Snowbound - Harlequin.com

JANICE KAY JOHNSON
57
towels and washcloths to her. She was wiping the countertop,
which took longer than in the other bathroom
because of the amazing array of toiletries and cosmetics
scattered there. All of which had presumably come
out of their purses and bookbags.
“Oh, thank you,” Fiona said, seeing the pile in his
arms. “More loads of laundry in the making.”
His laugh felt rusty. “You don’t look like the halfempty
kind.”
She smiled impishly. “In this case, the washing
machine is going to be a lot more than half full.”
Still smiling, although it felt unnatural, John said,
“And I seem to remember you promised to load it.”
“Yes, I did.” Fiona began hanging towels on racks,
leaving part of the stack on the counter between the pair
of sinks. “What you said earlier, about Iraq… Was it
awful? I know a lot of the returning veterans are suffering
from posttraumatic stress, just like after Vietnam.”
PTSD—Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder—was a
fancy way of saying that you’d seen things you
shouldn’t have, in John’s opinion. It was ridiculous to talk
about it as a disease, as if the right pills would cure it.
He cocked a brow at her. “Are you asking if I’m one
of them? Maybe. Most soldiers do have some symptoms.”
She flushed. “I’m so sorry if you thought… I really
wasn’t asking, even obliquely. You haven’t given me
any reason… Oh, dear.”
Great. He’d been a jackass again.
“That’s all right. I…hinted.”
“If you need help you can get it from the Veterans
Administration, can’t you?”