by Jillian Hart
“I wasn’t knocking being sensible,” he was saying. “You always have to be careful in water. I couldn’t resist the urge to tease you. You are always the good one, aren’t you? You always try to do the right thing.”
“I try. I don’t know how well I do. I feel like I always make a mess of things in the end.” Like with him. She already had a serious crush on a man who couldn’t be more wrong for her. A man who could never be anything more than a friend. Wasn’t that a colossal mess?
Uh, yeah. She had no idea how to stop her feelings. “My cousin and I would take the horses up into the forest. That was probably my favorite thing.”
“I like horses best from a distance. I prefer something more predictable, like a snowmobile or a dirt bike.”
“Wait a minute, you grew up around horses, but you don’t like them?” She stuck her fork in her salad, spearing a mouthful of greens. “I think there’s something the big strong brave Ranger isn’t telling me.”
“Not all country boys grow up liking horses.”
“Uh, my cousins did. C’mon, spill. You had a bad experience you never overcame.”
“How did you know?”
“Happened to one of my cousins, too. He fell off his pony and he didn’t get back in the saddle ever.” She took a quick bite.
“I know how he feels. I used to see a horse and my knees would knock together.”
“I don’t exactly believe you. Aren’t Rangers supposed to be tough?”
“That’s a big rumor. Sad but true.”
She loved how he could make her laugh. “Too bad I can’t put you to the test, Mr. Tough Guy. I would invite you to ride horses with me this summer, but you’ll probably be off traveling the world.”
“With any luck, I won’t be too far away. I’m stationed at Fort Lewis, over in Washington State. You never know. I have more leave coming, but I can be sent anywhere at a moment’s notice, so I probably won’t be able to show up to your challenge.”
“I hear the joy in your voice.”
“I’m trying to hide my relief, but it didn’t work, huh?”
“Not a bit, buster.” She was grinning ear to ear, and it was because of him, this man who was hundreds of miles away, but made her feel like he was in the next room. “I’ve got to shovel down the rest of my dinner in the next two minutes and race over to the libe. I’m working tonight.”
“I don’t want you to race in the snow.” His tone lowered, intimately, tenderly. “I’ll let you go. Goodbye, Lexie.”
She couldn’t make herself say goodbye, for some reason. Yes, she cared way more than was safe or sensible. “Adios.”
She disconnected, although she held the phone for a moment longer than necessary as if to somehow keep the connection with him, a tie she didn’t need and he didn’t want.
Somehow she was going to have to deal with her feelings. Luckily, now wasn’t the time.
Chapter Eight
He was beat, but it was good to be back home. He tossed his ruck on the floor, pulled his keys out of the door and hit the lights. He’d been lucky to get the little one-bedroom apartment. It was a stone’s throw from the air base, but it echoed around him as he shouldered the door shut. Everything looked the same as when he’d left, sparsely furnished with secondhand stuff and covered with a layer of dust. He tossed the stack of mail on the end table along with his keys.
The flight back had been uneventful, just like the ride through traffic. Rain pattered at the windows as he grabbed the remote and punched the TV on for background noise. A basketball game buzzed as he grabbed a root beer from the fridge. His laptop sat silently blinking at the dinette table. Sure, he was toast, but maybe he could check his e-mail. It wouldn’t hurt, right?
He took a cold swig of soda, but that didn’t cleanse away the hope he felt. He was looking forward to Lexie’s e-mail. Life had been hectic, they’d spent the weekend at Uncle Frank’s, and he hadn’t had a chance to borrow a computer and get online.
He pulled out the chair and vaulted into it, waiting while the laptop woke up and dialed in. His in-box was full. He had to wade through advertisements and family notes. There, nearly the last e-mail, was Lexie’s. She had written him early Saturday morning. Yep, he could picture her starting her day early, hunkered down at her desk already studying.
He leaned forward, forgetting how tired he was and how long the day and forced his blurry eyes to focus.
Pierce,
It was great actually talking to you. I’m guessing that’s going to be a rarity from now on. How did the hog roast turn out? How did it work out with your family?
Nothing eventful on this end. I’m sure you are rolling your eyes thinking, how did I get the most boring pen pal in the world?
What can I say? I’m studying for a quiz in my research and stat class. I’ve got a floor meeting this afternoon and work tonight. I think I can hear you yawning in boredom. I know, it’s mundane when I write about it, but I like my life. I have the feeling you like yours, too.
Write when you can,
Lexie.
He opened a new message and started to type.
Lexie,
Don’t apologize for the mundane. You could be operating under a false impression of my job. They say war is ninety percent boredom and ten percent terror. It’s true from my experience. I never asked about your spring break. Isn’t that coming up? I can’t see you heading off to Mexico or Florida. Let me guess. You plan to put in extra shifts at the library. Am I right?
The hog roast was a blast. Uncle Frank has a gift with a barbecue pit. It was a family reunion of sorts. Got to catch up with my cousins, sit around the campfire roasting marshmallows for s’ mores and shooting the breeze. Just like old times.
He stopped typing, wondering if that was enough. Keep things light and impersonal, right? That’s what he wanted. But he missed her. He could picture her clearly in his mind. How fragile she’d looked when he’d found her lying in the snow on that mountain slope. He remembered in the lodge when he’d handed her a cup of chamomile tea and she’d gently blushed. He could not forget the sound of her laughter or the lilac scent of her shampoo. Remembering her refreshed him, when he had felt so weary. He sighed, dug down deep and began writing the truth.
On the surface, it was a great trip home. I had a blast joking with my brother, hanging out with my folks and being able to just breathe in the Wyoming air—there’s nothing like it. I’d missed it like you wouldn’t believe. Good memories were everywhere I went, everywhere I looked. Digging for arrowheads in the creek bank. Helping Skip haul in hay. Barbecues on the back patio. But beneath that, it was a tough trip, too. The family is no longer whole. There’s a void no one can fill. There’s a face missing at the table. A voice missing in our conversation. A laugh silenced that used to be the first to ring.
Giselle and Mom have the hardest time with Tim’s loss. I’m doing all right, probably because I feel as if I carry on for him every day. It’s what he wanted. I found myself borrowing Skip’s truck and winding up at the cemetery. It was spitting snow. The wind was sharp and fierce. It made walking a misery, but I went to his grave anyhow. At the time on the street in Afghanistan, I did everything I knew to help him. After he fell, I had been the first one to reach him. I called for the corpsman. I checked for a pulse and started CPR. The ninety seconds or so that it took for a medic to reach us felt like a decade.
I kept up compressions, forgetting everything, the bullets, the grenades exploding. I didn’t hear any of it. Just my pulse thundering in my ears and my prayers. Those were desperate prayers. I’d never prayed so hard in my life. Please let him live, I kept asking over and over. The corpsman told me it was about two minutes before Tim sputtered in air and we got a pulse. It felt like two centuries. I got hit by rock fragments when a bullet hit too close, and blood was streaming down my face—minor cuts—and I hadn’t even noticed. When Oscar, the medic, peeled away Tim’s flak jacket, he’d been hit twice in the chest near his heart. The two of us worked like m
ad to stabilize him, but he died in my arms. It was the toughest moment of my life. I’ll always be grateful to God for giving us those few more minutes together. Tim and I said what needed to be said. I got to say goodbye to him.
There were things he told me, stuff I don’t think everyone processed after the funeral. It was a rough time then. But I repeated his words to the family before I left. I think it helped them to hear again that Tim died without regret. Freedom isn’t free. It comes at the price of lives unlived, so that others are free to live theirs. It’s why I’ll always be a soldier. Even if my career path takes me out of the field, I’ll continue to serve this country however I can to the best of my ability. When I wear my uniform, I wear it for Tim, too.
That was more than you needed to know, huh? And I’m sorry for it. Talking about serious stuff is not my strong suit. But I feel better, so thanks for listening.
Later,
Pierce.
He sat in the half dark, debating about erasing most of the message. Was it too much? Too personal? Or would Lexie not want to hear about the real Pierce Granger? In the end he hit Send. The e-mail zipped off through cyberspace, too late to pull it back.
Lexie glanced up from the screen, surprised to find she was at a table on the second floor of the library with books spread out in front of her. She’d come by after her 8:00 a.m. class to keep searching for an elusive topic for her methods and stat paper. Instead, she’d checked her e-mail and had gotten caught up by Pierce’s letter. His words still held a tight hold on her heart.
What he had been through. She hurt for him. More than anything, she wished she knew how to ease his sadness. There was only one thing she could think to do, so she bowed her head in prayer. Father, please help him find peace, for he is a good man.
Okay, so she was seriously crushing on Pierce Granger. Denial hadn’t worked. Ignoring it wasn’t working. She would simply have to accept the fact that she was sweet on him. There was nothing wrong with that, right?
Not really. They were friends, and nothing more was ever going to come of it. Her heart was safe, and what harm could come from having a high regard for a deserving friend?
She began to type.
Pierce,
Thank you for sharing your experience. It’s heartbreaking, but I’m sure Tim is looking down on you from heaven and feeling proud of his big brother. It had to be a great comfort to him that you were with him in the end. Your family has paid a high price for this country. I am sorry for it, and I admire it.
Your growing-up experiences remind me so much of mine. Walking down to the creek on scorching hot summer days and sticking my bare feet in the cold, clear water. Having my grandparents over for Sunday barbecues with the briquette smoke and lighter fluid scent hovering in the air, mixing with charred hamburger. Popsicles cold and dripping on my hand as we sat in the backseat of the car with the windows rolled down because we had no air conditioner, bumping along the dirt road to town.
I love going back home. My aunt and uncle own the farm now. They took it over from Mom when Dad bugged out on us. Aunt Julie kept my horse for me. The only reason I could bear to leave Pogo was because I knew my aunt would take great care of him. I wish I could fly home on spring break (coming up next week), but I put in for extra shifts at the libe. Yes, you read that right. I’m spending spring break at the library. How did you know? Wait a minute, I’m afraid to know that answer. I’m sure it’s not complimentary. I’ve always been a bookworm, and as my mother laments, I look like one, too. I’m not sure what that means, other than that I’m fairly quiet, but I’m afraid it means frumpy. Yikes.
What are you up to now that you’re back on your base? How is the Seattle area rain treating you? What’s the best part of your workday? What’s one thing about you that no one would guess just by looking at you? Inquiring minds want to know!
Write when you can,
Lexie.
She waited for the letter to be sent, grateful for the safe life she had. It was a sheltered existence, considering other places in the world. The dozen or so library books sitting on the table no longer interested her. She had wandered through the stacks pulling out volumes on topics she was vaguely interested in for her thesis: eating disorders, suicide rates in teens, domestic abuse and family systems theory. But now, not so much.
Pierce had inspired her. She scooped up the books and dropped them on the nearby returns cart. Gathering up her things, she went in search of the card catalogue, excitement driving each step.
A frumpy bookworm? Lexie? Pierce hooted, the sound echoing in his tiny kitchen, and he took a big bite of pizza. A sausage rolled off and plopped onto the table, and he snapped that up, savoring it. Talk about starving. Every muscle he owned hurt—not bad, but enough to know he’d gone soft on his vacation. He chewed, set the slice back in the box, swiped his hands on a paper towel and started his return e-mail.
Lexie,
Forget any ideas of frumpy. Do you know what makes you look like a bookworm? It’s that you’re smart. Your mom has nothing to lament. Plenty of guys are looking for a smart, with-it kind of girl. You’ve got it going on. Which is why I can’t believe you’re spending so much time writing to a guy like me. I’m at least six notches beneath you on the with-it scale.
To answer your questions, I’m back to long days’ training. Tonight we’re expecting a training call. They always come in the middle of the night. Yes, it’s raining for what has to be the millionth day in a row. At least it feels that way. I don’t mind so much, except we’ve been spending so much time outside, I’m starting to grow moss. The best part of my workday is getting to break for lunch. C’mon, you knew my answer was going to revolve around food, right?
As far as the one thing no one would guess about me. Hmm, it’s a toughie, but I think I’ll surprise even you. I like museums. There’s a flight museum not too far from here I go to now and then. I can even be dragged to art museums, but if you ask me in public, I’ll deny knowing the difference between a Manet and a Monet.
Your turn. Tell me something no one else knows about you.
He stopped typing to finish off his slice of pizza, chomping away as he reread his letter. Maybe that was good enough. He could just hit Send and do his best not to think of her until her next note appeared in his in-box. But something held him back. There was a connection he couldn’t deny, something that made him open up when he lived his life closed down. He went back to the keyboard.
For what you said about Tim, thanks. I got a call from Giselle last night, and there’s been a change in her. She’s hurting over Tim’s loss, too, but at least she can talk about it now. She might not like my decision to stay in, but she isn’t tortured by it. At least, it doesn’t sound that way. I have you to thank. You helped her, and I’m grateful.
I’ve been put on notice, so who knows where I will be writing to you from next. Or when. If you don’t hear from me for a while, it’s nothing personal. I might not have Internet access. I’ll catch you when I can.
Have fun on your wild spring break at the libe.
Pierce.
Pierce,
Here I am, writing to you on my wild spring break at the libe. Right now I’m at the check desk on the graduate wing, inspecting every book bag and backpack on the way out of the door. It’s everyone’s favorite job, because let’s face it, the graduate wing of a small university isn’t too hoppin’. It’s the perfect spot for letter reading and writing. I hope this still finds you stateside. You have to be a little bummed that you might have to deploy right after you’ve gotten back.
Monet, huh? I didn’t see that coming. I have a fondness for museums, too. When I was at MSU, I went to the Museum of the Rockies all the time. They have dinosaur exhibits. I like art museums, but no one will go with me because I take my time. When I went to Europe with my high school church group, I drove everyone nuts because I was always trailing waaay behind. I just wanted to soak in the beauty of the details. I’ve always wanted to go spend, like, two months at the
Louvre, poking from one pic to another. The trouble is, I can’t find anyone to go with me. No one I know wants to see that much of an art museum!
What’s one thing about me that no one knows? I’m a jigsaw puzzle phenom. Okay, maybe not a phenom, but family members have banned puzzles from the house because I do them too fast. There, now it’s your turn to tell a secret!
That’s all for now from my wild life at the libe.
Blessings,
Lexie.
Lexie,
This is coming to you from an Asian country I can’t name. I’m grabbing some computer time before we head out on an op I can’t tell you about.
I never would have pegged you for a jigsaw genius. Who knew we had this in common, too? I like the huge ones that take up a whole tabletop. When we were kids, we would always have one going in the living room. It’s a Granger family thing. I’m no jigsaw slouch, but it sounds like I can’t hold a candle to you.
Another secret talent of mine: chess. I was captain of my high school chess club two years running. Your turn for a secret. I’ll be waiting.
And hey, if you ever need a pokey art museum partner, I’ll volunteer for the job. Not that I have much free time, but you never know.
Later,
Pierce.
Pierce,
I’ll keep you in mind if I ever make it to Paris. Right now, I’m having a hard time budgeting change for laundry. It’s a sign that I’m nearing the last quarter of the school year. Good thing I have a big paycheck coming from all those hours at spring break!