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

by Shanae Johnson

  "I've only ever cooked for kids and animals," Maggie said. "I'm great with hot dogs and chicken nuggets and fries."

  "I like hot dogs, nuggets, and fries." He offered her a smile, but she was too busy scrubbing at the mess on his stove to notice.

  "Really?" she asked as she mopped up the spilled water. "I took you for a fine dining kind of guy."

  "What gave you that impression?" Dylan pulled out the frozen fare from the freezer.

  "Pictures of your family." She turned and faced him, eyes wide with guilt. "I wasn't snooping. They were on the mantel. You were all at some fancy place."

  Dylan nodded. "My father won't eat out unless a place has a Michelin star, and my mother won't eat food portions bigger than her thumb."

  "But not you?"

  "Not me."

  Maggie chuckled at his words, the tension visibly seeping from her shoulders.

  Dylan's palms felt warm even though he held frozen foods in his hands. He pulled out a pan from the cupboard, sprayed, and laid out the food. "What about you?"

  "Me?" The tension crept back into her shoulders, and she looked away from him. She sat down in one of the chairs and lifted Soldier into her arms. The Chihuahua licked at whatever was on her chin. Dylan felt a hint of jealousy towards the little dog.

  "I don't have family," Maggie said. "My parents abandoned me at a young age. I was in an orphanage until I was a teenager. I assumed I'd be there until I turned eighteen. I got fostered. But that family just wanted me as an unpaid nanny to their younger kids."

  She said all of this while caressing and cuddling Soldier in one hand. With the other, she reached down and scratched Stevie behind the ear. Dylan had the strongest urge to take her into his arms and hug her. Instead, he poured her a glass of juice and placed it in front of her.

  Maggie accepted his offering. She was starting to make sense to him. A woman who'd been abandoned as a child, who'd dedicated her life to saving wounded animals. A woman who hadn't known parental love now trying to find a way to fit in and make herself useful.

  Maggie had been discarded and misused, just like her animals. Dylan needed to let her know that he wouldn't do that to her. He wanted to tell her that she had a place here for as long as she wanted. He wanted to guarantee her forever.

  A place. Not his heart. He could guarantee her a place forever so that she finally felt at home.

  "Maggie," he said softly, then waited until she lifted her gaze to him. "I know our relationship is essentially a business relationship. But I was thinking, maybe we could be friends? What do you say we get to know each other?"

  Chapter Twelve

  Her new boyfriend, and possible fiancé, and potential husband wanted to be her friend. Was this ranch some kind of alternate universe where plain girls got the prince?

  And he could cook.

  Maggie opened the door to the oven and took the fries out. This time there was no smoke accompanying the meal. The spuds were golden brown and cooked through.

  When Dylan had appeared at the door, she'd expected him to blow a fuse at the sight of his once pristine kitchen. She'd noticed that about him. Not that he was prone to anger. That he was very … orderly was putting it nicely.

  The furniture was high quality. The knickknacks dispersed around the small home would be better labeled as accouterments.

  Dylan had said he wasn’t into fine dining. He may not hunger for expensive things, but he certainly had expensive tastes.

  Maggie still wore many of the hand-me-downs and Goodwill items from her senior year in high school. What few furnishings she had were all second-hand. She wasn't certain that she could measure up to this guy.

  "Ketchup or mustard?" he asked, holding up both condiments.

  "Both."

  "Me too," he grinned. "Relish?"

  Maggie wrinkled her nose at the offensive suggestion. "Pickles belong on burgers. Or in tartar sauce for fish nuggets."

  "So it shall be decreed," Dylan said with a grin. He put the relish back in the fridge.

  Turning toward the plates of bunned hot dogs, Dylan maneuvered around the excited dogs nipping at his feet. Maggie noticed he stepped carefully over and around them, but he did so stiffly. He hadn't told her what his injury was from the war, but she'd had an inkling since the first day they'd met. Though he made a concerted effort to maintain an even gait, Dylan favored his left leg.

  Having dressed the hot dogs, he reached into the cupboard where she'd placed the dog food. His pant leg hitched, and she saw the barest glint of metal instead of a fleshy ankle.

  Self-consciously, he reached back and yanked his pant leg down. Quickly, Maggie averted her gaze. It hadn't taken her long to realize the reason for his curt dismissal of her at the training fields had been because he didn't want her to see him struggle with his injury.

  Dylan turned, but by then Maggie was already looking down. She placed the fries on the plate next to the wieners. Still, she caught him giving his right pant leg another tug to hide his wound before bending down on his good knee.

  He poured out a measured cup and placed it in the bowls, giving each dog a scratch behind the ear or pat on the back.

  He straightened a bit awkwardly, using the counter to help him back to his feet. Maggie continued arranging the fries until he'd resumed his full height.

  She understood wounded animals and their need to hide their injuries. She'd have to back off until he came to her and saw that she meant him no harm, she was no threat. She wanted to care for him. She'd simply have to wait him out until he trusted her and allowed it.

  Feeding a wounded animal was usually a good ploy. But she'd failed spectacularly at that. Now that she had his help in the kitchen, things were smoothing out a bit.

  Dylan washed his hands and then they sat at the table with their food. He reached out his hand to hers. Maggie stared at his open palm.

  "I bless my food before eating it," he said.

  "Me too. I just—I mean—" She shut up and handed him her hands. There was that spark of awareness again. She lifted her gaze to his and knew, the rise of his brow and the flare of his nostril, that he'd felt it too.

  Dylan said a blessing over the food. Then he released his hold on her, but Maggie still felt a connection between them.

  They took a few bites in silence appreciating the simple fare. A smidge of ketchup dotted his jaw and she giggled. He grinned, wiped at the smudge. Then he pointed his red fingertip at her.

  Maggie wiped at her cheek. She felt a dollop of moisture there. When she pulled her thumb away, she came away with a glob of mustard. She grinned, popping her thumb into her mouth and getting rid of the evidence.

  When her gaze lifted to Dylan's, his smile had slipped, his gaze still locked on hers. There was heat in his blue eyes. It made her shiver.

  Dylan sat his half-eaten hot dog down and rose. He went to the freezer and grabbed a few ice cubes. They plopped with a splash into his glass of water before he sat down again.

  "So, Dylan." Maggie struggled for a topic of conversation that didn't have to do with animals or her lack of kitchen skills. "What branch of the military were you in?"

  "Army. I was a Sergeant E-5."

  "I don't know what that means? I don't know much about the military and rank."

  "It's a fancy sounding title that let me boss other men around."

  He was grinning again. Maggie felt she was on safe ground with him once more. "Where were you … stationed in the war?"

  "I was deployed," he corrected her. "We're not technically at war. I spent three years in the armed forces. Mostly as a part of Operation Inherent Resolve in Syria and then in Operation Resolute Support in Afghanistan."

  "It's most dangerous in Afghanistan, isn't it?"

  Dylan shrugged. "There are operations stationed all around the world in areas where civilians vacation."

  "Do you not want to talk about it?"

  Dylan flexed his arms behind his head and leaned back. Maggie tried not to stare, but even his biceps
were attractive. She wondered what it would be like to be inside his embrace.

  "You'll find that most soldiers don't want to talk about it." His words were blunt, but he couched them with a small smile. "It's hard to talk about it with someone who wasn't there."

  "Okay." Maggie finished off her hot dog and wiped her mouth. She looked down at the full-bellied dogs who were all laid out on the floor at their feet.

  Dylan chewed at his lower lip. He rubbed his forefinger around the lip of the glass. All the while, Maggie held her breath and hoped.

  "I lost my leg in the last mission I was on." He said it so quietly she thought she'd imagined it. "We were helping the local forces to build a school in Afghanistan. The locals were thankful. They were so full of hope."

  He took a deep breath. Maggie thought he might not continue. But she knew there was nothing for her to do but stay quiet and still and let him come to her.

  "We were all so full of hope. We were all a part of that mission. The entire squad didn't make it. Those of us that did … we all lost something that day. That's why we're here. We're trying to rebuild … our lives."

  Spin made his way over to Dylan. He gave a whimper, and Dylan picked up the dog. Placing the terrier in his lap, Dylan stroked behind his ears.

  "You made this apparatus yourself?" asked Dylan.

  "I tinkered with the design. An original could cost a couple hundred bucks. Most families looking to adopt a dog aren't willing to fork out the expense or the time. That's why wounded animals get put down so often."

  Dylan gazed at her as he continued to stroke Spin's coat. "The Purple Heart Ranch is dedicated to rehabilitating the wounded."

  "I know. I'd like to help." Before she could think better of it she added, "The animals as well as the soldiers."

  Dylan's throat worked before he answered. "It's different with humans, Maggie. Men especially. Nothing on this earth has more pride than a wounded man."

  "I don't agree. I've found healing has one constant ingredient; patience."

  He didn't argue. He didn't meet her gaze again. "It's been a long day. We're all tired. I'll walk you to your room."

  Dylan sat Spin back on the floor as he stood. Together, and in silence, they cleared their plates and loaded them into the dishwasher. With the kitchen clean, Dylan reached out his hand to her. She didn't hesitate. She took hold of his hand and walked with him down the hall. The dogs trailed in their wake.

  It was a short walk to the door of her bedroom. Once outside the door, he paused. She turned to him. There were only a few inches between them. He'd loosened his hold on her hand, but he still held onto a few of her fingertips. Slowly, his gaze lifted to hers.

  Maggie's heart raced. Was he going to kiss her? They'd just had dinner and conversation. Before that, it had been a stroll around a ranch. This was practically a second date, at least by her measure.

  She watched him gulp, watched his chest work. Slowly, he pulled his fingers away from hers, one by one.

  "I'm really glad you're here," he said. "I think we can make this work. I can't give you everything a true husband can. But if you agree to be my wife, we can save this place, and I can offer you this home, and a sense of security, and my protection."

  As proposals went, that was practically perfect.

  "I'm not rushing you," he continued. "We have time. I just want you to know that you would always have a place. Even if we lose the ranch. You and your dogs would have a place to stay with me."

  Maggie's heart was doing flips. She was certain he could hear it.

  "Anyway," he took a step back. "Good night, Maggie."

  He took another step back and bumped into Spin. Maggie clenched her hands into fists and glued them to her sides so she wouldn't reach out to help Dylan as he wobbled. She knew it would not be appreciated, though she ached to do it.

  Dylan righted himself, then he reached down to pet Spin. The dog looked up at him with pure adoration. Maggie knew her eyes were doing the same. To hide her burgeoning feelings, she turned and opened her bedroom door. Four dogs rushed in to claim their spots. One remained on the other side of the threshold.

  Spin looked between Maggie and Dylan. Then he wheeled himself closer to Dylan.

  "It's fine," Dylan said scooping up the dog. "He can hang with me tonight."

  The two of them disappeared into the room at the end of the hall. Maggie shut the other dogs and herself inside her room. It was going to take a lot of patience, but she was determined to get closer to her wounded soldier.

  Chapter Thirteen

  There was a warm body lying next to Dylan in his bed. He reached for it instinctively bringing it inside his embrace like he'd wanted to do all through dinner. Like he'd wanted to do when he'd walked her to her bedroom door. He'd entwined his fingers with hers without thinking about what he was doing. That was how strong his attraction was to Maggie. He sought her out whenever she was near, like a magnet finding its charge. But when he reached out this time, seeking her positivity, instead of warm, womanly curves he felt fur.

  Dylan opened his eyes just in time to see a wet tongue lap him up from his chin to his cheek. The smell of doggie breath had him turning away. But Spin simply pawed at Dylan until he had his attention again.

  The dog's tail wagged and thumped his front paws so animatedly that Dylan couldn't be upset. He gave the dog a scratch, trying not to think about the woman who had rescued him. The woman who was making Dylan feel things he hadn't in a long time, things he never thought he'd feel again.

  Dylan lifted himself and swung his leg over the bed. Spin pulled himself over to the edge of the bed and looked down at the floor. Dylan bent over and brought the dog's apparatus up on the bed. He'd taken both his apparatus and the dog's off last night before they both curled up on the mattress and fell into a deep sleep. Now he hooked the dog into the contraption and set Spin on the floor. Then Dylan turned to his own leg.

  Spin eyed the rump that was left of Dylan's leg. He ventured closer and sniffed it. Spin gave a nod of his head, as though he accepted Dylan's state. Then he took off to explore the rest of Dylan's room, wheeling around his bed and into his closet.

  Dylan smiled after the dog. The dog's easy acceptance thawed something in Dylan's heart. If only every living soul could be so accepting of his wound. A knock at the bedroom door sent Dylan reaching for the covers to hide his mangled leg.

  "Dylan?" called Maggie from the other side of the door. "Are you up?"

  Panic settled over Dylan. It would take him a few moments to get his prosthetic on, but not before cleaning the area first. And then he'd have to get to his closet to find a long pair of pants to cover the apparatus.

  "Don't come in," he shouted.

  "I won't."

  There had been the sound of morning sun in her voice when she'd knocked on his door. Dylan clearly heard a cloud in her tone now. He hung his head in his hands. Just last night he'd promised to be her protector. And yet at every turn, he kept hurting her.

  "I wouldn't do that," she said from the other side of the door, her voice still small but filled with a compassion that brushed the rough edges of his heart. "I told Mark I'd help him this morning with the Sweet Itch problem. I just wanted to let you know where I was going."

  Dylan removed the blanket from his leg and rubbed at the ache there. It wasn't soothed. The pain was lower, in his shin—a shin that was no longer there. He was a constant sufferer of phantom pains, but more so these past couple of days.

  He watched Spin go to the door. The terrier wagged his tail at the sound of his owner's voice. A part of Dylan wanted to do the same. He wanted to open up to Maggie, but he couldn't even open the door. He didn't want her to see him like this.

  "I'm putting the dogs in the backyard so they'll stay out of trouble," she continued through the wooden barrier. "You can put Spin there, too. Or take him with you. It's up to you."

  Dylan looked down at the dog. The dog looked between Dylan and the door as though he didn't understand why there wa
s a barrier between the three of them. The phantom cramp returned to Dylan's absent leg. No matter how much he massaged it, it never left him. It was always there.

  "Do you need anything … from me?" she asked.

  There was so much he wanted from her. But he could never ask it. "Thanks, Maggie. I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

  "Sure … sure."

  He waited until he heard the sound of her steps, followed by many feet padding across the wood floor. He waited until he heard the heavy back door shut. Only then did he go through the motions of putting himself together.

  Maggie had tried to sound positive, but he'd heard it. He'd turned her brightness to something dim. Maybe this was a mistake. He kept taking two steps forward with her, only to remember he couldn't stand on his own two feet and fall back.

  Dylan showered, taking special care to clean his stump. When he was finished, he dried himself, taking special care around his missing limb before he put on the prosthetic.

  After getting dressed, he led Spin to the back door. The dog took one look outside, then looked back up at him. Seemed the dog had no intentions of leaving Dylan's side, but he'd have to. Dylan wouldn't be able to keep an eye on the dog and do his chores.

  With a firm command, he urged the dog out the door. Spin made a grumbling sound, and he did as he was told, but not before casting one more forlorn look over his shoulder. Dylan almost laughed, but he was feeling too low to muster up the sound.

  "How's wedded bliss?" asked Fran when he met Dylan on the path to the training fields.

  Dylan grimaced, his facial features scrunching up into confused angles. When he let his face relax, he sighed.

  "That bad?"

  "She's amazing. I just … It's only …" Dylan sighed again.

  "Because if you don't want to marry her, I'm sure X would have no problem manning up." Fran pointed off in the distance.

  Dylan had to shade his eyes, but then he saw it. Xavier was leaning against the fencing. He had his cowboy hat pulled low. He leaned in and said something to Maggie. She startled. And then she laughed, brushing her hair over her shoulders. Dylan knew that when a woman brushed her hair away it was a sign that she was interested.