Snowbound - Harlequin.com
Snowbound - Harlequin.com Snowbound - Harlequin.com
130 SNOWBOUND “Does it happen often? I mean, flashbacks?” “No. Not like that. I duck when a garbage truck clangs, but so do most vets at first.” Her eyes, perplexed, met his at last. “Then why…?” “There was an incident…” He cleared his throat. He didn’t like talking about the war at all, but he owed her an explanation. “Three soldiers. Something about the way the boys arranged themselves today, their voices…” He stopped, found himself hunching his shoulders. “When Hopper turned back and then fell just as that branch snapped… It was so familiar. I wasn’t in Iraq. I knew there was snow on the ground, and that it was you I was throwing down.” “Protecting,” she said softly. “But for a minute I saw blood. I thought two of the boys had gone down.” Feeling incredibly awkward, he studied the grain of wood in the plank floor. “It was brief, but vivid.” “You’ve had things like this happen before, haven’t you? That’s why you moved up here.” He lifted his head and glared at her. “You think I walk around hallucinating? You’re wrong. This was an isolated incident. War messes with your head. It takes time to clear it.” Puckers between her eyebrows showed that she was still troubled as she studied him, but after a minute she nodded. “My father was in Vietnam. To this day he hates the Fourth of July.” “Yeah, that would be even worse for Vietnam vets. We didn’t have to deal with constant shelling.” “What was the worst part?” she asked.
JANICE KAY JOHNSON 131 Being asked to talk about it made him feel as if his ribs were being compressed. He shifted, told himself he was getting enough air. What was a short answer she’d accept? One that didn’t say, watching kids you’ve befriended get blown up? “The fact that you’re not fighting soldiers. There’s no theater of operations. There’s no behind the lines where you can kick back and not worry about dying. It’s like Vietnam in that sense. Every car driving up to a checkpoint can be full of guys toting AK rifles. Or it might have a family in it, little kids in the back. Road blocks are a nightmare. Everyone over there drives at breakneck speed. Is a car barreling toward you because that’s the way this guy drives all the time, or because he’s a suicide bomber? That house with kids playing in front of it might be the meeting place for a bunch of insurgents. You can’t assume it’s safe because of the kids.” He tried to figure out how to make her understand. “Violence can happen anywhere. Anytime. So you never relax.” She nodded. “So after a while you look at all Iraqis as enemies and none as a friend.” Not him. Foolishly optimistic, he had tried to make friends with the people, to build a bridge between the Americans and the locals. He wasn’t going to tell her about how that bridge was detonated, any more than he had told a single other soul since he was shipped home on crutches. “The six-month deployments are smart. Knowing you’re getting to go home…” Hands miraculously
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JANICE KAY JOHNSON 131<br />
Being asked to talk about it made him feel as if his<br />
ribs were being <strong>com</strong>pressed. He shifted, told himself he<br />
was getting enough air.<br />
What was a short answer she’d accept? One that<br />
didn’t say, watching kids you’ve befriended get blown<br />
up?<br />
“The fact that you’re not fighting soldiers. There’s<br />
no theater of operations. There’s no behind the lines<br />
where you can kick back and not worry about dying. It’s<br />
like Vietnam in that sense. Every car driving up to a<br />
checkpoint can be full of guys toting AK rifles. Or it<br />
might have a family in it, little kids in the back. Road<br />
blocks are a nightmare. Everyone over there drives at<br />
breakneck speed. Is a car barreling toward you because<br />
that’s the way this guy drives all the time, or because<br />
he’s a suicide bomber? That house with kids playing in<br />
front of it might be the meeting place for a bunch of insurgents.<br />
You can’t assume it’s safe because of the kids.”<br />
He tried to figure out how to make her understand.<br />
“Violence can happen anywhere. Anytime. So you<br />
never relax.”<br />
She nodded. “So after a while you look at all Iraqis<br />
as enemies and none as a friend.”<br />
Not him. Foolishly optimistic, he had tried to make<br />
friends with the people, to build a bridge between the<br />
Americans and the locals. He wasn’t going to tell her<br />
about how that bridge was detonated, any more than he<br />
had told a single other soul since he was shipped home<br />
on crutches.<br />
“The six-month deployments are smart. Knowing<br />
you’re getting to go home…” Hands miraculously
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