Sierra felt Grover shift next to her, then his arm closed around her shoulders. “It hasn’t been that long since you’ve been free. Cut yourself some slack. And while I don’t like the thought of you crying over anything, I’m sure you will at some point. Real tears, not those fake ones you were able to squeeze out on command.”
She shrugged. Not sure it would ever happen. But of course, Grover had a good point. While in some ways it felt as if she’d been home for months and Afghanistan was this distant, surreal memory, it had really only been a few weeks. There were a lot of things that she was still coming to terms with. She just had to be patient.
Sitting up straight, she glanced at Grover shyly.
“You good?”
“Yeah. I’m sure you’re right.”
“I’m always right. Just ask anyone.”
Appreciating his attempt to break up the seriousness of the moment, she rolled her eyes at him. “Maybe I’ll ask Devyn how ‘always right’ you are.”
“Oh, that was low,” he teased. “Siccing my sister on me.”
She grinned at him.
Not surprisingly, Sierra realized she felt better. Her issue of not crying hadn’t been solved, but admitting that odd fact felt freeing, like she was no longer shouldering that burden alone. Grover hadn’t looked at her as if she was broken. She also didn’t regret admitting she hadn’t been raped. Sometimes, as completely fucked up as it sounded, she actually felt guilty about that. As if people might think she wasn’t a “real” POW, hadn’t truly suffered, because she hadn’t been sexually abused while in captivity.
She hadn’t been sure this Refuge thing was a good idea, but clearly she needed it. She’d only been here a full day, but Sierra already felt calmer. More steady. Maybe it was the mountain air. Maybe it was the friendliness of the men who owned it. But she had a feeling it was none of that. It was the man next to her who made all the difference.
They sat on the rock for another half hour or so until deciding to head back to the ranch. The walk was slow and easy, and he held her hand the entire way. She was getting too used to touching him…but since Grover didn’t seem to mind, Sierra decided she wouldn’t either.
Chapter Twelve
Thirteen days. The best almost-two-weeks of Grover’s life. He and Sierra had spent just about every minute of every day together.
And he was head over heels in love with her.
He didn’t know how she felt, unfortunately, since he’d done his best to keep his “friend” hat firmly in place.
They slept in the same bed every night, holding hands. He hadn’t had one nightmare in those two weeks. And she was looking even healthier. She’d gained more of her weight back and she smiled all the time.
They’d fallen into a routine, eating breakfast, visiting Melba and the other animals, then packing a picnic lunch and going for a hike. They’d been all over the mountain trails and had gotten to know each other better with every step. Grover had told Sierra stories that he hadn’t told anyone else. And he’d like to think she’d shared some of her innermost thoughts as well.
After returning to The Refuge each day, they either visited with the therapist—separately, together, and in groups—took naps in the hammocks behind their cabins, or just hung out in the reception lodge, talking with other guests and Brick and his friends.
But their two-week stay was coming to an end. Tomorrow, Sierra’s parents would return to pick her up and he’d make the long drive back to Killeen.
Grover had also been in semi-regular contact with his friends—getting updates about an increasingly volatile situation back home. Even though he’d worked hard to keep his worry from Sierra, determined not to derail her peace and therapy, he knew he needed to share what was happening. Especially because she was still considering moving to Texas.
At first, Grover and the rest of the team hadn’t been too concerned about the Strong Foot Militia. It was a group from a city not too far from Killeen, railing against the rise of what it considered a tyrannical government—which it believed should be confronted with armed force.
There were three types of “official” militia groups recognized by the US government: the organized—including the National Guard; the unorganized—pretty much all other able-bodied persons between the ages of seventeen and sixty, not already in the National Guard; and state defense forces, which were authorized by state laws.
But then there were groups like Strong Foot, whose members took it upon themselves to take up arms against the government. They were basically armed paramilitary extremists with an anti-government and conspiracy theory ideology.
Grover and his Delta team had long been aware of that particular group, since its home base was in San Angelo, only three hours west of Killeen.
They’d expressed their disdain for just about every aspect of the government, but recently had been extremely vocal in their displeasure with the military—specifically, the fact that the US still had troops overseas.
In just the month since Grover and Sierra had returned from Afghanistan, there had been two unfortunate events regarding the military overseas. The first was in South Korea, where a soldier had been convicted of two murders, three rapes, and a handful of assault charges. Because the man’s home base had been Killeen, the Strong Foot Militia had used the media attention as a platform for their own protests.
The second incident happened in Afghanistan, but in a different part of the country than where Sierra had been working when she’d been taken. While attempting to take out another Taliban leader, the US had killed several civilians during air strikes. Grover knew the Strong Foot Militia didn’t give one little shit about those civilians; their deaths were simply a handy excuse to push an agenda.
According to Trigger, the group had been protesting outside the main gate of Fort Hood for the last week, getting more and more aggressive with each day that passed. There were several dozen men, holding signs and yelling threats against the soldiers and civilians who drove in and out of the gates.
Tensions were rising in the military town, and the militia group showed no signs of ending their protests, only ramping up their antics. They were thriving on all the media attention they were finally getting, quickly turning the entire town into a powder keg just waiting to explode.
Grover knew Sierra could sense his increasing anxiety about the situation, could see it on his face every time he finished talking on the phone with Trigger. He’d done his best to hide his unease, but obviously wasn’t doing a very good job.
He wanted Sierra to move to Killeen, and was terrified any talk of the militia group would give her a reason to put it off, possibly indefinitely. But Grover knew staying silent wasn’t fair. She’d been through hell and had a right to know everything about the city she was considering moving to. The good, bad, and ugly.
He knew the Strong Foot group wouldn’t always be an issue. Hopefully, they’d slink back to where they came from sooner than later, maybe even disband altogether. Beyond that, he also hated keeping anything from Sierra.
Grover made the decision to talk to her about the group before they left tomorrow. He also hoped to discuss what her plans were once she’d returned to Colorado. Provided the militia didn’t scare her away, he wanted to know if she was still accepting Ember’s offer, and if so, when she might make the move. He couldn’t wait to show her his house and barn. To introduce her to the women she’d been texting with. To reunite her with his team. To take her to his favorite restaurants.