Page 3 of Embattled Return

Shannon

2

As soon as she walked into the airport, Shannon Palmer headed for a lit gift shop. Her poor phone was completely dead now and if she wanted to talk to her husband she needed to get a cord. The shop had one, though it was almost three times the amount she would have paid anywhere else. Sigh. Serves her right for not keeping track of her own cord.

There were no more hiccups as she checked in at the counter and parked in the waiting area near an outlet. It took her a while to get the damned tamper-proof package open, but she eventually got her cell phone plugged in. She let it sit for almost half a minute before she turned it on to check her messages. John had sent her several pics of the boys, and her heart clutched at seeing them. They were so damn cute, even if she did say so herself. Their hair was so dark and thick...their eyes lit with trouble.

The flight went off without a hitch. No more ice, apparently. She had a two-hour layover in Chicago, then a three-hour flight to Denver, and her testosterone laced house. As the kids neared the terrible twos, she could tell Wyatt was going to be just like his dad. Strong and direct, he was a bruiser, and she’d already had to talk to the ladies at the day care because they were concerned he was playing too roughly.

It was because their dad got down on the floor and wrestled with them like they were teenagers, but she didn’t tell the daycare workers that.

Caden was her mastermind cuddler. Yes, he could scrap with Wyatt when he needed to, but Shannon knew for a fact that Caden was the one that planned the trouble they got into.

They were both too stinking cute. She needed to see their adorable little faces.

As she walked through the airport toward her next gate, her attention was caught by a tall man on arm crutches struggling along in the same direction, hugging the opposite wall. Shannon wasn’t sure exactly why he drew her attention, but she slowed her steps to keep pace with him. She thought, looking at his dark hair under the ball cap, that he must be military, though he wasn’t wearing a uniform, just jeans and a gray wool coat, it looked like. No uniform didn’t mean anything, though. If tensions spiked in the Middle East, military stateside were ordered to wear civilian clothing when traveling.

The man was having issues, though he tried to hide it, and her heart ached for him. Why hadn’t someone gotten him a wheelchair to use to get through the huge airport? O’Hare was a bitch on a good day, let alone dealing with injuries like this guy appeared to have. The man dragged a brand-new looking, soft-sided black suitcase, not one with the handy roller wheels. This was a standard Base Xchange special, no frills. If he wasn’t careful, it was going to overbalance him.

As if fate had heard her thoughts, the suitcase caught on the heel of his boot, and he almost went down. The man stopped and backed up to the wall, bracing himself against it, his head down, the bill shadowing his face. Even from across the massive aisle way, Shannon could see the trembling in his body as he tried to gather his strength. She didn’t understand why he didn’t have help. The airport was usually pretty good about making sure people got from one place to another, but the guest had to ask for the help. And men were prone not to ask.

She sighed, thinking about John. The man could be stuck in the mud with his hair on fire and he wouldn’t ask for help. It just wasn’t in him. Even before the injury that stuck him in the chair she doubted he’d have ever asked for help. Every once in a while he let her open a door for him, but not much more.

Shannon was drawing closer and she didn’t want to pass him up, so she paused long enough to stand in line at a kiosk and get a five-dollar bottle of water. She wasn’t sure what made it so expensive, because it looked like any other Dasani bottle. Living in an airport apparently made it special.

By the time she paid for the water, the man –soldier—had started off again. An older gentleman walked alongside him for a moment, but the man snapped angrily and jerked his chin, motioning him away.

Ah, yes, the defensive hero. She couldn’t even count the times she’d seen it at Lost and Found. If he was military she doubted he would want any kind of help, especially from a woman, but maybe she could spin it in the opposite direction. She watched the man for a moment longer just to make sure there would be no family or girlfriend rushing up to help him, then she made her move. Stretching out her short legs, she pulled alongside him. Before he could say anything, she whispered, “Do you mind if I walk with you? Please? I have a guy following me, I think, and I don’t want to look like I’m alone.”

That seemed to steal the fire from his normal response. He glanced at her, then gave a quick glance behind. The great thing about airports was that it always felt like someone was following you, so he didn’t say anything, just continued to struggle along. “Whatever, lady.”

Well, that was part of the battle, Shannon thought. She tried to get a look at him, but he kept his face turned away. She glanced behind them like she was still worried about her ‘follower’, then faced front. “Thank you so much. The guy was on my plane and he would not shut up. If my husband was here he would tell him to fuck off, but I can’t be that rude.”

The young man’s jaw clenched, and she realized it might have sounded like a rebuke to him. Ugh.

“But then,” she continued, “he’s a Marine. Before we had our twins, ‘fuck’ used to be his go-to word for everything,” she snorted. “Now it’s fudge. He’s slipped a few times around Christmas and Caden picked it up, but he’s kind of forgotten it now. Thank goodness.”

“Twins, huh?” the man asked, glancing at her for a moment.

Shannon fought not to react to the man’s face, though her heart was breaking. No wonder he was hugging the wall as he made his way slowly down the concourse. If she had learned anything working at Lost and Found, it was what healing burn scars looked like. “Yup,” she said, slowing as they neared a corner in the concourse. “They’re twenty-two months, now. And growing like crazy. What gate are you headed to?”

“E24,” he said, pausing to straighten his back for a moment and look up at the gate display. Shannon realized he was much taller than she’d thought, at least a couple inches over six feet.

Shannon dug for her ticket. “That sounds familiar. Yup, that’s where I’m going, too. Denver?”

The young man glanced down at her again, giving her a little more eye contact. “Yes, Denver.”

Shannon made sure not to react to his injuries. The guy was younger than she’d expected- could he even be more than nineteen or twenty?- had heartbreaking dark blue-green eyes that were so pretty, so thickly lashed, they made the rest of his face look that much more ruined. She wanted to reach out and draw his big, damaged frame into a hug but that would negate all of the headway she’d made with him. She gave him steady eye contact and a gentle smile, then glanced back up at the board. “It doesn’t load for another hour. Want to grab a coffee?”

She motioned to the faux diner across the way. There was tiredness etched into his face, and she knew he was tempted. “Come on,” she urged. “My feet are hurting.”

She held out a foot, clad in a very pretty heeled boot, giving her a few precious inches of height. The shoes were actually quite comfortable, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Fine,” he sighed, and planted his crutches to wade through the traffic.

Shannon made sure to try to block some of the travelers from running into them, but there was a lot of traffic. A few people gave her dirty looks, but she didn’t care. The man arrived at the hostess stand first and asked for a table.

The young woman’s eyes widened at the sight of the soldier, and she fumbled with the whiteboard on her stand. Then she looked at him again. Shannon cleared her throat sharply, drawing her attention, and gave a sharp nod of her head, trying to get the woman to focus on finding them a table. Flustered, the girl grabbed two menus and turned toward the seating area.

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