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Of The Cowboy's Own Accord (Double Dutch Ranch; Love At First Sight #3)

Page 7

by Mary J. McCoy-Dressel


  “We got hit. RPG’s and mortar rounds. I’ll get you out. You’ll be okay.”

  I’ve said the same things to guys dying. “How about the others? It’s not looking too good in here.” When his eyes focused long enough, he examined the ceiling. “I see light above. Where’s that damn dustoff? The whole ceiling’s about to cave in.” Dane wiped sweat from his face, but it wasn’t sweat. Not unless his sweat turned red. Other than that, his body was soaked in real sweat.

  “Everybody else is okay.”

  Gunfire raged on around them and it stopped. He removed his knife from its sheath and dug at the dirt beneath his arm. Tugging, he attempted to free his body, but he weakened. His arm had been lodged in tight—pinned above the elbow as far as he could tell. He held his breath as pain came in waves. He couldn’t feel his fingers. “This isn’t where I wanna die. Everything’s murky.”

  “We’ll get you out, but you need to be still before you bleed out.”

  More gunfire. A spray of bullets hit the rubble around them. Shit! “Take cover. That’s an order, Corporal.” Dane reached for his rifle, secured it against his body, and prepared to kill the best he could with his left hand on the trigger. He anchored himself on his side. One spray of gunfire from an AK-47 rang out loud and clear, and the digging stopped. “Bastards. Get your ass up here, Coop.” He lowered his eyes for only a moment. The corporal had been hit—his arm or shoulder bleeding out like a faucet across Dane’s lower leg. His head bled. Coop’s digging had gotten his leg free.

  Dane stretched as far as he could and tried to grab a hold of the corporal’s vest to drag him closer. Sonofabitch that hurts. How long before he’d be screaming out, or maybe he had. Hanson’s body was inches away from his reach, but Dane couldn’t get his arm to budge enough to grab hold of him.

  He patted the ground. “Come here, boy, come on, Boston.” The dog crawled forward but turned to go back to his handler. Dane lowered his rifle and grabbed the dogs vest. “It’s okay, boy, stay. Grab hold of him.” He shook his head—his thoughts and focus fading fast.

  Directing the dog to the corporal’s shoulder, Boston grabbed hold of his vest strap, pulling and yanking, dragging him toward Dane a half inch at a time until Dane could grab hold enough to pull Hanson up. He removed a tourniquet from Hanson’s IFAK bag—using his free hand to twist it tight on Cooper’s arm, and took a felt pen to write a T on Hanson’s forehead to indicate the tourniquet. He pressed a bandage against Hanson’s head wound.

  Wiping blood from his own face, he picked up his rifle and braced it against his body, pointed it toward the opening, and waited for whatever might happen. “Come on you bastards. I’m taking a bunch of you out with me. Coop, don’t die on me. Dammit all to hell. Not you, dude.” Dane faded in and out of consciousness. Focus waned. He had to get them out of there…out of there. He had to get them out of there…and then the ceiling crumbled.

  ***

  The whiny whirl and whooshing thwopty thwop, sound of helo blades, the jarring and bumping against his body, and murmured voices were the only things that existed in his brain at the moment. He tried to wake. Dizzy. He didn’t feel anything—his body was numb—more than his brain. Am I on a bird to Heaven? Shaking his head to clear it didn’t help. Blurred images and muddled voices surrounded him. Once he realized he was alive, he whispered, “Where am I?” A dog whimpered around him. He tried to sit up, but his body had other ideas. “Let me up.”

  “Be still Sergeant Carlson. We medevaced you outta there. We’re getting you to the trauma care center.” Gentle hands touched his body.

  “Hanson. Go back and get him. We can’t leave him behind.” He pictured himself thrashing his arms, but when he tried to follow through, he only had the ability to raise one of them. Seconds later, large, calloused hands pinned that arm to the floor. Dane glanced to the side. His whole arm had been wrapped and held down. “What happened?”

  “Don’t try to talk now. You’ve been severely wounded.”

  A young medic put pressure to his abdomen, but Dane tried removing his hands. “Hanson. Let me go get him… You have to go back. Go get him—”

  “He’s here and alive thanks to you.”

  “No…” His voice wavered. “I’m here because…of…him.” His head lolled to the side as he lowered it. I feel like I already died… Weak. Out of it… Where the fuck am I going?

  A self-assured voice spoke near him. “He’s lost a lot of blood. How far out, Captain? His blood pressure’s dropping…”

  That was the last thing he heard them say. Shit, this is it…I’m dying. Sorry, Mom. Guess I’m not coming home, Gracelyn… Everything went black.

  ***

  Cool air on his face told him he was no longer in the desert. Glasses clinked, forks scraped. Maybe I’m home. I’ll open my eyes and see roast beef sitting on the table. The way his body hurt, if he was home that meant he got bucked off a wild bronc ten times in a row, then stomped on twenty times…or eighty.

  An antiseptic smell filled his nostrils. Shaking his head, he tried to get awake. His eyes fluttered. The brightness of the room already hurt them even through closed lids. Upon opening them, his gaze rested on a grim, white ceiling. He glanced around without moving his head, which hurt as if it had been squeezed in a vice.

  When he peered to the foot of the bed, a doctor stood with a chart in his hand. “Welcome back.”

  “Where have I been? Better yet, where the hell am I?” Observing the room, he had no clue and he sure didn’t like that feeling. Wherever it was, this wasn’t where he wanted to be.

  “You’re in Germany at Landstuhl Medical Center.”

  “Damn, that can’t be good. When can I get back to my unit?” His arm ached and his abdomen felt like he’d done one thousand sits-ups, the hard way—from the inside out.

  The doctor took a seat beside his bed. “We’re flying you back to the states.” He checked the monitors.

  “My arm’s burning, aching like hell. How come I can’t lift it?” He remembered something about his arm being pinned, but where the hell he was then, he didn’t know.

  “The surgeons did major surgery on your arm. It’ll take a while. It’s held together with pins and there are skin grafts due to so much damage. You have a concussion. Seven sutures in your head.” He stood and wrote something on the chart.

  “So, I’m going back to the states because of my arm? Why can’t I go back to the Middle East? To my unit?” He tried looking, but with it wrapped as it was, he couldn’t tell. “Do I still…have all of my…arm?” Crimminy, do I want to know? The doctor had said it was held together. His heart rate increased as he waited for the doctor’s answer. The monitor proved that fact.

  “You still have all your limbs, except for one finger and part of another. Shrapnel ripped right through a kidney and did a lot of damage. It had to be removed.

  Missing fingers? “How long have I been here?”

  “Four full days not including the night they flew you in. We’ll get you home.”

  “I don’t want to go home, dammit.” Wait. “I’m right handed. Which fingers?” He didn’t even want to know right now. “My family knows I’m here? What do you mean removed my kidney?” Dane lifted his head to glance at his abdomen. Bandages.

  The doctor looked up from his chart. “Your family was contacted right away. They’ve been kept up to date on your transports and progress. They’ll meet you at the hospital when you get back to the States.”

  “I need to call them.” His family worrying caused a pain in his gut but not from the wounds. He laid his head against the pillow, trying to absorb what the doctor told him. Going home? All his limbs except… What about Gracelyn? “My arm is aching something awful.” He checked both sides of his body. “Don’t you have Morphine around here? Anyone get a hold of my girl?”

  A nurse came in with a needle. “I’m giving you a pain shot right now, Sergeant.” The nurse’s voice held compassion. The doctor remained at the foot of the bed.

  “Than
ks, hon. I appreciate it. Somebody get a hold of my girl. Her number’s in my phone…Gracelyn. Please, call her.” The name on her tag blurred. He held his breath, not wanting to show a weakness such as wincing over pain as he changed position. He didn’t do that—show weakness. The memory of the ordeal hit him then. “I need to get back to my men. Corporal Hanson. What happened to him? Did he make it? And the dog?”

  “He was transported back to his unit to recuperate yesterday. He’ll be all right after a short convalescent leave.” The doctor came around to the other side of the bed. “Not sure about the dog. I’m sure your family have contacted your girl. You’re a hero, Sergeant Carlson. You saved the corporal’s life.”

  “I did my job. That’s what they pay me to do, Doc. Like you. Thanks, but you and the guys in the field—the trauma care center are the heroes. The medevac pilots. And Hanson saved me out there.” Dane looked into his minds-eye. What happened to Boston the dog? Had he been buried in the rubble, too? A dull, numbness took over his brain and body—the effect of the pain shot he was sure.

  Chapter 7

  A busy work night didn’t keep her mind free from that soldier. Maybe today she’d have a letter. A phone call, a text. Something. She smiled as she walked up to the table, but her hands shook. “Good evening. Could I make a wine suggestion, or is there something you’d prefer from the wine list?” That’s it, smile, Grace, do your job.

  The man peered across the table at the pretty woman sitting with him. “Want to be bold tonight and be surprised?”

  His date smiled and nodded in agreement.

  Gracelyn folded her arms in front of her as she waited. “Do you prefer white or red, sparkling wine, or French champagne?” This was the last place she wanted to be tonight, but she needed to be here for two reasons. Solace and extra money to catch-up after paying for the move a few weeks ago into her second apartment since coming to Phoenix.

  “We like red,” the male customer repeated a second time.

  “Ah, ha, and what are you ordering for dinner?” They had ordered prime rib, and she promised them a special dinner wine. Gracelyn ran her pen down the list of wines on her list, then left them to go downstairs for a wine to get them started.

  In the wine cellar, she found the two bottles she searched for and carried them upstairs. Her body succumbed to the long hours this week. She couldn’t wait to get home to put her feet up.

  First, she stopped at the side table to open the pre-dinner bottle of NV Bel Star Prosecco. At their table Gracelyn explained they could expect a soft, fruity and floral taste with pear, apple, and bit of melon. She poured them a glass and waited for their response.

  The male customer cocked his head toward his date. “Spectacular.” She nodded excitedly.

  After placing the bottle on the table, she said, “Enjoy,” then left. That was her last customer of the night. As soon as their dinner was served and wine delivered to them, she’d head home. Taking it upon herself, she also gave a dessert wine choice to the waiter to offer them. Before leaving the floor, a customer called her over. Great! I’m done with him. She dragged her feet to his table. “Can I get you something else, Mr. Jamison?”

  “Clearly, I don’t need anything, but you can take me up on the dinner offer.”

  She did her best to retain her composure. What didn’t he get about no? “I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to have dinner with you.” Tired, she wanted nothing more than to go home. “If you’re set for the evening, my shift has ended and I’ll be heading to my boyfriend’s family’s house. You have a great evening.” Of course she wasn’t going to see her boyfriend’s family, but she didn’t want him to know she went home alone. She turned to go, but he caught her arm.” Gracelyn glared at his fingers then jerked away.

  “No one has seen this, ahem, boyfriend you keep talking—”

  “You know why no one has met him. Who tells you this kind of thing?” She flung her hand out in front of her. “He’s out in the desert getting shot at by people who hate him.” Not like it was any of his business.

  “Calm down.” His gaze ran up the front of her. “You’d think he’d want to be around a pretty woman like—”

  “My God.” Gracelyn’s voice came out low and flat. “I’m not going out with you, Mr. Jamison. Ever. It’d be best to stop asking.” She left in a huff without looking back, knowing this behavior went against everything she had been taught in school—the customer was always right. Justifiably, not in this case. When she got into the back room to get her purse, her phone rang. Dane? She removed it as quickly as she could then said hello.

  “I’m not giving up until you go out with me, Grace. You might—”

  She dropped to the bench beside the locker. A chill engulfed her as she stared at her screen. What the hell? “How’d you get my number?” This was becoming more than a friendly offer of dinner. Her gaze darted around the room. How did he get her number? “How’d you…” Never mind.

  Chuckling is the only response he had.

  “Don’t call me again.” She hit the End button, frozen for a moment. I hate his persistence.

  Tammy, a co-worker and friend, walked into the locker and employee lounge. She took a seat beside her. “Are you okay? You look a bit pale, hon.”

  Nodding toward the dining floor, she spoke with her voice lowered. “That guy asked me out again, but he called my phone. I never gave him my number.” Gracelyn stood. “I have to get out of here. He got my number when I didn’t give it to him.” Nervousness caused her to tremble.

  “Was your locker locked, Grace?”

  She peered at her locker as she closed the door. “Yes, of course, but what about our personnel files? Are they locked?” She rummaged through her purse to see if anything was missing, then she pulled out her wallet to check her credit cards and cash. “Everything’s here. This is too freaky.” Her items got stuffed back inside while her hand shook.

  “I honestly don’t know if our files are locked. The main office is after hours. Grace, this is kind of scary. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m okay. I have to get out of here.” She removed her keys and got up to leave. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  Tammy took her arm. “Wait, I’ll walk to the door with you and stand outside a moment. I need some fresh air anyway. The employee parking area is a little dark. I wish they’d get more lighting on the path leading to it. I’ll watch until you get in your car.”

  “Thank you.” Grace leaned closer. “When I can, I park in the regular lot. Don’t tell.” She lifted her keys. “Look, I have my trusty Kubotan on my keychain. I’ll gouge their eyes out.”

  “Well, there still isn’t enough lighting.” Tammy held the door and motioned for Gracelyn to go out ahead of her. “Better to have a gun to protect yourself. Using that thing, they’d have to get too close.”

  “Don’t go there with me. You sound like my dad now.” They walked out together and she hugged Tammy before going to her car. “Thanks for worrying about me, but I’ll be fine.” She waved and got into her car, locking the doors immediately upon entering. The lot was quiet except for a small party of five leaving the restaurant. She shifted into first gear and took a deep breath before pulling out. Her eyes scanned the rear view and side mirrors.

  ***

  On the way home from work, Gracelyn hurried to the post office. Going through her mail, she found nothing from him. Again. Why did he quit writing? She clenched the mail to her chest. Had it been too good to be true? But she believed in him. Is he alive after that last mission? How would she know? The TV news always announced the death of a local soldier. God, what a thought. The city would have a memorial for him. He lived near here. She’d hear about it.

  Tears flooded her eyes on the way to her car, but once inside they burst forth. “We’re in love, and now he’s gone?” She removed her phone from her purse and dialed. Still dead. Three weeks. Nothing. The longest it had been with no word from him since Dane was deployed. During their last communication v
ia their webcams, Dane made sure she understood he was heading out. He meant a couple days not a few weeks. Then his text arrived where he said that he loved her.

  He always found time to write if nothing more than a few sentences, ending each one with I’m falling in love with you, and then the last one said, I love you. She knew he did, but he had to admit to himself. Her soul took flight. At that time she looked forward to him coming back home in just over three months from the day of the last letter.

  A pang in her heart lingered. To think of him being killed tore her apart. Killed before they could even have a life… What a loss to the family he so loved, and to her.

  She dried her eyes and drove out the parking lot toward her apartment. When she got in the door, she fell back against it and slid to the floor. “God, why? Why did you bring us together only to tear us apart? Why did you give us what you did, and take him away without being able to share our life together?”

  Crying and begging solved nothing. She forced herself up and sauntered over to the table where she dropped her bag on the sofa. Why did she come home starving if she worked in a restaurant? She opened a can of vegetable soup. After heated, she poured it into a mug and sat on the couch, peering into space as she sipped it.

  She checked out the largest wall in her apartment where her big screen TV hung above the fireplace—across from the nut-brown colored sofa and two chairs. Dust coated the top of the mantle. She’d make cleaning her weekend assignment.

  When her phone rang, she almost spilled soup down the front of her. She perked up. Was it him this time? One glance at the screen showed Tammy’s name. Then part of her died all over again. “No, I appreciate you asking, Tammy, but I’m home and settled in. Maybe another night I’ll feel like dinner out.” She inhaled slowly to cover any tension that might show in her voice.

 

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