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“You’ll be killed out there,” Rick shouted and pushed her down. “Nothing can survive out there right now. They’re pounding that street.”
She huddled against the rubble as heat seared her, gluing her tan T-shirt to her body. She wore a flak vest over the T-shirt and BDU pants, which she had selected for the additional pockets. The pockets were filled with everything she needed to do her job, from cell phone, notebooks and pens to a small recorder.
“The hospital?” she asked Rick, just as another explosion tore up the wreckage, only a few yards from them. The heat burned her arm, and the impact threw her back against a pile of debris. Her shoulder felt on fire, the skin burning. She looked down at her shoulder to see metal protruding from a jagged wound. She stared at it for a moment, and then the pain hit.
Rick uttered a curse as he scooted over to her to study the wound. “I’m afraid if I remove it, you’ll bleed out,” he said. “I’ll try to get one of the doctors. Ali should be back here with the jeep.”
He bolted over what was now a wall of broken cement, and she clenched her teeth to stop from moving, from crying out. The pain grew worse. She could smell her own burned skin.
She couldn’t tell how large the piece of shrapnel was inside, but she knew that the medical people, if they were still alive, were going to be busy with wounds worse than this.
She also knew they couldn’t stay here. Syrian troops or ISIS fighters often followed the planes, killing those the planes missed.
She didn’t know how long Rick was gone. It seemed like hours before he appeared over the wall. “They can’t come,” he said. “Three of them are wounded, and the others are busy trying to keep all the civilians alive. They’re afraid soldiers will follow the bombs.”
“The little girl?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see her on the street and it was too crowded in the hospital. Right now, we have to get you out of here.”
He didn’t have to explain more. She knew what might await her as an American woman.
“They gave me some pills, burn salve and pressure bandages,” he said. “I was told to get you to a refugee camp as fast as possible. I found Ali. He and the jeep are pretty close.” He hesitated, and then he added, “I have to pull that piece of metal out. The jolting in the jeep could do even more damage.”
Jenny understood. She’d been under fire before. She knew the risks.
“Do you think you can walk if I help? I can take out that shrapnel when we get to the jeep.”
She nodded. She had to. There was no way Rick could carry her any distance. He didn’t weigh much more than she did.
He handed her a canteen and several pills. Painkillers and antibiotics, she assumed. After she swallowed them, he helped her to her feet. She barely made it. The rocks and ruined buildings were going in and out of focus. One step, and then another. You have to do this.
No one paid attention to them as they stumbled through debris toward the jeep. It took every ounce of Jenny’s strength to put one foot ahead of the other as pain coursed through her, growing stronger by the minute. Only Rick’s steady arm kept her upright.
She was beyond grateful when she saw Ali and the jeep. But she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. It was all she could do to stay upright. A few more steps. Gunshots. Behind them.
Everything dimmed...
CHAPTER ONE (#u3f120706-64dc-59f2-88d9-8304b88e84b8)
Walter Reed Hospital Rehabilitation Unit
LIFE WILL NEVER be the same.
Major Travis Hammond leaned on his crutches and watched a young corporal take halting steps on a new prosthesis that substituted for a right leg. Danny Ware’s face was contorted with determination as he tried to walk without hanging onto the bars.
In the months they’d shared these rehab facilities, along with other wounded soldiers, Travis had grown fond of Danny. Maybe because of the kid’s unfailing optimism despite getting a really bad deal. He reminded Travis of his brother.
Danny was a foster kid, and the army had been one of the few options he’d had after finishing high school. But now that option was gone. Danny hadn’t been able to save much money on an enlisted man’s pay, and Travis knew it would take months before his disability pay arrived. Travis had seen the fear and uncertainty when the kid thought no one was watching, but a “what the hell” grin would usually spread across his face if he caught eyes on him.
The military rehab facility was, as usual, full, with both new patients and those returning for additional surgeries. It had become a second home to Travis after two years and multiple surgeries. But now there were only a few days left before he was released.
He would miss the other soldiers. They shared the pain. And the fear, though it was unspoken. Always unspoken. The future, which had been so clear before, was now a fog. He felt lost, and he knew that others felt the same uncertainty.
For most of them, life as they knew it would never be the same. There were the nightmares. The survivor’s guilt. The loss of a tight-knit family. Those were things that could never be understood by someone who hadn’t experienced them.
He turned his attention back to Danny Ware. He’d admired the kid’s grit as he had strengthened his arms and walked on one leg and crutches, while a prosthesis was still being constructed. Now it had finally arrived, and Danny was taking his first awkward steps.
It was difficult to cheer anything at the moment, but the grin on the younger man’s face as, on his third attempt, he took twenty steps without touching the bars, helped him forget his own problems. If Danny could conquer his demons, then certainly Travis could, as well. Or should.
The simple fact was inertia had overtaken him. Having undergone five operations—three on his right leg and foot and two on his hand—he was left with a leg that would never work right and a hand missing two fingers, not to mention numerous scars across his body. It meant the end of his career as an active member in the Special Forces. Desk job? Possibly. But it wasn’t a sure thing, and it was not particularly appealing.
And his love life. Nonexistent since his fiancé had taken one look at him and blanched. It hadn’t helped that she was a television reporter in Georgia, and he was in Washington. Dinah had tried, but her visits to the military hospital grew less frequent over time, and he understood that he was no longer what she wanted as a husband. He was the one who ended the engagement. Her protest was feeble at best, and he knew he’d made the right decision...
Still, it had hurt. But he couldn’t blame her. He turned his attention back to Danny, who made a victory sign with his fingers. Then the kid started to fall.
The physical therapist caught him and eased him into a wheelchair. Tears of frustration leaked from his eyes.
Travis knew that frustration. He’d never again be the athlete he once was, but at least he had resources. Danny didn’t. He ached for the boy.
“I want to try again,” Danny said.
“Not today,” Kate, the physical therapist, said. “You did great, but you don’t want to overdo it.”
She confirmed the next appointment, and then she turned to Travis. “Ready, Major Hammond?”
He hesitated, and then he limped over to Danny. “You did damn good,” he said.
“Thanks, Major,” Danny said, his face brightening.
Travis wanted to continue, but anything more might be construed as pity. He turned to the therapist. “Only a few sessions to go,” he responded. After the last of his surgeries, he’d finally succeeded in wiggling his toes on his right foot. He’d never thought wiggling a toe could be a major achievement.
After the last operation, his surgeon urged him to do just that with toes peeking out from a cast. Some patients were never able to move their foot, he explained. Travis had spent days and nights staring at his damn toes, willing them to move. It was momentous when they did. It meant he wouldn’t have to walk with a brace.
“I’m hurt when my patients are so anxious to leave me,” Kate said with a grin.
“I doubt that,” he said. “We’re a motley lot.”
The smile widened. “I will miss you—and Danny, too.” Kate replied. “You’ve been good for him. He really looks up to you.”
“I like him,” he said simply.
“Well, today is your big day,” she said. “We walk without the brace.” It was always we, not you. He was amazed at her ability to remain cheerful. She had coaxed, badgered and cajoled him when he got frustrated. She had celebrated with him at hearing about the great toe awakening. She was his tormentor and savior.
She helped him take off the brace and watched him as he stood.
“You don’t want to put too much weight on it yet,” she said, studying him as he took several steps.
“You’ve practiced,” she accused him.
“How can you tell?” For the past several nights, he had taken off the brace and walked with the crutches only.
“Too much confidence. What if you’d fallen and twisted it?”
“I didn’t.”
Kate just shook her head. “Okay, cowboy. Let’s see you climb the stairs.”
As the doctor warned, his foot had limited up-and-down movement, but it was still part of his body, and for that he was thankful. The stairs were just six steps up, with railings on both sides and a platform at the top. He walked haltingly to the bottom. Then she took the crutches, and he grabbed the railings.
“Good,” she said. “The main thing now is not to get overconfident and overdo it. Until you get used to how much movement you have in that ankle and foot, you could trip.”
They spent the rest of the hour on exercises, first for his leg and then for his hand. When they finished, he wanted to throw away the brace for good.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Major. Keep your walks short for now. Use the crutches until you feel comfortable.” Kate reached into the pocket of her uniform and pulled out an envelope. “I was asked to give this to you,” she said.
He took it gingerly and opened it. There was one sheet of paper enclosed, and it contained only a name and phone number.
The name stopped him. Memories flooded back. He looked up. “Where did this come from?”
“My boss gave it to me. He said it came from a psychologist at Fort Hood. An admirer, perhaps?” Kate, a lean, attractive woman in her forties, grinned at him. It was no come-on. She openly talked of her husband in a way that left no doubt she was madly in love with him.
“Doubt that, since he was my best staff sergeant.”
“Well, it must be important to come down this way.” She left him before he could ask more questions.
Josh Manning.
It had been nearly two years since Travis heard that name. Josh Manning was the best staff sergeant he’d ever had. Ironically, he was wounded one month before Travis. Manning’s injuries, in fact, were the reason Travis had been in Afghanistan to check on the Rangers who were training and working with their Afghanistan counterparts.
He punched in the number.
“Manning,” the former staff sergeant said in his usual no-nonsense manner.
“How did you find me?” Travis asked without a greeting.
“I didn’t. A psychologist at Fort Hood did. I’d heard you’d been wounded and asked him for help. It’s hell trying to get information from the army. He asked his colleagues at other hospitals. I learned you’re about to be released.”
Why in the hell would Josh Manning track him down? No one else had. “Still cutting corners, Sergeant?” he asked.
“I had a good instructor,” Josh retorted.
Travis got down to business. “If you went to all that trouble, I assume you had a reason.”
He heard Manning chuckle. It surprised him. He couldn’t remember the man even smiling much before. But then Manning surprised him even more with his next words. “Are you staying in the service? If not, I need you.”
I need you. Hell, it was the first time in nearly two years he’d heard those words. It was especially surprising from Manning, who’d never admitted to needing anything, except maybe better equipment.
“Not sure,” Travis replied. “I have three months’ medical leave coming. There could be a staff job available but...”
His voice trailed off.
“Maybe my offer will help,” Manning said.
Travis couldn’t imagine how, but he’d never known Manning to waste time or words. Manning had been the most competent noncom who’d served under him.
They had become friends during the ten years they had worked together, both moving up the military ladder. When they first met, Sergeant Manning was a squad leader, and Travis was a lieutenant. Travis made sure Manning stayed with him. He’d been his go-to guy in the most difficult and dangerous missions. He not only thought strategically, but his fellow soldiers would follow him to hell and back.
Travis realized he’d been silent for more than a few seconds. “How?” he asked dubiously.
“I remember you telling me you were a college athlete and studied sports management in Indiana. That included business, didn’t it?”
“Some,” Travis admitted.
“A friend of mine, a former navy SEAL—yeah, I know, strange friend for a Ranger—just bought a small ranch where I live. He’s thinking about starting a horse therapy program for vets. He’s knee deep in getting it started and needs help with the business aspects, particularly possible grants, regulations, staffing...”
“Why me?”
“Because I know how you cared about your men. The job needs someone who would be committed as well as having some knowledge of athletics and business.”
It definitely sounded interesting, particularly Manning’s participation, but he wasn’t qualified. “I don’t get it,” he said. “I don’t know anything about grants.”
“But you know about physical therapy and organization. I also remember how you used to work the system to get what you needed. You never took no for an answer. That’s what we need now.”
“We?”
“It’s kinda a joint effort. You have to see it for yourself to believe it,” Manning said. “It would just be temporary, and we can’t afford to pay much.”
“In other words, you want someone cheap.”
“More like free, except for the use of a really nice cabin, as long as you stay.”
“You really know how to sell a job,” Travis replied. Could it be that Manning had somehow discovered that Travis had no family, no plans?
Being a desk jockey held little appeal for him. “Where?” he asked.
“A little town in Colorado. It’s...unusual.”
“You living there now?”
“About eighteen months. After I recovered, I found Amos. He’s with me now.”
“That’s great.” Travis remembered the military dog, how the animal mourned when his handler, Manning’s best friend, died. The dog was eventually sent back stateside.
“Call it a working vacation,” Josh said. “I have a cabin that will be all yours. It’s on a lake, next to a mountain. The town is vet-friendly.”
“How long?”
“A few months. We have volunteers, enthusiasm, horses. Just no expertise.”
