The Cowboy Soldier

“Why don’t I just put them in a dresser drawer. Your sister is extremely proud of you, you know. She loves you.” Alexa smiled even though Rafe couldn’t see.

“Hell! I know that.”

A reaction at last!

Just as quickly, his face became impassive again. “Do what you want with that stuff. Toss it in the trash for all I care. Where’s that damned paper you want me to sign? Let’s get it done, so I don’t take up any more of your valuable time, Doctor.”

“All right. I’ll go get the form from my office, Major. Be right back.”

“I’m no longer a major. That’s over and done with. Call me Rafe.”

Two could play this game. “If you call me Alexa. Lately my practice has consisted of a pair of young mountain lions, a great-horned owl, a family of squirrels and other assorted forest animals. I’m not used to being called by my title.”

“Sierra said you’re a healer. I thought you were a curandera like our grandmother Velasquez, but it sounds like you’re a vet.”

“No, I’m not a vet or a curandera. I’m an osteopath, and I hold certificates in Chinese herbs and acupuncture.”

He twisted his mouth to one side. “So you stick needles in people. Guess it can’t be any worse than what they put me through in the field hospital.”

Alexa wasn’t sure if Rafe was trying to be funny or sarcastic. Whatever. He definitely presented a challenge—one that intrigued her.

She headed down the hall to her office, which was located off her bedroom at the opposite end of the house. She had always liked this split floor plan. The few summers her parents had brought her here to visit her grandparents, she’d had the room Rafe now occupied. As a teen she’d pretended this whole end of the house was all her domain. Mostly, she holed up there reading biographies of female scientists who’d changed the world. At the time she wore chunky braces and round black-rimmed glasses, which explained why she didn’t read romances and dream about boys like her mother wanted her to do. Bobby was the only boy who ever really saw through her serious facade. And even he liked her best for her brain.

Grabbing the release form she’d printed out the night before, she went back to Rafe’s room. He had drawn the blinds, making the room dark, and sat in the chair, petting Compadre. If dogs could smile, the collie gave a great imitation.

“Here’s the release,” she said. “It’s attached to a clipboard.” She started to read the outline of treatment but Rafe raised his hand.

“Just the part about the pills,” he said.

Alexa did as he asked and read the short statement giving her the right to wean him off his pills and instead use herbs, teas and Eastern techniques such as acupuncture with Rafe’s verbal agreement.

He took the pen and scribbled his name.

“Dinner’s at six,” she told him. “I’ll give you plenty of time to wash up. I thought I’d put a couple of steaks on the grill and make a salad with vegetables from my garden. Lettuce, if the rabbits and deer left me any, tomatoes and cucumbers.” She let the words hang, expecting his agreement and maybe a little enthusiasm or interest.

“I don’t want anything to eat.”

“Well, at least come out and learn how to navigate the rest of the house.”

“No, I prefer to stay here.”

Alexa struggled to remain patient. “Okay, suit yourself tonight. But even if you’re not hungry, there’s a hot mineral springs on the property. It’s therapeutic and you’d be amazed at how relaxed you’ll feel if you take a dip right before bedtime. I’d go with you, of course.”

He shook his head. “Not interested. I plan to turn in early.”

Alexa began to simmer. But he was the patient and she was the doctor, she reminded herself. “Tomorrow, then. We’ll get a fresh start. If Compadre makes a nuisance of himself, boot him out and shut your door.”

Hearing his name, the dog sat up, whined a few times, then laid his furry chin on Rafe’s knee. Alexa watched the man stroke the animal’s silky ears. “He’s fine,” Rafe said in a quiet voice. “I had a dog as a boy. A mongrel. We had to give him away when my parents died. Couldn’t afford to feed him. Chip. That was his name. I haven’t thought about him in years.”

He looked so vulnerable sitting there, steeped in memories of the pet he’d lost, and Alexa found her throat tightening in sympathy. Her reaction was totally at odds with the irritation she’d felt barely a minute ago. “I’ll, uh, go now, and check back later to see if you need anything. Oh, I forgot. There’s a small fridge in the closet. I wasn’t sure what drinks you liked, but I left a couple of bottles of water, a fruit juice and noncaffeinated soft drinks.”

“Beer?” He turned toward her.

“Sorry, alcohol doesn’t mix with all those high-velocity meds you already took today. But that’s something we can shoot for. Call it a carrot to wean you off those psychotropic drugs.”

“Psycho-what?”

“Sorry, doctor speak for antidepressants and the like.”

“Oh.” He sank back in the chair and closed his eyes. A sign their conversation, such as it was, had come to an end.

Alexa hurried down the hall, her mind already cataloging the herbs that might work as substitutes to help him start withdrawing from the most potent of his drugs.

After eating a salad by herself, she went into her office and pulled out the notes she’d made on Rafe’s current course of treatment. She skimmed them then sat down at the computer and searched the Internet for information on returning soldiers. A number of them came home suffering intermittent bouts of deafness from unspecified causes. But almost all cases of blindness could be traced to IED explosions that left shrapnel buried in the head. Rafe’s physical exams, including extensive X-rays and MRIs, revealed no foreign objects other than bullets in his left shoulder and thigh, both of which had been removed.

Alexa tapped a pencil to her lips. She wondered if anyone was studying the residual effects of severe concussion around the brain.

She flipped back to the detailed account of the firefight given by a young private—one of six men Rafe pulled to safety while he took and returned fire. Apparently saving half his patrol wasn’t good enough for Rafe Eaglefeather. He was the type of guy who’d feel guilty for not saving them all.

Alexa could relate to that.

Feeling weepy for no good reason, she shut down her computer and got ready for bed. She crawled under the covers, and it struck her that for the first time since she’d nursed Compadre back to health, he’d abandoned her for Rafe. Really, she didn’t mind. Dogs intuitively sensed which human needed the most attention.

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, Alexa heard loud shouting.

Rafe.

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?

CHAPTER TWO

AT APPROXIMATELY SIX, after only a couple of hours of sleep, Alexa bustled about her kitchen fixing breakfast. Her mind mulled over possible chores Rafe might do. From his file she knew that he’d been sedentary in the months before his discharge, and she had a feeling that Sierra wouldn’t have pushed him to exert himself. But Alexa had no intention of letting him waste his mind or that finely honed body.

Compadre padded into the kitchen and went straight to his kibble bowl.

“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.

THE DOOR SLAMMED SO HARD Rafe heard it click and bounce back open again. He sat for a minute contemplating if he would continue to resist or just give in. His roar had sent seasoned military nurses skittering from his room, but it didn’t seem to faze Dr. Robinson.

He swung his legs off the bed and counted the steps to the chair where he’d left his clothes. He couldn’t help but be intrigued by her. She was a woman who spoke with a velvet voice but acted with hardfisted resolve.

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.

ALEXA WAITED THE FULL fifteen minutes. She started down the hall, but stopped when she saw Rafe emerge from his bedroom. He walked slowly and with an odd gait because he kept one hand resting atop Compadre’s furry head.

“There you are,” she called over her shoulder as she beat a hasty retreat and waited for them in the kitchen.

“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.”

ANGER BOILED IN THE PIT of Rafe’s stomach at Alexa’s high-handedness. He could follow her out to the barns and fail miserably, proving his point. Or he could call Sierra to come get him and end this stupid charade. Then he thought about Sierra. How she’d placed so much faith in his coming here. He’d worried her enough already and wouldn’t add to the burden. “Okay, Doc. You win another round. We’ll try it your way today.” He swung back toward the table, but knocked over the chair where he’d been sitting, and instantly froze.

Compadre started to bark and dance around his legs, and Rafe didn’t know which way to turn. He was furious at being so clumsy, and the anger he’d already directed toward Alexa Robinson for putting him in such an untenable position doubled.

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.”