He wanted to break bread with his fellow soldiers. But more importantly, Fran wanted to make sure his pals were all situated on the ranch for as long as they wanted to remain. And that would mean Fran would have to find each of them a bride in two months.
If he was still on this earth after that, he could visit the ranch on weekends and holidays. He’d watch his friends flourish in this place that had given them all back their lives after combat had scarred them. But the ranch could only heal Fran so much.
With a sigh, Sugar got back to his feet and took the steps to cross the threshold into the house. Fran understood; being sick sucked. It kept you from the things you wanted most in life, the things you once dreamed of and now insisted you didn’t want because they were out of your reach.
* * *
A good man like Fran,
who puts those he cares about before himself,
is destined to find a woman to heal his ravaged heart.
Watch him fall hopefully in love in
“Hand Over His Heart”
the second book in The Brides of Purple Heart Ranch!
Turn the page to continue the story!
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Hand over his Heart
Copyright © 2018, Ines Johnson. All rights reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the author.
Edited by Alyssa Breck
Cover design by Ines Johnson
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition October 2018
Chapter One
Fran watched the blip on the monitor. It spiked high as though traversing the tallest peak and instantly fell low like a man with a failed parachute. Only to rise and do it again.
If that wasn't a metaphor for his life, he wouldn't know what was.
He watched the EKG monitor as his heart beat a few more times. The pulsing was strong, consistent. For now. But just as the doctor monitoring his heart knew, Fran knew that the beating could stop at any moment.
"Looks like there's no change, Corporal DeMonti." Dr. Nelson's voice was steady, monochromatic like the blipping on the screen he watched. He scribbled notes on a pad with a pencil, looking from one machine, to another, to his watch. Not once at Fran.
Fran was used to being overlooked by those who thought they were superior to him. As a Corporal in the U.S. Army, he'd striven to a higher rank. He'd been a heartbeat away from advancing to Sergeant. Until one mission went terribly wrong.
So, no, the doctor's lack of attentiveness didn't bother him. What did was the fact that the man wrote with a pencil instead of a pen. The graphite touching down on the page was impermanent to Fran. It could be wiped out with the pink eraser on the other end. Just as Fran's life could be wiped out with the wrong move. If the shrapnel that had lodged itself in his chest moved a few millimeters to the left and punctured his heart he would be erased from existence. Gone from the page of life.
"Unfortunately, it's still too dangerous to go in and remove it," said the doctor. He looked up and faced Fran finally. "All we can do is keep up with your therapy and pray."
It always shocked Fran when he heard a doctor prescribe prayer. He would think that most of the scientifically minded men and women would prefer the tangible instead of the spiritual. But he was often wrong. At least he was in the veteran’s hospital. Many of the men and women here had been in and gotten out of situations that could only be attributed to a higher power. So, they didn't shy away from calling on the Lord when their minds couldn't solve a physical problem.
Fran knew full well that his best bet at life was the Lord. So, he had no problem taking the medicine prescribed. He just wished he knew the Lord's plan more clearly. Did He want Fran to come home to him soon? Or was his will to let Fran stay out and play for a while?
Fran preferred having a solid plan. But he also knew the old adage; Man plans and God laughs.
He didn't think God was laughing at him. He wouldn't allow himself to believe that the Creator would make such a cruel joke.
As Fran left the exam room, a few of the women in the halls smiled at him, trying to catch his eye. To the naked eye, Fran looked entirely healthy. He hadn't lost a limb or gained any visible scars, except on his chest. No, his wound was deep. Past the metal in his chest. This wound went down into his soul.
It was all his fault.
Fran and his squad had been doing work to improve the lives of women and children when it happened. The blast that put shrapnel in Fran's chest hadn't taken any lives. But it had taken away six livelihoods, plus the human bomber who'd sacrificed his life for a misguided calling.
For the survivors, their lives were forever changed. And just when they were all getting their lives back on track at the Bellflower Ranch, another bomb had exploded in their lives. No, this couldn't possibly be a joke. It was all too cruel.
Fran pulled out of the vet hospital and headed across town to the ranch. His heart swelled as he looked out at the scenery before him. Colorado was simply beautiful.
Fran had grown up in New York City. His mountains had been skyscrapers. His fields had been asphalt. But there was nothing like seeing the beauty and majesty of nature rise up into the sky.
Afghanistan had had the same effect on him. In a place described as a desert, there had been rugged mountains and deep valleys. Snow topped the jagged peaks. The valleys were fertile for crops and livestock.
He'd been shocked to find beauty and bounty in a place portrayed as vile. But that portrait did not include everyone in its frame. The good people of the country tried to keep out of the picture. Very often, they were unsuccessful and the brush stroke of violence colored their lives.
Fran pulled up to the ranch. When his squad leader had purchased the ranch, the soldiers quickly renamed it The Purple Heart Ranch. The lush, violet leaves of a bellflower looked like the emblem of the same name. The Purple Heart was awarded to those who served in combat and were wounded by enemy hands. Each man in his squad had been wounded, and now that they'd come here to heal, they'd been dealt another blow.
Fran and the men of his squad had to get married in a matter of weeks if they all wanted to stay on the ranch that had begun to heal their wounds and had given them back their purposes. The problem was there weren't many women who would want to be shackled for life to a group of wounded warriors. Definitely not one who couldn't give his heart because it could stop beating at any moment.
So, Fran would need to leave the ranch soon. But not before he saw that the rest of the men were settled. Since he'd been responsible for them all losing a part of themselves, he owed them that much. He'd make sure they'd all have the security they deserved. And who knew, maybe they'd even find love.
It was a nice dream. One he'd once had for himself. But it was one he knew he'd never have since his chest was a ticking time bomb.
Chapter Two
Eva took a deep, steadying breath. Still, her fingers shook. She lifted the pen off the slip of paper, shook out her fingers, and tried again.
She did the math mentally in her head. She couldn't make a mistake writing the numerals and their corresponding amount in words. This was a big check. The biggest she'd ever written in her life.
After triple checking, and then triple checking again, she put the pen down. It rolled away from her, but she let it. She didn't need the ink any longer. The money was spent, and her account was now empty. But it was worth it.
She carefully tore the check from the book. It was check number one. She had never written one before. She'd always paid in cash. This was her first checking account that was used to write and not cash checks. And this was her f
irst check.
She handed it over to the woman behind the counter. Her eyes were kind, and her smile patient. She looked over the check.
Eva held her breath. She couldn't have made a mistake. She couldn't afford another dime to be squeezed into that check.
"Everything looks good, my dear," said the woman.
Eva's shoulders visibly dropped at the confirmation.
"Here's your schedule." The admissions representative handed Eva a half sheet of paper with room numbers, class names, and professors printed in neat lines. "We’ll see you on Monday, Ms. Lopez."
"Yes," Eva breathed "Yes, you will."
"Enjoy your classes, sweetheart."
"You, too. I mean, thank you. Enjoy your day."
Eva turned from the admissions window clutching the schedule to her chest. Behind her, the line of students aiming to register was long. They looked bored and tired. None had the excitement in their veins that she had. Likely because most of them had scholarships, or financial aid, or parents to pay for their education.
Not Eva. She'd earned every penny she'd just signed over to the school. It had taken her three years, but she'd done it. She'd saved enough for her first semester of college. Not online. She was going to an actual campus. And not a few community college classes. This was a state university.
She wasn't being a snob. Well, actually she was. For the first time in her life, she was part of the elite class. She just wished her parents could see her now. Somehow, she knew they were looking down on her and beaming with pride.
She'd done it. She'd made her dream come true. Her parents had told her from the first day of kindergarten; education was the key to her dreams. With schooling, anything was possible.
Eva didn't know exactly what she wanted to do with her education. She only knew that she wanted one. She loved being in school, sitting behind a desk while the teacher worked magic on a whiteboard.
These last three years since graduating from high school had been dreary. But soon, she'd be back behind a desk where she belonged. Then, anything was possible.
Eva hopped on the city bus and began the trek home. Home was beyond the nice neighborhoods surrounding the college. Home was beyond the trendy apartment complexes in the business district. Home was a rundown complex in the less than trendy part of town where people worked hourly wages that were often below the state minimum.
The bus didn't get close to her complex. It let Eva off at the church. She'd come to this church a few times in the past few months since she'd been living here. Wherever Eva moved, she always made sure to find a church. Even if she didn't know anyone, church was always home.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Lopez."
Eva turned at the sound of the older man's voice. A smile broke across her face. "Hello, Pastor Patel."
Eva went over and shook the man's hand. He brushed that away and gave her a hearty hug. Eva accepted it gratefully. Pastor Patel gave the kind of hugs her father used to give.
"I haven't seen you for a couple of weeks," Pastor Patel admonished her.
"I picked up a few extra shifts to earn money. But you'll see me now. I'll have more time on the weekends. I've done it. I've enrolled in college."
"Oh, my dear, I'm thrilled for you." He rubbed her shoulder affectionately like her mother always did. "Still, I wish you had taken the church funds."
Eva shook her head. In addition to the need for a good education, Eva's father had also impressed on her that they didn't take charity. They worked for everything that came to them. Give to the church and the less fortunate. For the rest, they relied on family. That was the Lopez way of life.
"Well, now that you're a college woman," said Pastor Patel, "you'll come and give a talk to the youth group tomorrow?"
Eva hesitated. She wasn't sure she had anything to teach anyone yet. She had trouble getting her own siblings to listen to her advice for life. She knew Pastor Patel wouldn't take no for an answer. So, she agreed. With one final hug, he let her go on her way.
Eva walked briskly down the street. It was evident why the bus didn't go into her neighborhood. There was glass on the street. Stench came from some alleys. Men lounged on the street corners in the afternoon before the end of the workday. One of those men was a little too short to be considered a man.
"Carlos," Eva called.
The boy didn't turn, but she knew he heard her.
Eva marched up to her brother. She stopped short of yanking up the pants sagging around his bottom. Where was the belt she'd bought him last month? He turned to her with wary eyes. The guys around him began to snicker.
"I was just hanging with my friends," he said.
"Well, it's time to come and do your homework."
The boys snickered some more.
"Go with your fine sister, little man. When you're done with that school work, I got some real work for you."
Eva cut the thug with her eyes. But the Evil Eye only worked on blood relations.
Carlos came with his sister. She knew she'd embarrassed him. But better those boys think he's a mama's boy or sister's boy. She'd ruin his reputation if it meant he'd be saved from the streets.
"Hanging on the streets won't get you anywhere," she said once they'd crossed the street.
"And school will? Look where it's got you." Carlos raised his hands to indicate the neighborhood. All she could see was various shades of brown, from the buildings to the dirt on the streets to the dirt on the kids' faces.
"This is going to change soon," said Eva. "A college degree is a way out of here. You'll see."
The problem was it would take at least two years to show him the truth of her logic. She just hoped she had that much time to prove her point. In the meantime, she would not let the streets claim her baby brother.
Chapter Three
Fran parked his truck in front of his place. It was a four-bedroom bungalow nestled in the corner of the land. He'd set up shop here when he'd arrived. He'd been the first to arrive a year ago after they were all discharged. He'd assumed they'd all stay in there, but as the men came to the ranch still suffering from their pains, they each sought out their own space.
Dylan took the two-bedroom cottage next to Fran's. Reed, Sean, and Xavier each settled into the small row houses at the end of the road.
Fran looked up at the place he'd called home for a year. It was a comfortable home, but too big for him. He supposed one of the other guys would move in once they found their brides. Hell, maybe they'd even start families and fill the rooms.
That was yet another dream that Fran wouldn't see come to light. He couldn't fathom bringing a child into this world. Not when he wouldn't be around to care for him, to see her grow, or to leave his wife alone with all of his responsibilities. He wasn't built that way.
He'd have to start packing up soon. But not today. Today, he just needed to check on the other guys and make sure they were on track to matrimony which would secure their stays on the ranch.
The door to Dylan's house opened. Barks and yips spilled over the threshold before any humans did. The first over the threshold was Star, a pug with patches of skin missing from her back. The dog had a tendency to walk sideways, as though she didn't want others to see her imperfections.
On her tail was Stevie, a partially blind Rottweiler with a beautiful grayish-blue coat. The dog kept his nose close to Star to guide his way.
Sugar, the Golden Retriever, made slow work out of the door. His head perked up when he sensed Fran. Fran's spirit lightened at the sight of the dog. Dog and man made their way to each other. From all outer appearances, Sugar looked like a healthy dog. But the retriever had diabetes which slowed him down from time to time.
Fran bent down and gave the dog's head a good rub. The two had taken to each other the past few weeks the dogs had been there. Diabetes in dogs was rough, but not the end of the line. Maggie, Dylan's wife, took care of all her wounded dogs. Watching her had shown the soldiers that their wounds weren't impediments to love.
"Yo
u're back."
Fran looked up to find Dylan coming down the porch steps of his home. He held a dog in his arms. Spin, an Irish Terrier, had lost his hind legs a few weeks ago. Dylan put the dog down and attached a wheelchair apparatus to his hindquarters.
As Dylan straightened, Fran caught sight of the man's own prosthetic leg. It was an unusual sight. Dylan usually kept his legs covered with long pants to hide his injury. But since getting married and finding acceptance for who he was, he'd begun wearing shorts and cargo pants, letting his prosthetic shine.
"How'd it go?" Dylan asked. "What did the doctor say?"
Before Fran could answer, Maggie poked her head out of the door. All of the dogs turned to her, tails wagging and tongues lagging. Dylan turned to her as well. His tongue didn't fall out of his mouth, but his grin spread wide.
"Hon, don't forget Sugar's medicine when you go into town."
Dylan scooped his wife into his arms. He planted a kiss at the space between her cheek and her nose. Maggie smiled into the embrace. Her head turned and her gaze landed on Fran.
Fran had meant to look away, but his eyes soaked up the affection that he would likely never have for himself.
"Fran, you're back," said Maggie. "What did the doctor say? Is there any change?"
This was the other reason why Fran couldn't be in a relationship. Maggie wasn't even his partner, yet she had hope in her eyes. Hope that he'd miraculously be cured. It was an unlikely chance that would ever happen. He was lucky just to be alive.
Fran shook his head and braced himself for their compassion and goodwill efforts.
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