Loving Jessie by Dallas Schulze Page B

left behind.
    “Yeah.” Reilly shook his head. “I still can’t believe she married me. She could have had anyone.”
    “You’re not exactly dog meat, pal,” Matt said dryly. “I’ve never understood it, but women seem to think you’re moderately attractive.”
    Reilly’s grin was perfunctory. He slid off the arm of the chair onto the cushion where Dana had been sitting. “She could have had anybody,” he repeated.
    “Maybe she loves you,” Matt suggested casually. “Stranger things have been known to happen.”
    “I guess.” Reilly looked as if he might say something else, then caught himself.
    Matt thought about prodding him. Instinct and more than a quarter century of friendship told him that it wouldn’t take much to get Reilly to spill his guts. Something was obviously bothering him, and Reilly had never been any good at keeping secrets. Six months ago Matt would have pried the truth out of him, but six months ago he hadn’t had quite so many secrets of his own.
    Tilting his head back, Matt drained the last of his beer. He was going to be around a while. Sooner or later, Reilly would tell him what was going on.

Chapter Three
    S tretched out in the glider on his brother’s sagging front porch, Matt let his eyes drift shut. The still heat of the afternoon seemed to sink all the way to the bone, soothing aches and draining energy. He’d spent a fair amount of time in various Latin countries over the last fifteen years, but he’d never truly appreciated the value of an afternoon siesta until now. Of course, dozing through the afternoon heat wasn’t nearly as relaxing during a revolution, he thought ruefully.
    His head propped on a faded blue pillow, one long leg stretched out along the wooden slats of the glider, he braced his bare foot against the scuffed floorboards and nudged the glider into lazy motion. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a nap in the middle of the day. Of course, he’d slept through several days while he was in the hospital, but that hardly counted. There was nothing restful about a hospital, no matter how many hours you spent sleeping. And since the nightmares started, sleep hadn’t been something he’d courted, even at night. But lying here, lazy in the afternoon heat, theair still and quiet around him, he felt himself drifting comfortably toward sleep.
    In the week since he’d arrived, he hadn’t had the nightmare once. Maybe the key was plenty of good old-fashioned physical labor. Though he’d always made it a point to keep himself physically fit, there was a difference between pumping iron at the gym and crawling around on a roof nailing down shingles or planing cabinet doors to eccentric angles to fit on the existing cabinets. He spent each day working on whatever project happened to appeal to him. God knew, there were plenty of them. And he fell into bed each night aware of a pleasant ache in his muscles. The ache in his wounded shoulder wasn’t as pleasant, but it was tolerable. His doctor had warned him that it was unreasonable to expect to drill a bullet hole through muscle and soft tissue and not feel the results for a long time to come. But even with that reminder, he’d still slept through the night every night for the past week. For the first time in months, he felt rested and—almost—at peace.
    Somewhere inside the house, he heard the phone ring, but he didn’t stir. The answering machine would pick it up. He was willing to bet that Gabe didn’t even hear it. Once his brother flipped open his sleek laptop computer and set his fingers on the keyboard, the rest of the world ceased to exist. A marching band could tromp past and Gabe would only notice if someone jostled the table.
    Eyes still closed, Matt felt his mouth curve in a half smile. It had been almost ten years since Gabe had sold his first book, and he still had a hard time picturing his older brother as a successful author. His series of children’s books about a little girl