The Brides 0f Purple Heart Ranch Boxset, Bks 1-3

by Shanae Johnson

  He'd left with promises to do only one tour and then come back for a wedding as grand as she wanted to make it. They'd joked that it would take her the duration of his tour to plan the social event of the decade. But when Dylan returned covered in bruises and missing a limb, Hilary made other plans.

  It hadn't mattered to her that he could’ve taken care of her financially, she was an heiress in her own right. It hadn't mattered to her that he was a war hero. She was a society darling, constantly in the gossip pages. Appearances mattered to Hilary Weston, and having a wounded warrior covered in bruises and missing a limb was not a good look.

  She’d let the door slam behind her as she walked out of the military hospital room. She'd gotten engaged to another man and married him all within the last six months. Dylan heard the guy was some type of reality star, and now Hilary was too.

  He'd liked to think he'd dodged a bullet. But he'd dodged them in real life. Her rejection stung.

  But that life was over. This was his new reality now. And it was one he thrived in.

  Dylan turned from his sour memories and looked around the ranch. He'd given up high society living for mucking out stalls and tilling the earth. It was the best decision of his life.

  The ranch had been fledgling before he infused it with what amounted to a small portion of his inheritance. His parents had balked at the idea until they realized their deformed son would be safely tucked away out of society's and their eyes. Like Hilary, the Banks were all about keeping up appearances. A decorated soldier serving his country looked good. An amputee hobbling about did not.

  For the second time today, the sound of hooves reminded him of artillery fire. But Dylan didn't suffer from PTSD in the normal sense. It was just the trauma of his family that affected him. So, when he saw Sean Jeffries riding at a trot, he could only smile up at the man.

  Jeffries had come home from war with all his limbs. But like all the men on the ranch, Jeffries had left a piece of himself behind in the war zone. Jeffries dipped his head in greeting, pulling his cowboy hat low over his brown forehead. Dark shades covered his face. The sunglasses cast the dark man on the steed in a full shadow. Jeffries didn't like people looking at the scars on his face.

  Still, Jeffries held his posture erect and his head high. Life looked differently from on top of a horse. Not only did the therapy help improve physical injuries, it also helped improve balance, control, and coordination of the mind. Having control of a great beast and regaining control of one's self increased self-esteem and gave a sense of freedom.

  The ranch didn't just offer horse therapy. Gardening helped with sensory and tactile functions. Chores like pushing a wheelbarrow, raking, hoeing, weeding, planting and even arranging flowers all built or rebuilt motor skills.

  Reed Cannon was on his knees in the gardens. Cannon moved aside the dirt and planted flowers, evenly spacing them out. The fingers of one hand worked in the fertile soil, while the others remained stiff against the dirt. The stiff hand was a prosthetic. He'd lost the real one in the same explosion that took Dylan's leg.

  Dylan walked on through the haven, passing by the purple bellflowers for which the ranch was named. There weren't just the flower and vegetable gardens in this sanctuary. There was also a butterfly garden that offered the vets peace and tranquility. This place was not just for healing mentally and physically, but also emotionally. Dylan and the others had lain down wheelchair paths to make it accessible for all.

  Older veterans came to the ranch for help as well, getting care for wars long past but whose scars were still fresh. Someday Dylan hoped they would be able to open up the ranch to troubled youth and give them the care they needed to have a chance at a bright future. So no, he didn't bemoan leaving high society behind. This was the society he wanted to create.

  As Dylan came away from the gardens, the smell of livestock hit his nose. Francisco DeMonti moved amongst the sheep. The care of small animals helped the men to learn to once more form relationships with others. Animals were the perfect specimens. Many offered unconditional love, especially if there was food in your outstretched hand.

  Fran had no visible scars. His wounds were all internal, and they still had a good chance of killing him.

  "Good ride this morning?" asked Fran as he came out of the enclosure and joined Dylan on the path toward the main buildings.

  Dylan nodded.

  "Got a call from an old buddy at the vet center," said Fran. "They're wondering if we could house a couple more soldiers?"

  "We've got the space."

  There were living quarters on the ranch. Though most soldiers didn't stay after their therapy or rehab was complete. Many had families to return to, or they found that long-term ranch life didn't agree with them. The five vets who made the ranch their home didn't have that luxury or didn't want to go back to it. For them, this was home now.

  "We'll take anyone that needs the help," said Dylan.

  And they could at little to no cost. Between their pensions, which Dylan refused to let anyone spend, the government aide, which Dylan put to giving all the workers a pay increase, and Dylan's trust fund, which took on the bulk of the expenses, they would never need to turn anyone away. Unlike how his family treated him.

  "Have a good evening boys," called Dr. Patel. The man headed to his car with his briefcase in one hand and a Bible in the other. In addition to being a licensed psychologist, he was also a man of the cloth.

  "Headed to church?" asked Fran.

  "That I am." Dr. Patel smiled. “There's room in the passenger seat if you'd like to accompany me."

  "Another time," said Fran.

  Dylan remained mute. He still hadn't healed his relationship with the man upstairs, and he wasn't quite ready to start now. But Dr. Patel simply smiled that knowing smile at both of them. If Dylan didn't respect the man as much as he did, he'd be annoyed at his universal upbeat attitude, perpetual patience in the face of adversity, and consistent certainty in all things.

  As Dr. Patel pulled his car door open, another car pulled up. It was an expensive luxury model. For a moment, Dylan wondered if it was his father. But he knew his father would never leave Manhattan to come out into the middle of nowhere America.

  The man who stepped out of the car wore an expensive suit. The ensemble was off the rack and not tailor-made. His father would never be caught dead in something that wasn't crafted especially for him. Dylan recognized the man as Michael Haskell, the land agent for the ranch.

  Haskell was no-nonsense and to the point. He didn't fuss around with niceties and unimportant details. Dylan had been leasing the land for nearly a year waiting for the sale to go through. There were only a few minor details left before the deed was in Dylan's hand.

  "We got a problem," said Haskell. "The land was originally designated for family use. The sale won't go through unless there are families here."

  "This unit of soldiers is a family," said Dylan.

  "This unit is a group of men," said Haskell. "None of whom are married."

  Dylan couldn't understand how this was a problem? He was buying land not an amusement park. What did it matter who lived on the land?

  "How do we fix this?" asked Fran, ever the practical one. "Can we get the zoning changed?"

  "It'll take months to get the zoning changed, and you'll need to vacate while you do," said Haskell. "I don't suppose any of you are getting married anytime soon?"

  Chapter Four

  "I let you get away with two dogs when the rules clearly state one small dog. Over the past two years, you've accumulated four dogs and only two of them are small."

  Maggie cradled one of the small dogs in her arms as her landlord spoke. Soldier had lost her front paw after being hit by a car. She'd been brought into the vet clinic during Maggie's first month there. She'd been able to heal Soldier, amputating her mangled leg and teaching her to walk on three legs. The little dog thrived, but no one came to claim her nor welcome her into a new home. She was slated for being put down, but
somehow she'd magically disappeared before her date with death.

  Maggie put Soldier down on the hardwood floor of the entryway. Her nails clinked as she sauntered across the floor, clearly not enjoying Mr. Hurley's company any more than he was enjoying hers.

  The three other dogs Mr. Hurley referred to kept their distance. They were typically a very loving bunch, eager to greet new people and make a new human friend when anyone came to the door or they were out in public. But they instinctively knew that Mr. Hurley was not the buddy type.

  "And now you're adding a fifth?" demanded Mr. Hurley.

  The fifth dog cowered beneath her coffee table. He'd recovered nicely from his surgery and had been up and curious the next day. Maggie had fitted him with a doggie wheelchair that she'd fashioned herself. It took the dog just one day to master the apparatus and now he was flying around her small apartment. Maggie had named him Spin.

  Maggie went over and picked up Spin. Then she turned and faced her landlord with her most winningest smile. It was all she could afford since she no longer had a job to pay rent. She hoped the little Irish Terrier's sweet face would win over Mr. Hurley.

  "They've never caused you any trouble," she said as she nuzzled the side of Spin's face. The dog gave her an appreciative lick, then hid his head beneath her chin. "You barely know they're here."

  Her dogs didn't bark much. Maggie guessed that they'd learned that raising their voices could lead to a strike from a human. So, they were mostly quiet.

  She didn't mention that Stevie, her partially blind Rottweiler, had scratched up the cabinets in the bathroom. Or that Sugar, her diabetic Golden Retriever, had thrown up in the bedroom so many times that Maggie had lost her ability to be nose-blind to it.

  But it wasn't necessary. Mr. Hurley was unmoved by any of their puppy dog eyes. "That's beside the point. You're breaking the rules. I would've let it go with two dogs, but not five. Unless you can follow the rules and have only one small dog, you'll need to find a new place to live."

  "You can't be serious? I can't choose between my dogs."

  "Find them a good home with other families."

  That hadn't worked the first time. That's why they were all there. Most single professionals and families with children weren't interested in taking in an older or wounded animal. They all wanted puppies just out of the womb who would run around on all four feet and have enough energy to catch a ball.

  And she knew from experience that she couldn't put the dogs in a shelter while she found a new home. They'd be put down before the end of the week. That is, if she could even get a new job to put a roof over their heads, food in their bowls, and medicine in their bodies.

  What was she going to do?

  Mr. Hurley walked away without another word, deaf to her protests.

  That was a blow. One she had known was possible. She had been breaking the rules for quite some time. But she hadn't thought he'd actually throw her out. Now she saw that her time was up. She had no job and now would have no place to live.

  But she wasn't giving up. She never gave up. No matter how bleak the situation. There was always a way.

  One by one, Maggie piled the dogs into the back of her truck. She had to put the dogs in crates while she drove so that they wouldn't injure themselves any further. Soldier, the Chihuahua, Star, the Pug, and Spin went into the back. Spin was not at all happy about being confined and immediately began to cry. Maggie took a moment to soothe him with a chew toy, then she piled Sugar, the retriever, into the back front seat and guided Stevie, her partially blind Rottweiler, into the back.

  With the gang all loaded up, she started the car and headed to the only place she could think of. Church. She needed a miracle to get herself out of this one.

  The church was tucked in the back corner of the city, as though it were a secret. But the congregation was a healthy size, had always been since Maggie had started going there as a teenager. Next to the church sat the cold, gray group home that Maggie had spent most of her youth in. It was a drabby, unattractive sister next to the red brick and white trim of the church.

  The church was the place Maggie had found solace on her bleak nights. She'd prayed to God to bring her parents back to her. When those prayers went unanswered, she'd prayed for a new mom and dad to love her. Even when those prayers hadn't been answered as she'd hoped, Maggie never gave up because at some point while she was on her knees in the pews, she looked around to realize that the people of the church had become her family.

  Maggie pulled into the parking lot near the back of the church. One by one, she took her dogs out and walked them to the grassy yard where many a summer picnic had been held. Pastor David was a dog lover. He and Maggie had bonded over their love of animals when she was young. She'd hoped that Pastor David would adopt her, but he was unmarried and had remained so all his life. Still, he always left the door open for her. And that policy of open doors continued even after his death.

  "There's my favorite veterinarian."

  Maggie turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Her smile was big and her arms opened wide before she saw Pastor Patel.

  "There's my favorite shrink."

  The two embraced. As the embrace ended, Maggie gave the man an extra squeeze. It had been too long since she'd been held, and she needed the care today.

  Pastor Patel pulled away but kept a hold of her. He didn't ask any questions. Just cocked his head, looking down at her with those light brown eyes and waited.

  "I'm fine." She waved his concern away, but the tears had already formed in her eyes.

  Maggie never cried. As a foster child living in the group home, she knew it was pointless. She wouldn't get any extra care. When she was placed in a foster home, she knew it was pointless. Her foster parents had no care for her, only that she was another paycheck for them and that she was old enough to care for the rest of their fostered brood.

  But, like Pastor David, Pastor Patel had always cared for her. And he was always able to get her to divulge her feelings.

  "I've just had the worst week," she said. As though he heard her talking about him, Spin came up to her leg, wheel coming to a halt as he looked up at her apologetically.

  "I see you have a new pack member." Pastor Patel bent down and offered the back of his hand to Spin. Spin gave the hand a sniff. Then a lick. Then a bob of his head, as if recognizing that Pastor Patel was good people.

  Maggie gave a sniff of her own and then it all came out in a rush. "They wanted me to put him down because he was injured. When I said no, they let me go. And now my landlord says I have to get rid of four of them if I want to keep my place. How can people be so cruel? They're my family. Just because they're wounded doesn't mean they don't deserve love."

  Pastor Patel looked down at her. His eyes always made her think of a serene Buddha statue. She knew he'd seen all of that before she'd said a single word. "Quite right, my dear. A wounded animal is best healed by love."

  "I didn't know where else to turn," said Maggie. "I was hoping for a miracle."

  Dr. Patel nodded, eyes sparkling with some revelation. "I think I might be able to help."

  Chapter Five

  "Wives? As in married? To women?"

  "Unless there's something about you that we should know, Ramos."

  Xavier Ramos reached over and tried to smack Reed Cannon in the head, but the other man raised his prosthetic arm to ward off the attack. There was nothing wrong with his reflexes. Ramos's flesh hit Cannon's metal and Ramos winced.

  "Can't we get the zoning changed?" asked Sean Jeffries. He had his sunglasses off now that they were all inside one of the ranch's barns.

  The men had converted the old barn into a gaming room complete with large flat screens, an old-fashioned record player and tape deck, and every gaming console including an antique Atari which Rees had brought back to life with his techno-genius.

  "It would be a long process," said Dylan. "And in the meantime, we'd all have to leave the ranch while the powers that be waded t
hrough all the red tape."

  The men were lounging in recliners or sitting on bar stools, but an anxious hum went around the room. The ranch was their haven, their home. Even for those who had somewhere that they could go, leaving was not an option.

  Unlike with Dylan, Jeffries's family hadn't rejected him. They called the ranch on a regular basis. It was Jeffries who didn't want them to see him. It wasn't just the scar on his face that shamed him. He suffered from PTSD and was prone to flashbacks. He could be taken back to the war-torn deserts of the Middle East when he slept, or with loud noises he could readily identify. The men surrounding him knew how to manage his episodes. But Jeffries was terrified of hurting someone he cared about. And so he stayed away from his family and wouldn't receive their calls.

  "Aren't you all missing the obvious?" They all turned to Reed and waited for his revelation. Reed took his time. The man had a bit of the flare for the dramatic at times. "We just need to get married."

  Eyes and heads rolled as everyone turned away from the proclamation. Except Fran.

  "It's not a bad idea," Fran said. "People do it all the time. For green cards, for financial stability, some fools even do it for something called love."

  Dylan had been such a fool who wanted to get married for love. Or what he thought was love. He had no idea where the plan came from as his own parents hadn't been in love.

  Catherine and Charles Banks had married for social standing. The irony was that they couldn't stand each other. Though the rest of society would never know it. At parties, they put on a show of devotion and compatibility. They used to put on the show at home for Dylan when he was a kid. But they soon stopped caring about what he saw behind the closed doors of their many homes, which they often occupied separately.

  "Who would want to marry a bunch of broken soldiers?" asked Sean.