by Julie Rowe
She was so not the right woman for Smitty.
She wasn’t the right woman for anyone, and probably would never be.
Chapter Six
Smitty woke her only once during the night to make love with a furious passion that surprised her with its speed and ferocity. They made love again in the shower, both needy after teasing each other with soap and shampoo.
She let him drive her to work without chucking any dynamite into Lost Lake for the first time in weeks. She saw patients until about 11:30 when she planned an early lunch with the Sheriff at the diner down the street from the clinic.
He arrived as she was hanging up her lab coat and tipped his hat to her. “Morning Abby.”
“Morning.”
“You feeling okay?”
“Yep, no lasting effects from yesterday’s shooting.”
“Good. Shall we?” he asked, his gaze lingering on her receptionist and the one or two patients who hadn’t left yet. “Where’s Smitty?”
“He had to make a call and fax something, so he went down to the drug store to use their machine. He’ll catch up to us when he’s finished.”
The Sheriff nodded and she followed him out and down the street. He didn’t say anything else until after they’d sat down and been served their coffees, but even then she had to pry it out of him.
“So,” she began. “Tell me about the bullet that damn near took my head off my shoulders.”
“.50 caliber, match-grade round.”
“It’s not something a hunter would use, is it?”
“No. It’s something a police or military sniper would use.”
“A sniper?”
“Yep.”
“Did you find where he was when he took the shot?”
“No, we’re trying to find the spot based on trajectory, but it’s hard to find since he could have been as far away as 2000 yards. That’s a lot of ground to cover.”
She shook her head. “Why would anyone want to shoot me? I’m broke and I’ve been out of the country for more than three years until a few weeks ago.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Did something happen in Afghanistan? Did you make any enemies?”
She shook her head, but he kept asking.
“Did someone make a pass at you that you had to rebuff?”
“Rebuff? You sound like Watson from the Sherlock Holmes books. I had to explain things a little harshly for one guy to understand I wasn’t interested, but he died from an IED six months later. No one else got close enough to me to be a bother.”
‘What do you mean no one else got close enough to you?”
“A couple of months in, Smitty and a few other guys like him were assigned to our unit. We were a mobile medical unit that set up shop where ever and when ever any specific missions were being run.”
“He’s really not a paramedic or something like that?”
“No. Don’t get me wrong, he has advanced first aid training, all of the men like him do, but his job was to keep us medical types safe.”
“So, what is he?”
“I’m not supposed to say.”
The Sheriff rolled his eyes. “Abby.”
“Excuse me? You hired him to babysit me and you don’t know this already?”
“I thought he was in your unit.”
“He was.”
When she didn’t add anything else, he sighed and said, “I thought he was medical support or something. For Christ’s sake, just tell me.”
“Fine. He started out as a Marine, but ended up in the Special Forces.”
The Sheriff’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit.”
“You want to find out if it was a military sniper shooting at me? Ask Smitty to help you, because he is one.”
“Your unit was being protected by a bunch of Special Forces guys?” He sucked back a huge mouthful of coffee. “What the fuck were you doing that you needed that kind of protection?”
“I already told you.”
“That can’t be all.”
“We were sent into some high risk areas. Highly trained trauma docs, nurses and PMs don’t come cheap or thick on the ground. We were considered high grade assets and protected accordingly.”
The Sheriff stared a hole in the table for several more seconds then looked at her. “Are you sure, absolutely sure you can trust your Smitty?”
“Yes.”
The Sheriff nodded then said, “Because when I called up the who-ha in charge of you medical people, Smitty was the only name the bastard would give me.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“No?” He seemed stymied by her acceptance. “Want to tell me why?”
“Because Smitty and I were the only two out of my unit to survive.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.” She didn’t add anything else, because she really didn’t want to think about it.
“If you think that’s going to satisfy me, think again missy.”
“Sheriff, you’re a difficult man.”
“Story of my life. Talk Abby.”
“Fine.” Maybe this would do her some good. She took a breath and dove in. “We were in a helicopter on our way to somewhere I’m not supposed to remember when we got hit with some anti-aircraft rounds. The chopper went down hard. I came to still strapped into my seat, but the chopper was a mess.” She could see it all as if it were happening all over again. “There were people and parts everywhere. I could smell smoke, blood and burning fuel. Someone was screaming.” For a moment her throat locked and she fought with herself to suck in some air. It took two long seconds for her to figure out how to breathe again so she could continue.
“It was the screaming that got me moving. I got out of my harness and started checking bodies to find the live ones. Most of them were dead. I found my way to the guy who was screaming. He’d lost most of his left leg.” She shrugged. “It just wasn’t there. I used my belt as a tourniquet to stop the bleeding, but it was really bad. I searched for medical supplies in the wreckage. I figured if I could get an IV into him, push some fluids, keep him from going into shock, maybe, just maybe I could save him. I was a few feet away from him when I heard the voices and the shots. A couple of insurgents had arrived and shot my patient. I was hidden from view by a panel, but there was a dead Marine at my feet. He was new, it was his first mission with us. He was staring at me, right at me, and his mouth was open like he was about to say something important.” She shook herself. She had to finish, had to get through the whole horrible sequence of events. “I took his weapon and killed the insurgents.”
She stopped talking. She stopped everything and waited for the Sheriff to castigate her for her actions, for breaking her oath.
He never said a word.
So, she kept going. “Anyway, I was puking my guts up when Smitty found me. He’d been on the other side of the chopper and had been thrown clear. He was beat-up and bruised, but he had his weapon in his hands and he was ready to use it. We tried to call out on the radio, but it was busted. A few minutes later more insurgents arrived and the two of us were forced to defend our pitiful wrecked helicopter and our dead. He kept watch while I searched for more survivors, and I even found a couple, but an hour passed, then two and they both died. Night was falling when a rescue helicopter found us and got us out of there.”
“How long ago was this?”
“About a month before I came home.”
“A month?” The Sheriff’s mouth hung open. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.” She’d done it. She’d told someone, and Smitty was right she felt lighter somehow, like a weight that had previously sat in the middle of her gut had disappeared.
“No wonder you’re blowing stuff up.”
“Does this mean I can play with dynamite again?”
“No.”
“Well damn Sheriff, you’re no fun at all.”
“Abby, maybe you should be staying with your folks. They’ve plenty of space, and I really think you need to be ar
ound people who care for you.”
“Are you saying no one gives a shit about me here in town?”
“No, but family is family.”
“And the fact that my parents live on a ranch thirty minutes from anything has no bearing on your suggestion.”
“Not a one,” he said without blinking.
“No thanks, I’d go stir crazy at their place in about an hour.”
“It might come up in conversation. Your dad and I have coffee at least once a week.”
Now he was playing dirty. “Sheriff, I never did like threats much. I like ‘em even less now. I’d rather go back to Afghanistan than go home.”
He stared at her with the biggest frown she’d ever seen on his face as he demanded in an aggrieved tone, “Why?”
“Because if I learned one thing while over there it’s that life is for living, not hiding. Not running away.”
“Honey, you’re running now.”
“Then I’ll stop.” She pushed away from the table and stood.
“Where are you going? We haven’t even had lunch yet.”
“I’m going to find the asshole who took a shot at me and find out what the hell is going on.”
“No you’re not.” Smitty approached their table with a tiger’s stride, so casual you knew he was dangerous. “Sit down, doc and have some lunch.”
“Great, the two of you are going to gang up on me, aren’t you?”
“If you’re thinking of doing what I think I just heard, yes.” He took a seat and pointedly looked at hers until she sat in it.
The waitress took their order, soup and sandwiches all around. The two men eyed each other like a couple of boxers before a fight.
“Stop glaring at each other,” Abby said. “Smitty, I told the Sheriff about the chopper crash. The Sheriff told me the bullet that nearly killed me was a .50 caliber match-grade round.”
Smitty’s response was short and to the point. “Fuck.”
“You know anything about this?” the Sheriff asked him.
“No, but I made a few calls this morning to some friends. If anyone’s been talking about hunting in this neck of the woods, I’ll hear about it.”
“It doesn’t make any sense to me,” Abby said.
The waitress delivered their food and they all ate silently for a couple of minutes.
“Could this be an old score someone wants to settle?” Smitty asked. “You’ve lived here most of your life, right?”
“Yes, but again, I can’t think of anyone annoyed enough with me to want to shoot me.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” the Sheriff said with a nod to Smitty. “I’ll look into it.”
One moment he was suspicious of Smitty, the next they were best buddies. Men. Who could figure them out? “Are you two having a bromance?
Both men looked at her with almost identical expressions of disgust.
She rolled her eyes. “So Sheriff, since I didn’t throw any dynamite this morning, could you fire my babysitter?”
Smitty looked hurt, but the Sheriff snorted. “Not with someone shooting at you I’m not. I think he’s going to come in really handy before all this is over.”
“This isn’t the old west or even Afghanistan.”
“I don’t care. He’s going to ride herd on you until I say otherwise.”
“Fine.” She checked her watch. Noon. “I’m heading back to my office. I’ve got a ton of paperwork to catch up on before my afternoon appointments.”
“I’ll walk you back.” Smitty got up at the same time she did and followed her out.
“Did we just stick him with the bill for lunch?” he asked her.
“Yep.”
“That’s harsh.”
“You think so?”
“Almost as harsh as you asking him to fire me.”
“Smitty, the fact that you’re being paid to follow me around bugs the shit out of me.”
“Why?”
“Would you want me around because someone else is paying for me to be with you?”
“Hell no.”
“Why would I be any different?”
“So, you don’t really want me to leave?”
“You’re the only person outside my immediate family I trust. If it had been anyone else, anyone else who burst into my room last night, I’d have gone down fighting before I’d let them touch me.”
“I did a lot more than touch you.” One corner of his mouth kicked up.
“Yes, you did. You took my nightmares away and for the first time since coming home, I woke up feeling something other than terror and hopelessness.”
He slid his hand down her arm and threaded his fingers through hers, holding her hand like it was a gift he’d been waiting for. “I’m glad. I never thought of myself as a teddy bear, but for you, I’ll take on the job.”
He was acting like a…boyfriend. “How do you feel about all this? Another babysitting job where you’re getting shot at.”
“I’m not the one getting shot at, and I’m damn happy the Sheriff was smart enough to ask for help dealing with you.”
“Dealing with me?”
“You’re kind of eccentric, Abby. Even in A-stan you were something of an oddball. Though I have to say, throwing dynamite into a lake every morning is certainly an escalation in weirdness.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He was silent for a few seconds before he said, “So, where’d you get the dynamite?”
She allowed a small smile to curve her lips. “Not telling.”
Chapter Seven
Abby should have known her afternoon was going to stink given the depressing discussion at lunch. Every single patient she saw had something to say, a piece of advice or out-and-out orders for her. Many of them were suspicious of Smitty for no other reason than he was a newcomer to town. Others thought she’d done something illegal or immoral while overseas at that bloody rock pile they all called Afghanistan, and brought whatever trouble she’d gotten into home with her.
It annoyed the crap out of her.
Then her dad, a virtual walking thundercloud, showed up and she gave serious consideration to signing up for a third tour in the bloody rock pile.
She washed her hands then invited him back to her office. “What’s up, dad?” she asked as she took the seat behind her desk. He ignored the other chair in the room.
“I know what happened yesterday. Someone needs to die,” he growled, all six feet four inches of pissed off rancher.
“Really? Who might that be?”
“The moron who tried to kill my baby. Who is he, honey?” He shook his head. “I don’t care what you did to start all this, just let me finish it.”
“What I did?” she asked, her hands clenching into tight fists. “What I did?” Her voice rose. “I didn’t start anything with anyone.”
He frowned and tilted his head to one side. “But…over there in--”
Her snort interrupted him. “Most of the people I served with over there are dead.”
He rocked back on his heels like she’d decked him.
“What about this Smitty guy?”
“Smitty wouldn’t try to shoot me now, he had plenty of opportunities to do it in A-stan. In fact, he’s the only reason I’m alive. He killed at least a half-dozen insurgents to protect me.”
“So, you really don’t know who took a shot at you?”
“No,” she said enunciating every word carefully. “I don’t.”
He went silent, his mouth tight and unhappy. “Time to come home. We can protect you better there.”
Home. Her parents, her brothers, her room with the curtains and wallpaper she put up with her mom when she was twelve.
Home. Peaceful, happy, safe.
Not if she brought the boogeyman back with her. Not if she dragged whatever shit she was in back with her to that oasis.
“No.”
“This is one time I won’t take no for an answer.”
“I’m a big girl now Dad and I’m over eighteen, you
don’t get to tell me what to do any more.”
“You’ll be my daughter until the day I die.”
“I will not destroy the only place I have left to run to when things get really bad.”
He spread his hands and asked with a voice that was as angry as it was incredulous, “This isn’t really bad?”
“Oh, Dad. This…is a cake-walk.”
His shoulders fell and he finally sat down in the chair facing the desk. “What the hell happened to you over there?”
“The chopper I was on was shot out of the air and I landed in Hell. I spent six hours there. And for those six hours the only thing that kept me alive was one Special Forces soldier named Smitty and a shit load of bullets.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I didn’t know how to tell you. I still don’t.”
He stared at her for a moment then said quickly, “I know about the dynamite you throw into the lake every morning.”
“Yeah, I figured that.”
“Your mother and I decided to let you do things at your own speed, but this…” He took a breath. “This is something else. We can’t stand by and let you handle it alone.”
“Dad, if I knew who tried to kill me I would have told the Sheriff. I really, really don’t know.”
“Come home. Please.”
“I won’t bring this to your door.”
“Knock, knock.” Her office door swung inward, framing Smitty in the doorway. “Sorry, but I couldn’t help overhear some of your conversation.”
“It’s okay, Smitty. Come in.”
He came into the room, closing the door behind himself.
“Is there anyone else out there?”
“No, I sent your receptionist home and locked the front door.” He held out his hand to her dad. “Good to meet you, sir. I’m Walter Smith.”
Her dad got up and shook Smitty’s hand. “Can you tell me what’s going on? My daughter has decided I don’t need to know.”
“Your daughter is trying to protect you. She tends to do it to everyone except herself.”
“Hey!”
The two men ignored her.
“The latest info from the Sheriff is that the round that nearly took her head off is one popular with police and military snipers. I checked in with a couple of friends, but they haven’t heard a thing about anyone going after Abby. Whoever it is, they’ve got nothing to do with her military service. I think it’s someone from here with an axe to grind. Can you think of anyone who might have had sniper training or is an avid hunter?”