ask me to talk about difficult subjects and my words dried up.
“Jude! Good to see you again.” As usual, Simone had positioned herself near the doorway to the meeting room.
She had long black hair, angular features, and the biggest smile in three counties.
Her welcoming gaze moved onto Carson, a flicker of recognition in her eyes.
“And you must be the brother of Colt Jennings. You look alike.”
Simone’s day job was as a community liaison officer with a nearby town’s police department, so it wasn’t surprising that she knew Colt. The Jennings genes were rather strong, with all the brothers having similar coloring and rugged jaw lines.
“Except shorter.” Carson was good at the deadpan jokes. He offered Simone a handshake. “I’m Carson.”
“We’re gonna stake out some chairs off to the side,” I told Simone before she could move into hostess mode and start making introductions.
“Excellent idea.” Simone was highly skilled at picking up on subtext, so she didn’t press for further small talk with Carson. “Glad to have you here.”
Despite the later hour, a coffee pot was set up on a counter toward the back of the multipurpose room, which hosted everything from swing dance lessons to kids’ clubs and meetings like this one.
Simone liked to arrange the metal folding chairs in a circle, but she also always set some up near the door and along the sides of the room for those who didn’t feel comfortable circled up.
I felt less pressure to share when sitting near the door, so I found a couple of chairs for Carson and me.
A number of the regulars were already inside the room, talking in clumps near the coffee pot or sitting in the chairs.
I nodded in acknowledgment to those I recognized as everyone found seats for the meeting to start.
Simone liked to begin with announcements and any new community resources that might be of interest to the veteran community.
We were headed into back-to-school time in August, so a number of the resources she mentioned were focused on school-supply help, affordable-housing developments, and support for parents.
None of these were likely to ever apply to me, but I nodded along just the same.
“Who would like to share?” Simone held up a whiteboard with ADAPTATION written in big, colorful letters.
The bulk of the meeting was always individual sharing, but Simone used various themes to help guide the conversation.
“Our word for the month is adaptation, but feel free to share any successes or concerns as you’d like. ”
“I finally got my new wheels. Took the VA long enough.” Alan, a guy around my age with shaggy brown hair who always sat near Simone, was first to share.
He did a wheelie in his new racing-style wheelchair, which earned some applause.
“Now we’re trying to scare up the funds for an accessible vehicle. Bring on the hand-control lessons!”
“That’s so good, Alan.” Simone’s tone was warm and encouraging. “I hope you manage to get something that works for your family. Anyone else with good news?”
A few others spoke up about things that were helping them or daily victories before the discussion returned to Simone’s theme. She read a short poem written by a fellow veteran before asking for thoughts.
“I hate the word adapt.” Bert, a skinny young guy in his twenties, always had an irritable tone for everything other than his service dog Roxie, who lay at his feet. “Like, why should I have to be the one to adapt?”
Bert’s rhetorical question drew some nods and murmurs of agreement. Next to me, Carson tensed. He sat forward in his chair, hands resting on his knees, more of that intent listening he was so good at.
“And there are some things you just can’t get used to, no matter what you try,” Bert continued, voice harsh enough that Roxie nudged his clenched fist. “I really hoped Roxie here would help with the nightmares, but no luck so far.”
Bert’s anger gave others an opportunity to chime in with similar frustrations.
“I hate that everyone else in my life has to adapt as well.” Valerie, a navy veteran, had talked at other meetings about her ongoing struggles with PTSD and social anxiety.
“Sucks for them. I can’t go to my kids’ softball games.
Can’t handle festivals or concerts. I’m missing out on so much, and so are the kids. ”
“You’re a good mom.” Ron, an older Marine Corps vet in his late sixties, was quick to offer reassurance.
“Those kids need you. And I like Simone’s theme.
” Although grizzled in appearance with a raspy voice, Ron could be counted on to bring balance to the conversation.
“I didn’t use to like learning new things.
Then I read a study that learning keeps us young.
Keeps the brain healthy, so now I seek out things to learn. I’m taking piano lessons this fall.”
I glanced over at Carson. A deep frown creased his face as if he were thinking extra hard. He’d had to relearn so many skills. Ron meant well, but Carson wasn’t exactly the target audience for his advice. I shot Carson a reassuring look as Simone gave Ron a little clap.
“That’s amazing. Well done.” She smiled broadly as she gestured around the room.
“Did anyone else want to share?” Her gaze lingered on me, but I gave a subtle head shake.
“No? All right. Let’s close with a few reminders about resources.
” After she passed around a flyer with various hotline numbers and organizations that provided assistance, she rubbed her hands together.
“Next month, the theme is self-care, one of my favorites. Hope to see you all then.”
Carson was one of the first to his feet.
I understood his eagerness to flee all too well.
I came to these things out of a desire to hold space for my fellow veterans, but there were plenty of times when that duty felt extra weighty.
However, before we could leave, Ron came over with a hearty handshake for me.
“Jude. Our veterinarian veteran.” Ron had made that joke only about a hundred times, but I gave a good-natured laugh nonetheless. Ron’s gaze flitted over to Carson. “Good to see a new face with you. Keep coming back, you hear?”
“Will do.” I nodded at the frequent refrain among longtime meeting regulars before stepping closer to the door. Carson was right behind me. “We better head out. You take care.”
“Well. You survived,” I said to Carson when we were back at my truck. “Not too terrible, right?”
“Not bad.” Carson shrugged. His expression was closed off and didn’t invite further discussion of the meeting.
“Ready for burgers?” Stomach rumbling, I started the truck. “I’m taking you to my favorite spot. It’s a newer brewery. Trendy. But the food is amazing. I don’t let myself have fries very often, but theirs are worth the indulgence.”
“I like fries.” Carson smiled at me, an easy grin that made my stomach give a little flip.
Damn it. I’d been friendly with his brother for years and had never once felt even a flutter of attraction, but one smile from Carson had my insides quivering like a teen on a first date. Which this was most assuredly not.