Never Forget: A Novella in the Echo Platoon Series Read Free

pillow to her chest, and stared sightlessly at the painting hanging next to her bed—a watercolor of a smiling Ian she’d commissioned after his death. She’d been determined to keep him in her thoughts, a part of her life no matter what.
    Funny, but when she stared at his face while lying horizontal, he looked a bit like Rusty Kuzinsky who also kept his hair cut short—except Rusty’s hair was auburn where Ian’s had been chestnut. Both men had brown eyes, though Rusty’s were darker, like twin ponds at night. They seemed to hold the most profound thoughts.
    Bronco had told her that, following retirement, Rusty was starting up a retreat where active duty SEALs could recuperate following especially tough assignments. He wanted to help them exorcise their demons, to heal and adjust to peacetime before returning to their families.
    Ian could have used a place like that. He’d always been so jumpy and irritable his first few weeks back from an overseas tour.
    Rusty’s charity only added to all the appealing traits she’d noted about him. It made her feel shallow for holding a grudge against him all these years. How could she resent a man who considered the welfare of others to such an extent that he shaped his life’s purpose around it?
    But if she forgave him completely, then this shroud in which she’d lain dormant might become something like a cocoon, transforming her into something altogether new. Change was frightening. It was safer to stay the way she was, clinging to bitterness, and raising her rebellious son as best she could.

Chapter Two
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    M OVING FROM ROOM to room in the eight-bedroom farmhouse he’d restored, Rusty jotted down the items still requiring his attention.
    In just five days, his first lodgers would arrive—members of SEAL Team 3, home-based in Coronado. They would stay at Never Forget Retreat for two weeks before returning home. This place would be their halfway house—a place to shed the mantle of war, to calm an overly responsive nervous system, and to begin feeling human again.
    Taking in all that he’d done, Rusty basked in self-satisfaction. The bedrooms, painted in manly blues, greens, and grays, invited occupants to take their rest on the brand-new mattresses all donated by companies around Virginia Beach.
    Most of the furniture was second hand, but he had an eye for what styles and eras went with what—traditional with contemporary, antique with retro-chic. All those nights of lowering the blinds so he could watch the Home and Garden channel in secret had apparently paid off. From the pillows tossed on inviting armchairs to the bedding and artwork, each room felt like a place to find rest.
    With his small checklist started, Rusty headed down the front staircase, pleased when the treads didn’t give even the tiniest squeak. On the lower level, he’d removed many of the original walls to create an open-concept floor plan.
    A large parlor with a piano original to the house funneled guests from the foyer toward the living area and then to the farm-style kitchen that occupied the addition at the rear of the house. French doors on the right side of the living area led to an expansive sunporch with wicker furniture and potted plants.
    Sweeping stairs bisected the house, leaving room at the front for an enclosed library with built-in bookcases overflowing with books on every subject. To the rear, the formal dining room with its Italian-style table and high-backed chairs offered seating for up to twenty. Rusty had contracted with two different cooks to whip up meals daily—though, truth be told, he wished he could do the cooking himself.
    Of course, he would be too busy arranging activities for the men to have time to cook. SEALs were used to having a constant objective. Lounging around doing nothing wouldn’t cut it. Thus, Rusty stored an arsenal full of paintball guns and a fleet of used all-terrain vehicles in the barn beside the house—all donated by patriotic store owners