The Cowboy Soldier (9 page)

“I have a sweatshirt back in the house. But this wind will be gone tomorrow.”

“Not according to the weatherman. I’m glad I picked what remained of the beans and brought in the last squash. There was frost on the roof of the chicken coop this morning. The almanac says we’re in for an early winter.”

“Winters here are nothing compared to what we had in the mountains of Afghanistan.” He appeared lost in thought as they walked side by side. Alexa didn’t want Rafe dwelling on the war. He hadn’t had a flashback since the one in the barn when he’d first arrived. Then it hit her. His month’s stay was almost up.

“I’ll skip supper tonight and turn in early,” he said as she opened the back door. “Can we schedule my acupuncture treatment for first thing tomorrow morning?”

A whistling gust of wind momentarily diverted their attention. Compadre barked, nosed open the door and slunk inside. “Skipping meals isn’t good for you,” Alexa said. “Before we went to the corral I put on a Crock-Pot of chicken noodle soup. If you stick around, I’ll light a fire in the living room. We can eat hot soup and bread in there.”

He shrugged offhandedly, and Alexa knew if he left he’d just sit and brood in his room.

“I don’t hear any noise from you in the evening,” he said as they went to the living room. “You must not watch TV like Sierra and her family do.”

“I’ve never been big on TV. World news I pick up online. Most nights I read. And I have a CD player in my bedroom. I can bring it out if you’d like to listen to music.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. A nervous gesture? Or was he feeling tense? After Tuesday, they’d both steered clear of any mention of another massage.

“Sure,” he finally said. “What kind of music? In the field, guys played everything from classical to rap. Raised here, my favorite is country-western.”

“Mine, too.”

“Do you have any Rascal Flatts, George Strait or Brooks and Dunn?”

“All three.” She made an extra effort to sound upbeat. “I’ll go start a fire. You grab a spot on the sofa. I’ll bring my CD player and then dish up our soup.”

“That sounds like a big bother for you.”

“It’s no trouble. And to be honest, I get tired of my own company. In case you hadn’t noticed, even my dog has deserted me since you moved in.”

“Sorry.” Rafe sounded like he meant it. “Dog sticks to me like glue, but danged if I know why.”

“He bonded that first night,” Alexa said, taking a long match from a tin box that sat on the mantel. “At least he figured you to be a good friend.” She knelt to fan the small flame.

“If he could talk I’d tell him I’m a lousy gamble.”

She glanced up sharply. “How so?”

“I let my buddies die in an ambush I should have seen coming.”

“Nobody sees an
ambush
coming, Rafe. That’s the nature of the beast. Anyway, dogs are excellent judges of character.”

Rafe grunted and leaned toward the fire, stretching his big hands toward the struggling flame.

Looking at him, seeing the rawness of his self-blame, Alexa ached for him. “Soak up the warmth. I’ll be right back.”

She returned with the CD player and put on her favorite songs by George Strait, hoping the music would help shake Rafe out of his despondent mood.

He remained uncommunicative throughout their meal. As Alexa collected his empty bowl, their fingertips tangled. He held on to her hand longer than necessary. “Oops,” she said. But he’d already pulled back. “The CD’s ended.” That was pretty obvious, she thought, but she had to say something. “Give me a minute to rinse these, and I’ll tell you the other album titles. You choose what to play next.”

Rafe shifted his large frame in the couch. “I think I’ll hit the sack. I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit a blind guy.”

“That doesn’t say much about me, Rafe.”

He sat in stony silence for a long minute. When she finally headed for the kitchen, he said, “The fire is nice. If you’ll hand me another CD, I’ll put it on while you tidy the kitchen.”

She dropped an empty case in his lap, along with a Keith Urban CD. If Rafe didn’t like Keith—tough.

As she rinsed bowls and stomped around the kitchen, Alexa admitted she was a tad bitchy herself. She hated the way she’d snapped at him Tuesday and she knew she was responsible for the tension that had been between them since then. She couldn’t give Rafe the intimacy he seemed to want, yet she liked having him just sitting near her, on her terms.

She returned to find Rafe leaning back on the couch cushion, eyes closed, one hand stroking Compadre’s head in time to Keith’s guitar. Alexa stood a moment, soaking in the sight, afraid to make a noise and have him get up and walk out of her life this chilly night.

He turned his head. “I’m not asleep.”

She scooted past him, curled up in the recliner, and hurriedly opened the book she’d been reading. “I tried to be quiet.”

“My hearing’s not a problem. There’s nothing wrong with any part of my body except for my eyes.”

Alexa wasn’t about to touch that remark. She started to read, struggling to concentrate on the words.

“Is that a book you have? I see a black blob between your hands.”

“Yes, it’s a book.” She marked the spot with her finger. “Rafe, there’s not one shred of data to support the progress you made with your last treatment. If you continue to improve you’ll make history.”

“I’m afraid to wish for a full recovery. Afraid I’ll jinx my chances.”

“That’s too superstitious for me. Oh, I know some people think holistic medicine is mumbo jumbo. But so little is really known about the human mind. Did you know that two of the doctors who examined you said your subconscious could be suppressing your vision?”

“That’s like saying I don’t want to see. What a load of crap.”

Alexa flinched. “A psychosomatic illness can manifest itself in powerful ways.”

“I’m not wasting my time seeing the VA shrinks if that’s what you’re suggesting, and that’s final.” Rafe stuck out his jaw pugnaciously.

“Is that what someone recommended? That you see a psychiatrist?”

“Colonel Baker, the officer who signed my discharge, said it was the next step. I told him, I told Sierra, and I’ll tell you. It’s off the table. Nobody’s poking around inside my head.”

“I poked needles in your head, Rafe.”

“That’s different. You don’t dig in my past. Don’t ask what kind of thrill I got out of riding bucking horses, or how I felt shooting at enemies. If you had, I’d have been out of here before you could snap your fingers.”

Alexa had nothing to say to that. She wasn’t a psychiatrist. And she’d been lousy at psychoanalyzing herself.

Getting up, she put another log on the fire. “I wonder how long this cold snap will last.”

“Depends on the jet streams. If memory serves, they’re erratic as hell this time of year. How’s your wood supply?”

“I have plenty. My grandfather ordered five cord every year from a local man who split and stacked the wood in the shed. Now his son runs the business.”

“Good, because I’m not sure I can see well enough to split wood.”

Alexa eyed him over the pair of reading glasses she’d put on. “I have a feeling you can do anything you set your mind to, Rafe.”

Compadre turned and set a paw on Rafe’s knee, making a guttural sound.

“See, Compadre agrees,” Alexa said, laughing.

Rafe smiled and let his head loll back. For a time the house was silent except for an occasional crackle and thump when a log dropped. Or when the wind rattled the windows.

“What are you reading?” Rafe inquired sleepily.

“A collection of short stories by Mark Twain,” Alexa told him.

“Huh. I remember Sierra reading
Huckleberry Finn
to me ages ago.”

“These are some of his lesser-known works, but they’re all entertaining as only Twain can be. Would you like me to read out loud, Rafe?”

“I’m not a child, Alexa,” he said sharply. “Don’t try to treat me like one.”

The man certainly could be prickly, Alexa thought. “No, you’re definitely not a child. But…I’m trying to picture you as a little boy.” She set her book aside and removed her glasses to study him. “Were you rough and tumble? I can see you climbing trees and chasing little girls with tarantulas.”

His short laugh was little more than a rumble in his chest. “Childhood was so long ago it almost feels as if I never was a kid. I definitely recall chasing girls, but not with tarantulas.” This time his laugh was that of a man who had no trouble catching the women he chased.

“I get your drift. You were a young Casanova. Did you live in Terlingua? In the town, I mean?”

“Calling Terlingua a town is a stretch. It’s the back of beyond. Its biggest claim to fame is that once a year chili-heads descend in droves for a national chili cook-off. Any permanent population to speak of live on outlying ranches and farms. Apache and Comanche had all that land to themselves until Mexican shepherds moved in and settled. The two cultures learned to coexist, which explains my mixed lineage.”

“That’s a rich history, Rafe. So, was your father Apache or Comanche?”

“The Eaglefeathers are Comanche. According to Dad that’s why we’re good with horses. He could never afford to raise them, with the cost of feed, so he had a sheep farm. But he kept one horse that he hand-trained for calf roping.” Rafe’s hand stilled on the dog’s head, and the look on his face told Alexa he was cruising through fond memories.

“I take it those were some good times.”

He nodded. “All week my folks worked their butts off with the sheep. Sierra and I went to school. But Saturdays were special. Dad loaded King in a rickety horse trailer and hooked it up to his ancient pickup. It was so old that I wonder how it made it to area rodeos. Dad always won. He could’ve been a world champion calf roper, but with a family of four, he never could scrape up the entry fee for big-purse rodeos. But that’s another story. He and I would get home late. My mother always prepared a victory supper. Neighbors rolled in from miles around. It’s no wonder we were poor. My mom was a great cook, and her dishes had disappeared by midnight. All the kids fell asleep to the sound of laughter and Spanish guitar music.”

Alexa felt his joy. “You have great memories, Rafe. What a shame your parents died so young. Sierra’s kids will miss all the love their grandparents could have given them. Kids thrive on love, not money.”

“Yeah. I have more money put away now than my dad made in his entire life. And Sierra and Doug own a nice ranch-style home, and they’re adding on a bedroom and another bath. The house we grew up in would probably fit in Sierra’s living room, and she thinks it’s too small.”

“I take it the military has been good to you.”

Rafe sat forward, braced his forearms on his knees and made what looked like a grimace. Alexa thought that was going to be the end of their conversation.

“Good and bad,” he muttered after a long silence.

“Of course. It’s not good that you were injured. And you lost your two best friends from your old home town in the same day.”

Rafe’s head jerked up. “Who told you about Joey and Mike?”

“You did, in a way. You know, it might help to talk about your friends.”

“No. No amount of talk will bring Mike and Joey back to their families. And it won’t bring back my eyesight. I thought I was clear, Alexa. Stay out of my head. You and the VA.” He vaulted up, displacing the snoozing Compadre.

“For heaven’s sake, Rafe, stop jumping to conclusions. All my questions tonight were out of interest. I don’t have enough training to analyze you. I know you’ve had two flashbacks since you came here. And sometimes I hear you pacing around at night. But beyond the relaxation techniques I haven’t a clue how to treat post-traumatic stress.” She stood up and walked over to shut off the music. “You’re quite welcome to your ghosts, Rafe. For your information, all God’s children have got plenty of their own.”

“The military docs asked me how I felt losing half my patrol. They asked me how I felt letting my two best friends go on point together. How the hell do they or anyone else think I felt?”

“Rafe, you don’t need to talk about this. Do you want some pie and a glass of milk before you go to bed?” Alexa knew he was a bundle of nerves. It didn’t take a genius to know it wouldn’t be a good idea for him to go to bed without first calming down.

“We have pie? What kind? Where did it come from?”

“Pumpkin. Well, squash. I made it last night.”

“Ah. So who else was up pacing around last night?”

“My mother called. She gives me insomnia.”

Rafe followed her to the kitchen. “Really? Why?”

Alexa huffed out a tight breath. “She spent the first half of my life too busy with charities to pay me any attention. Then when I hit twenty, she decided she needed to control my life.”

“From Houston?”

“Since I moved here, yes. She thinks I can drop everything here and fly home whenever she calls. Or that they can pop in unannounced to check up on me.”

“Ouch. And you’re how old?”

“Thirty,” she snapped. “Weren’t we going to have dessert?”