Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

list for care at a residential facility, but they’re crowded, and in truth, the specialist I talked to said she doesn’t need that.”

Peter’s pulse thudded anew against his throat. “So why’s she on the list?”

Jon shook his head. “She’s doing the minimum required to learn new skills, improve the compensatory use of her other senses. The specialist confided that it was the nurses who coordinated the duplex unit where she’s living. They found a lady, a nurse, to stay next door and take care of her. I’m sorry, Peter, but I know you’d want to know. He said if not for those steps, she might very well have ended up on the street. She has no interest in anything other than sitting in a chair.”

“Damn it, they have all sorts of resources for PTSD shit. Why didn’t they—?”

“The patient has to be willing. And you know how irreplaceable a family support

network is for dealing with those kinds of issues.” Jon swept a meaningful glance among the men standing before him. “Which is why we’re here now.”

Peter swallowed, pushing down the fury, the knowledge that still had his pulse

accelerated. Lucas squeezed his shoulder, a reminder of support. Taking a deep breath, he thought it through, closing his eyes again to focus.

They waited him out. He was the hands-on guy, the one who went and straightened out snarls at plants in their Central and South American locations, dealing with a wide variety of concerns in unexpected, sometimes volatile, environments. If he approached it that way, he wouldn’t lose his head, get mired down in thoughts about how she needed him and he wasn’t at her side right now.

He opened his eyes. “I need to know everything you know, Jon. I want to talk to this specialist myself. I’m bringing her home.”

Ben raised a brow. “You knew her for one night.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Matt answered for Peter, gazing into his face. “She’s the one, isn’t she?”

Peter nodded. All those months, he hadn’t doubted his emotions, but their strength had baffled him. But now, on a tidal surge of those feelings, thinking about where she was, how she needed him, he knew what it was. The men around him, they were the family he’d chosen, but she was like a part of his heart that had been missing since he’d lost his blood family. A part sent by fate, so he’d recognized her from that first second.

He shook his head, pushing back the wave before it unmanned him. “Since she’s coming back here with me, whether she likes the idea or not, it’s likely I’ll need some wheels greased.”

“Always happy to keep you out of jail for kidnapping,” Ben said dryly.

Matt moved forward then. Lucas withdrew so Matt’s hand could replace his, grip Peter’s shoulder with hard reassurance. “We’ll take care of both of you. Bring her home.”

Six

As individuals, they were relentless. As a team, they couldn’t be stopped. It had taken a few nerve-racking days to get it all together, but if they could pull off an aggressive takeover of a floundering multinational corporation, they could handle the relocation of one female soldier, unwilling or not. Paperwork of course wasn’t a problem for Ben. But then they hit an unexpected snag. A determined, caring woman.

Christina Lawson was a retired RN, a former Vietnam field nurse. Her husband had killed himself years ago, never able to leave Vietnam behind. She was the one who lived in the other side of the duplex, checking in on Dana daily. She rebuffed Ben’s legal bullshit, veiled threats and charming persuasions alike.

So Jon stepped in, because Peter’s impatience made diplomacy impossible. While he didn’t know what Jon had said to her, she at last agreed to their plan to relocate her charge. If she had a face-to-face meeting with Peter first, and if Dana consented to leave with him.

Peter wasn’t going to fault the woman for being protective of Dana. But when he got out of the rental car in front of the small duplex, a nondescript housing unit located adjacent to the hospital acreage, he was vibrating with the need to kick in the door of whichever side held Dana, and say to hell with any more delays. Since Christina Lawson was planted on the porch, arms akimbo, his plan might have to include a wrestling match with a woman his grandmother’s age.

As he came up the walk, the nurse studied him from head to toe, her expression

suggesting she was considering whether she needed a broom or a shotgun. He cleared his throat, made a considerable effort to look affable and charming, despite the fact the ache that had been building inside him these interminable five days threatened to hemorrhage.

“Mr. Winston?” Christina offered a hand and he closed his over it, noting fingers swollen with early arthritis, but there was strength there still. She nodded toward the porch swing.

“We can talk here.”

No “Glad to meet you,” or other bland courtesies that would mean nothing to either one of them. He could appreciate that, but the knot in his stomach didn’t loosen.

“Won’t she . . . ?”

Christina shook her head. “I told her I was going to be on the porch, visiting with a friend of mine. She rarely gets out of her day chair, so I knew we’d have enough time for privacy. She wears her hearing aid grudgingly, so she won’t hear us, either. Even if she has it on, she has to concentrate on what’s being said and the person must speak clearly, toward the functioning ear, for her to detect and understand. Unfortunately, visual clues and lip reading are what helps a person with hearing loss the most, and those are aids her blindness denies her.”

“I’ll get her upgraded to a top-of-the-line hearing aid,” he said immediately. Jon had already told him about advances in technology, which he’d heard with only half an ear, but Peter remembered the basics nonetheless.

Christina cocked her head. “The problem isn’t money, Mr. Winston. Money undoubtedly helps, but there