Finding Hope: A Colorado Veterans Christmas

by Tiffani Lynn

  Finding Hope

  A Colorado Veterans Christmas: Book 5

  Tiffani Lynn

  Finding Hope: A Colorado Veterans Christmas

  Copyright 2018 by Tiffani Lynn

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  For information contact Tiffani Lynn at www.tiffanilynn.com

  Cover Design by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  Edited by Ashley, Twin Tweaks Editing

  Proofed by Tiffany at Gray Publishing Services

  Created with Vellum

  This story is dedicated to Barbie, Chris and Charlotte. Your continued hold on hope brought forth the most beautiful and special gift to our family. Sweet Charlotte is worth every disappointment, every moment of heartbreak, every tear and every fear faced to help her get here.

  Charlotte, I hope you will never doubt for a moment how much we all love and adore you.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  1. Cy

  2. Rosie

  3. Rosie

  4. Cy

  5. Rosie

  6. Cy

  7. Rosie

  8. Cy

  9. Rosie

  10. Cy

  11. Rosie

  Epilogue: Cy

  Acknowledgments

  The first thank you always goes out to my husband and daughters. No one loves the four of you more than I do. Thanks for making it possible for me to write these stories. You know I couldn’t do it without you.

  Special thanks to Jessica Spriggs for technical help and explanations when I first started writing this book. Love you lady!

  The support from my TLC family is irreplaceable. Much love and gratitude to all of you. As always, what you find is what you find!

  Judy Swinson, Kat Mizera, Katharina LeBoeuf and Lexi Post, I appreciate all your support, encouragement and assistance. Thanks for always having my back!

  A special shout out to Mia Sparks, Jamie Grandison, Samantha Nimrod and Leanna Wallace. You ladies continue to pimp for me and although I don’t always mention it, I see it and I appreciate it more than you know! Thank you a million times over!

  1

  Cy

  The early December sun is high in the blue Colorado sky as I rest between the two buildings that make this an alley. I’m thankful for the sunny day that helps to warm me, allowing me to rest. For some reason though, today I’ve only been able to doze on and off for the last hour. The nights are so cold, I’m afraid if I don’t keep moving I’ll freeze to death, so I do my best to sleep during the day and roam at night. As I shift a little to find comfort, the putrid aroma of my skin wafts up into my nose and I cringe. I know what I smell like, but when you live on the street it’s hard to keep up with personal hygiene, and not easy to blend in if you do. Because I have money stashed in a bank account, I used to go and rent a hotel room every couple of weeks to get cleaned up, but being clean brought more attention from the unsavory characters on the street than I needed, so I made the showers less frequent.

  Footsteps pound into the alley I’m curled up in and I sit up, adrenaline spiking through my system. It doesn’t take much to get my heart pumping these days, but I picked one of the least frequented places to sleep today so it should be quiet.

  “Here!” a guy yells over his shoulder as he stomps around to the back side of the dumpster, where I’m now crouched against the wall with all of my worldly belongings piled next to me. I slip my hand under my duffel bag and wrap my fingers on the two-by-four I found a couple weeks ago. I kept it and started carrying it when a couple of guys living on the streets were murdered brutally and the assailants weren’t caught. I may not like my life much, but I’m not ready to lose it.

  The guy doesn’t see me but he sees the lump of a sleeping person covered in a blanket further back, who happens to be Ms. Nona. She’s much older than I am and wouldn’t survive a beating. Most of us out here watch out for her and there’s no way I’m letting anything happen to her.

  “Hey! You looking for me?” I call out, gaining his attention.

  His head turns my way and his wide eyes let me know I startled him. He flashes me an evil grin and steps toward me. “Yeah, you’ll do,” he snarls.

  I’d bet money this guy is on something. His eyes are bloodshot and wild. Graying wisps of fuzzy hair stick out all around his head like he hasn’t brushed it or cut it in a while. He doesn’t look homeless, just out of control. The hand holding the baseball bat is shaking more than a little bit and he’s oddly twitchy all over. He steps forward with his left foot, while his right foot extends hard to kick me. Thank God I’m trained in self-defense and hand-to-hand combat because I’m able to read his moves before he makes them. He’s sloppy and drugged out, which works in my favor. Unable to keep the two-by-four in my grip and get out of the way, I release it, roll over the top of my stuff and jump to my feet. The guy stumbles a little when he misses me and rights himself, madder than he was a minute ago.

  A strange sound alerts me to another presence and I turn as a baseball bat held by a second guy comes swinging toward my head. Leaping back, I stumble over trash in the alley and fight to stay upright. The bad part, besides the fact that these guys have bats and I now have nothing to fight back with, is that they are backing me further into the alley without an escape route. I know better than to allow myself to get cornered.

  A quick glance back confirms that Ms. Nona ran for it while I had these two goons occupied, and I breathe a sigh of relief before I face them once again. They’re approaching slowly, each with a bat up and ready. There’s nothing around me that I can pick up and use as a weapon and I know the only hope I have is the element of surprise, so I watch the first guy for a few extra seconds before I charge the second guy, knocking him off balance. He drops the bat as I land on top of him, his back to the pavement.

  When I try to roll away I see the other guy coming at me with his Louisville Slugger and I throw up an arm to protect my face. He hits my arm hard and I feel the bone crack, but I know another swing is coming so I snatch the other bat off the ground with my uninjured hand and swing out, catching him in the gut. He doubles over and drops to his knees. I swing at his back to level him. A loud grunt, followed by a thud, confirms it worked. When I glance up to locate the second guy, I realize he’s found my two-by-four and takes a swing at the back of my legs. I’m forced to the ground where he takes another swing at the side of my head. It misses me, but in my haste to get away, I crash head first into the side of the dumpster and sink to the ground. At that moment it’s clear I’ll never see another sunrise or snowfall because these two lunatics are going to kill me. My world fades to black.

  I come to a little bit later to find the alley empty. Slowly, I pull myself up and snatch my backpack with my good hand. Holy shit, I’m hurting. My arm is throbbing like crazy. I’m sure it’s a fracture because the pain is really bad, and if I don’t get help, I’ll be in worse shape than I am right now.

  Every part of my body aches, especially my arm and head. I’m pitiful enough that I need help. The thought of being locked up inside a building, even if it’s a hospital, is enough to make me try to live with the pain. Ever since I came back from my last deployment I can’t sleep if I’m inside. Just being inside a building makes me sweat and shake, never mind sleeping. The c
laustrophobia is out of control because I feel like a sitting duck.

  The question I have to answer now is, can I live with this pain? I attempt to get my coat off to look at the wound but can’t do it. The pain from just shifting the fabric down my arm is excruciating. I have to get some level of help. This isn’t something I can live with. My stomach rolls with nausea and I turn to the side and throw up what little is in my stomach. The motion jolts my arm and my head and I think I may pass out. It’s possible that the sirens wailing close by scared them away, but I can’t take the chance that they will come back to finish me off so I fight passing out.

  There’s only one place I can go where I trust someone to understand: The Veterans Homeless Shelter. Marv, the guy who runs the place, was once like me and will understand why I don’t want to go to the hospital. He’ll help me. He’s been trying to get me to stay some nights at that place for quite a while anyway.

  The vet shelter isn’t close to where I’ve been sleeping and by the time I hike to it I think I’ll pass out. The huge warehouse building that was converted to the shelter about a year ago is like an oasis in the desert at this point. The outside looks like any other old, red-brick building that’s kind of run-down. Twelve-foot wooden doors stand tall, front and center on the building, while the beveled glass windows give it a more aged quality than clear double-paned windows would. This place has probably been several different things over the years but it’s now a homeless shelter and I couldn’t be more thankful. I push the door open with my shoulder, praying Marv is inside.

  2

  Rosie

  This stupid fake Christmas tree has been kicking my butt for hours. At this point I’d rather break it in half and set it on fire than put it up, but I argued with Marv about decorating for the holidays so long that he finally gave in. So now I’m determined to do it. A tree is essential to decorating since most of the cavernous room is filled with beds, leaving little space to put fun decorations.

  The bell above the entrance jingles and I peek out from my place in the middle of the Christmas tree parts to see a rather gruff-looking man who has clearly seen better days stumble inside. I’ve been here helping out at the shelter for over a month now so I’m used to the look of the homeless people and it doesn’t freak me out anymore, but this guy is particularly rough.

  There’s no way to set the pieces of this tree down easily, so I toss them to the side with a loud thump and dust off my hands. We don’t open the building for the vets who sleep here until five o’clock so no one usually even starts lining up outside for at least another hour. I glance at my watch and realize it’s three thirty and wonder if maybe he’s just new.

  As I approach I notice he’s holding his right arm as if it’s injured and watching me with wary eyes and a pained expression. If you’ve ever seen the scene of Forrest Gump where he’s running across America with the dirty beard, then you know what this guy looks like.

  “Hi, may I help you?” I ask, trying not to stare at how he’s holding that arm. I approach slowly because you never know what these guys are dealing with and I’ve learned you don’t want to spook them.

  My sister’s husband, Dex, who’s a local cop, is in the storage area in the back trying to fix a couple of shelves so I’m not nervous about being alone with someone I don’t know. The man still doesn’t say anything, he simply looks to his arm again. The thick plaid coat he’s wearing makes it impossible to see if he’s bleeding or bruised or burned. The navy blue beanie cap on his head is pulled down almost to his eyebrows but his long hair is a tangled mess out the bottom and I wonder how long it’s been since he’s had a shower.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask, almost close enough to reach out and touch him now. He blinks a few times, glances back down to his arm and nods.

  I’m a trauma nurse. Which means I’m qualified to at least look at his injury. I just moved here from Dallas a few months ago to be near my sister and her family after being away from her for over 15-years, so I haven’t gotten settled with a job yet. I’ve been volunteering my time here so I wouldn’t be up my sister’s ass and driving her nuts

  “Let’s take off your coat so I can see it. I promise to be gentle. You came in at the right time. I’m a nurse, so I’ll know pretty quickly if you need to see a doctor or if we can treat it with the first aid kit.” He lowers his arm away from his body and fights one-handed with the top button of his coat. When he continues to struggle with the button I reach over, pausing before I touch him. He nods. He watches me as I unfasten each one. Ripe is the only word that comes to mind when I try to process the smell he’s got going on and I wonder if he even realizes it’s that potent. How long has he been on the street?

  “Let me help you take it off, okay?”

  Where is Dex? When he comes back in here he’s likely to freak this guy out. Not only is Dex really big, but this guy is as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. If it weren’t for the fact that his eyes show no sign of being under the influence, I’d think he’s on drugs or something. My gut tells me that his nervous state just comes from his time on the street, though.

  He turns a little bit, never taking his eyes off me, to remove the backpack from his shoulders and flinches as he maneuvers it off. Even with the overgrown beard, I can still see his flexing jaw and clenched teeth grimace. This guy is in serious pain. I hold out my hands, silently asking if I can take it from him, and he pauses for a second before finally handing it over.

  “I’m gonna set it right here, okay?”

  He gives a quick nod of understanding.

  “I promise to be gentle but I’m taking this top layer you’re wearing off.”

  Another quick nod from him.

  I work as slowly as I can, to remove the dirty fabric from his left arm first, and then even more slowly I take off the other side. The top flannel thermal coat I remove smells like the sewer, but what he’s wearing underneath is absolutely disgusting. This is obviously what he’s worn the longest and I fight gagging as I stand close, prepared to unbutton the shirt for him. My eyes flick to the injured arm and I’m startled to see how swollen it is beneath the blood red-stained fabric. The material of the shirt is stretched to its splitting point. Crap, I can’t take this off of him. I’ll bet a million bucks he has a compound fracture. He needs the ER. I peek up at his face and find the expression of discomfort much worse.

  “Hold your arm up against your chest. Dangling it isn’t helping.” The more he moves it the more agony he appears to be in and I’m more worried now than I was a few minutes ago when he walked in. “You’re not going to like this but I think we need to go to the hospital. I’m afraid to remove the shirt because I’m certain there’s a nasty fracture under there. Being a trauma nurse, I’ve seen similar things. I don’t want to touch you without pain medication in your system and sterile equipment. If you give me a minute I’ll get my brother-in-law and we can drive you to the ER.”

  I’m a huge believer that everything happens for a reason and I know there’s a reason I’m the one who was here when he stumbled through that door. Not only do I understand injuries but I also understand fear and the level of fear he’s showing tells me he doesn’t want to get near a hospital. If I don’t get him there though he could be in rough shape by morning.

  “I’m going to go get my brother-in-law,” I repeat. “His name is Dex and he’s a cop.” The man’s eyes widen and I quickly reassure him. “He’s off duty and helping me set some things up. I’ll just have him drive us to the emergency room so we can get you fixed up. I’m guessing you don’t have insurance but we can figure something out. Please, let me get you help.” I plead with him, hoping he doesn’t run. I won’t be able to sleep if he goes back out on the streets when his arm is that bad. He lowers his arm to grab his plaid coat and winces. All the color drains from his face and he backs up and sits in the closest chair. He’s still quiet but the pain must be bad because he’s shaking. I don’t wait. I sprint to the back, calling for Dex. He rushes o
ut of the storage room and almost collides with me but stops me with a grip on my arms.

  “Dex, you have to take us to the emergency room. A client is out here and he’s hurt badly.”

  “Where? Do we need an ambulance?”

  “No, just a ride. Come on.” We hustle back out to where the man is seated, and he looks up at us with the most heartbreaking expression.

  “Shit,” Dex mutters loud enough for us to both hear. “What’s your name, man?”

  I’m taken aback when the man answers without skipping a beat. It’s a quiet response but a response still. “Cy, Cyrus McMullen.” He voice is gravely, not as deep as Dex’s, but it’s deep enough that it’s still manly.

  “You live on the street?” Dex questions.

  “Yeah, got attacked a couple of hours ago, maybe more. I tried to rest but it’s bad and I need help.”

  Dex glances at me. “Call Marv and tell him you’re locking up and he needs to come back. I’ll call the station and have someone check out his story. In the meantime, we’re going to take him to the hospital.”

  Nodding my understanding, I rush into the office, grab my phone and dial Marv, explaining what’s going on as I come back out and push all the Christmas tree stuff against the wall and turn off the lights. I shrug on my coat and put my purse strap over my shoulder.

  “Is he one of ours?” Marv asks me, his voice full of genuine concern.

  “Says his name is Cy McMullen, but didn’t say if he’s been here before. We didn’t make it that far, but he needs help so we’re going. I’ll lock the door. I don’t know what time we will be back, so I’ll need you to come in and open for everyone. It won’t be long till they start arriving.”