Hollister's Choice (Montana Miracles Book 2)

by Grace Walton

  “Thank God, you’ve come,” his friend said in a troubled voice he didn’t recognize.

  “How is she?” he asked. It was a stupid question. He could see how she was. He could feel the life leaching out of her with each breath she struggled to make.

  “She’s failing,” Carrie said. “Would you like us to leave you, so you say good-bye?’

  Hollister managed to nod. They quietly got up and walked out of the room. The soft closing of the door told him he and Maggie were alone. He went to her bedside. He lay down beside her and gathered her limp body in his arms. He raised himself on one elbow. He propped his head on a hand and looked down at her.

  Her face was paler than before. Her lips were bluer. The veins at her temple shone through the porcelain of her skin. Her breathing was now labored. And he knew what would come next. At some point, there would be a soft rattle from her throat. Her last breath would leave her poor body in one long drawn-out exhalation. And she’d be gone.

  Before that happened, he needed to tell her a few things. Things he’d never meant to say aloud, especially to another person. But he wanted her to know. He wanted her to know everything.

  “Maggie? Love, I know you’re here. Can you please linger just a while to hear what I need to tell you? I’ve heard the dying see a beautiful light. And if you love somebody, you tell them to go ahead and go towards that light. So they can be at peace. But I can’t… I can’t be that unselfish, noble person for you. I need you to stay a little longer. I need to tell you who I am, really.”

  He knew he was handling this all wrong. But he forged ahead. She would not leave this world without knowing everything. That had been the only thing she’d ever asked of him, the truth. And he’d withheld it. His pride and his stupid fears of losing her had kept him silent.

  “First off, I need to tell you I love you. I know I’ve said it to you before. But it was a selfish kind of love. Because I wanted you to expose your whole life and I wanted to keep my secrets shrouded. That was unfair, and I’m sorry. I have no excuse except I was afraid. Afraid, if you really knew the truth about me, you’d run away and never look back. I wouldn’t have blamed you, if you had. And all the garbage I said before, about sex and desire, that was all just a smokescreen. I didn’t realize it at the time. I thought I was being strong. But I was just afraid. The truth is… I’ve always loved you. Always, Blackbird. There was never a time, when I didn’t love you. When you were a kid, I loved you for your spirit and your stubbornness. When you got older, I had to stay away from you, because I loved you in a different way. Every time I left you to go on a mission, it was like a death. And every time I drove my truck back up the ranch drive, it was like a rebirth. You were my home, Maggie. You were every dream I ever had of true love, belonging, and peace. It was you. But I knew I wasn’t good enough to even think about those kinds of things. So I volunteered for every mission. I stayed away as long as I could each and every time. I avoided you. Because, the real me, the one who’s hidden is so filthy and damaged. I know you believe in redemption. But there is no redemption for a man like me.”

  He stopped. He took a deep breath. That confession, painful though it was, was easy compared to the one he was about to make. He looked up at the tiled ceiling and wished he was a man of faith. If he was, he’d surely be pleading for wisdom and strength right now. He leaned down to smell her hair. It still smelled like wildflowers in the sun. Even in this place of death and disease, Maggie Ferguson offered him what comfort she could, that familiar and beloved fragrance.

  “You know a little about what Gage and I do. We save people. But what you never knew, and never should have had to know, is that isn’t all I did. Before I met Gage, I was a mercenary. I did so many things I regret. I hurt so many people. But before any of that, I was already tainted. You see, as a child, I was my father’s whipping boy. He wasn’t quite sane. Nobody knew, of course. But he liked to inflict pain. It somehow eased the demons in his soul. I was his target. I wasn’t sorry for that, because it spared my sisters. But it made me as warped as he was. When I was a mercenary, I was known for how cool I was under fire. Blood didn’t bother me. I’d seen so much of my own shed over the years. To me, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I could wade through buckets of gore to get the job done. It was a useful skill. One that helped me earn a lot of money. And then I met Gage. When he started Montana Miracles he needed a business partner. My life changed. Now I was one of the good guys. That was enough for a while. But then I went on that last mission.”

  He stopped. Was he really about to tell her the horror of those final months in the desert? He leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her cool lips. Even now, she drew him. He leaned close to her face. He tenderly pushed her hair from her forehead. He stayed close and told the rest of his story in a raspy tortured whisper.

  “They beat me, Maggie. I’ve got cigarette burns in places that don’t show. They beat me and burned me morning and evening until I broke and did as they demanded. They liked to place bets on how long I could stand the pain. And because of my father, I could stand it more than most. But I did finally break. I did finally do as they ordered.”

  He felt the salt of his tears on his lips. They fell one by one onto her pale, still face. They rolled down her marble white cheeks. It was as if she was crying with him.

  “They made great sport of using the captive women. They did not see them as human. They saw them as a commodity to be used and thrown away. One of the girls was very young. She was their favorite. They thought her very pretty. And they all eased their lusts with the poor thing. Every night I heard her screams for mercy. Every night I cursed the fact that I could not help her. This went on for days. They’d beat and burn me, then they’d hurt her. Finally one morning they tossed her into my cell and slammed the door. Her name was Symone. She was an Algerian national. Her parents were aid workers. Both were too idealistic for their own good. They’d brought their daughter to what they’d thought was a safe part of the conflict so she could see what their life’s work was all about. Her parents were lucky. They died in a mortar strike on a tent hospital. Symone was captured. She was not Muslim, so that made her less than human in the eyes of the terrorists. Thankfully she spoke no Arabic, so she had no idea what was being planned for her. The guards stood outside the door to our cell and went on at great length about how they would film a video of her beheading the next day. That night, they came for her. They would enjoy her one last time. When they dragged her from the cell, she screamed for me to kill her, to save her. I was chained. I could do nothing but listen to her terrible screams. I have told you how I was the lowest slave in the compound. I emptied the necessary pots. I buried feces in ditches I had to dig with my bare hands because they would give me no tools. I was a filthy dog, as far as my captors were concerned. So that last night, they thought it would be amusing to torment both me and Symone. They demanded that I violate her. She didn’t understand their meaning. But she told me in French she wanted nothing more than to die. She pleaded with me to kill her, to put her out of her misery. They unchained me. They stood around us in a circle jeering, waiting for me to fall on her like an animal.”

  He bit the inside of his lip. He tasted the coppery tang of blood. It somehow helped him go on with his confession.

  “She was pleading with me to kill her, our captors were shouting obscene encouragement, and I knew I could do neither of those things. I could not kill that poor child. And I couldn’t hurt her like they had. I didn’t know what to do. And then something strange happened. Everything narrowed. I could see only Symone pleading with me. It was clear she was already dying. She was bleeding heavily from their repeated abuse. She was in tremendous pain. I pulled her down to the ground. I lay on top of her as carefully as I could. I told her to close her eyes. Before she did, she kissed me on the cheek and whispered her thanks. And then…then… I snapped her frail little neck. Symone felt nothing. She was gone. It was very dark. The terrorists had no idea she was dead. They wer
e still yelling and laughing. I rolled off her heaving. They dragged her poor broken body to the corner of the cell without ever discovering she was dead. I was chained once more. And they left. The next morning, Gage arrived with our men. He got me out.”

  His big body was shuddering. It made the whole bed shake. He hated to relive what had happened that night in the desert. He grieved for the little Algerian girl who’d kissed his cheek and thanked him. He wanted to go a back in time and somehow save her. He wanted to somehow change the narrative so she wasn’t already dying when they’d dragged her into that hot dirty cell that last night. If things could have been different, if she could have stayed alive just one more day, she might have been rescued with him. If, if, if. He hated that word. And he hated that he still heard the snap of her fragile neck in his dreams. Of all the things he’d ever done, helping poor Symone into eternity was the one that haunted him the most. How could a man ever come back from something like that, he wondered? How could he ever feel clean again or human?

  Hollister leaned back. He watched for any sign Maggie might have heard his confession. He wanted that solace. To know he’d told her everything, just as she’d begged him to. But there was nothing. She lay, just as still, just as lovely. Just as precious to him as she’d been when he’d entered the room. He knew there was nothing else he could do for her, or for himself. This was the end. He leaned down. He gave her a lover’s last kiss.

  “I love you Magnolia Ferguson, I always have and for as long as I live, I always will.”

  Then with no shame for the tears rolling down his face, he got up and left the room. In the waiting area he saw them. Gage, Carrie, Gentry, and Fiona were standing in a small circle holding hands. Their eyes were closed. Their faces were lifted up. They were praying. No, they were pleading with the Almighty. He’d heard the phrase, Storming the Gates of Heaven. But this was the first time he’d seen it.

  Without thought he made a choice. He walked over to them. He broke the chain of clasped hands. Suddenly he was gripping Carrie’s hand on one side and Gage’s on the other. He was enveloped in the power of what the others were about. He heard them each one by one, make their petition.

  “Lord, I’m not worthy to stand before you and beg anything of you,” said Dan. “You know what a sinner I am. You know how unfaithful I was. Not only to you, but to Maggie. Forgive me, Lord. Make me clean in your sight, so that I can come before your throne and ask for Maggie’s healing. Lord, please cover my sin with your blood so that you can hear my plea. Save her, Lord.”

  “God, I am nothing but a sinner,” said Fiona. “I never knew what that meant until Maggie showed me your lovingkindness. And then I repaid her goodness towards me with more of my sin.. Forgive me, Lord. I knew what I was doing was wrong. But I let myself be swayed by my flesh. I chose the temporal over the eternal. And I’m so, so sorry I did. Please forgive me my sin. Please hear my prayer. Please save Maggie. I want so much to beg her forgiveness too. Please give me that chance.”

  “Father God,” Carrie sobbed. “Save my sister. Only you can do such a thing. It is out of our hands. We are nothing but raw ore, flawed silver, to be refined over and over in your image. Show us your will for our lives. And be merciful to our sister, Maggie.”

  “Save her, just please save her life,” Gage’s voice was the most broken.

  His prayer was the most elemental. It spoke of unbearable pain. It told of immeasurable trust. It caused something within Hollister to crack wide open. And before he even knew what would happen next, he began a prayer of his own. He who’d always sneered at the idea of a God. He began crying out to the Lord.

  “Jesus, I don’t know you. But I’m thinking you probably know me. You know everything about me. So I understand I’m not fit to ask anything of you. But I want you to give Maggie another chance. She needs to live. She is all that is good and holy in this world. We both know I’m the worst person in this room. I’m filthy. My life has been an epic disaster of sinning and violence. I’ve lived a profligate existence. I’m ashamed of the man I am. I’m sorry for all the awful things I’ve done. I wish, for Maggie’s sake, I’d been a better person. One who was worthy of her love. I can’t change my past. Nor can I pretend it never happened. I’m not fit to stand here with these folks who love you. But I’m standing here asking you to overlook all the ugliness and stains on my black soul, to make me good enough, clean enough so that you can hear my prayer. Heal Maggie, Jesus. I’m begging you to keep her alive.”

  He fell to his knees. He buried his wet face in his calloused hands. Everyone in the small circle held their breath. In that sacred moment the world changed for John Hollister. It wasn’t anything flashy. He didn’t see a celestial beam of light. And he didn’t hear a chorus of angels. No, it was nothing like that. He just felt a strange, comforting warmth seep deep, deep into his battered soul. He just knew who he was, and who he belonged to, for the first time in his life. He was changed. In the blink of an eye, he’d been made different. He was still a hard, tough man. But now that strength was tempered and enhanced by a power far higher than anything of this world. Even in the face of Maggie’s impending death, he felt joy. He knew whatever happened in the next few minutes, he would see her again. Maybe they wouldn’t be reunited in this world. But he now had the hope of seeing her in the next.

  “Is there somebody out here named Hollister?” the shaky voice of a nurse shattered the quiet splendor of the moment.

  “Yeah,” he said as he got up from the floor. “I’m Hollister.”

  The electricity suddenly came on. The room was flooded with light. The nurse laughed. They all saw the happy look on her face.

  “Mr. Hollister, can you come with me, please? There’s a lady back here who just woke up. She’s asking for you.”

  Epilogue

  A Year Later

  “This is worse than the wedding,” Gage groused.

  He was sitting in a hospital waiting room. If there was one thing he despised with a passion it was sitting in a hospital waiting room. After the events of the past year, when they’d almost lost his baby sister to hypothermia, he couldn’t stand the sight, smell, or feel of any medical facility. But here he sat.

  “How can you say that?” Carrie demanded.

  “Well, you know how Mama acted when she found out Hollister and Maggie were getting married. Then when she was told he was an earl that just made the whole thing a lot worse. She got that bee in her bonnet about having a castle themed wedding. I’ve never seen so much white tulle, rhinestones, and rose petals in my life. It looked like a Barbie doll wedding.”

  “No, darling,” Carrie corrected her husband. “If it had been a Barbie wedding everything would have been pink and Hollister would have been blond. Ken dolls are always blond.”

  She watched to see what he would say to that. She didn’t have to wait long.

  “He could have been light-haired. His hair was bleached out when little Hawk was born,” he said naming their son.

  “You know he did that for the business, and it’s beside the point. I thought their wedding was the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen. When Hollister rode up on that white horse, I was sure every woman in the congregation was going to swoon.”

  “He’s not that good looking,” Gage said sourly.

  “Oh, yes, he is,” Carrie said as she fluttered her long eyelashes at him. “He looked just like Prince Charming. The way he got down on one knee to say his vows to her, oh my.” She fanned herself with one hand.

  “I still don’t understand why we all had to go to England just so they could get married. What’s wrong with Montana?”

  “Well, it was a castle themed wedding,” Carrie said. Then she smiled impishly. “And Hollister does own a castle. I think the best part was when the Queen arrived. Who knew Hollister was her relative? Your mother almost fainted. Talk about your fairy tale endings.”

  Her husband rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying, it’s taking my nephew too long to get here. He should have been de
livered by now.”

  “You niece, is a first baby,” Carrie contradicted him sweetly. “They take longer.”

  “I wish they’d have let that sonogram lady tell them what they’re having.”

  He nodded over to the pile of presents on the chair next to them. There was a pair of tiny cowboy boots along with a miniscule tiara headband decorated with loads of bling.

  “It would have made the gift giving easier.”

  “They wanted to be surprised,” Carrie said.

  Her famous smile widened. She loved to see her big, tough husband squirm with discomfort. And he’d been twitching ever since they’d arrived at the hospital a couple of hours ago. Gage Ferguson was good with emergencies. If there was a catastrophe that needed handling, he was your man. But babies and all their paraphernalia made his fingernails itch. Add to that, this was a small area without many exits. Gage liked to know he could get the folks he loved out of danger easily, if need be. The waiting room was too crowded. Along with Cerise, who held court in one corner, basking in the manly attention of all the available Montana Miracle guys, there were the pastor and his wife. Dan and Fiona made a great couple. After they’d confessed their sin to Maggie, they’d gone one step further and humbled themselves to the entire church. Dan was a much different man than he’d been twelve months past. He’d learned a lot of humility along with a great deal of compassion from the mistakes he’d made. Fiona was different too. She was a good pastor’s wife. She wasn’t haughty and she insisted her house was always open for anyone in the congregation who needed a listening ear or a warm meal. She was a great favorite amongst the folks who struggled with addiction. Her nonjudgmental and open personality was like balm for their sore souls. Then there were the Browns. They’d shown up as soon as the phone tree from the church had lit up. They’d always miss their son, and grieve for who he might have been. But they’d made the effort to move forward and they’d announced they would be honorary grandparents to this baby.