Wind River Cowboy

by Lindsay McKenna

  “How do you expect me to stir my coffee? What the hell kind of brain do you have in your head? Gimme a spoon!”

  Hurrying, she handed him one. Kira went back to cleaning up the mess she’d made at the kitchen counter. As she wrung out the washcloth, everything clean once more, she heard Crawford curse richly.

  “Son of a bitch! This coffee tastes like shit!”

  Kira turned. Crawford’s face was a dull red. Was he going to have another stroke? She clenched the washcloth in her hands. “What’s wrong with it?” Was it cold? Her mind whirled with possibilities.

  Ray pushed the cup away from him, the contents spilling across the table. “It’s weak coffee! Dammit, I like strong coffee. Now get your ass over there and make me a pot of strong coffee!”

  Kira moved to the table, quickly mopping up the spill and taking the cup away. Crawford’s glare cut into her.

  His breathing was rapid. “You’re gonna give me a stroke, girl. Can’t you do anything right? I don’t know what the hell Shay was thinkin’ when she hired another vet. None of you are worth a plugged nickel!”

  Compressing her lips, Kira said nothing, remembering Garret’s earlier words. Listen a lot. Say nothing. Panic ate at her. She was failing at this job. Horribly. Completely.

  Groaning inwardly, Kira chastised herself, aiming in the direction of the silver drawer. Think! She had to slow down and think! She was screwing up so badly . . . Worse, she had to come over twice more today to make him lunch and dinner.

  * * *

  Ray Crawford was in no better mood for lunch. Kira double-checked with Shay on the time for lunch and dinner and found it was the same as she’d written down in her notes. The man was sitting at the head of the table, looking at her as if he were a king in his palace and she the lowly servant. It had been snowing out and she shook off her parka on the mud porch before entering the main part of the house. He had a magazine of crossword puzzles between his hands.

  “What would you like for lunch, Mr. Crawford?”

  “Cheese sandwich, grilled, will be fine.”

  He seemed less agitated, but she hated that she could feel his gaze following her as she walked to the kitchen counter. It felt like he was drilling two holes in her back, the feeling was so uncomfortable.

  “And to drink?” She’d had a few hours to get herself back together again, although she felt gut shot emotionally. Kira knew she had to make this relationship work. Garret’s suggestions on how to deal with Crawford had been correct. She hated being subservient to someone like him. In the Army she’d been treated with respect, as an equal. Crawford had demoted her to a second-class citizen because she was a woman.

  Kira had failed at five jobs in a row. This was her sixth. She could not fail. She had to make this work, regardless. Her stomach was in a painful fist. Her hands weren’t steady but better than earlier.

  “Coffee.”

  Kira nodded and said nothing, forcing herself to focus as never before. The house was quiet. Painfully quiet. She loved having soft, instrumental music on in the background because it soothed her anxiety and took an edge off her. This house reminded her of a mausoleum.

  Repeating Garret’s phrases continually in her head as she worked, Kira forced herself not to make small talk with Crawford. Reminding herself that he hadn’t spat out curse words about the pancakes she’d made him, Kira considered that minimal progress. So far, she’d made him one meal he liked. At least he hadn’t griped about it or thrown it on the floor. Or at her.

  Kira had an awful feeling that Shay probably had dishes or God knew what else thrown at her from time to time growing up. It was just a psychic impression, but she knew in her state of heightened awareness she often received them, and they turned out to be right most of the time. What would she do if Crawford threw something at her? Kira was afraid to think, given her PTSD.

  In ten minutes the coffee and sandwich were ready. Kira brought them over to him. He stared at the sandwich.

  “You grilled this?”

  “Yes.” He’d seen her do it. Tensing, Kira waited as he looked at it like an eagle looking at its quarry.

  “You used Swiss cheese on it like I told you?”

  “Yes, I did.” She waited, wondering if he was just going to stare at it or eat it.

  “Get me some potato chips and then leave,” he snapped.

  Kira turned, feeling relief. Grabbing the bag of chips off the top of the fridge, she brought them over.

  “What would you like for dinner tonight?”

  “Hamburgers. Two of ’em. And I want ’em on buns.”

  “How about a salad of some kind to go with them?”

  He stared at her. “If I want you to talk, I’ll let you know. I said I wanted two hamburgers with buns.”

  “Okay, got it,” Kira said. “I’ll see you at five p.m., Mr. Crawford.”

  He said nothing, biting into the sandwich like a mad dog.

  More than glad to be leaving the house, Kira looked down at her watch. Relieved she’d only spent twenty minutes with Crawford, she hurried down the recently shoveled sidewalk to the house at the end. The snow was swirling lazily around her, and in the distance she could vaguely make out the outline of the sharpened peaks of the Salt River Range, to the east of the ranch. Looking toward the two huge barns, she saw Garret walking down the slight slope toward the truck parked below.

  Her heart lightened with joy. Garret was coming home. Home for lunch. Home to her. So much of her anxiety calmed, just knowing he was going to be with her, that Kira felt the rest of her fear dissolve. Her boots crunched through the melting ice because salt had been laid across the concrete sidewalk.

  She had just come into the kitchen when she heard Garret on the mud porch, stomping snow off his boots. In the middle of making them a fresh pot of coffee, Garret emerged into the kitchen, looking left toward her.

  “Hey, how’s it going with the old man?” He took off his Stetson, hanging it on a wall peg.

  “Rough start, but things are slowly improving,” she said, flipping the switch on the coffeemaker. Her heart bounded and this time it was with happiness, not dread, as it did when she was at Crawford’s place. She saw something in Garret’s eyes, a flash of irritation maybe. It didn’t feel as if it were aimed at her. Kira knew he was protective of her when it came to Ray. Now she knew why.

  Garret came over and pulled down two mugs and set them on the counter. “What does rough mean?”

  Shrugging, Kira said, “Just misunderstandings is all.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. She never wanted to lie to Garret. Kira brought plates down for the sandwiches he was going to make. She set them near the stove where he pulled out a griddle. She’d just made Ray the same sandwich.

  Garret slid her a glance. “What kind of misunderstandings?”

  Her neck prickled with warning. Kira reminded herself that Garret was black ops. He listened intently and missed nothing. Her heart pounded with fear because she didn’t want to let Garret know how Ray had treated her. She automatically sensed he’d get protective and go to Shay and Reese, lodging a complaint on her behalf.

  That couldn’t happen. Kira had a vision of them firing her when they found out the truth. Swallowing, she said, “Just a time issue was all. Shay had told me to be there at 7 in the morning. When I arrived, Mr. Crawford said he’d told his daughter I was to arrive at 6:30 was all. Don’t worry; we got it straightened out.” She turned away to set the table, praying he wouldn’t pursue her explanation beyond that.

  “I thought I heard Shay tell you 7:00,” Garret said, whipping up the tuna fish in a bowl.

  “Makes two of us. It’s all right. I’ll be there at 6:30 tomorrow.”

  “That’s too damned early. Crawford doesn’t have a right to impose that kind of rule on you.”

  Panic hit her. Kira came over to the counter where he was working. “Just let it go for now, Garret?” She searched his scowling features. “Please? I need this job. If I have to start half an hou
r earlier, that’s no skin off my nose. I’ll be happy to do it.”

  Garret groused, “He’s expecting too much. Shay told me once that Crawford treated his wife like a slave, ordering her around, cursing and yelling at her. Shay got so scared she ran to her room and hid. And often, because of the way Ray was always belligerent and angry, shouting at his wife, Shay couldn’t eat.”

  “Her stomach was probably tied in knots,” Kira agreed softly, wrapping her arms around her waist.

  “She said he got that way when he was drinking.”

  Grimacing, Kira said, “Really?”

  “Did you smell his breath?”

  Kira hesitated. “Well . . . no . . . I guess I forgot to check.” Because Crawford was screaming at her, unnerving her, and she couldn’t link two coherent thoughts in a row. And then added, “I’ll try to remember later today.”

  Garret nodded, placing the tuna on the bread. “You look stressed out, Kira.”

  He’d said it so gently, it caught her off guard. The words, low and deep, were filled with concern, and she got that wonderful sense of being invisibly embraced by him. Right now Kira desperately wanted to walk into Garret’s arms and be held. He had always made her feel safe, even in the most dangerous circumstances in Afghanistan. “First days at work are always stressful,” she offered quietly.

  Garret said nothing else, and in a few minutes their sandwiches were ready. He pulled the chair back for her to sit on and slid the plate in front of her.

  Kira felt like she was in two different realities. In one, she was treated like a queen. In the other, like a slave.

  “I saw Shay out in the broodmare barn earlier. She said she was going to drop by about 9 tonight and talk with you. See how your day went with her father.”

  Inwardly, Kira froze. She didn’t want to lie. It wasn’t who she was. “Okay.” She felt Garret’s gaze on her. It wasn’t upsetting, but she swore she could feel his laser-like attention, as if trying to ferret the rest of the truth out of her. On some level, he knew she wasn’t being fully forthcoming.

  “It’s a pressure cooker for you,” Garret said, eating. “You have to try to get the old man to like you. The daughter, on the other hand, who knows what the bastard’s like, is worried for you. She’s concerned he’ll pull the same shit on you that he did on her.”

  “He’s learning to adjust, too,” Kira said. “He’s probably just as nervous about this as I am.”

  Garret gave her a dark, slicing look. “I’ve been here with Shay for a year, Kira. She would confide in me sometimes. She used to go see Crawford three days a week at the nursing home in Jackson Hole. I could tell by how she looked, when she returned, what day she went to see him. She was strained, pale and there was a lot of pain in her eyes. I saw it every time. It never changed.” He released a heavy sigh, giving Kira a worried look. “A tiger doesn’t change its stripes. I don’t care what Shay says; her father is an alcoholic and an abuser. He spent eighteen years bludgeoning Shay and I honestly don’t know how she managed to turn out as well as she has.”

  Kira’s stomach knotted because she felt Garret subtly interrogating her, saying things to see what her reaction would be. “Look, I’m not Shay.”

  “No, but you’re a woman, and Crawford disrespects them.”

  “I had plenty of sexual harassment in the Army, Garret. If Ray throws anything my way, I’ll handle it. I have more than enough experience to deal with it.”

  Nodding, he regarded her through half-closed eyes. “If you start coming home looking like Shay, we’re going to sit down and have a serious talk, Kira. I won’t let that bastard do anything to hurt you. Understand?”

  A heated longing coursed through Kira. He’d said those words softly, with feeling, meaning it. She wanted to shrug off his care, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to, but she didn’t dare tell Garret what Ray had said to her today. It was verbal abuse, pure and simple. She knew it, hated it, but had bit the bullet and ignored it. And now she was going to have to shade the truth with Shay, too. “Yes,” she said quietly, “I understand.”

  Garret motioned to her food. “You’re not eating.”

  Kira picked up the sandwich and took a bite, not tasting anything. How badly she wanted to tell Garret the whole truth, but she knew if she did, he’d go storming over to Crawford’s place. God knew what he might do to the guy. Crawford was only forty-nine, not really an old man as Garret referred to him. He would have been a strapping rancher in his prime if the stroke hadn’t slowed him down.

  “Are you doing your Arabic-to-English translations this afternoon?”

  “Yes. I worked on the manual, plus I have two other clients with several letters to translate.”

  “Good. I was thinking that maybe in a week or so, after things settle down, we might invite Noah and Harper to dinner. How do you feel about that?”

  Perking up, Kira smiled a little. “I’d like that.”

  “Well, you’ll get to meet them in a couple of days when we have our weekly Friday evening talk session. And at our Sunday dinner, too.”

  “Right. But Noah works with horses and I’d love to know more about what he does.”

  “He’s looking for another horse trainer right now, but it’s got to be someone who has experience with trail horse training.”

  “A person with specialty training?”

  “Yes.” Garret looked up and said, “He’s gonna have to find a military vet, someone who’s been a horse handler like himself. I think he’ll have problems finding someone.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “We’ve got long, damn-cold winters,” and he grinned. “Nine months out of every year there’s snow on the ground.”

  She felt her heart open over his partial smile. Garret had never smiled a lot, but when he did, the hard planes of his face softened and changed. He went from looking like a tough operator to someone who was very approachable. Kira had always called it his teddy bear side. The Afghan children certainly figured him out in a few days. Garret might be a giant of a man towering over them, but his hands were gentle and he was outright tender with all the children. In fact, he spoiled them rotten by bringing them candy nearly every day as he strode up and down the streets within the walled village.

  Garret had contacted Operation Gratitude in Chatsworth, California, and asked them to donate candy so he could hand it out to the children. The charity, that helped many overseas military men and women with care packages, sent him so much that a quarter of their hut had been piled with boxes of it. Garret never ran out of candy for those children and he had won Kira over once again. He was a warrior, but he was also a kind man who knew when to put his strength and power away and allow his heart to lead him instead.

  “We endured a lot of cold, hard winters in Afghanistan,” she reminded him. “And we always found ways to pass the time.”

  “Yeah, you and your journal. You were always writing or sketching in it.”

  “You and the guys loved Monopoly. You taught it to everyone.” She smiled, warmth embracing her with a memory of those times. “Winter was always the quiet time in our cycle. The Taliban left everyone alone because all the passes were closed by snow. We had time on our hands to play games.”

  Garret finished his sandwich, wiping his fingers on a paper napkin. “I remember them well. The kids would come to our house. They knew you sketched and they wanted you to draw portraits of them.”

  “I’ve got a lot of those drawings,” Kira said fondly, remembering those times. “But really? They came over to the house because those smart little tykes knew you had boxes of candy stacked to the ceiling and were hoping you’d give them some. I think I was their second objective, don’t you?” and Kira chuckled.

  Garret’s grin grew. “Yeah. Well, the boys were like that. The little girls, though, they just liked to come visit because you held them, sang to them and kissed them.” He traded a warm glance with her. “You were their second mother, and every little girl knew that. I think they wanted yo
u to draw them because it gave them just that much more quality time with you. You’d fuss over them, combing their hair, rearranging their thin clothing, and it made them feel important. Loved.”

  “Well, the Afghan mothers loved their children equally, if not more, Garret.”

  “Not contesting that.” Garret reached out, barely grazing her cheek with his fingers. “I don’t think you see yourself, Kira. Those kids did, though. You’re full of life; you had so much love to give and they knew it. They orbited around you for those three years. I saw it. I was there.”

  Her skin tingled in the wake of his unexpected touch. Startled inwardly, Kira didn’t move, digesting his gesture. That burning look, one of yearning, lay banked in his green-gold eyes. Her voice was choked. “Yes . . . you were there . . .” Her heart was turning to mush in her chest and she wanted so badly to wrap her arms around Garret’s thick, powerful neck and hug him and never let go. “I remember you’d sometimes give me a funny look when I’d hold a little girl, singing to her. I always wanted to ask you what that was all about, Garret.” She saw his cheeks go ruddy, something that rarely happened. He was blushing. Little made him blush. She gave him a searching look. “Tell me. What were you thinking at those times?”

  Moving uncomfortably, Garret muttered, “I was thinking back to my own childhood. My mother, Jenny, used to pull me up on her lap, cuddle me and sing to me.”

  “Oh, that’s so wonderful,” she whispered, suddenly feeling tears burn in the backs of her eyes. “I didn’t know . . .”

  “Well,” Garret said, giving her a wry look, “I didn’t exactly go around telling my team about it. They’d have had a field day with that kind of intel.”

  “No, but I would have understood. My mom used to snuggle me into her arms before I’d go to bed. There was a rocker in my bedroom, and I knew every night after I washed up and got into my pj’s, she’d come in and sit in the rocker. I loved jumping into her lap. She’d hold me, kiss me, like I did those Afghan kids. And then she’d read a chapter out of a storybook. I just loved her reading to me . . .”

  “We had good mothers,” Garret agreed, his voice low and thick.