Wind River Cowboy

by Lindsay McKenna

  “Is your mom still alive?”

  “No. Died when I was ten.” He scowled. “My father is a mean, abusive alcoholic. I remember my mother dying of a heart attack out in the garden. I’d just come home from school that afternoon and she was out there on her hands and knees, pulling weeds. She’d been crying, and I could see the wetness on her cheeks. I’d come up to her to ask her why she was crying, and that’s when she had the heart attack.”

  It felt as if a knife had been plunged through her own heart. Kira gasped and whispered, “Oh, no . . . oh, God, I’m so sorry, Garret. I didn’t know.” Without thinking, she reached out, gripping his hand. Instantly, his long, callused fingers wrapped around hers. The gesture was intimate and possessive. Kira saw the pain banked deep in his stormy eyes. She squeezed his fingers a little more, realizing he could crush hers if he wanted to. “You grew up without a mom, too.”

  He gave her a sharpened look. “What do you mean?”

  Reluctantly, Kira withdrew her fingers from his hand. Her flesh tingled and she felt that old, gnawing sensation begin deep in her lower body, wanting him. “My mother . . . well, I remember her smiling and being so happy when I was very young. She’d sweep me up into her arms, carry me, hug and kiss me. She loved me so much. And then, when I was around eight, she changed.” Saddened, Kira said, “Looking back on it now, my mother, Elizabeth, had gone into a deep depression. And from the looks of it, it’s genetic on her side of the family. My grandmother Ivy was depressed all her life.”

  “What happened to your mom?”

  “She committed suicide when I was nineteen.” Instantly, she saw Garret’s face fall with grief—for her. “I was in the Army, overseas in Afghanistan, when it happened. I got emergency medical leave and came home. My dad was devastated. He loved her so much . . . so much . . .”

  “It had to have hit you hard, too.”

  “Pretty much. She’d been getting worse. Sometimes,” and Kira wiped her eyes, giving him an apologetic look, “I think it was my fault. She begged me not to leave, not to go away to the Army.”

  “Jesus,” Garret growled, giving her a pained look. “She shouldn’t have laid that on your doorstep, Kira. You know that, don’t you?”

  Sniffing, she shrugged. “On a good day I do. On a bad one . . . well . . . because I’ve had depression since I got PTSD, I really understand some of what she must have felt. That sense of utter helplessness. That dark hole that stares back at you, and you know if you fall into it, you’re never climbing out of it. I often wonder if Mom fell down that rabbit hole. That’s what I call it. And if she did, not only did she feel helpless, she was lost . . . no rudder . . . no desire to do anything or . . . nothing . . .”

  Gripping her hand, Garret rasped, “Listen to me, Kira, you had nothing to do with your mother deciding to take her own life.” He stared hard into her moist eyes. “Not. Your. Fault.”

  She curled her fingers around his, needing him in that moment. His touch fed her, filled her heart and made the hurting stop whenever she thought about her suffering mother. “When I was going to therapy sessions at Bethesda, the psychiatrist wanted to give me meds for my PTSD. I saw what depression medicine did to my mom. She got worse. I refused to take any meds. I told the doc I’d rather suffer and not become like my mother.”

  Just the warm solidness of his hand around hers buoyed her, took away some of her guilt and anguish. “And then, after I got kicked out of the Army, I went home. My dad was so glad to have me back. And I was glad to be there. I really needed him. The day he met me at the airport and threw his arms around me; I’ll never forget it as long as I live. I was hurting so much. Grieving. Unable to sleep. Unable to stop remembering. And he’s a big man like you, so when he pulled me into his arms and held me, it was the most incredibly healing moment of my life.” She felt Garret’s hand hold hers a little tighter. It felt so good, smoothing out her ragged emotional state. Kira didn’t want to let go of it.

  “How long were you able to stay home?” he asked, frowning, watching her closely.

  “Two months? Days ran together for me, Garret. I lost track of time, to tell you the truth. I was screaming in the middle of the night, waking myself up. Waking him up at least four times a week. The poor guy was so shaken by what was happening to me. At first when I had those nightmares he’d find me wrapped in the bedcovers on the floor. I was in a flashback. They’re a lot worse than a nightmare.” Lifting her head, Kira met his darkened hazel eyes. “You know the difference. I know you do.” She saw Garret barely nod.

  “So you left because the PTSD had full control over you?”

  “Yeah,” she admitted, misery in her tone. “I thought moving out, finding a job somewhere else, would help me regain control over my life.” Her mouth pursed. “It didn’t.”

  “Seems to be the norm,” Garret said, his voice gentle. “I got fired from a lot of jobs until Shay gave me one here. You aren’t out of control, Kira. It’s the stress that amps up our anxiety, and we can’t handle it.”

  “No, I’m not out of control anymore . . . at least not as often as before. A lot of my symptoms have become less intense.” She motioned toward the hall. “If I couldn’t write in my journal . . . draw things . . . just jotting down things that are eating me from the inside out, have helped. If I didn’t have that journal, Garret, I don’t know what I’d have done. I think I’d have gone insane . . .”

  He took his other hand, smoothing it down her lower arm in a gentle, quiet motion. “We all get slammed up against that wall,” he rumbled. “PTSD does it to you.” He slid his other hand beneath hers, holding it, watching her. “You’ve come a long way on your journey back to who you used to be, Kira.” He looked deep into her eyes. “And now you have me. I’ll be there for you. All the way. Let me be that support for you.”

  Chapter Six

  Garret felt himself start to unravel as he listened to Kira’s admissions. Intuitively, he knew there had been a lot more than what she’d shared with him about Ray Crawford. He could see anxiety in her dark gray eyes, the worry that she was going to be fired from this job. Holding her hand, warming it up between his, sent waves of incredible happiness through him. This was the first time he’d ever been able to do this. It wouldn’t have worked when they were together in the A team. It would have torn the team apart.

  When he felt her fingers shyly curve against his, it told him so much. So much. If there wasn’t something unspoken between them, Kira would have pulled her hand out of his immediately. Because holding her hand went beyond that line in the sand of a friendship. His action was intimate. More than anything, Garret hoped desperately that Kira realized he was interested in her as a woman. As someone he wanted to know so much better than when they’d been in the team together.

  He forced himself to release her hand and stand up. “I’ve got to get back to work,” he said, apology in his tone. The history of Kira’s mother tore heavily at his heart. He saw Kira rally. It was then that Garret began to understand the power and influence he had with her. Some of the dread in his chest lifted because, more than anything, he wanted to give Kira a safe harbor in her 24/7 fight with anxiety that came with PTSD. She seemed calmer. More settled. Maybe even relaxed. Garret wasn’t sure about that, but her eyes told him so much. Some of the darkness had lifted from them and he took it as a sign that she was feeling calmer. There was so much he had to relearn about her. She was a shadow of her former self, and he grieved for her, knowing what the ambush and then the PTSD had stolen from her.

  “Yes, I need to get to my translation duties,” Kira said, rising.

  “I’ll clear the table. You go to work,” he said. “I’ll see you at 7:00 tonight? I’m making us baked chicken with rice along with a poultry gravy.”

  She nodded, then hesitated in the hall leading to her room. “Sounds good. See you then . . .”

  Garret cleaned off the table and put the few plates into the dishwasher. His conscience needled him and he looked down the hallway, now empty. What t
he hell was Crawford doing or saying to her? Something. But Kira wasn’t telling him. Dammit. Maybe he’d find out more after Shay grilled her about her father tonight after dinner. He hoped so, because Kira was acting like a frightened rabbit. Like a big, bad wolf was circling her. Crawford could be up to his usual abusiveness again.

  The question was whether or not Shay would turn a blind eye because she was in denial about her father. It was a sticky issue and one that wasn’t going away anytime soon. Garret could only do so much. But he was damned if Kira was going to become tied to Crawford’s whipping post. He needed her to come clean with him. He had to figure out a way to get her to trust him enough with all the truth, not just half of it.

  * * *

  “Well, how was your first day?” Shay asked Kira. The three of them sat at the table with coffee mugs in hand. Garret had made a white cake, just slathered chocolate frosting on it, and he’d given each of them a slice on a plate. Shay eagerly dug into hers.

  “It was a day of learning curves,” Kira said, pushing the cake around on her plate with her fork.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your father said I was late. I’d gone over at seven a.m., as you’d asked. He was upset and told me I was half an hour late.”

  Shay grimaced. “I told him seven.”

  Shrugging, Kira said, “He’s had a stroke. Maybe he forgot. I mean, I don’t know the extent to which the stroke has affected his memory.”

  “It’s affected him in different ways. He does get forgetful. It comes and goes. He didn’t yell at you, did he, Kira?”

  Shaking her head, she offered, “I apologized and told him I’d have coffee waiting for him at six thirty tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s too early to ask anyone to start work,” Garret grumbled, giving Shay a warning look. “Don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely,” Shay quickly agreed. “I had written down the schedule for my father, Kira.”

  “Maybe he misplaced it.”

  “That’s always possible. I’m so sorry, Kira. I was hoping this would be a smooth transition for him and you.”

  Garret gave Shay a searching look. “I think part of the solution is to buy your father a coffeemaker that has a timer on it. Kira could make him coffee the night before, have it turn on at 6:30 a.m. and then I could show up at seven to fix him breakfast. What do you think?” He saw instant relief come across Shay’s face because he sensed her worry over the issue.

  “That’s a great idea,” Shay said. “I’ll go out and buy one tomorrow.” She looked at Kira. “Would you mind going over there at six thirty tomorrow morning just this one time?”

  “No, not at all.”

  Shay gave her a relieved look and reached out and touched Kira’s arm. “Thanks. I’m so sorry about this. The stroke has left my father with on-again, off-again memory issues.”

  “You’d warned me about that,” Kira said, giving her a small smile. “It’s okay. We’ve got a fix for this and hopefully, after you talk to your father and assure him I’ll always come over at seven to make him breakfast, it will resolve itself.”

  Garret said, “Shay? Your father needs things written down. Maybe you have to put the paper in every room of his house so he’s reminded. I don’t want him going after Kira like he went after you.” He saw Shay’s face drain of color; she knew damn well what he was talking about. He’d found out that Shay hadn’t covered the darker aspects of her father with Kira. And he wasn’t going to have Kira be a target for him to vent his rage. Not a chance in hell. He watched Shay’s pale expression and knew the tone of his voice got the message through to her. He hated putting pressure on her, but it couldn’t be helped.

  “Yes, I’ll make that happen tomorrow.” She swallowed and gave Kira a searching look. “H-he didn’t yell at you, did he?”

  Garret saw Kira wince. It wasn’t obvious, but he saw it. Operators saw a lot of subtle human expressions and expertly picked up on body language.

  “No, he was fine. Really. I’m sure this will get straightened out and everything will go smoothly. He’s in a new environment, too. Change often is upsetting until you get used to the new routine.”

  “Well, he was waited on hand and foot at the nursing home,” Shay told her. “Here, he’s pretty much on his own.”

  “As it should be,” Garret growled.

  “Yes,” Shay agreed. “He wants to get better, get stronger, be able to walk without the assistance of crutches, so this forces him into doing most things for himself.”

  Garret scowled. “Shay? If at some point your father does get to that level of mobility, are you going to make him start feeding himself? Kira shouldn’t have this as a forever job, right? She’s far more valuable to us as a translator.”

  “Absolutely,” Shay murmured. “Reese and I see this as a temporary assignment for you, Kira. We do want you to continue your translation duties, plus, we sure can use someone like you when it comes to mechanics around here. Harper’s great, but sometimes he’s away for a week at a time, and then we have no one with his skills. As soon as my father can walk on his own again, he’s already been told that we expect him to feed himself and take care of the housekeeping duties at his home.”

  Garret saw Shay’s explanation give Kira some purchase, saw some of the anxiety in her eyes dissolve. Kira needed to have this kind of support if she was going to weather whatever Crawford was doling out to her. It bothered him that Kira wasn’t coming clean with him. He understood her terror at being fired again, so she wouldn’t divulge the real truth to Shay. But to him? Somehow, he had to get Kira’s trust. Deepen it. Widen it. Get her to open up to him. But how?

  * * *

  Garret suddenly awoke. He was bathed in sweat. Breathing hard, his heart slamming into his chest. Dammit! Another nightmare. He hated them. Pushing his legs over the side of the bed, he thrust the covers aside, pissed. Looked at the clock on the dresser, which read two a.m. He wiped his sweaty face, needing to get up. It wouldn’t do any good to lay in bed; his mind would just churn over that fucking ambush like it did at least once a week.

  His pajama bottoms clung to his body. Muttering a curse, he turned on the lamp on the bedstand and stood. Pulling the pj’s off, he could smell the fear sweat surrounding him. Adrenaline was still making him jumpy and tense. He’d take a hot shower and that would calm him down. Make some tea and go sit at the kitchen table and let himself come down off this cliff. What he hated most was the grief that always stalked him along with the flashback. Violently, Garret shoved it deep down inside himself as he threw the damp pajamas to the foot of the bed. He walked naked to the dresser, yanking open the drawer and found a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a pair of socks. A pair of boxer shorts could wait until he went to work in the morning.

  He’d nearly opened the door when his preoccupied mind remembered Kira was in the house. Normally, he’d stalk naked down the hall to the bathroom.

  Muttering to himself, he grabbed his dark blue bathrobe, shrugging it on. He hoped Kira was fast asleep and opened the door quietly so as not to disturb her.

  As he stepped into the hall, he saw her door was open. What the hell? Twisting a look toward the living room down at the other end, he saw a light on. Was Kira up? Unable to sleep? Scowling, Garret needed that shower. He needed to get the stink off him. He’d find out why she was awake after getting cleaned up.

  Twenty minutes later, he emerged in a black T-shirt, jeans, his feet in the black socks as he halted at the lip of the living room. Kira was sitting in the middle of the black leather couch, her legs tucked beneath her, that old, scarred leather journal laid out across her thighs. He saw a set of colored pencils and an ink pen, beside her. She was wearing a flannel, ankle-length, pink granny gown, looking beautiful.

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?” she asked.

  His flesh reacted to the smoky quality of her voice, that low tone that always made him want her. “No. Had a friggin’ flashback wake me up out of the blue.”

  “Want to sit do
wn?” Kira gestured to the overstuffed chair across from the coffee table and couch. “Would you like some tea?”

  His mouth tugged at one corner as he drank her in. Right now Kira looked peaceful. Garret wasn’t picking up that tense, frenetic energy that had been around her earlier, when Shay had arrived. “Probably. Would you like some?”

  “Sure.” She started to set her journal aside.

  “Stay put,” he growled. “I’ll get it for us,” and he turned, padding silently through to the kitchen. As he made chamomile tea, he wondered what the hell he was doing. Kira seemed so vulnerable in that baggy, shapeless, pink flannel nightgown. But she looked so damned fetching to him, too. Garret wanted to run his fingers through her hair, tame some of those errant strands back into place. She looked more like a young girl in her teens. Innocent. Fresh. And he wanted her. All of her. His body stirred and he ruthlessly suppressed the desire.

  Retrieving a wooden tray, Garret set it down between them on the coffee table. There was something sweet and tender coming to life within him. He saw Kira brighten, lay her open journal aside and sit up. Her feet were bare. Small, delicate feet. Like her. Sometimes, Garret wondered how someone half his size had handled combat and been just as strong and rugged as the men on the team. Kira had been a valuable member of their group. The height and weight of a person didn’t tell anyone about the size of a person’s heart or their courage. The strength of their soul. He saw her gray eyes were clear, but he noticed dried tear tracks down her cheeks, too. Wincing inwardly, he said, “Here you go.”

  For a couple of minutes the clink of a spoon against the ceramic mug, the stirring sound as she put some honey into the clear brown liquid, the fragrant scent of the tea, filled the air. Garret sat down, his legs open, resting his elbows on his thighs, the cup balanced between his hands. Kira sat back, tucking her feet beneath her.

  “Aren’t your feet cold?”

  “A little.”

  “You could have worn socks.”