Page 115 of Shadow Redemption

Sorenson rolled his eyes. “Is that all? Come on, Ben. Your girlfriend is strong enough to handle your night terrors. From what she’s told me, Ruth has some of her own from time to time. She’ll have more for a while after her experience with Davidson. She understands what you’re going through.”

“My mother won’t. She already feels guilty for taking me to Davidson’s commune when I was a kid. Mom doesn’t need to know how much the past scarred me.”

“I think you’re underestimating Maren.” He left without agreeing to release Ben.

Sam walked in five minutes later with a tray of food. Her eyebrows soared at the expression on his face. “Who rained on your parade?”

“Ha ha.” Ben swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. “Where’s Ruth?”

“In the kitchen making brownies with Maren. Joe is with them.” She smirked. “The ladies think chocolate will sweeten your attitude. Since I love chocolate, I didn’t bother telling them that their efforts were a waste of time.”

He frowned and took the tray from her hands. “What’s this?”

“Comfort food. Chicken pot pie and baked apples.” The medic sat on one of the chairs at a nearby table. “Want to tell me what’s going on besides your normal sour attitude when you’re healing from an injury?”

Ben set the tray on the table and took a seat beside her. “Being in Eden reawakened memories of my first experience in the commune. If I go to sleep, I’ll probably wake up screaming. Mom doesn’t know I have PTSD and I want to keep it that way.”

“Does Ruth know?”

He nodded.

“I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to convince Sorenson to release you. If I can’t, I’ll talk to the boss about sending Maren to visit Nate and Stella.” She smiled. “Your mom and Nate have a mutual admiration society going. He freed her from Eden and he says she reminds him of his favorite aunt.”

The tension wracking his frame eased somewhat. “Thanks, Sam.”

The medic patted his arm and walked to the door. “Eat. Sorenson’s wife made the meal for us. I’ll see what I can do to spring you from jail.”

Ben tucked into his meal and polished it off quickly. Since he was at loose ends again except for walking, Ben made his way down the hall to the animal recovery room to see the Westie hit by a car and brought in for treatment by a citizen who found him by the roadside. According to Sorenson, the dog didn’t have tags or a chip, and no one had claimed him despite the clinic posting his picture on social media two weeks earlier.

After glancing around to be sure he wasn’t being watched, Ben slipped into the room and closed the door. The Westie raised his head and thumped his tail. “Hey, buddy. How do you feel?”

The dog whined and edged closer to the crate door.

Ben eased down on the floor and released him. The white-haired dog limped out and crawled onto Ben’s lap, licking any part of his face that he could reach. Chuckling, Ben cradled the dog on one arm and gently stroked his fur. “You’re a sweet boy. You need a name. Got any suggestions?”

The dog barked.

“Wish I was fluent in dog vocabulary.” Ben continued to pet him for a few minutes, considering various dog names and discarding all of them but one. He glanced down at the dog. “How about Yoda?”

Another bark.

“Glad you approve, Yoda.” When the pain in his back grew too great to ignore, Ben stood with Yoda in his arms. He glanced at the crate. No. Yoda didn’t deserve to be caged because someone had abandoned him. Sorenson wouldn’t mind if he spent time with the dog in more comfortable surroundings. Probably.

Cheeks hot, he went to the door and eased it open a crack. The coast was clear. With silent steps, he returned to the human recovery room and eased down onto the bed. His continued weakness irritated the daylights of out him, but Sorenson had assured him that the weakness was from blood loss and he’d be at full strength soon.

Swinging his legs onto the bed, he reclined against the pillows and settled Yoda at his side. The Westie gave a sigh, snuggled close, and drifted off to sleep. Hmm. The dog had a good idea. A nap sounded good. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off.

Sometime later, footsteps approached his room and stopped in the doorway. Ben turned to see Sorenson with his shoulder propped against the jamb. “What?”

“I wondered if the Westie had learned how to open the crate door. I see now that he had help. How’s he doing?”

“Seems like he’s comfortable. He didn’t like being a prisoner.” Ben hadn’t liked being a prisoner, either.

“If I can’t find a permanent home for him, he’ll have to go to a shelter soon.”

Ben scowled. “Dog jail? Have a heart, Doc.”

“I’m not having any luck finding his owner. Since he was dumped on the side of the road, I’m also not looking too hard to find them. Do you know someone who might give him a good home?”

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