Of course, the soldiers of the Purple Heart Ranch were all here. Once anyone set foot on the ranch, they were treated as family. And the soldiers took care of their own, including becoming a cheering section for this year’s senior graduates.
Chase's time on the ranch was up. He had moved out three weeks ago. But that didn't stop the guys from coming over to his place, the wives sending him off with food, and everyone still nosing in his business. Even though he lived in town now, he was on the ranch five days a week. Sometimes every day. It was as though nothing had changed.
“Billy Trent.”
The soldiers hooted and hollered louder than the kid's blood family. Billy had come to them an uncoordinated mess. Now, he marched up the stairs to the stage with his back straight and his head high.
The same happened with Ayden Benson and Jordan Scott. The cadets of the JROTC program of the Purple Heart Ranch were each walking across the stage. Every one of them was decked out with academic and service honors.
Those two had been destined for factory work. Which was admirable. Chase knew many of their family members worked in the local C&C Factory. But there had been rumblings of late that the factory might close and move out of state. With their military career secured, the boys would be able to fill in the gaps for their families if they lost those long-held jobs.
“Janey Marsden,” called the announcer.
Janey Marsden was a particular bright spot. Not only had she earned the highest honors in the training program, but she'd also earned the highest honors in the whole class. Every soldier beamed as she gave the Valedictorian speech.
Teachers had welcomed the soldiers the first time they showed up at the school a year ago. When the soldiers had offered to take on their troubled kids, the administration had leaped at the offer to give the kids more attention.
Eight out of the eleven kids the soldiers had taken under their wing were now going into the military. That success rate had given some pause.
The next class was only six students. Word of mouth was how they had gotten those few new students. No teachers, guidance counselors, or principals were returning their calls for another visit.
The ceremony concluded, and Chase joined the others in congratulating the kids and their parents. Off to the side, he spotted the school's principal. He made his way over to the slight young man. Chase didn't miss the wince when Principal Miller caught sight of him in his peripheral eye.
"Principal Miller, a word if you have a second?"
"It's a big day," said Miller, not meeting Chase's eyes. "Lots of families to congratulate and students to say goodbye to."
"I understand that, but you also have a lot of students still here awaiting their future. As you saw, the JROTC program helped a lot of them forge a solid path for their futures.”
"Yes, including one of our best and brightest. Did you know Janey Marsden was offered a full scholarship to three Ivy League schools?”
Yes, Chase did know that. And she’d decided to use her bright mind in service to her country. He couldn’t be more proud.
“But she's turned them all down to join the Army."
"I'm failing to see the problem,” said Chase. “The military needs the best and brightest."
"Look, you can come after school to talk to the kids in detention. But coming into the classrooms again is just out of the question. Some of these kids have real potential."
"And the ones who get into trouble don't?"
The man sighed. "Look, I think the military is a viable path. But it shouldn't be the first road for some kids."
Chase’s mouth opened, but only a choked sound came out. He was so shocked, he couldn't form words. He grit his teeth and clenched his fists as the man walked away.
A dull thud began just behind Chase’s ear. He unclenched his fingers and rubbed at the spot. But it was useless. The migraine had dug in its tenterhooks.
Chase turned and faced the wall like a child in time out. He needed the solitude. After moments of deep breaths, he opened his eyes to find Dr. Patel beside him.
“You good?” the doctor asked. His wise eyes likely saw through Chase.
“I’m managing it.”
Migraines were a common ailment. Not just to soldiers, but civilians alike. There was no immediate cure. Only management tactics. Quiet and darkness, sometimes a cold compress, was what worked for Chase.
“What brought that on?” asked Patel.
“Principal Miller thinks Janey’s too good for the military. He won’t let us speak to the full student body. He practically called us poachers. Can you believe that?"
Dr. Patel inhaled. "Once every family had someone in the military. That's not the case anymore. People today don't remember the honor it is to serve. That the military was the only viable path for some families.”
"He can't bar us from the school,” said Chase. “Can he?”
"No, but he can make it difficult. Want my advice?"
"Always."
Dr. Patel had been instrumental in Chase’s healing. Chase had come to the ranch, mostly unscathed. His mind was intact, aside from the migraines. But he always enjoyed his talks with Patel and the advice the psychologist gave, but also the wise words of the man as pastor in the town’s church. Chase rooted himself and prepared to take in Patel’s wise gospel of scriptures and metaphors. He enjoyed working out puzzles and riddles, which Patel often spoke in.
“My advice,” began Patel, “is to go speak to the school board."
Well, that was uncharacteristically straightforward and logical.
Chapter Four
"With all the work I've done for the school board, how can you not be prepared to give me your flat out endorsement?"
Ginger tried to keep her voice light, but it trilled into incredulity. As a female politician, she knew she could never be perceived as shrill. That led to emotional and hysterical. She had to appear cool, calm, and collected at all times. Even when she wanted to stomp her foot at the sheer ridiculousness of some people.
"We can't endorse this far out from the election,” said Dawn Weber, the school district’s Assistant Superintendent.
Ginger squinted her eyes. Her hands jerked off the desk. She wanted to spout off the facts that the School Board had endorsed early before.
"You know you have my vote. But Senator Norman Dean has a long history with the teacher's union."
“Dean hasn't kept a single one of his promises. I have a plan to-"
"Having a plan doesn't mean anything if you don't have any followers backing the plan."
"What's that supposed to mean?”
Dawn sighed. “Senator Dean has donors."
Ginger was staying away from the donor class. She didn't want to be beholden to anyone but her constituents. That's how government service should be.
"Money talks, Ginger. I don’t make the rules.”
"I have money."
Ginger was running her campaign with her own money, money from a trust fund she swore she’d never touch. But it wasn’t for her. It was for the people. At least that’s how she justified it. And she hadn’t put a dent in the fund.
Plus, she knew that money could say cruel things. She was one to know. She'd come from cruel money. She had plans to make it say nice things.
"I have small donors,” said Ginger. “Lots of parents."
"I know,” said Dawn. “I’ve seen your social media campaign. It's clever."
She'd done the campaign herself. Put her graphic design degree to good use. There was the Oh, Snap slogan playing off her first name. And the Sugar and Spice slogan playing off her surname and the family sugar business.
"But not a lot of people here are on social media outside of Facebook groups of their families,” said Dawn.
Ginger’s glossy Instagram and Snapchat ads had gone viral. But to the wrong demographics.
"The truth is, you're young, untried, and unmarried."
"What does my marital status have to do with anything?” Ginger said.
<
br /> "Don't be naive, Ginger. You talk about commitment and compromise, and you have no proof that you're capable of either."
"That's just insane." Her voice went shrill.
Dawn leaned back. "I don't make the rules."
No, the patriarchy did.
"Your best bet is to get an endorsement from a high society member. Like your father."
Ginger had no intention of seeking out her father. Not after the stunt, he pulled with Honey. All her life, she'd given him chance after chance. But the man was who he was.
It was clear Ginger wasn’t going to forge a path here with Dawn, so she took her leave from the office. Outside the door, a reporter lay in wait. It was a school board meeting tonight, which was big news here in this small town.
"Can I get a quote, Ms. Dumasse?"
Ginger opened her mouth to give a canned sound bite, but her voice was drowned out by a deeper tenor.
"It's about having a plan. But not only having a plan. It’s about learning how to make a plan, implement it, and evaluate it."
Ginger turned to the resonating sound of sanity and blanched.
"That's what the military taught me," said Sergeant Colin Chase.
He stood in his uniform before the school board. It was the second time she'd seen him decked out in all his patriotic glory. She still had dried dribble on her chin from the first time.
"I come from a wealthy family, but none of that mattered in the service. The Army was truly the great equalizer. There, I learned the value of compromise and commitment. The Purple Heart Ranch’s JROTC program has taught that to many kids in the community who didn't have a plan, who didn't know what was in the future for them, who had odds stacked against them because of their birth, or their race, or their economic status. But they can rise in the service."
"No one here disagrees with you, Sergeant,” said one of the board members. The man looked haggard and bored.
For most of the school board, this wasn’t their day job. Many members were eager to get home and kick their shoes off after a long day at work and an evening hearing teacher and parent grievances and demands. They did not appreciate long speeches. Ginger had learned that the hard way.
“What is it you are here for, Sergeant?”
Chase cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice sounded even more deep and resonate. “I’m having trouble gaining access to local schools for recruitment efforts."
"What kind of problems?"
"Some faculty and students protest."
"That is their right. We can grant you access to the school premises, but you'll have to change their minds about the military."
Chase's jaw tensed. He nodded and stepped away from the podium. The moment he did, his eyes caught hers. They were always catching her. Probably because she was always staring at him when he was near.
He had made a good sales pitch. But it was a hard sell in a world where tech jobs were the wave of the future, and the military base pay was less than the minimum wage of most states. Chase needed to find a way to emphasize other benefits if he had any hope of getting his foot in the schools.
But that wasn't her problem.
As Chase turned away from the board, a large figure blocked him from Ginger’s sight. Norman Dean had his hand out to Chase. Ginger saw Chase’s hand hesitate, but in the end, he took the proffered hand and shook.
That was all she needed to hear and see. She and Colin Chase were truly on opposite sides of everything. Ginger turned from the doorway and headed to the elevator.
Chapter Five
Chase was used to giving orders. He was used to others following behind those orders or at least offering constructive feedback. So, when the school board dismissed his directive so easily, he balked.
He stood stunned for a moment, as though an explosive had gone off. The shock waves wore off quickly, though. He turned on his heel, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to brush off the debris of this blowout. Before he could get out of the door, an icy palm clamped down on his shoulder.
"I think we may be able to help each other out, son."
Chase turned his head and met with Santa Claus. The man’s body was a perfectly round ball in a straining white button-down. White tufts of hair protruded from his chin, his cheeks, and above his upper lip. But his head was bald. He wore a jolly smile, but it was his dark, beady eyes that told Chase this man only had access to the naughty list.
Chase could brush all the Bad Santa aside. There had been plenty of men promising sweets and delivering coal parading around his father’s offices when he was a kid. What Chase couldn’t abide was being called son. It was a power play. Even when his own father said it.
"Name's Norman Dean. I know your father.”
Well, that explained the jolly old flashbacks. Mr. Dean stuck out his hand. Because Chase had been raised with manners, he accepted the cold shake.
“I’m running to keep my seat as state senator, which I’ve held for over two decades now.”
So, this was Ginger’s rival. The two couldn’t be more opposite. Norman Dean was an older man promising candy cane dreams. While Ginger was a young woman and making plans to deal with the harsh realities of the day. Plans Chase didn’t always agree with, but at least she was dealing with the truth of the matters.
“I can use an honorable man like you on my campaign,” said Mr. Dean.
"As part of the military, we aim to stay out of politics, Senator Dean. As soldiers, we protect every citizen.”
Dean threw back his head and laughed. It was a ho-ho-ho that made the spine tingle in the wrong direction. "Everyone has a political agenda, son.”
"Not me." Chase gave a curt nod and turned. “If you’ll excuse me.”
"You'll change your mind,” Dean said to his back. “When you do, give me a call."
Chase couldn't make it out of the room fast enough. Down the hall, the elevator doors were closing. He called out for the occupant to hold the doors but got no response. He made it just in time before the metal cage closed, slipping one hand between the two sides and forcing the doors back open. When they opened, the last person he wanted to see stood inside the elevator.
But if Ginger Dumasse was the last person he wanted to see, why did his heart kick out a few extra beats? Why did his lips part like they were ready to take a sip or a bite of something? Why did his hands itch as though they needed to reach out and touch?
Ginger’s eyes flashed up at him. Those lush lips pursed. That regal nose lifted into the air. That proud chin jutted out. She would've been adorable if not for being, well, her.
For a split second, Chase contemplated the stairs. Before the thought could become action, his feet were moving. The doors of the elevator closed behind them before his mind figured out that he and Ginger were alone together. The last time they had been alone together, he'd almost kissed her.
"Ms. Dumasse."
"Sergeant Chase.”
They retreated to their own corners as the elevator began to move. The school board was housed in an old building. The elevator had likely been the first of its kind installed. It creaked along, groaning and moving slowly with old age. There were only three floors. The board meeting had been on the top. The elevator’s pace was such that Chase could’ve walked down the stairs and back up all before the elevator made it to the second floor.
After another long groan of their cage and a rattling shake, Ginger reached out for the wall to brace herself.
Chase opened his mouth to offer comfort. And then promptly closed it. She'd reminded him enough that she was an independent woman. He was sure she didn't need his reassurance.
"Saw you getting cozy with Senator Dean back there.” She took her hand off the wall and wrapped it around her torso.
"Jealous?"
Why did he like the idea that she was jealous of anything he might do. Maybe because it meant she cared. But that was ridiculous. They had a mutual dislike for each other.
Well, no, he didn't dislike her. He just disagreed
with her. She wasn't a bad person. She wasn't even mean. She was just opinionated. Very opinionated, and she thought her opinions were right. She'd have made a great drill sergeant if she had a positive view of the military. Which she didn't.
“Jealous of what?” Ginger scoffed. “That he made you a bunch of promises to get your vote. Promises that he won’t keep.”
"Isn't that the way politics works?"
"Not my kind of politics. I'm a woman of my word."
Chase hadn't had any reason to test her word. But he believed her. Ginger Dumasse was fiercely protective of her sister. And he knew some of her background. What he particularly respected was that after her parents’ divorce, Ginger had chosen to live with her mother in near poverty rather than cow to her wealthy father's demands.
"They're right about you needing a better portrayal for your cause,” she said. “You need to focus on the aspects that matter to people today."
A better portrayal for his cause? What did that mean? Make military service shiny and glossy? Sell it?
That was ridiculous. He was offering these kids a way out, a plan, a chance. That was the sale right there. Here's your opportunity at a future and a way to do it honorably.
Chase tried to hold his tongue as the elevator creaked along down from the second to the first floor. The silence ate at him. Especially when he was in the right.
“Honor and service are what the military is about,” said Chase.
"This generation is more into public service, travel, adventure.” She’d uncrossed her arms as if her guard was down. She snapped her fingers as though a brilliant idea occurred to her. “Maybe if you framed it as a gap year."
Her face lit up. For a moment, Chase was taken with the sheer beauty of her. Bright blue eyes. Her soft blonde hair could’ve been the rays of the sun. Too bad there was a cloud on the horizon. She’d gotten her facts wrong.
“It wouldn’t be a gap year,” he said, raining on her parade. “Service is at least two years.”
Ginger shrugged, crossing her arms back over her body. It was like the sun had set on what had been a beautiful day. She didn't say anymore. Which was a pity? Her idea hadn’t been bad. She just hadn’t had all the facts.
In His Good Hands Page 2