Free Minutes to Kill by Melinda Leigh Page B

our childhood or his. When I bring the kids to see him, he thinks Carson is one of us boys and Faith is you.”
    “You bring the kids here?” Sure, now a six-year-old could handle what Hannah couldn’t bear.
    “Only if Ellie can come with me. So if the Colonel’s in a bad way, she can take the kids home. But he seems to have his best days when they’re here. Their presence perks him up. He doesn’t know specifically who they are, but he always senses they’re family.”
    “So what should I do?”
    “Play it by ear,” Grant said. “The hardest thing for me is remembering not to call him Dad. It confuses him, and he gets upset when he knows he should be remembering something and the information isn’t there. I always address him as Colonel or sir. That appears to take the pressure off. Then I just go with the flow.”
    “You make it sound easy.”
    “We both know it isn’t.” Grant gestured toward the door. “Let’s see how he is today.”
    Hannah’s insides trembled as she stepped toward her father’s room. Grant put his hand on her elbow, and she tried to absorb some of his confidence.
    The Colonel was asleep. Hannah couldn’t suck back the quick and quiet gasp as she registered his deterioration. His face was gaunt, his hands skeletal. His skin had tightened, as smooth as plastic, over his bones. Under the white linens, his body had shrunken. She had few memories of the Colonel before the explosion, bits of images and impressions that littered her mind like confetti. But even confined to a wheelchair, he’d been a formidable presence. Now his body was barely a shell.
    A clip from her childhood played in her mind. The Colonel zooming through the forest on his specially rigged ATV. He’d been paralyzed in Desert Storm, but back then, he’d been determined to stay active. His descent into madness over the past few years had been the ultimate kick in the face for a man who’d confronted trial after trial with a warrior’s courage. It was as if Fate just wasn’t happy until she’d broken him.
    Anger and hurt welled up in Hannah’s chest at the overwhelming unfairness.
    Grant squeezed her arm. She ripped her eyes off her father’s shrunken figure and stared at her brother. Grant had inherited the Colonel’s size and natural leadership. The stubborn gene had been passed to all the Barretts. But their father was a soldier through and through. He’d shown his love for his children by pushing them as hard as new recruits. There was enough of Mom in Grant to soften his hard edges. He bonded with Carson and Faith in a way that had been impossible for the Colonel. Grant would never leave Faith behind, and he’d never exclude her, even unintentionally, and he wouldn’t put those two kids through drills that could break twenty-year-old men.
    Grant walked to the bedside and inspected the bags hanging off an IV stand.
    Hannah shuffled to her father’s side. Within a few seconds, lack of movement allowed anxiety to build in her bloodstream like a toxin.
    “Colonel?” Grant touched Dad’s hand.
    The Colonel opened his eyes, confusion and suffering clouding the once-sharp blue of his irises. “Gary?”
    Hannah bit back a tear. The Colonel’s younger brother had been dead for fifteen years.
    Grant didn’t miss a beat. “I brought you a visitor.”
    The Colonel’s head moved on the pillow. His eyes blinked on Hannah. Recognition, then affection dimmed his pain, and relief flooded Hannah. He knew her.
    All his joy came forth in one word. “Hope.”
    The sound of her mother’s name from his lips nearly took out Hannah’s knees.
    “Don’t just stand there, Gary,” the Colonel barked in a raspy, weak voice. “Get Hope a chair.” He coughed, the effort of issuing orders clearly taxing his lungs.
    Grant rounded the bed and set a visitor chair behind Hannah. His hand on her shoulder steadied her legs.
    This visit is for the Colonel, not for me.
    She willed her disappointment away. It slunk to the wings