The Baby and the Cowboy SEAL (Cowboy SEALs 2)

by Laura Marie Altom

  Chapter Fifteen

  Macy arched her head back, leaning on Wiley’s strong, solid chest to watch the show. For as long as she could remember, Fourth of July nights had been spent in this very spot—on the fifty yard line of Eagle Ridge High’s football field, lounging on an old quilt, staring up at the brilliantly lit sky.

  The cool evening air smelled of dew and fresh-mown grass and the fireworks’ faint sulfur smoke.

  Most years, she’d sat with her parents or friends, pining for Wiley. Either she watched him make out with another girl, or, when he was on active duty, she’d prayed for his safety. Her few years with Rex, she’d played at being happy, but until being with Wiley, she now knew she hadn’t even been sure what real happiness was.

  Here, now—yesterday at the waterfall and on the boat, and most especially, while saying her vows and making love with the man she’d always adored, Macy felt wonderfully, wholly complete.

  She sat up to kiss him, to tell him just how happy he made her, when she noticed him flinch from an extra loud shell.

  “Sweetie, what’s wrong?” Every flash, pop and crackle showed a new expression of terror.

  While everyone around them oohed and aahed, he’d closed his eyes and tensed, fisting his hands so tightly she couldn’t uncurl his fingers to hold his hand.

  “Wiley, talk to me. What’s going on?”

  When he didn’t answer, panic set in. Should she call her mom or dad over to help?

  “Is your leg hurting?”

  He opened his eyes, but seemed to stare right through her.

  Terror lodged in her throat when he suddenly jolted, gripping her upper arms to roll himself on top of her. “Incoming! Take cover!”

  “Wiley, stop! You’re hurting me.” She squirmed out from under him. “Wake up! Are you having some kind of flashback? Is this PTSD? Let me help. I’ll get my dad, and maybe he—”

  “Mace? Are you okay? Where’s Henry? We have to get him.”

  “I’m fine, but you’re not.” She struggled out from under Wiley’s weight to sit up. She cupped his dear face with both hands, forcing him to look nowhere but into her eyes. “Wiley, I need you to look at me. Only at me. You’re safe. All of us are safe. Henry’s with my parents just across the field. I need you to come back to me. Please. Can you do that?”

  He nodded, but still carried that blank stare, as if his body had been taken over by someone new.

  “You are precious to me, do you know that?” Her voice had taken on a near desperate tone. She tried staying calm, but with the explosions more intense than ever, it grew harder to break through his internal wall. Were the fireworks returning him to the time he was wounded? “Wiley, hon, do you have your medicine?”

  When he didn’t respond, she fished in the pocket of his jeans and found his vial of pills. His supply was low, but she was sure his doctor had given him plenty of refills. She shook two into her palm, then fumbled her hand along the blanket for the bottle of Coke she’d brought along for the show.

  She eased the pills past his lips, then held the drink to his mouth. “Do you think you can swallow?”

  He nodded and did as she’d told him.

  “Good. Thank you. Now, I’m going to need you to stand up, and then walk with me back to the truck. We’re going to leave Henry to stay the night with my folks, then you and I are going to spend a nice, quiet night on our mountain, okay?”

  He didn’t nod or speak, but did stand and take her hand, squeezing her fingers to the point of pain. But she didn’t care. She was strong, and for him, she could take it. She just needed to help him through this temporary hurdle and all would be right again.

  But if helping Wiley would truly be that easy, why did her heart ache with fear for the man with whom she’d just vowed to spend the rest of her life?

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Wiley was slow to wake. Even then, he didn’t know where he was. His leg hurt like a son of a bitch and he needed a drink and his pills—not necessarily in that order.

  He rolled over to find Macy, and it all came rushing back. Telling her folks they’d gotten married. The high of their backyard barbecue and the paralyzing low of the town fireworks show.

  Covering his face with his hands, Wiley wished for...

  What? What magic bullet would make this nightmare go away? Would a never-ending supply of pain pills or booze help?

  Hell, no. He was already on that road to nowhere.

  What options did that leave? Even worse? He was almost out of the pills that were the only thing keeping him on the tightrope he was continuously trying to walk.

  Marrying Macy had been a huge mistake.

  As soon as possible, he needed to tell her she was in over her head, and that their marriage would never work.

  “You’re awake.”

  Wiley was startled from his thoughts by Macy reaching across the bed to stroke his hair. Lord help him, he’d forgotten she was even there. “Hey, babe.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Good.” Liar. Because no matter how screwed up he was, he did genuinely care for her, he captured her hand.

  “You scared me last night.”

  I scared myself.

  “I had Mom and Dad watch Henry, so we could talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I mean, there’s plenty, but not about last night.”

  He left the bed to somehow make it to the bathroom. His leg pain was indescribable.

  He used the facilities, then asked, “Know where I might find my jeans?”

  She must have stripped him before going to bed, because he now wore just his boxers. In the glaring sunlight streaming through the windows, his injured leg looked like an ugly red caricature of his former normal limb. He needed to cover it—now. And then he needed his damned pills that he’d last seen in his front pocket.

  She’d left the bed, too, and took his jeans from the back of an armchair, then handed them to him. “If you’re looking for your medicine, it’s on the kitchen counter. Want me to get it for you?”

  “No. I can handle it.” As badly as he craved masking his ugly scars, he needed pain relief that much more.

  She darted around him, meeting him before he’d even made it halfway with a glass of water and two pills.

  He’d have rather had three.

  His hands shook so badly from the effort of holding himself upright that he slopped water all over his chest. Lord... He looked like a damned fool, and could only imagine what Macy must think.

  She took the glass, returned it to the kitchen, then doubled back behind him for his jeans. “Lean on me for support, and I’ll help you put these on.”

  “I can do it.” He didn’t mean to snap.

  “I know you can, but since I’m now your wife, I’m going to help. Deal with it.”

  “You never should have hitched your wagon to me. I’m a lost cause.”

  “Oh, stop. You had a rough night, and slept past time for your next round of pain meds. We won’t let that happen again. As for your reaction to the fireworks, I did some reading last night after putting you to bed, and I’m guessing you’ve got PSTD. Post Traumatic Stress Syndr—”

  “I know what it is, and I’m fine, Doctor Macy.”

  “If you could have seen yourself during the show, you’d know you’re not fine.”

  “It was one night.” He’d hobbled back to the bed and collapsed. “Give me a sec for my meds to kick in, and I’ll be right as rain.” He closed his eyes, struggling for the sense of normalcy she deserved. “I was talking to one of Gramps’s friends yesterday, and he said he’s already seen a few ripe huckleberries. How about we run into town to grab Henry, refill my meds, then we head back here for berry picking?”

  “Really?” She stood at the foot of the bed with
her hands on her hips.

  “What part of that didn’t sound good?”

  “You’re honestly going to sweep what happened last night under the rug? Wiley, you weren’t yourself. I don’t know who you were. At one point, you told me to take cover. Does that sound normal to you?”

  “Drop it, okay? I’m sorry the big fireworks show didn’t turn out as idyllic as you’d have liked. From day one, I told you I’m a mess, but you didn’t believe me. If you want to get this disaster annulled, I understand.”

  “Way to stay strong on the for-better-or-worse part of our vows.”

  “Macy, wake up.” He punched his pillow before shoving it behind his head. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m no good for you? The whole thing with the fireworks caught me off guard. The waterfall did, too. The champagne cork at our wedding breakfast. I thought all I had to deal with was my leg pain, but there’s more.”

  “Okay.” Arms crossed, she paced the short length of the room. “Then we’ll handle all of it together. I think you should make an appointment with a doctor and a therapist, and if you want, I’ll go, too. But first, I need coffee. Want a cup?”

  “Sure. But I’ll get it myself.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  For once, because he physically had no other option, he followed her request. Eyes closed, he breathed in and out, in and out, willing the medicine to do its job.

  Little by little, relief flowed through him. It was warm and seductive, flooding him with well-being until he felt good enough to not only get out of bed, but wander into the kitchen to find Macy.

  The coffee smelled wonderful, but not nearly as good as the strawberry-scent of her hair.

  Slipping his arms around his wife’s waist, he nuzzled what little he could see of her neck in her oddly sexy, long flannel nightgown. “I like you all fuzzy. What’ve you got on under this massive thing?”

  “Great big granny panties you wouldn’t be the least bit interested in. Now, back to the matter at hand, I looked up a few names in the phone book—”

  “Let me see.” He inched up the sides of her gown.

  “What? Wiley, no!” She swatted him away. “Please, take this seriously. I think you have a serious problem.”

  “My only problem right now is getting you out of this nightie...”

  * * *

  “WHERE IS HE NOW?” Wendy asked.

  “At the pharmacy. I told him I needed to come here to get one of Henry’s shoes. But really, I wanted to run all of this past you. What do you think? Does this sound serious?”

  “Probably? Maybe? I don’t know. At the party, he was one hundred percent old Wiley. Charming and funny and don’t you ever tell him I said this, but sexy as hell. If I was lucky enough to be married to him, I’d also abandon sobering conversation for a morning quickie.”

  “Wendy!” Macy’s cheeks superheated as she surveyed the coffeehouse crowd, praying no one had heard her friend’s bawdy comment. “You can’t say things like that.”

  “Why not? Wiley made an honest woman out of you, so you’re allowed to engage in all kinds of deliciously naughty activities—as much as you want.”

  “You’re just as bad as him.”

  “Look—” She straightened the individually wrapped shortbread cookies she kept on a silver tray next to the register. “No one was more against this marriage than I. I thought it all happened way too soon. But then I saw the three of you together—the way you were always smiling, and I changed my mind. I think you and Wiley both need each other, and fate brought you together. Sure, Wiley no doubt has issues to work through from his time overseas, but who doesn’t? From what I can tell, the guy adores you and your son. Why not give him a pass on whatever happened last night, and enjoy the rest of your life?”

  “You’re probably right.” Macy sighed, then reached for a cookie. “How much are these?”

  “For you, free.” Macy’s friend rounded the corner to give her a much-needed hug. “So have five or six, and then relax. Be happy. You’re a newlywed. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Macy wished she could be so sure.

  * * *

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN you can’t refill it?” The pharmacist was some punk kid straight out of school, and clearly didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. “I just refilled it last week.”

  “Right. And now it says on the bottle you have no available refills. But if you don’t mind waiting, we can call your doctor, and—”

  “I don’t have time to wait.” Wiley glanced over his shoulder to make sure Macy hadn’t entered the suddenly too-tight space.

  “Sir, I can make the call right now. As long as your doctor okays your refill, you’ll be good to go.”

  Since there was no one else at the counter, Wiley leaned in. “I got those meds after I was released from a VA hospital back in Virginia. I was supposed to follow up with a doc closer to home, but never did—my bad. But now, I’m in a bind. So could you maybe help me out, and I’ll see someone else soon?”

  The kid handed Wiley the near-empty bottle. “I’m sorry, sir. My dad’s a vet, so I understand that it’s sometimes tough getting back into the swing of things, but I’ll get you a list of area physicians, and hopefully, one of them can give you an appointment soon.”

  Soon? He had only eight pills, which would barely get him through the day. “Tell you what, go ahead and see about getting ahold of the guy who gave me this prescription.”

  “Sure.” He took back the bottle, then pointed Wiley toward a small waiting area with three metal folding chairs and posters about taking meds as prescribed and washing your hands after sneezing. “Have a seat, and I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  “Great. Thanks.” Upon sitting, Wiley wiped his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans. Nervous energy escaped him via his fidgety feet. He was supposed to have met back up with Macy by now so they could grab Henry from her folks. This shouldn’t be taking so long.

  He stood to pace, glancing every so often at the punk-ass pharmacist who was still on the phone.

  Wandering down the infant-care aisle, he grabbed a few toys for Henry, along with four jars of gourmet baby food. His new kid deserved the best—unlike the punk pharmacist.

  At the front of the store, he grabbed a basket to use for lugging his purchases.

  Macy needed presents, too. Nail polish looked good—Rev-it-Up Red. He found candy bars for her in the next aisle, along with a couple magazines, and a recipe book for one-pot cooking. She liked to cook.

  Back at the rear of the store, he found the pharmacist finally off the phone.

  “Oh, hey, Mr. James. Great news. I got you one more full week of medication. I’ll just need your ID. Your insurance is already on file.”

  “Great.” Wiley set his basket on the counter. Relief shimmered through him. “I’ll need this stuff, too.” But only a week? At his prescribed dosage, that meant six pills per day, multiplied by seven. Forty-two chances to get things right—no, twenty-one, considering he took two at a time. He now took ten to twelve pills per day, which meant he had three days max to find a doctor—any doctor. There was no way he’d find a VA clinic by then—if there was even one within a hundred miles. “I’d appreciate that list of local doctors, too.”

  “There’s only one here in town, but the list has all of them in the area.”

  “Thanks.” Minutes later, Wiley had stashed his purchases in the truck bed—save for his meds. Those, he put in his pocket. He kept the doctor list, too, and used his cell to make an appointment with Dr. Jessie Burke over in Newflower, which was a good twenty miles from prying eyes. As an added benefit, the receptionist said the doctor had had a cancellation, and could see him the next morning at ten.

  Spirits bolstered, he bought a Dr. Pepper from a machine outside the pharmacy, then took two pills. For h
is visit with Macy’s parents, he needed to be on top of his game. She said she hadn’t told them anything about his meltdown, which he appreciated, but it took a lot for him to maintain the level of normalcy that she, and now her parents, had come to expect.

  He wanted to make them proud.

  What about yourself? Are you proud of being an addict?

  He ignored his conscience to admire the gorgeous weather.

  The day was fine, with the temperature promising to hit the high seventies, so he walked to Wendy’s coffeehouse to find Macy.

  The fact that she hadn’t left his sorry ass surprised him. Maybe the even bigger surprise was that he was glad to still have her and Henry with him. When his pain was under control, he got a kick out of being a family man. If he could no longer be a SEAL, maybe being a father and husband was the next best thing? His granddad once told him that raising his father was the most satisfying job he’d ever had. Wiley needed that sense of purpose and belonging.

  He needed to feel needed.

  Downtown still bustled with tourists. The candy shop had the door open, and the sweet scent of fresh caramel corn made him smile. He used to get stuck taking Macy there after school on Fridays. While waiting for their grandfathers, they’d get ice cream or taffy still warm from the pulling machine.

  Did she remember?

  He needed her to remember.

  At the coffeehouse, he opened the door for the couple leaving, then headed inside.

  “Wiley, hi.” The way Macy smiled at him made his every problem fade. She was so pretty. From the galaxy of freckles spanning her button nose and cheeks to the sky-blue eyes he could stare into for hours. She’d piled her red corkscrew hair into a messy bun, and as far as he was concerned, he’d never seen her look more beautiful.

  “Hey, babe.” With his meds working at full capacity, he gravitated into her arms. “Find Henry’s shoe?”

  “His what? Oh—no. I must have left it somewhere else.”

  “Hey, Wendy.” Wiley waved to Macy’s friend.

  “Hey, yourself. Get everything you needed at the pharmacy?”