“Go on over to the table. I’ll fix two cups.” Shay was glad he was here with her. Reese took her mind off her worries. She covertly watched him stroll to the table on his large bare feet and sit down, taking the chair he used all the time. Smiling a little, she took down a second mug, placing it on the counter, hearing the scrape of the chair against the floor.
“Do you get nights like this often?” Reese asked, folding his arms on the table. The light from the stove silhouetted Shay’s figure, hidden in a fleecy yellow nightgown that fell to her slender ankles. It might be shapeless, but he knew she wasn’t. The scruffy-looking red slippers on her feet made Reese smile a little. It was an endearing picture of her and he tucked it away in his heart. Her hair was tangled around her shoulders, but on her, it looked inviting. Sexy.
“Some nights I can’t sleep,” she murmured. Turning, Shay brought the tea over, placing one mug in front of Reese and sitting down at the head of the table. She felt her anxiety dissolving. It always did when Reese was nearby. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Any sound out of the normal ones,” he told her wryly, dipping the tea bag into the steaming water, “and I snap awake. Too many years in the Corps and the threat level high and constant.”
“Our military sixth sense going online,” she muttered, frowning. “I wish I could make it go away. Or reduce it somehow.”
“I don’t think it ever goes away,” Reese murmured. He put the used tea bag on a saucer she’d provided between them. Reaching for the sugar, he poured a spoonful into the mug.
“I try all sorts of things to get to sleep,” she groused. “None of them work. Taylor Douglas is the only doctor in Wind River. She’s a physician’s assistant and says it’s my PTSD. I guess I could cave in and take sleeping pills on those nights, but I hate taking anything like that. I know it’s necessary sometimes, but I don’t want to become dependent upon them. Taylor is doing research on PTSD right now and is studying under a Dr. Sam Cooper, from Jackson Hole. He’s teaching a six-month course on how to cure some of the PTSD symptoms, and she’s learning a lot. I told Taylor the moment she graduates, I’m going to be on her doorstep for the treatment. She said it is alternative medicine and does not involve taking prescription meds.”
Reese gave her an admiring look. “Yeah, I steer away from any kind of drug use, too. Keep me informed on this training she’s getting. I’d like to know more about it.”
“Oh, don’t worry. Once I try it out, and if it works, I’m going to be shouting at the top of my lungs. I’ll get the guys to go and get treated by Taylor. I live sleep-deprived, and I’m at my wit’s end trying to stop it.” Shay gave him a softened glance. “I’m sure you have some sleepless nights, too.”
“Yes,” he said with a nod. “The very survival mechanisms that saved us from getting killed over in Iraq or Afghanistan now work against us in peacetime.”
Wryly, she nodded. “That’s true. My whole system has become wired for survival. Everything over there was a threat. I felt raw at times, but I knew I had to stay alert, stay on guard, or I could be the next person to step on an improvised explosive device.”
“I know,” Reese agreed fervently, sipping his tea. His brow wrinkled. “What is this brew?”
“Chamomile,” Shay said. “It helps calm the nervous system.” She lifted her cup and sipped from it. “It’s about the only thing that helps me eventually go to sleep.”
“Did you have a nightmare?”
“No. I used to get them almost every night, but since being home”—Shay looked around the quiet kitchen—“and with my attention elsewhere, they’ve slowly been going away. For that, I’m grateful.”
Nodding, Reese held the spoon in his hand, moving it between his fingers. “You want us to share our military experiences, but have you ever shared yours?”
“No, not too much.”
“Why not?”
“Because this isn’t about me, Reese. It’s about all of you. Getting you on a more stable, day-to-day routine so you can start healing.” Shay pushed strands away from her cheek. “A daily rhythm in a person’s life is essential. And I know you haven’t been here long, but you’re intelligent and you can see how Garret, Noah, and Harper are blooming.”
“What kind of shape were they in when they arrived here?”
“A lot worse shape than you’re presently in. Just as underweight, and they had malnutrition issues. They all had horrible nightmares and flashbacks. Now”—she sighed, giving him a satisfied look—“not so much. I mean, they still get them, but not as often.”
“That’s a godsend in itself,” Reese agreed.
“They’re rebuilding their self-esteem, their confidence and belief in themselves,” Shay said quietly, moving her fingers up and down on the warm ceramic mug.