Over the simple meal, Truck talked, telling her stories about all the places he’d been. He mentioned names, smiling at her when she nodded at him, indicating she knew at least some of the folks he spent time and shared history with. And she did know many of them, including Mason, Slate, Gunny, Hoss, Jase, and Deke. These men all seemed to be in his inner circle of confidantes, which didn’t surprise her, because they were the elite in the club. But she was pleased to hear his experiences with them extended well beyond the organization itself, he also seemed to know their women and families. She watched as his face softened when he spoke of their children.
“I heard about the trouble Gunny’s gal found herself in, how no one knew she was Jase’s sister.” He shook his head. “Glad of where she wound up, though. Woman’s good for my brother, he needed her.”
Vanna shook her head, “She needed him just as badly.” Chuckling, she stirred the chips on her plate with one finger, looking down. “Sharon lived with me for a couple of years before she…healed enough to try things on her own again.” She pinched the crust off one edge of her sandwich, tearing it into chunks and tossing them one at a time into her mouth. “I didn’t find out until months later that I already knew Gunny.”
Glancing up, she saw he was watching her avidly, listening with a peculiar focus to her words. “I knew him as ‘Lost Lane.’ Back before he met Deke, before the Rebels.” She pushed back in her chair, lifting one leg to tuck her calf underneath her. “We met under…questionable circumstances, in the woods.” She laughed. “But he quickly won me over with his impeccable good manners and dashing charm.”
She told him about meeting Gunny, a name Lane was trying to outrun at the time, one fully embraced now. Backwoods Indiana, his appearance frightening, but her gut said his was a wounded soul, one she wanted to soothe. As she would hope someone would attempt to soothe her Kitt under the same circumstances.
It was Truck’s turn to laugh and she watched his face change when he did, the wary look he had worn almost constantly since looking at her pictures fading away. The sound of his amusement filled the room and she smiled in response before saying, “What? I’m serious. He was…is a good man. Offered me coffee right away. Tried to set me at ease, which meant a lot.” She sighed, thinking of those days spent hiking with Lane…Gunny. Listening to his shocking stories of war, and seeing firsthand the extent of what that horror could do to a person. In those days, he had been filled with fear, holding onto control with a loosely gathered fist. Gunny, the husband and father, was a different person, and every time she saw him she was even more proud of how he had grown and changed through the years.
In his first interactions she had seen echoes of her son’s avoidance of touch, the unease if someone tried to hold his gaze too long. Gunny had shared himself little by little through the days as they hiked. Words coming easier with each mile passing underneath their feet, and now she treasured those memories above so much. Seeing him with her Sharon, how careful he was with Kitt, and his tenderness with the children he and Sharon had, she knew her instincts were true, she had been right to trust him.
Truck ate up her stories, his reactions urging her forward in her recitations. His laughter became something she sought to provoke, feeling as though each outburst was an earned reward. He gave himself fully to the emotion, something she suspected was a regular occurrence in his life. Something she found inordinately attractive, seeing it in contrast to her own necessarily regimented responses.
“How did you meet Sharon?” She had become so lost in the memories that his question surprised her, but she quickly recovered.
“I pulled her out of a ditch.” She grinned at his skeptical look. “Literally. She was nose-deep in a canal in Florida, hiding from her then-husband. She had been beaten within an inch of her life, and still screwed up the courage to leave as soon as she saw an opening. Then she found the courage to trust the crazy woman standing on the lip of that ditch, hand held out.” Shaking her head, she twisted and set her plate aside; suddenly realizing she hadn’t brought in drinks for them. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think about drinks. Would you like tea, or lemonade?” She thought a moment. “I might have a beer, but it’d be questionable whether you’d get skunky or not.”
“Just water would be fine, Vanna.” He shifted on the couch, stretching his legs with a suppressed groan. She pushed an ottoman towards him with one bare foot.