Between Midnight and Morning

by Cindy Gerard

  Ali loved him. At least she thought she did. She’d get over it.

  And so would he.

  That thought stopped him cold as he rode the fence line with Clive that afternoon. It wasn’t that he was lonely. And he really didn’t have anything to get over. At least he didn’t until his brain latched on to a memory of Ali—smiling in the sun, whispering in the night, cooking dinner while he did any number of things to distract her.

  Sure, he missed her company. That would fade soon enough. And life would get back to normal…at least as normal as his life got.

  “What you got there?” he asked when he saw the old cowhand slow to a stop by a post.

  “Hornets’ nest,” Clive said. “Oh, hell. It’s a live one.”

  “Get the hell out of there,” John yelled just as Clive set spurs to the three-year-old gelding who was already a little spooky since this was his first time away from the herd.

  It all happened so fast then that John could only watch in horrified silence. The green-broke gelding went berserk when the nest of hornets, riled by the scent of man, flew out to investigate. The horse bolted, bucking and crow-hopping across the range like a bronc. Clive rode him through the bucks, but then the gelding reared up on his back legs, then threw himself over backwards, landing on top of Clive.

  Heart in his throat, John cued Snowy into a dead run to get to Clive. The gelding was on his feet and running hell-bent for the barn a good ten miles back when John reined in and flew to the ground.

  “Oh, God,” he swore when he saw the extent of the damages.

  There was blood. A lot of it. On his head, below his knee.

  “Hey, bud, you with me?”

  Clive groaned then coughed, a convulsive, labored sound that ended in a wheeze that made John’s face drain to pale.

  Head injury. And a compound fracture—probably the tibia, he decided, as Clive’s eyes fluttered shut. And if his suspicions were right, he also had some busted ribs—possibly a collapsed lung.

  It was bad. Real bad.

  He felt his head swim as all around him the world went fuzzy, and the Montana foothills became the mouth of an Afghanistan cave in the dead of winter. And he couldn’t stop the blood. His fingers were so cold…so was the leg he was working on. Cold and mangled as the young soldier cried for his mother…

  Clive’s clawlike grip on his arm snapped him back to the moment. “Can…can’t b-breathe.”

  John shook himself out of the flashback. Set himself on autopilot. And did what he’d been trained to do.

  Sweat was running off his face by the time he’d made an airway. Satisfied that Clive was breathing better, he pulled out his cell, dialed 911 and briefed the dispatcher on his location and Clive’s condition.

  “Hang on, you old coot,” he whispered, covering Clive with Snowy’s saddle blanket and checking the makeshift chest tube he’d had to insert using a pen casing he’d found in his saddlebag.

  Then he went about the business of cutting off Clive’s boot and seeing to his leg. What seemed like hours passed until he finally heard an ambulance approach, cutting across the pastureland, making its own path since the nearest road was two miles away.

  He’d never been so relieved, or so surprised when in addition to a pair of paramedics, Ali jumped out of the vehicle and ran toward them.

  Ali raced over to Clive and dropped to her knees at his side. She cut a quick look at John, read the question in his eyes.

  “Dr. Lundstrum’s out of town,” she explained as she noted the paramedics examine the makeshift chest tube. “I heard the 911 call come in on the radio and asked to come along.”

  Mark Smith and the other paramedic, Jason Olson, prepared an IV drip.

  Anguish and fear. Ali saw it all on John’s face as he knelt by Clive’s side and brought them up to speed on what he’d done.

  Ali could hardly believe what she saw and heard him say. What looked like a nasty compound fracture was set and braced with leather straps—probably off a saddle—and what appeared to be the sole of a boot.

  “You did this?” she asked.

  At John’s grim nod, she shook her head. “You probably saved his life.” The paramedics eased Clive onto a gurney.

  “These guys can handle it from here,” she said, seeing the worry on John’s face. “If you want to go with them, I’ll take your horse back.”

  He shook his head.

  She wanted to ask him how he’d known what to do but her questions would have to wait.

  “Stay with him,” John said. “Please.”

  “I’ll wait with him until you can get to the hospital. Don’t worry about him, John. He’s tough. He’s going to be fine. You saw to that.”

  Clive was going to be fine, the doctors at the E.R. in the Bozeman hospital assured her much later. It was going to be a difficult recovery, but he’d be okay after surgery. The adrenaline that had fueled her let down on a rush of relief. She couldn’t wait for John to come so she could give him the good news.

  Several hours passed, though, and he never showed up.

  She finally went to the nurse’s station. “Has there been a tall, good-looking cowboy in asking about an admit through E.R.? Clive Johnson?”

  The charge nurse shook her head. “Not since I’ve been here. We did get a call asking about Mr. Johnson though. Said he was the old cowboy’s boss.”

  “Did he say he was on the way in?”

  “No. No, he just thanked me when I told him he was out of the woods and hung up.”

  “Hey, Doc.”

  Ali looked up to see Mark Smith walking toward the exit.

  “We’re heading back to Sundown. If you need a lift, the bus is leaving.”

  “Thanks. Give me a minute, okay? I want to take a quick peek at Clive, then I’ll be ready to go.”

  He looked so fragile lying there, his weathered brown face in stark relief against the pristine white linens.

  But he opened his eyes when he sensed her at his bedside. “Care…careless old f-fool,” he managed in a hoarse whisper.

  Ali leaned in close and smiled. “Tough old cow-hand.” She took his hand, squeezed it. “You’ll be up and around in no time.”

  “J.T.” he wheezed.

  “Saved your life,” she told him. “I’m sure he’ll be in to see you soon.”

  The old man slowly shook his head. “Won’t…won’t come to no…hospital.”

  She was about to assure him that of course J.T. would come when the significance of his statement hit her.

  Won’t come to no hospital.

  Why would a man who was clearly trained in medical trauma refuse to come to a hospital? Unless…oh, God. Why hadn’t she seen it before? He was a veteran. One of many soldiers who had returned from the war on terror but unable to leave the terror behind them. Had he been in a military hospital? Or wait…he knew more than basic first aid. Had he worked in a military hospital?

  Maybe she was reaching. She didn’t think so. In fact, she was more sure of what she needed to do than she’d been sure of anything for a very long time.

  “He may not be able to come,” she assured Clive, “but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to.”

  He nodded. “Good…boy. He’s a…good boy.”

  Yeah, she thought as Clive’s rheumy old eyes closed and he fell back asleep. He’s a good boy. And a better man. All he needed was a good woman to make him understand and believe.

  Eleven

  It was dark by the time Ali got back to Sundown. She took a quick shower, then drove out to the Tyler spread—and found it darker still inside the house when she pulled up in front of it. Not a single light burned from any window.

  “John?” she called out softly after she’d rapped on the door several times. “Are you in there?”

  When he didn’t answer, she tried the doorknob. The door swung open to a house that was as quiet as it was dark. She flicked on the foyer light and thought she heard something at the end of the hallway that led to John’s bedroom.

/>   “John?”

  Nothing.

  Every instinct she owned told her he was in the house, more specifically, in his bedroom. She didn’t bother to knock this time. She opened the door.

  “Do not come in here.”

  His voice startled her, but she was a long ways from frightened. “Are you all right?” she asked, stepping farther into the room.

  “I said, don’t come in here.”

  She paused just inside the room. “Are you all right?” she repeated, recognizing from the hollow hardness in his voice that he was anything but all right.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Yeah,” she said, slowly. “You sound real fine. You want to tell me what’s going on with you?”

  “Just get the hell out of here, all right?”

  “Actually, no. No, it’s not all right,” she said, reacting to the anger in his tone with stubborn determination. “And it’s a little disconcerting conversing with a voice in the dark. Do you mind if I turn on a light?”

  “I mind.”

  “Yeah, well, you know what? I don’t care. But I do care about an old man all by himself in a hospital bed who could sure stand to see your face right about now.”

  “He knows why I’m not there.”

  “Well, good. That’s good that he knows. Why don’t you tell me so I’ll know, too?”

  All she got was silence.

  She turned on the light.

  And felt her heart break when she saw him on the bed.

  This wasn’t an angry man. This was a broken man. And the hollow, tortured look she saw in his eyes just before he rolled to his side and away from her brought tears to hers.

  “Oh, sweetie.” She rushed to the bed, hesitated for only a second at his clear attempt to shut her out, before she lay down behind him, curled her body around his and held on. Simply held on.

  Long moments passed as she pressed herself against him, sharing her heat and her strength and an unwavering message that whatever it was, whatever was wrong, she was here for him. She wasn’t going away.

  She didn’t know how long they lay that way, him silent and stiff as stone, her knowing instinctively that until he decided to start talking nothing she could say would make a difference.

  Just when she thought she’d failed to penetrate whatever wall he’d erected between himself and the rest of the world, he rolled to his back and gathered her against him. Held her so tight tears stung her eyes at the sheer magnitude of his need.

  “It’s all right,” she murmured. “It’s all right. Let me. Let me make it better. Let me,” she pleaded and started unbuttoning his shirt.

  His hands stilled hers but she pushed them away. “Shhh. Just let me.”

  With slow, deliberate care, she undressed him, watched his face as she removed her own clothes. And then she joined him on the bed again, told him with her hands how much she loved him, showed him without words that he was everything.

  He groaned and buried his hands in her hair when she bent over him, took him in her mouth and loved him until he was gasping her name.

  By the time she was finished with him, all the tension had drained from his limbs. And when she snuggled up against him, nestling her nose into that inviting hollow against his throat, he hugged her hard. And then, blessedly, he started to talk.

  John had never talked to anyone about what had happened in Afghanistan. Not the counselors when he returned home, not his navy buddies, not his folks. He’d never wanted anyone to be touched by the horror. And yet, he was telling Ali.

  Everything. The grotesque aftermath of the wounded coming in from the front line. The villagers caught in the crossfire or blown to bits by the land mines planted by the Taliban. The dead and the dying. Terrified children with vacant eyes and bellies swollen from hunger.

  He talked until he was hoarse. Wasn’t aware that he was hanging on to her like she was the only thing holding him together. Wasn’t aware of the tears flowing, of the weight of his experience easing, of her gentle encouragement and soft stroking hands.

  Yet when he’d spent it all, all the memories, all the horror, the flashbacks and the nightmares, even the shame over his inability to leave it behind and get on with his life, he was aware of a heavy weight having lifted off his shoulders, of a gnawing ache easing in his gut.

  “You came back to Sundown to heal,” she said when he’d lapsed into a silence like a calm after a storm. “In a way, so did I. Who knew that what we needed all along was each other.”

  He tipped her head back so he could see her eyes. Brushed the hair back from her forehead. “Yeah. Who knew?”

  “You don’t have to go through this on your own anymore. You know that, don’t you? Please, tell me you won’t shut me out. Not to protect me. Not to run away from me. Whatever ghosts haunt you, we’ll face them together.”

  He looked deep into her eyes and the emotion she saw there stunned her. So did his actions when he laid her back on the bed and made slow, healing love to her. Telling her with deep kisses and whispered words that she was the only thing that mattered on this earth, giving himself over to her, giving in to the sensation of being totally and wholly consumed by her love.

  And in his bed, where he’d once hidden in the dark, he let her take him into the light. He let go of his fear of intimacy, let go of his shame and confessed what he’d known deep down the first time he’d seen her.

  “I love you,” he whispered into her hair.

  “I know,” she whispered back, snuggled against his side and fell asleep, wrapped in the arms of love.

  Epilogue

  October in Sundown meant crisp, cool air, golden aspen and hard frosts past the upper foothills. It was anything but cold, though, as the town turned out to party at the Tylers’ wedding reception at the Dusk to Dawn.

  “I’ve got to tell you, J.T. This just does my heart a whole heap of good.” Cutter, looking rakish and handsome in his black suit, clapped J.T. on the back, a broad grin lighting his face. “Watching the mighty fall. Man, what a sight. Brings a tear to my eye.”

  “He’s been gloating ever since you popped the question,” Peg put in, pretty in her mauve matron-of-honor dress. “I’m so happy for you, J.T.,” she whispered, her eyes misty. “So very, very happy.

  “And you,” she said, turning to Ali and drawing her into a hug. “I just love saying I told you so. I did tell you he was perfect for you, didn’t I?”

  Ali laughed and returned Peg’s warm embrace. “Yes. For the hundredth time, yes, you did. Thank you,” she whispered and both of them fought back tears.

  “Don’t you dare start,” Ali warned her friend, “Or I’ll be blubbering, too.”

  “All right, you two.” John tucked Ali under his arm and squeezed her tight. “Break it up or I’ll have to separate you. There will be no crying today. That includes you, too, tough guy,” he added giving Cutter a pointed look.

  “In fact,” he said, “I think I’d like to dance with my bride.”

  “Dance? Me? The woman with two left feet? Are you really sure about this?”

  “Any excuse to get my hands on you,” he said and drew her out onto the dance floor. Then, to the delight of everyone present, he scooped her up in his arms and started swaying to the music. “Work for you?”

  She looped her arms around his neck. “It works.” And then she kissed him.

  The crowd broke into whoops of laughter and applause.

  “I love you, Mrs. Tyler.”

  “And I love you. So do my parents. And my brothers.”

  “Still, it’s got to be a shock for them.”

  “What? That I married a cowboy?”

  “That and that you’re a cradle-robbing hussy who took advantage of my youth and naiveté to get me to marry you.”

  “Well, there is that. I plan on taking advantage of that youth tonight, cowboy. So don’t wear yourself out dancing.”

  He let out a hoot of laughter. “Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say.”

  “I say I’m the luckies
t woman on earth.” And she kissed him again.

  “What’s a guy have to do to get a dance with the bride?”

  Ali lifted her head to see Brett McDonald grinning at them.

  “Get lost, McDonald. Find your own woman. This one’s mine.”

  “Mac. Hi. I didn’t see you earlier,” Ali said, ignoring John’s good-natured ribbing. “Thank you for coming.”

  “The pleasure’s mine. Love to see a man bite the bullet and fall from the ranks of the perpetually single. Ali, you remember what I said now. Any time you want to dump this loser, I’m your man.”

  “Nice to know I’ve got a backup plan,” she said, “but I’m not planning on needing it. As a matter of fact, I’ve got everything I need right here.”

  She’d never thought she would be able to say those words again. And yet, everything was here. She would always love David. She would never forget him. But this man…this man who had opened himself up to her when he’d let no one else in, was now her everything.

  “What are you thinking so hard about?” he asked as he continued to hold her.

  “About how lucky I am. And about leaving you.”

  The double take he did was so comical, she laughed.

  “For him,” she said, pointing to the corner of the room where Clive sat in his wheelchair glaring at Mable Clemmons who had taken it upon herself to see to his every need.

  “I see your point. If ever a man needed rescuing, he does.”

  He became serious suddenly as he set her on her feet. Taking both of her hands in his, he brought them to his mouth. “And if ever there was a woman up to the task of saving lost men, it’s you.”

  Her heart felt as though it would burst with the love she felt for this man. “I love you.”