Wind River Cowboy

by Lindsay McKenna

  She shrugged and sipped the tea. “I love going barefoot. I love my feet feeling the shiny gold oak beneath me, the texture.”

  Garret nodded, starved for this kind of intimacy with Kira. They had never talked like this before. He knew she loved to push her toes into the red sand, and sometimes he’d seen her do it with the children, who were always barefoot because there was no money to buy shoes. “What are you doing with your journal?” He craned his neck a bit, looking at the opened pages. The book was leather-bound, with creamy, thick paper. He saw an ink drawing and a lot of writing on the opposite page.

  Kira set her cup down on the coffee table. She reached for the journal, turning it around in her hands, tipping it so he could clearly see it. “Sometimes,” she began softly, “my grief wells up like a tsunami inside me. When that happens, I get up, open my journal and look at the sketches of the guys we lost . . .” Her voice trailed off and she caressed the page where she’d drawn a soldier, his head and shoulders. A lump formed and her voice grew soft. “I’m not much of an artist, but this is Captain Aaron Michelson.” She lifted her chin and looked at him. “I need to cry for them . . . for their wives or girlfriends . . . their children . . .”

  Mouth hardening, Garret felt gut-punched. The ink drawing he was looking at was as good as a photograph of Aaron. He was turning his head, his eyes narrowed with that keen intelligence he possessed. At thirty-five years old, Garret remembered clearly their captain had been married for ten years and had three children, two boys and a girl. His gut rolled and his throat closed off with sudden grief. Looking down at his cup, he said roughly, “Close the book, Kira. Please?”

  Startled, she frowned and closed it, setting it down beside her. “I-I’m sorry.”

  His head snapped up and he met and held her confused gaze. “No. It’s not you. It’s me,” he said harshly. His hand tightened around the cup. Garret hadn’t expected this kind of violent reaction. It was his repressed grief rising strongly within him.

  “I drew all the guys. Even you,” she began. “I did it while I was recovering in the hospital. I didn’t have any photos of the team and I missed everyone so much.” Kira pressed her hand against her throat. “For me, Garret, the drawings help. They comfort me when I feel that grief wave rip me apart again. I don’t want to ever forget any of them.” Her lower lip trembled. “Not ever . . .”

  Ah, hell. Garret gritted his teeth, watching tears fall silently down her cheeks as she stared at him. They hit him like a sledgehammer to his heart. Above all, he loved Kira. She didn’t know it. Not yet. Probably never. But Garret wasn’t going to let her be savaged by Ray Crawford either. And the only way to get her trust was to be there for her. Listen to her. Watch her cry. Jesus, he wanted to hold her so damned badly he could taste it. “We’ll never forget,” he said quietly, his voice raw. Garret didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to talk about the men he’d loved as brothers. He felt that fist of grief he’d buried starting to shove up into his chest, felt the suffering that came with it. What was he going to do? How was he going to be able to keep it stuffed down and still gain Kira’s trust?

  “When I got out of the hospital, after my discharge,” she said softly, leaning back against the couch, her gaze up on the ceiling, “I made a promise to all of them.”

  His brows drew down. “What promise?” he demanded.

  Her gaze turned to his. “That I’d travel around the country and see each wife and their children. I saw Brady’s fiancée, Alicia. And the girlfriends of Tony and Mark.”

  Garret stared at her. “You did that?” he asked, disbelief in his tone.

  Nodding, Kira said, “I had to, Garret. I knew the Army wouldn’t tell them anything. I knew they all lived in a special hell, never knowing what really happened. I sat down with each one and told them what I could. I know we were black ops, but they deserved to know how their loved ones died.” She lapsed into silence, the cup in her hands. “Someone had to tell them and I couldn’t find you. I didn’t want them to hang in that painful limbo any longer than they had to, so I took it upon myself, for our team, to do it.”

  He could only stare at her as if she were an alien from another planet who suddenly had landed and walked up to him. His heart was pounding with such urgency as pain flooded into his chest that Garret couldn’t speak. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The expression on Kira’s face was one of peace. Acceptance. The grief was in her eyes, but so was the solace.

  How could she have done that? Garret had often thought he should see the surviving families, to give them closure, but he was a coward and knew it. His soldiers deserved his best effort. Team members looked out for one another, looked out for their families as well. They’d been such a tight-knit group. He’d never found the strength to go visit any of them. To do so would mean he’d have to live through all those feelings, over and over again, and Garret knew it would destroy him if he did. Fear ate at him as he held Kira’s soft, moist, gray eyes. The kind smile on her mouth, that compassion she’d always possessed, was there for him to see.

  “You did something incredibly good for them, Kira.” He choked. Because I couldn’t. I still can’t do it. What did that make him? Garret didn’t look too closely at himself to answer that one. Kira’s strength overwhelmed him. For someone so small, she had the heart of the bravest men he’d ever known. She was a class act. As always, she’d done the right thing for the right reasons. Garret knew Kira had to be hurting badly, grieving herself, and yet she’d pushed beyond her own pain and visited all those families . . . God . . . how had she done it?

  “It had to be done,” Kira whispered, giving him a shrug. “I was the only one left to do it.”

  Because she couldn’t find him. Because he had amnesia. Anger and frustration thrummed through Garret. He should have been there for Kira. If anything, they should have done it together. It should never have been left on her small, proud shoulders to carry the entire team’s grief. But she had. She was so friggin’ brave he could barely sit still at that stunning realization. Garret wanted to hold her now even more. She’d suffered alone, without help, without support, trying to find herself after her world was blasted apart. And where was he? Where? In some ways, Garret still felt so damned lost that he couldn’t even find words to describe where he was at. The PTSD had fractured his soul, maimed his ego, torn so much of who he thought he was away from him. And he was sure Kira felt the same way. Yet whatever was left of her, she’d had the grit and stamina to do what she could for their team. My God . . .

  He closed his eyes and hung his head, the cup warm in his hands. Emotions came up whether Garret wanted them to or not. There were feelings of pride for Kira, love for her, and the realization that he didn’t deserve someone as beautiful and courageous as she really was. It hurt to feel, and Garret opened his eyes, rubbing his chest over his heart. Kira was sitting there, relaxed against the couch, her eyes half closed, warmth for him reflected in them. Or was he seeing things? Garret knew she couldn’t love a coward, which was what he was. Kira deserved someone a helluva lot better than him. His mind was spinning with what to say to her. What could he say that wouldn’t sound inane?

  “Are you okay, Garret?”

  Her low voice broke through his tortured state of emotions. He raised his head, meeting her worried gaze. “Yeah . . . it’s . . . just a lot. I didn’t know,” he rasped, the corners of his mouth pulling inward, “that you’d done that, Kira. It was a good thing. I’m just sorry I wasn’t there with you . . . Thank you for doing it . . .”

  She gave him a tender look. “You had amnesia, Garret. You didn’t know. You look so guilty right now and you shouldn’t. Really, don’t feel like that way, okay? The women who loved all our guys are in a better place now. Only one of us had to do it. And I was glad it was me.” Kira managed a weak smile. “I’m a woman. It’s easy for women to talk to one another, you know?”

  Giving a jerky nod, Garret said, “Yeah, we guys don’t have a way with words, that’s for damned
sure.” He felt the raw guilt eating at him as if acid had been poured into his heart. He’d known those men for five years. Kira had known them for three. He should have done what she did.

  “It’s okay, Garret. I came away from that experience actually feeling better, not worse. It was healing for me. For them . . .”

  He couldn’t understand that at all. If that grief came boiling up out of him, Garret knew it would rip him apart in such a way he’d never be the same again. The PTSD had taken enough chunks out of him. He was damned if he was going to allow grief to take the rest of him. And yet, as he studied Kira’s pale face, there was peace in her eyes. He was unable to understand how. Garret had never felt a moment’s peace since that ambush. Not one second. Yet Kira looked calm, as if the experience hadn’t ripped her apart. Maybe it was because she had internal strength that he didn’t have? Maybe that was the difference? He didn’t know.

  Shaking his head, he muttered, “I don’t understand how you could feel better after telling those families about the ambush. I really don’t. It would be”—he groped—“torture to tell them. To talk about what happened over and over again.” Searching her eyes, he grated, “I couldn’t do what you did. You’re something else, Kira. You have my respect, my admiration, for your courage under fire.”

  “Oh,” Kira murmured, “I had to do it, Garret. If I didn’t, I would feel like the grief was going to eat me up alive. If I couldn’t get it out of me, it was going to kill my soul, and I knew it. Repeating it actually made it less intense for me. Sort of like opening an infected wound and letting it drain. I felt relief.”

  “Jesus, Kira, men and women are a helluva lot different then, because I felt just the opposite of that after my memories returned six months later. I wanted to get the hell away from those feelings, that grief, as fast as I could.”

  “Maybe we are hardwired differently,” she gently agreed. “If I couldn’t cry, talk it out, or write it in my journal, I would feel so terrible inside myself that I couldn’t focus on anything. The PTSD has pretty much been a major distraction for me, but if I had to live with that grief untended, not allow it to drain, I don’t think I could have survived.”

  Grumpily, he stood, slugged down the tepid tea and growled, “We are very different. Listen, you need to get some sleep and so do I. Why don’t you come to bed?” He held his hand out in her direction. In his dreams, he wanted Kira to stand up and take his hand, and they’d walk to his bedroom. There, he would undress her, take her to his bed, fold her around his body, kiss her, taste her skin, hear her sigh with satisfaction and then love her until they were both drowning in pleasure. But that wasn’t going to happen. He saw her nod and slowly unwind and place her cup on the coffee table. She was so damned graceful. Garret felt the ache intensify in his lower body. Good thing he had on jeans; she wouldn’t realize how turned on he was. Garret didn’t want to embarrass Kira.

  “You’re right,” she said, gathering her journal and picking up the box of colored pencils. “Tomorrow is coming soon. I have to be over at Mr. Crawford’s place at 6:30 in the morning.”

  Grimacing, Garret said nothing and forced himself to move. If he didn’t, he was going to walk up to her, haul her into his arms and hold her fiercely. Forever. His hands itched to touch her. His body was beginning to throb. His conscience was at war within him. He wanted to gain Kira’s trust so she would level with him about Crawford and his games. But to do it, Garret realized he was going to have to become starkly vulnerable. It was something he’d never done because if he had, that wall of black grief would have raced up through him and torn him apart, and he’d have lost total control. That couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t.

  Chapter Seven

  Kira tried to keep things light between her and Garret the next morning. He looked like hell warmed over. His hazel eyes were a muddy green brown, his mouth a slash, and he wasn’t his normal, chipper self.

  Last night she’d gone back to bed, hit the pillow and slept deeply until her alarm went off at five a.m. Garret was already up and moving about, which surprised her. Hadn’t he slept at all? What was bothering him?

  As she ate the pancakes smothered with bananas, strawberries and blueberries he’d made for her, she’d desperately wanted to talk with him. But there was no time. Glancing at her watch, she saw she had only twenty minutes before she had to get over to Ray’s house. Last night Garret had looked terribly vulnerable after she’d admitted she had drawn all the men of the team in her journal. It was as if, out of the blue, something had zapped him. There was desperation in his eyes. And as she’d sat there, Kira felt so many different emotions—like waves of energy—hitting her. She wasn’t sure how he’d taken her admission about the drawings. Maybe, looking back on it, she shouldn’t have said anything. Because it had upset Garret a lot.

  She forced herself to eat even though her stomach was in a knot. Having to go into battle again with Ray was the last thing Kira wanted to do. Her anxiety was already high and she could feel the howling monster that lived inside her awaken and start to snarl. The anxiety felt like a knife being rasped against her flesh, tearing her open, feeling the pain, making her bleed. Kira wished with all her heart it would go away. But it never did. The monster just slumbered and would suddenly awaken like a primal animal, defensive and ready to fight because it felt threatened. Ray Crawford threatened the hell out of her. The only solace was that Shay had been very kind to her the night before, Garret had found a fix for the situation and no one had mentioned firing her. Not yet.

  “Thanks for the great breakfast,” she told him, reaching out, grazing his forearm. Rising, she took her plate and flatware to the sink. Kira found herself wanting so badly to wrap her arms around Garret. He looked devastated. It had to be due to their talk last night. She knew how upsetting it was to think back on the ambush. But it was something she did every week, and there was no escaping the grief or memories that would suddenly bubble up. When it did, she’d burst into tears. And there was no way she could control or stop them. Nor would she try. The rolling, overwhelming sense of loss consumed her and all she could do was sob until it worked its way out. Then, always, she would feel better.

  Hurrying to the wall where her parka hung, she shrugged it over her shoulders. Grabbing her red knit cap and pulling it on, she dug for her mittens in her pockets. “I’ll see you at 1300,” she said, struggling to pull them onto her hands.

  She glanced toward the table where Garret sat. He looked pasty to her, lifeless, his eyes dull. Her heart opened to him and she wished she could stay, talk with him, find out what was going on inside him. But she couldn’t.

  “Don’t take any shit off Crawford today,” Garret growled, lifting his head, pinning her with a hard stare. “If it happens, you walk out, come and get me and we’ll go see Shay and Reese. I don’t want him being abusive to you, Kira.”

  She forced a smile she didn’t feel, her hand wrapping around the doorknob. “He’s just upset and trying to get used to a new way of living, Garret. It’ll be all right,” and she lifted her hand, pulling the door open and hurrying out. Garret’s expression told Kira he didn’t believe her for a second.

  Adrenaline leaked into her and she felt the jittery quality sizzling through her like a wild animal on the loose. It took so much energy to control and contain those rampant feelings of threat, as if she were about to die in battle. Hurrying down the sidewalk, she realized Garret had already shoveled the snow from the night before off earlier. He really mustn’t have slept at all.

  Worried over their conversation, her mind starting to become distracted, Kira compressed her lips, hurrying into a trot. There was a bare hint of a pinkish dawn in the east across the wide valley, the Salt River Range ten miles away. Her breath was white vapor as she hurried along, seeing the lights were on in Ray, Noah and Harper’s homes. Everyone started early on a ranch. Dawn to dusk. That was how it was.

  Kira knocked on Ray’s kitchen door, then let herself in. She saw him dressed, sitting at the table, a
cup of coffee between his hands. “Good morning,” she said, breathless. Shutting the door, she quickly shed her parka, hanging it on a nearby wall hook. At least Crawford couldn’t say she was late today. It was 6:20 a.m. As Kira turned, all she received was a dark stare. Crawford’s mouth was a thin line. It reminded her of a snake’s mouth, which had no lips. His brown eyes were hard and she tried to steel herself against anything he might say.

  Rubbing her hands briskly, she tried to keep her voice light. “Did you sleep well last night, Mr. Crawford?”

  “Bad night.”

  She gave him a kind look. “I’m sorry. How’s the coffee this morning?”

  “Better,” he snapped.

  What a bear. Was he like this with Shay? Washing her hands at the sink, she twisted a look toward him. “That’s great to hear. What would you like for breakfast?” She saw him glare at her, look down at his half-empty cup, his brow furrowing. Kira noticed the crutch leaning nearby against the wall. He was supposed to use both crutches but refused.

  “I want waffles.”

  Kira didn’t even know if there was a waffle iron in the house. “Okay,” she said, starting to look for the appliance. She opened several cupboards, not finding one.

  “Do you happen to know where the waffle iron is, Mr. Crawford?”

  “How the hell would I know?”

  Wincing, Kira bent down, continuing to look through the rest of the cupboards. When she didn’t find it, she started at one end and went through each one. No waffle iron. Pushing her damp hands against her jeans, she turned to him. “I can’t find one, Mr. Crawford. Let me run to Shay’s house. I’m sure she has a waffle iron we can borrow until she buys one for your house.”

  “What is it with women? You’re stupid! And so is my daughter! She shoulda thought about this before I moved in. What the hell’s the matter with her?”

  Gulping, Kira straightened. She didn’t dare reply. She knew a person like Crawford would more than likely explode at her, cursing and God knows what else. She walked over to the wall hook and pulled on her parka. Turning, she held his angry gaze. “I’ll be back just as soon as I can, Mr. Crawford. We’ll get those waffles made for you . . .”