Page 14 of Ruffled Feathers

And as I unveiled the scars on my cheeks, I worried if they’d scare her. They weren’t pretty. In fact, they were red and raised, and tended to terrify small children. It was why I’d let my beard get so bushy; it covered the places that couldn’t grow hair anymore because of the scarring.

I was breathing hard by the time I’d trimmed it down, until it was less than half an inch long. I looked at the mangled wreckage of my face. The scars were still pink and raised, but they were starting to fade. Akio barked softly, barely more than a chuff really, and I reached down and buried my hands in his fur, centering us both.

Akio wasn’t my dog, but when we’d both been medevaced from our mission, we’d been the only surviving members. Wewere partners. Kindred spirits. He’d saved me more times than I cared to think about over the last six months.

Wetting my dry lips, I looked down at him. “What do you think, boy? Will it scare her?”

He tilted his head at me, the golden-brown of his eyes feeling far more intelligent than they should be. He’d seen things; we both had. Things I couldn’t explain, couldn’t relive—not to the VA shrinks or my family, or even other veterans. Things I just wanted to forget.

There was a loud knock on the door, and my heart leapt in my chest as I reached for my knife.

“Lancelot? It’s just Tillie. I brought you some of my dad’s old clothes. You’re about the same size. I thought you might… I don’t know. Um, it just occurred to me that you might find it offensive that I brought you clothes. But you don’t seem to have many, and my stepmom said to me, ‘Three t-shirts and a holey pair of jeans does not a wardrobe make’ once upon a time, and I didn’t know if you’d like a few options or something, so… yeah.” There was soft muttering behind the door, and I could almost hear her chastising herself.

I chuckled softly, a sound that had been almost foreign to me until a week ago, and walked over to the door. Opening it on a pink-cheeked Otillie-James, I watched her eyes widen, then they wandered south, before snapping back to my face.

Fuck. I forgot my shirt.

Shutting the door quickly on her, I grabbed a shirt and threw it on. Panic set in, gripping my chest in a vice that squeezed, and Akio whined louder. He licked at my fingers, mouthing them gently, distracting me from the panic attack that was trying to creep in.

I concentrated on the warm slobber, the feel of his teeth against my curled fists, and pushed the panic back down. It was okay. This was my body now, and although I didn’t knoweverything there was to know about Otillie-James Baler, I knew she wouldn’t care about my wounds.

Sucking in large breaths to fill my constricted lungs, I pushed the panic from the edges of my vision, straightening. I felt so stupid, worrying about something as inconsequential as how I looked, when most of my team had come home in pine boxes. Guilt sat like an anvil on my chest, a familiar tormentor.

“Lancelot?” Her light voice was filled with worry, contributing more guilt to the already overfilled well of it that sat in my stomach.

I opened the door again, ignoring the questions that were written all over her expression. I reached out and took the clothes from her, hoping I could divert her from what she saw. “Thank you. Are you sure your father won’t miss them?”

Picking up my cues, she made a skeptical sound and waved a hand. “Most of them still had tags. He’s been wearing the same threadbare band shirts and flannels since I was four. Citrine likes to shop for him, though, so he has a closet of clothes he’s never even seen. Trust me, it’ll be fine.” Her eyes ran all over my face, as if she was assessing me for injuries, like the banged-up rooster or a three-legged mutt. “Your beard looks nice. Rugged.”

“Not like a hobo from underneath Wildcat Creek Bridge?”

She winced guiltily. “He’s an asshole.”

Yeah, he was, but I didn’t blame him at all. If I found someone who looked like me in a house with my sister, I’d assume the worst.

Narrowing her eyes at me, she chewed her plump lower lip. “Would you like me to give your hair a trim? I cut my dad’s hair until I was sixteen, and he managed to bag the most eligible widower in the Southern states, so I come with good reviews.” She waggled her eyebrows at me.

Fuck, she was cute. And good. Way too good for someone like me. I didn’t deserve to even think dirty thoughts about someone this sweet.

Still, I found myself nodding, and she pushed me toward the toilet seat. “Sit, sit. I know I left the scissors in here somewhere.” Deciding I was now okay, Akio trotted out of the room. “I’m in charge of all the grooming at the pet daycare where I work, so I have a pair of shears here somewhere.” She looked up at me and winced. “I mean, they’ve been cleaned and sterilized, and dog fur and human hair are basically the same thing.” I liked how she looked at me, as if I’d be offended she was using the same scissors on me as she did on some fluffy dog, like she hadn’tliterallyfound me living under a bridge.

I raised an eyebrow back at her. “There’ve been worse things in my hair.”Like mud, sludge, my best friend’s internal organs…

Pushing the darkening thoughts away, I concentrated on the way she moved. She seemed to take up too much space in the tiny bathroom, but not because she was physically large. She couldn’t be more than five and a half feet. She seemed to have terrible spatial awareness, though. She’d already jammed her fingers in the second drawer and banged her elbow against the towel rail, and given the way she barely flinched, I was fairly certain that was something she did often.

“Ah-ha! Here we go!” Pulling out a little pouch, she unzipped it and eyed her tools seriously. Settling on a set of shears, she moved closer. She wrapped a hand towel around my shoulders, her fingers touching me lightly.

I bit the inside of my cheek so I didn’t focus on that sensation. I had no right. If I kept repeating that to myself, it might eventually sink in.

“So, what are we thinking? Your options are basically short back and sides, or a poodle bouffant.”

Chuckling, I shook my head. “I’ll leave it up to your creative direction.”

She cackled evilly. “Brave man. Poodle bouffant it is.” Spraying down my hair with a bottle she got from beneath the sink, she went to work. Silently at first, and I could see her concentration in the vanity mirror. A crease worked its way between her eyes, her tongue peeking out from between her teeth.

I didn’t interrupt her, happy that the comfortable silence between us gave me the opportunity to watch her work. She kept the thoughts away, even for a moment, and that was enough for me.

Tufts of hair fell to the floor at our feet, until eventually, she broke the silence. “I wanted to thank you again. For what you did when we met. And for not telling Truett and Sonny about it.”

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