The Way Back Home (The Long Road Home #24)

Prologue

NOAH

Noah Ziegler took his time moving through the crowded Atlanta airport. He was in no particular hurry. Nor would he be upset if he missed his flight and had to sit around for hours.

Apathetic. Disaffected. Emotionally numb. Whatever the label, that was his default these days. Sure as hell beat the alternative.

He strode up to one of the status boards as it refreshed. Flight after flight was showing delays, including his.

“Shit,” a guy next to him grumbled. “What the hell is going on that everything is delayed?”

Like Noah knew. He was too inside his own head to worry about what was going on outside it. “Who knows? Weather maybe?”

“I guess. And I guess I’ll be cooling my heels in the USO for the next few hours.”

Hmm. Wandering the airport and dealing with screaming kids and irritated travelers, or chilling on a couch in the USO? Not a hard choice.

Remembering his manners, Noah stuck out his hand. “Sounds like a good plan. Noah Ziegler. Army.” Or at least he had been.

“Dean Sinclair. Navy. Hoping to make it to Albany, New York, sometime today.”

They turned in tandem and walked together in a confident, synchronized stride.

When they reached the USO, the volunteer on registration duty was busy with someone else.

Noah stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around while they waited.

Sinclair’s phone buzzed in the silence, but the guy made no move to check it. Didn’t even look at the device.

The volunteer—Blessing, by her name tag—finished and turned, greeting them with a warm apple-pie smile. Noah hung back, allowing her to deal with Sinclair first. The guy was in more of a hurry than he was.

“That’ll be Mom checking on you,” Blessing said knowingly, tipping her chin toward Sinclair just as his phone began to vibrate again.

Noah tuned them out, wondering how his own mother was doing. She’d seemed fine with him taking the job at Hopewell, but he knew she’d hoped he’d find a place closer to home.

While Sinclair filled out his info, the woman turned to Noah. Her beatific smile remained in place. “Your mother worries about you too,” she said.

“No question,” he agreed matter-of-factly.

Most mothers did, he supposed, though their methods for expressing that worry varied. Judging by the nonstop buzzing in Sinclair’s pocket, for example, his mom was an obsessive texter.

Blessing cocked her head slightly and continued, “But she understands. And it will all work out in the end. You’ll find your way back home. You’ll see.”

Noah withheld his snort. The smiling woman didn’t know what she was talking about. Probably thought she was being helpful.

Sinclair laid the pen on the paper and pushed it toward Noah, prompting Blessing to turn her attention back to his temporary companion. Undeterred by the lack of response, she chirped on happily about good seats and big leather chairs, perfect for responding to texts sent by worried mothers.

As if on cue, Sinclair’s phone vibrated again. Noah felt a brief pang of sympathy for the guy.

When he finished filling out his info, Blessing led them back to a quiet room, where three guys and a massive black German shepherd had already copped a squat. Introductions were made.

Noah tracked the intel with detached interest. Tyler Marconi, retired Army. Seth Hansen, Air Force. Code Drakos. If Blessing said what branch Drakos was from, Noah missed it. It wasn’t as if it mattered in the scheme of things.

The first few minutes after Blessing left were spent discussing her seemingly psychic abilities.

Maybe she had them; maybe she didn’t. Again, didn’t really matter, although it could prove useful.

If he’d had the gift of prescience back in Afghanistan, Kowalski wouldn’t have died, and Noah wouldn’t be taking a job in some godforsaken town in rural Kentucky.

He sank down into one of the unoccupied leather chairs and settled in for the duration. If nothing else, Blessing had been right about how comfortable it was.

Noah sat back and closed his eyes. He didn’t know much about the ranch where he’d be spending the next six months, only that it was smack in the middle of horse country.

That worked for him. He needed time to work things out before he went back to his family—assuming he went back at all.

Carrying his guilt was hard enough without having to look into the eyes of people who knew him too well to be fooled into thinking he was okay.

His twin, for one.

Time passed in an uneventful blur as, one by one, his companions left the USO to continue their journeys. Eventually, it was his turn.

“Have faith, Noah,” Blessing said to him quietly. “Your path lies ahead. Follow it, and it will show you the way back home.”

He studied her face. Saw the sincerity in her bright eyes. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure I do.”

Instead of being offended, she smiled back at him and said with absolute confidence, “That’s okay. You will.”

As Noah passed through the doors and back into the public area, he couldn’t help but shake his head. He wished he shared her faith, even if she was a few bricks shy of a load.

Several hours later, Noah stood just outside the baggage claim area of the Blue Grass Airport in Lexington, Kentucky, waiting for his ride. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Noah Ziegler. I’ve been expecting you.”

Noah turned to the woman who had spoken his name.

The first word that popped into his mind was motherly, followed by tough and kind.

He guessed her to be in her mid-sixties, with silvery-white streaks in her dark brown hair.

Deeply etched lines around her eyes and mouth suggested a woman who smiled often.

Her practical, comfortable clothes and sturdy, healthy frame told him she wasn’t the kind of person who sat behind a desk all day.

“You have your mother’s eyes,” the woman said with a warm smile, sticking out her hand. “I’m Mona Baker.”

He accepted her hand. “Mrs. Baker.”

“Mona,” she corrected. “We’re a small operation, and everyone’s on a first-name basis. Best you get used to it from the get-go.” She eyed his duffel. “Waiting on more luggage?”

“No.”

“Well, come on then. No sense in dillydallying.”

She led him out to a pickup truck. Old, but in good shape. Kind of like her. He threw his bag in the back and climbed in.

“You don’t say much, do you?” Mona said with a grin a little while later. “Your mom said you were a man of few words. That’s all right. I’ll talk enough for the both of us.”

“Tell me about the ranch,” he said.

He probably should have researched the place before signing on.

All he knew was, Mona and his mother had been friends since their college days, and Mona needed someone to cover the ranch while her usual doc was out of commission.

More importantly, the job provided the perfect excuse not to move back home and gave him the extra time he needed to try to get his shit together.

As the tires ate up the miles, Mona filled him in.

“Like I said, we’re a small outfit. Eight horses, two stablehands, me, and now you.

Most of our regulars are working their way back from some sort of debilitating or traumatic injury, but we do have a few with congenital physical and mental challenges.

Nothing an orthopedic specialist like you can’t handle,” she assured him.

She’d be surprised at what he could and couldn’t handle.

“What exactly is my role?” he asked.

“To review our programs and analyze care on a case-by-case basis. Fair warning: Doc Benner isn’t a big believer in documenting his methods, so it might be a bit of a challenge.”

Yeah, probably not for someone with his triage and battlefield experience. Then again, that was one of the draws—small client base, regular schedules, minimal chance of getting too involved or working thirty-six-hour shifts. Bonus: not a lot of life-or-death situations.

What he said was, “Not a problem.”

“Since you’ll be living on the property, you’ll be expected to provide on-site care as necessary.

We take every precaution, but we do have the occasional sprains and strains, muscle spasms, seizures, panic attacks, that sort of thing.

Having you around will provide peace of mind, both for us and those who trust us with their care and the care of their loved ones. ”

It sounded like a walk in the park compared to what he was used to, and he was ready for it.

When they arrived at the ranch, Mona continued past the big house and stables, along fenced-in paddocks, and stopped at a cabin at the edge of the woods.

“This is where you’ll be bunking,” Mona explained. “It’s nothing fancy, but it should have everything you need. If not, you know how to use the phone.”

She handed him a key. Noah was pleasantly surprised. He knew he’d be living on-site, but he’d assumed that meant a room at the main house or an apartment over the barn or something. Having a place to himself was ideal. He wouldn’t have to pretend twenty-four/seven.

“Go on and get yourself settled. There’s a casserole in the fridge and fresh towels in the bathroom. When you’re ready, come up to the big house. I’ll give you the ten-dollar tour.”

“Thanks,” he said.

She gave him a kind smile. “You’re welcome. You know, your mom and I go way back. Nothing I wouldn’t do for her or hers—you hear me?”

Noah watched as she got back into her truck and drove away with a final wave.

The cabin was small but more than adequate.

Functional but warm. Full kitchen with a table, chairs, and basic appliances that opened into a modest living area, complete with a couch, armchair, and coffee table.

A separate bedroom with a fully made full-size bed, dresser, nightstand, and desk.

Surprisingly large bathroom with the essentials, including a shower and hot water.

He headed there first. Noah stripped and stepped into the walk-in. Closing his eyes, he let the hot water wash over him, easing the stiffness in his back and shoulders, while the peace and solitude eased the weariness of his mind.

No voices. No gunfire. No patients bleeding out in his arms. Just steam and silence.

Once done, Noah climbed, clean and naked, between the sheets. A few uninterrupted hours was all he needed. Hopefully, the exhaustion of the last few days would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay.