A Helluva Man

by Sable Hunter

  “That’s normal, you’ll get used to it. Is there any pain? Any place too tight?”

  Jaxson shook his head. “No, no pain.”

  “After you wear it a few days, you may find there’s some places that chafe. You can let me know.”

  Jaxson felt funny. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

  “Oh, you will. You’ll be walking without your crutches before you know it.”

  “How about running and riding horses?”

  The doctor folded his arms over his chest and smiled. “One step at a time.”

  His comment reminded Jaxson of the song he’d heard the day he decided to go home. One Day At A Time, Sweet Jesus. That’s all he was asking, just the strength to deal with everything as it came.

  “I’m going to make you an appointment with a new therapist.” Doctor Shipley made a note on his tablet.

  “Therapist?” Jaxson asked. “Physical or mental?”

  “Well, physical…but there’s a group I want you to attend. Before you leave today, I want you to stop in and talk to Scott Smith. He can get you in a group that’ll help you.”

  “I don’t know, Doc.” Jaxson wasn’t much on groups.

  “Come on. Try it. I haven’t steered you wrong yet, have I?”

  Jaxson cut his glance to Dr. Shipley. “No, you’ve been great.”

  “Thanks. I’ll call Scot and tell him you’ll be on your way up once we finish.”

  For the next hour and a half, Jaxson practiced walking with the prosthetic. It wasn’t easy. He fell twice and cursed a dozen times.

  “Don’t get discouraged. I want you to use your crutches for the next twenty-four hours until you can get to rehab. This will give you time to get used to the new weight.”

  “Yea, it feels like it’s twice the size of my…old leg.”

  “Should be about the same.” Doctor Shipley stepped back to watch him move down the path one more time. “You’re going to be fine. Your upper body strength is great. You’ve got good balance.”

  “I guess all those years of hard work paid off, huh, Doc?” Jaxson felt hopeful. He’d been going out on the ranch with his brothers, riding in the four-wheeler, even getting on the tractor one day.

  “I’d say so.” He nodded. “You’re a lucky guy.”

  Jaxson chuckled. “How so?”

  “You’re young. You’re strong. And you’ve got a support system. I’ve met your family. How about a girl? Do you have a girl?”

  “Used to.”

  Seeing his set face, Dr. Shipley didn’t pursue the topic. “That’s enough for today. I’ll check with you after rehab tomorrow.” He wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to Jaxson. “Here’s Scot’s room number.” Seeing Jaxson’s reluctance, he shook his head. “Don’t back out now, this is for your own good.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” He didn’t want to go, but he’d given the man his word.

  As he made his way to the elevator, he looked down at his two legs. One real. One not real. The fake foot looked funny in his tennis shoe. He wondered if he’d ever wear a pair of boots again.

  “Hey.”

  A female voice caused him to raise his head. A pretty brunette was smiling at him. “Hey.” She held the elevator door for him. “Thanks.”

  “I’m Julie.”

  He nodded. “Jaxson.”

  As someone else entered the elevator, he moved to the corner. Julie gave him a hopeful glance, but he didn’t say anything more until the man who’d just joined them asked what floor they were going to.

  Julie said, “Three.”

  Jaxson said, “Four.”

  When time came for Julie to leave, she wiggled her fingers at him. “Bye, Jaxson.”

  He nodded. “Bye.”

  The other man pressed the closed button. “Some guys have all the luck.”

  Jaxson didn’t reply. He didn’t feel like he had all the luck, but who knows? Maybe things were about to start looking up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Easy, Memphis. I’m not the man I used to be.” He patted the horse’s neck, happy to be riding high in the saddle.

  “I beg to differ. I think you’re doing great,” Pepper told him, bringing her horse alongside his. “I think you’re exactly the same great, hardheaded man you’ve always been.”

  Jaxson grinned at his sister. “I’m doing better.”

  “I’m so proud of you,” she told him as they reined their mounts in on top of a ridge overlooking Lake Buchanan. “And I’m so thankful you’ve come home to us.”

  “I know. I’m glad to be here.” He pressed his hat down tighter on his head. “I’m sorry I put you through all that crap.”

  She gave him a stern look. “You oughta be sorry. You gave me gray hair.”

  Jaxson chuckled, looking at her perfect blonde locks. “I don’t see any gray.”

  “Have you tried to call Tamara?”

  He looked into the distance, weighing his words. “Not yet.”

  “You should.”

  “I hurt her. I’ve thought about calling to apologize.”

  “Just apologize?” Pepper was hinting at something more. “If you’re interested, I know where…”

  “No, let’s not talk about her.” He shook his head and slapped his leg. “I’m better, but I’m not the same. No woman is going to want to hook up with me.”

  “What?” Pepper squealed so shrilly, she spooked the horses, who began to dance in place. “Are you kidding me? You are a remarkable, wonderful, very handsome man!”

  Her adamant defense of him made Jaxson grin. “Settle down, Mama Bear, you sound like you’re defending your cub. Besides, your opinion doesn’t count.”

  “Why ever not?”

  Jaxson shrugged. “You’re prejudice, that’s why.”

  “I am not. I am extremely fair-minded.”

  “Yea, right.”

  “I just want to see you happy and I think Tamara is the answer.”

  “So, tell me what’s going on with you and the Austin song-bird. What’s his name? Geronimo? Jehoshaphat?”

  “Judah. You know his name is Judah and I don’t want to talk about him,” she muttered as she nudged her horse into a walk down the ridge.

  Jaxson chuckled. “The shoe on the other foot pinches, doesn’t it, Missy?”

  “Oh, hush.”

  “I’m heading back, Pepper,” he told her as she rode away. “I’ll be late. I have a meeting at Seton Highland Lakes after rehab.”

  “Be careful,” she called over her shoulder. “And call Tamara!”

  * * *

  “I bet I know what you did for a living in a past life.” Jaxson spoke slowly as he breathed in harsh pants. The pint-sized woman had put him through the wringer.

  “And what’s that, Mr. McCoy?” Glendale Jarvis asked him as she pulled the balance board forward for him to stand on.

  “You were one of those SS Gestapo types, weren’t you?”

  Glendale winked at him. “I have a job to do. I’ve been assigned to address proper wound care and limb management. Increase your strength, flexibility, coordination, and endurance. Decrease your pain and properly train you to use your prosthesis with confidence and comfort.”

  She rattled off the points so fast it made Jaxson’s head swim. “That’s a tall order for such a short little woman.”

  “Watch it,” she narrowed her amused eyes at him, “I can make things verrrry uncomfortable for you.”

  When she spoke in a really bad German accent, Jaxson laughed. “No, please don’t.”

  She gestured for him to get on his feet. “Work. We have much to do!”

  After a grueling session with Fraulein Jarvis, Jaxson was glad to escape to Scot’s group session.

  When he came to the small auditorium where the meeting was being held, he hesitated at the door, peering through the window. “Great, there’s a whole room full of woebegones.”

  Bypassing the registration table, he found a seat in a far corner. After listeni
ng for a few minutes, he realized this gathering wasn’t just about amputees. There were people here with varied needs. Cancer patients. Burn victims. Those with disabilities. Scott Smith mentioned that fact in his comments. “The mission of this support group is to teach one another how to cope with loss. We have to learn how to utilize our strengths to overcome our weaknesses. You, my friends, are more than a sum of your parts. One facet of your life, one part of your body, one sense, one ability – these things do not define you.”

  Jaxson found himself listening. The man stood before them, speaking his heart out, pacing back and forth across the stage like an energized evangelist. Scot was so persuasive that Jaxson felt like he might have to chime in with an ‘amen’ or two. Before he knew it, he was on his feet and signing up for regular sessions.

  “So, you’re Jaxson McCoy. I’m Scott Smith.” The facilitator of the group offered his hand in greeting.

  “Mr. Smith. Good to meet you.”

  “I’m a fan. I’ve attended rodeos just to see you ride.”

  Jaxson patted his jean-clad prosthesis. “Well, that day’s over.”

  Scot shrugged. “I can understand why you’d feel that way.”

  Despite the man’s ability to persuade, Jaxson found himself offended. “How would you know?” He looked Scott up and down. “I’m not sure your mind is sound, but your body is whole.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Scott lifted both pants legs so Jaxson could see he was a double amputee.

  A wave of regret swept over Jaxson. “Sorry, I didn’t know.” He took his hat off and tapped the brim against his knee. “You don’t look…”

  “Handicapped?” Scot asked. “I’m not. I’ve adjusted. I’ve adapted.”

  Jaxson felt small. He guessed he had a lot to learn. “I want to know how to do that.” Even as he made the request, he knew the skills he was seeking were more mental than physical.

  “Great. I look forward to seeing you here again.”

  By the time he filled out the paperwork, most everyone was gone. There were a few folks lingering and one of them was a small boy who sat all alone on the front row. Scott pointed to him. “That’s Owen Turner. He lost his leg in a farming accident, the same one that killed his father. The man sacrificed his life diving in front of a tractor to push his son out of the way. Owen lived, but he lost a leg. His mother works two jobs to support him.”

  “Wow, poor kid.”

  Scott motioned to the boy. “Go talk to him. You’re a rancher. I bet you two have a lot in common.”

  “Oh, I don’t know…” He’d never really been around children.

  “Yea, you do. Go on.” Scot nodded and winked at Jaxson.

  “Damn, I bet you could sell snowshoes to a camel.”

  “Ha! Good one.” He handed Jaxson a handful of caramels. “He loves these.”

  Jaxson took the sweet treats and made his way to the small boy sitting alone in an otherwise empty row of chairs. “Is this seat taken?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head so hard, the one lock of brown hair on his forehead waved back and forth like a banner.

  “My name’s Jaxson. Is your name Owen?”

  “Yep.”

  “Wanna caramel?”

  “Sure.” He took it from Jaxson’s outstretched hand.

  “You ever say more than one word at a time?”

  “Yep.” The little man giggled as he unwrapped the candy. “Sometimes.”

  “Hey, you like this guy?” He pointed to Scott.

  “He’s nice. He’s helped me.”

  “How?” Jaxson scooted down in his chair so they were more the same height. “What did he do for you?”

  “Hmmmm.” The little boy smacked on his candy a few moments before answering. “He made me feel less like a freak.”

  “Huh.” Jaxson nodded, the little boy’s wisdom sounded profound to him. “Man, that’s exactly why I’m here.”

  “What’s wrong wiff you?” he asked around the caramel, looking Jaxson up and down.

  “Same as you?” He lifted his pants leg so Owen could see the steel rod where his ankle should be.

  “Bummer. How’d you do it?”

  “I busted it up in the rodeo, then finished it off when somebody ran me over with a trailer.”

  Owen nodded, raising his own leg. “Tractor.”

  “So, you’re a farm boy too, huh?”

  “Yep.” He shook his head sadly. “Used to be. We had to sell our farm and our cows.” Letting out a long breath, Owen sighed. “And my horse.”

  “Dang, I’m sorry. A man without his horse is a terrible thing.”

  “Yea. My mom sold Henry to this guy over in Kingsland. I hope he’s taking care of him.”

  “Henry? I’m sure he is. My horse’s name is Memphis.” Jaxson looked up to see Scott watching them carefully. He glanced at his watch and checked the door.

  Understanding, Jaxson turned his attention back to Owen. “Who’s coming to pick you up, little man?”

  “My mom, but her car won’t start sometimes.”

  Jaxson turned to Scott. “Call his mom and tell her I’ll bring Owen home. Vouch for me.” To the boy, he handed another caramel. “What you say I give you a ride and we get ice cream on the way? You like these caramels so much, I bet you’d like a caramel sundae.”

  “Yea, I would! You betcha!”

  Owen’s joy made Jaxson laugh out loud.

  As the big man and the little boy walked out together, Scott threw an imaginary ball through a hoop, followed by a fist-pump. “Score!”

  * * *

  “Just a little farther,” Tamara whispered to herself. “You can do it.” The hill was steep and she’d pushed herself, adding an extra mile to the bike ride. The additional distance was to compensate for all the food she planned on eating on the outing with Clare and her brothers. Glancing at her watch, she saw that she had just enough to time to return home and jump in the shower before Storm would be by to pick her up.

  Leaning forward, she put some extra effort into the endless pistoning of her legs as she pumped up the steep grade of the mountain road. All of this training would undoubtedly pay off when she headed to Spain. Hearing a vehicle coming up behind her, Tamara edged her bike closer to the cliff wall bordering the road. The byway was cut through a mountain of solid rock. Used to cars and trucks going past, her mind was full of others things.

  She’d dreamed of Jaxson last night. Clear as a bell. He’d come to see her, knocked on her door, showing up unexpectedly with a bouquet in his hand and an apology on his lips. Tamara hadn’t given him a chance to get two words out before she’d launched herself into his arms. When she awoke, finding it to be nothing more than a dream, Tamara had cried herself back to sleep. Which was why she was running a bit late.

  The roar of an engine took her by surprise. “That seems awfully close.” She glanced to one side to gauge the distance, right about the time her cell vibrated against her hip. Peering down, she saw the one name she never thought she’d see displayed on her phone again.

  Jaxson McCoy was calling.

  An absolute tidal wave of joy swamped Tamara and she gasped, reaching for her phone. When she did, she swerved to the left just a couple of inches. And that’s when it happened…

  The car was traveling too fast.

  The driver was drunk.

  He edged his Porsche so near the shoulder that he struck Tamara’s bike and sent her flying hard against the mountain wall. When the helmet on her head hit the sharp rocks, it cracked open, allowing her skull to come into devastating contact with the solid surface.

  She never even had the chance to scream.

  …In Texas, Jaxson removed the phone from his ear. She hadn’t answered his call. “Well, okay.” He set his mouth in a grim straight line. “I guess she’s busy.” He’d just let Owen off at his house, then pulled over onto the side of the road to do what Pepper had urged him do, what he’d been wanting to do for a long time.

  “Stupid idea,” he muttered as he
eased his truck back into the road and headed for home.

  * * *

  “We’re going to be late,” Clare announced from the back seat of Mad’s SUV. They were traveling up the mountain road on their way to collect Tamara. “I don’t want to be late for my own showing, guys.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have taken so long in the bathroom, Sis,” Mad told her without preamble. “It wasn’t like you needed the time in front of the mirror, you’re pretty enough.”

  “Pretty enough,” Clare scoffed. “What does that even mean?”

  Storm craned his neck to see why the traffic was backed up. “There must be a wreck ahead. I’ll call Tamara and let her know what’s going on.” He placed the call, but there was no answer. “She must be getting ready.”

  They eased to a stop, unable to go any farther, just one in a line of a dozen vehicles or more.

  “People are getting out to walk down there, Mad. Go see how long it’s going to be before the way is cleared. I may need to call the gallery owners and tell them I’ll be a while.”

  “Okay. I’ll go.” Storm climbed from the car and sprinted up the road, hearing people comment along the way.

  “Poor girl.”

  “People ought to be more careful.”

  “What is it?” he asked one man who was coming back down the hill.

  The guy pointed behind him. “Some guy hit a bicyclist. She’s hurt pretty bad.”

  Even before all the words sank in, he was running. “Please no. Let it not be her.” When he drew nearer, Storm’s heart sank. He recognized the bicycle. He recognized…her. “Tamara! Tamara!” Running at breakneck speed, he got to her as the paramedics were unloading the stretcher and backboard. “God, Tamara!”

  One medic stretched out his arm. “Stay back please.”

  “She’s my friend!” he countered and pushed past him, sinking to his knees by her still, battered body. “Tamara!”

  Even to his untrained eye, he could see she was broken and bleeding. A trail of blood ran down her face. The bike helmet on her head lay in two pieces and her hair was matted and bloody. “Oh, God, she’s hurt! She’s hurt!”

  “Get back, Sir.”