Free In Wilde Country Page B

West Point hung over it; there was a smaller photo next to it, taken when Amos and
     Alden had made a visit to the Point during Alden’s freshman year in high school.
    The picture was of Alden standing next to the famed Sedgwick Monument.
    Legend had it that if a cadet was in danger of failing a final exam and went to the
     monument at midnight in full dress uniform, he’d pass the exam if he spun the moveable
     spurs on Sedgwick’s horse.
    John smiled.
    He had a picture of himself beside the same statue, moldering in a box somewhere…
    Christ.
    His smile faded.
    Had he ever had a life of his own? Had he been destined to take Alden’s place not
     only from the day of the accident but from the day of his birth?
    It was a stupid thought. A chilling thought. And, shit, what was he doing here? His
     father was dead. Who gave a damn? They had never loved each other. And he hated this
     place, hated the memories, hated who he was or who he might have been, because when
     he let himself think about it, his life was like—it was like those nested Russian
     dolls. Halvorson had bought one for his niece when they’d been in Moscow a year or
     so ago. They’d chuckled at how one doll had stacked within the other so that you never
     actually knew if you’d reached the final one…
    “John?”
    Johnny swung around and saw Connie Grimes standing in the open doorway.
    “Connie. What are you doing here?”
    She cleared her throat. “I was at the funeral and I came here to, you know, pay my
     respects… I didn’t mean to intrude.”
    “No,” he said quickly, “you aren’t intruding at all. I’m just—I’m surprised to see
     you, that’s all.”
    “I’m sorry about—”
    “Yeah. Sure.” He paused. “So, how’ve you been?”
    “Good. Fine. I’m an OR nurse at Madison General.”
    “Hey. That’s great.”
    “I hear that you’re a major now. Is that right?” She smiled; her smile was as unchanged
     as the rest of her, pure Connie, a little shy, a little hesitant, but honest and warm.
     “I’m not very good at reading those stripes or bars or whatever you call them.”
    “A major, yes. That’s me. Crazy, right?” He lifted the glass, swallowed the rest of
     the whiskey in one gulp. “It’s good to see you again.”
    “It’s nice to see you again, too.”
    “Yeah. About that.” John licked his lips. “I should have been in touch. I meant to,
     but—”
    “You don’t have to explain.”
    “But I do. That—that last time we saw each other—”
    Her face reddened.
    “I didn’t expect anything more than that night, John.” She gulped in a breath of air.
     “I loved being with you. It was—it was—it was very nice.”
    “Very nice,” he said solemnly.
    The color in her face deepened.
    “What I meant is—”
    He grinned. “What I hope you meant is that it was fantastic.”
    Could she blush any harder?
    “It was. You know that it was. For me, anyway.”
    John put down the empty whiskey glass. Teasing her was fun—he got a kick out of all
     that sweet innocence—but she deserved better.
    “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get something to eat.”
    “Oh, I’m not hungry. I mean, everything in the dining room looks wonderful, but—”
    “Not here.” He strolled toward her and reached for her hand. “I noticed a new restaurant
     in town. Bailey’s Something.”
    “ Bailey’s Barbecue .”
    “Right. Just what Texas needs. Another barbecue joint.”
    Connie looked up at him and laughed. It was the same old laugh he remembered, as honest
     and open and warm as everything else about her.
    “There’s another new place a couple of miles outside of town, but I don’t know if
     you’d like it.”
    “Just tell me it isn’t all about quiche.”
    She laughed again. Something seemed to melt around his heart and he laced their fingers
     together.
    “Well, I can’t do that. They do serve quiche. And salads. And—”
    “And there are ferns sprouting from the walls. What the hell. I’ve