The Cowboy Soldier (3 page)

Bolting out of bed, she wrapped herself in her silk bathrobe and stumbled down the hall. Had he fallen on his way to the bathroom? Halfway to his room she heard Compadre whining.

The bedroom door stood ajar and she could hear Rafe thrashing about, shouting men’s names, urging them to find cover and protect their heads. His medical file had noted episodes of post-traumatic stress flashback. Aware how violent some PTSD patients got, Alexa debated whether or not to enter his room. She had withheld his sedatives that night. Had it been a mistake?

Still, he was under her care. She cracked the door wider. Thanks to a huge harvest moon filtering through the upper portion of one tall window, she saw Rafe sit up, shudder, and rub his forehead with the heels of his palms. Then he spoke softly to the anxious collie, who had both front paws on the bed.

Relieved to feel her own pounding heart settle, Alexa continued to hover, unsure if she should announce her presence. The doctor in her argued yes. But she went with her feminine instincts. A macho, tough-guy like Rafe would be embarrassed to have anyone, especially a woman, witness what he would perceive as a weakness.

As the dog quieted and settled back down on the floor beside Rafe, she withdrew and stealthily pulled the door closed behind her.

Unfortunately, she was too keyed up to sleep. After witnessing Rafe’s flashback, she realized she needed to focus more on alleviating his stress and tension than researching old Chinese remedies for blindness, so she went to her office and started making a list of restorative therapies. Lists made order of chaotic feelings.

But what if she got it wrong? What if her treatments made no difference, or God forbid, made Rafe worse?

After long hours of research, Alexa felt certain that the approach she’d come up with would do him no harm.

Around 4:00 a.m. she crawled back into bed, but her mind was filled with a new worry. Healing could happen only if the patient had the will to make it happen. And the million-dollar question was, did Rafe Eaglefeather really want to get well?

“Hey, boy. Is your new friend up and around?” Alexa moved a pot of oatmeal to a back burner and glanced expectantly down the hall. Rafe wasn’t in sight, and she couldn’t hear the shower or other sounds of him moving about.

Deciding she’d better check on him, she cracked open his door and saw he was still lying in bed. “Rise and shine,” she hollered. “Breakfast is ready and we have chores waiting.”

A muffled “Go away” came from under his pillow.

“What is the army term for get your butt out of bed, soldier? Sorry I don’t have a bugle. If you didn’t bring an alarm, I’ll give you one for tomorrow.”

“You’re pushing your luck, Doc.” Rafe’s voice sounded raspy. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Neither did I. The animals out in the barns don’t care. They need to be fed and watered.” Alexa pushed the door wider, strode across the room and yanked off Rafe’s covers. She immediately wished she hadn’t. Rafe Eaglefeather slept in the raw.

“What in hell do you think you’re doing?” Rafe’s head popped out from under the pillow, which he hastily jerked down to cover his privates.

Alexa’s heart wrenched at the sight of the red scars marring the bronze flesh of Rafe’s hip. A second scar ran from his rib cage to what looked like a bullet exit wound near his collarbone, just below his right shoulder.

She steeled herself against uttering the sympathetic retort that came automatically. She didn’t think Rafe would appreciate it.

“The oatmeal is getting cold,” she said. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes to show you the way to the kitchen. Call me if you need me.” Before she left she headed over to the window and threw open the curtains with unsteady hands.

Rafe winced, so she knew his eyes were sensitive to light.

He scowled. “I’m a civilian now, and I don’t have to take orders from you or anybody.”

“Oh yes, you do. For the next thirty days, unless you call your sister to come get you, you’re my patient. Put simply, that means I outrank you, Major.” Alexa walked out, Rafe’s succinct expletive echoing behind her.

Pulling on the clothes he’d worn yesterday, Rafe wondered if Alexa had flinched at the sight of his scars. Even though he’d never seen them himself, he knew they weren’t pretty. He had that on good authority from several battle-hardened nurses who had changed his bandages after each series of surgeries. And within his hearing, doctors had discussed his wounds in gory detail.

But why in hell did it matter to him if Alexa Robinson had recoiled or not? No woman was going to look at him now with anything but pity.

This was not the first time since he’d woken up in a field hospital alive but blind that Rafe regretted he wasn’t one of the lucky soldiers who had a wife waiting at home. A loyal, loving wife. Several guys in his shot-up unit had wives who were just glad to see them come home. Rafe didn’t want to, but at a gut level, he envied those men.

If he wasn’t careful, he mused, making sure he had gotten his shirt on with the tag at the back, he might start imagining Dr. Robinson as a possible candidate. God, but she smelled good enough to eat. Or did he think that because he’d had his fill of medicinal smells and the acrid odor of war? When a man lived too long in rough surroundings, he lost touch with the gentler things in life. But the few times Alexa had come and gone from his room, he hadn’t missed the clean, summery scent she left in her wake.

He gave himself a hard mental shake. As far as he was concerned, the doctor was being a hard ass, and he’d better keep it at that.

“Yeah, Dog is as persistent as you are,” Rafe muttered.

“I named him Compadre. He’s more like a friend than the other animals I doctor back to health. He’s been with me almost a year. I pulled him half drowned from the Rio Grande when it flooded. I asked the park rangers to put out the word to try to find his owner, but no one came forward. He seems to like living here.”

Rafe merely grunted.

She pulled out a chair. “Here, have a seat at the kitchen table.”

Rafe grasped the chair back and awkwardly felt his way around the cushioned seat until he seemed sure enough of his bearings to sit.

Alexa picked up a teapot. “I’m pouring you some tea.”

“I prefer coffee.”

“Tea has greater healing properties. If you think of your plate as a clock, I set your mug at two o’clock. It’s quite hot, so be careful.”

Alexa anxiously watched Rafe pick up the sturdy mug and take a sip.

He promptly gagged. “What the hell? Are you trying to poison me?” Rafe set the mug down with a thump that sloshed tea over his hand. “Ow, dammit.” With a mutinous look, he raised his burned fingers to his lips.

Grabbing an ice cube out of the freezer, Alexa made him hold it on the rapidly reddening web between his thumb and forefinger. “I probably should have warned you I’d brewed tea from wood betony and basil today. It’s very therapeutic.” She purposely didn’t tell him she’d chosen those herbs to help him cope with stress. She knew from former male patients, that men shied from any suggestion they might have mental or emotional problems.

“Therapeutic or not, it tastes like shit. If I can’t have coffee, I’ll drink water.”

“But the herbs in the tea will help you…regain strength,” she finally said.

“Strength isn’t what I’m lacking. I’ve lost my sight. No damn tea is gonna help me see again. Where’s the oatmeal you said was ready? At least that should taste normal.”

At the stove, Alexa paused. She’d already stirred in a small amount of lemon balm and vervain tincture into the hot cereal, although oats alone were thought to act as a minor antidepressant. She tasted the mixture, made a face and quickly sprinkled brown sugar over the portion she’d spooned into Rafe’s bowl.

“I’ll take mine with milk—good old cow’s milk. We had goat’s milk in Afghanistan—talk about rank.”

“Uh, milk. Just a minute.” Alexa quickly removed the small pitcher of warm goat’s milk from the table and rummaged in the refrigerator for the carton of regular milk she’d bought on her last trip into town. She sniffed it to make sure it hadn’t spoiled.

“Here’s some nonfat. Sierra didn’t mention you were such a picky eater.”

“Nonfat?” he parroted. “So, I guess you’re on a diet.”

“No way.” Alexa unconsciously ran a hand down her slender hips. “Why on earth would you think that?” she asked rather huffily as she dumped milk on his oatmeal and stuck a spoon in his hand.

He hiked up one shoulder. “Sierra switched to one-percent milk after her pediatrician said too many American kids are overweight.”

“True. But in my case, nonfat has a longer shelf life. I don’t go to town often.”

Rafe ate a few bites of the cereal, then lifted his head. Alexa held her breath, waiting for him to complain about the taste of the oatmeal. Instead, he said, “It took Sierra a long time to get here once we left the highway, so your place must be really off the beaten track. What’s the story behind that?”

“The story?” Alexa scrambled for something to say. She wasn’t about to bring up Bobby, so instead, she settled on part of the truth. “My grandparents owned this ranch, so it was only logical for me to take it over. My primary occupation is gentling horses to sell to families who want a well-trained saddle horse. I think I mentioned the hot springs my grandparents discovered here. That’s another plus. My grandfather had degenerative arthritis and the springs were therapeutic for him. The area’s perfect for me because it’s so sparsely settled and the herbs that grow around here are uncontaminated. I gather native plants in my spare time.”

Rafe scarfed down the rest of his oatmeal, and swallowed the pill she handed him before he stood. “It’s really none of my business. Your life, I mean. I shouldn’t have been so nosy.” Dropping his napkin on the table, he waved a hand in the air around him and seemed noticeably relieved when Compadre trotted up to head-butt his fingers.

“Where are you going?” Alexa asked, quickly finishing her own oatmeal. “Give me a minute to rinse our dishes and stick them in the dishwasher, then we’ll go feed my menagerie.”

“I’m going back to my room.”

She pursed her lips. “There’s a three-quarter bath off the kitchen if you need to use the facilities before we go out to the barns.”

“I don’t need the bathroom.”

“Then wait here a minute. It’s closer to the barns if we go out the back door.”

“What do you expect me to do there?” Rafe asked churlishly. “You know damned well I can’t see spit. I’ll be in my room until you call me for lunch.” He started off, Compadre at his side.

Feeling a prick of sorrow, Alexa was inclined to let him go. But to do what? There was nothing worse for him than to sit around all day with nothing to occupy his mind but the loss of his eyesight. So she forced herself to toughen her heart. “Hold it right there, Major. Horses pay the bills and put food on the table at this ranch. If you plan to eat three squares a day for the next month, you’ll pull your weight around here.”

“Did Sierra ask what your services cost? I’ll pay for my keep.”

“I don’t want your money. I want you to stop acting like an invalid.”

He realized she was speaking to him, calmly telling him where the fallen chair was in relation to his left foot. “If you bend your knees and put out your left hand, you’ll feel the chair back, and you can set it upright.”

Rafe followed Alexa’s instructions, shocked that she didn’t rush right over and pick up the chair for him, which was what would’ve happened with the hospital nurses or Sierra and Doug. Once he had the chair on solid footing, he felt a rare sense of accomplishment, the first he’d experienced since his injury. “Thanks,” he said gruffly, begrudgingly giving Alexa a sliver of respect. “I hate the way everyone treats me like a cripple. It’s almost worse than being sent home with a medal while buddies I should’ve saved came home in caskets.”

“The term used now is
disabled,
not crippled. And I have high expectations for you.” Alexa placed a couple of items in his hands. “Slip on these sunglasses and we’ll be on our way. You’ll need the gloves in the barn. Count how many steps it takes you to get to the barn from the back door. Counting steps and remembering the number puts you on the first rung of the ladder to independence, Major.”

That put her up another notch on Rafe’s judgment scale. “I recall asking you to call me Rafe. I was discharged from the army months ago.”

“Okay, but then don’t call me Doc. I’ve never been one of the seven dwarfs.”

Rafe cracked a partial smile. “You got me there.”

They exited the house with Dog, Alexa providing running commentary about the landscape.

Interest in what she was saying kept Rafe placing one foot in front of the other until she announced, “This is it. We’re at the first and smaller of my two barns. This is where I house the wildlife that park rangers find in their travels and bring to me. That started after I pulled over on the road one day to help a fawn someone had hit. The ranger dropped by to see how the fawn made out and found her well enough to return to the wild.” He felt her touch his arm. “On your left is the corral I use to train three-year-old horses I buy from an area breeder. The horse barn is eighty to a hundred steps behind this one, and sits at the edge of the woods, which is the end of my property. Next to the horse barn, I have a chicken coop and a pen for…uh, other domestic animals.”

Rafe wondered why she sounded hesitant, but decided not to ask. He took a deep breath and felt the tightness in his chest ease. “The air smells of horses and a whiff of cedar. It sorta reminds me of home. Sierra and I grew up in Terlingua, west of here.”

His words stoked memories of the carefree days when Mike, Joey and he rode bucking broncs to the buzzer all summer long. Afterward, the three of them enjoyed cold brewskies at a local bar. Whichever man walked out with the prettiest girl had to pay the tab. But, his buddies were dead. His fault. He’d been their leader, after all.

By this time, Alexa had led him into the barn, and suddenly, Rafe found it impossible to breathe.

Pungent air, thick with the aroma of earth and animal dung, set his head spinning. The clang of metal on metal as the door banged closed behind them shot him straight back to the last trek he’d made through the Afghan mountains. That sound meant one thing—bullets striking their equipment jeep. Familiar earthy smells of goats and the unwashed bodies of the men who tended the flocks threatened to choke him. Innocent looking goat tenders often hid automatic weapons under their worn robes. His body rigid, Rafe was sure he could smell goat, and he started to shake. His patrol should take cover. Where were they?

Someone was touching his arm, and a quiet voice said, “You’re fine, Rafe. This is Texas. As soon as we finish feeding all the stock, we’ll go soak away your anxiety at the hot springs. If that’s not enough, I’ll throw in a peppermint-oil back massage afterward. I know yesterday you nixed the idea of a trip to the springs, but I guarantee, once you step into the water, you’ll be hooked forever.”

Her voice ricocheted like gunshots inside Rafe’s head. Desperate to flee, to find his patrol, he wheeled and tripped over an empty feed bucket and went sprawling. The clatter of his boot on the tin bucket sent the animals around him into a frenzy. He could hear a mountain lion hiss and snarl, and a great owl hooted and flapped its wings. Squirrels chattered nonstop and he heard the shriek of a hawk.

The animals must be warning him of an impending attack. Rafe grabbed Alexa’s legs and threw her down on the ground. He flung an arm over her torso and barked a series of staccato orders. “Don’t move a muscle. Let the heavy artillery rout out the enemy.”

“Easy,” a soothing voice whispered. “You’re okay. Breathe deeply.”

Gradually his pounding heart slowed to a normal rate, and he heard the gentle patter of an animal’s paws approaching just seconds before a wet tongue lapped his face.

Rafe was aware that he was emerging from a flashback. Part of him understood that the threat hadn’t been real. But a major portion of his brain was still befuddled. It made no sense that his face was buried in long strands of sweet-smelling hair. Again, a bird squawked in the background, and it rattled Rafe all the more when a woman shifted out from under him, sat up and forced him to do the same. What were they doing on the ground?
Dr. Robinson. God, had he attacked her?

“Are you okay?” she murmured. “You had a small flashback, Rafe.”

The question had him sweating profusely. Was he getting worse? He hadn’t had a single flashback at Sierra’s. This was his second since coming here.

“You fell over a feed bucket,” Alexa said, scrambling to her knees as she began calmly checking his face and arms for cuts or bruises. “It was my fault. I saw the bucket, but didn’t move it out of the aisle. Feed buckets belong on wall pegs, not on the barn floor where they can trip people. I swear I’ll be more careful in the future.”

Her cool, seductive touch telegraphed a signal to Rafe’s body. Even though he couldn’t see the woman who hovered so close to him, he was still a man. All man.

His fingers flexed around Alexa’s upper arms and he pulled her forward until he could feel the outline of her soft breasts against his chest. It frustrated him to not be able to see her face—her lips. He knew they parted invitingly, because he felt her gasp, and tiny puffs of her sweet breath tickled his mouth. His grip tightened as he savored the thought of how those soft lips would taste.

“Rafe?” She wedged her hands between them, pushing his chest gently, but firmly. “You’re still hallucinating. I’m your doctor. You’re my patient. Snap out of it, Major.”

The embarrassment of the situation slammed hard into Rafe.
What was he doing?
Disgusted with himself, he dropped Alexa’s arms like they were torches of fire.

“This whole idea of me helping you feed your animals is stupid,” he shouted. “It’s obvious I’m totally useless.” He struggled to get to his feet, and when he was upright, he ordered, “Take me back to my room. Right now.”

He heard Alexa lift something down from the barn wall.

“I’ll clip a leash to Compadre’s collar,” she said in a neutral voice. “If you want to go to the house, let him lead you. I happen to have chores to finish.”

Rafe wound the loop of leather around his wrist, and although he’d been stung by Alexa’s taunt, he followed the dog out into the fresh air.

Only after he was inside his bedroom did he allow himself to acknowledge his shame. Not so much for the flashback. He had no control over those. But he had turned tail and bailed on Alexa. One thing Rafe had never been was a quitter.

For an hour he paced the room, trying to think of a way to redeem himself with Alexa. He had hated lying around, useless in the hospital. And he’d been in the way at Sierra’s. Alexa was the first person who seemed to believe he could be independent. If he stopped being pigheaded and listened to her, maybe he could learn to live on his own. That appealed to Rafe. Prior to the debacle in the barn, he’d felt invigorated. Sierra believed his loss of sight was caused by a block to his brain. He wasn’t so sure about that himself, but maybe if he started depending more on himself than on others, he could eventually function on his own, as Alexa believed.

Rafe wondered if she was the kind of woman who needed to make a man grovel for forgiveness. He didn’t grovel well. On the other hand, he wasn’t above turning on a little charm to see if that would get him a second chance.