“It’s not work, Shay.” His mouth drew into a faint smile as he held her gaze.
An intense yearning went through Shay as she held Reese’s warm gaze. He wanted her. All of her. And he didn’t try to hide it from her. She was old enough to see when a man clearly wanted her. And she wanted Reese equally as much. Her hand tingled where he’d touched it. Would there ever be a quiet time for them? Less pressure and stress surrounding her? It looked hopeless to Shay for a moment. “I wish we had some alone time,” she admitted, giving him a glance, finishing off her breakfast. Nothing was left on her paper plate. A glint came to Reese’s eyes as he regarded her.
“We’ll know it when it happens,” he promised her in a low tone, almost a growl.
Feeling the promise of his words sent a riffle of pleasure through Shay, touching every part of her hungering body.
“It’s not always going to be this crazy,” Reese promised her, sipping his coffee, his plate empty. Looking up at the light blue sky, the temperature now comfortable in the sixties, he smiled over at her.
“I feel inundated,” she confided. “Now my father is in the mix. I shouldn’t say it like that. From the beginning, I’d wanted him out at the ranch recovering, getting therapy after he suffered that stroke . . .”
“Shay? You need to remember we each have a story.”
Tilting her head, she studied him. “What do you mean?”
“We each have a story to tell. We live it out daily. Your father has his story. You have yours. I have mine. The trick, as I see it, is not to be living part of our lives in another person’s story. There’s nothing we can do to change their story, so we need to keep to our own tale of life. That way, you won’t feel so inundated.” He searched her softening blue gaze, understanding that she got the drift of what he was sharing with her.
“So,” Shay said, opening her hands, “my father’s story is his to own? Not for me to have a meddling foot or hand in it?”
“Right. From what I’ve seen in my young Marines who came out of alcoholic families, they couldn’t separate themselves from the toxic pattern they’d grown up with. It was my job to help them to see that. I stumbled upon the idea of every person having a story to live. And that all our stories are our own. No one else has one quite like ours. It means we don’t judge another person, nor do we mix ourselves into their story. You have to respect the person’s journey, in other words. Some people have happy stories. Others have very sad and tragic ones. But within the story, Shay, each of us has choices to make. And we’re allowed to make them. Others might try to tell us what’s best for us as we live our story, but in the end, we have to make that decision alone and for ourselves, whether others agree with it or not.”
“Your Marines must have loved having you as their CO.” She watched his cheeks turn ruddy and he avoided her gaze for a moment, his mouth working to hold back unknown emotions. She saw regret in his expression. Sadness at the loss of his career that he was obviously good at. Her heart aching for Reese, she reached out, her fingers on the back of his clasped hands. “You haven’t lost your touch, Reese. Not at all. I get what you are saying. I really do. It’s a brilliant way to view people and their issues. Thank you . . .” She reluctantly pulled her hand away from his. She saw the shame in his expression, the loss of everything he once worked so hard to have—to live his story as a Marine commanding officer of a company. Shay realized the power Reese had as a CO, but knowing him in the last few months, he never abused the privilege of his power. Instead, the man continually empowered those around him. Including her. Gratefulness drenched her heart and it only made Reese that much more endearing. How badly she wanted to wrap her arms around him and show him that he’d lost nothing, really. That he was the same person, just in a different circumstance, was all.
“You know,” she said tentatively, holding his gaze, “your story changed location, Reese, but you are still the man you always were. I hope you know that. Because I see it every day here at the ranch, I see it with how you work with the vets and more than anything, how you work with me. Telling me about your story idea gives me an insight into you that I didn’t have before.” She smiled gently and whispered, “Your story is filled with courage, heroism, and compassion, Reese. You’ve never told me what happened to you, how you got the PTSD, but you know what? You have not allowed the PTSD to define the essence of you . . . your story template. It’s the same, it never changed. You’re still an incredible leader and manager.” Shay turned, gesturing around the busy, industrious place. “All I have to do is look around me and I see your stamp, your ideas, your ability to plan and execute, all around me.”