by Rhona Weaver
Luke’s breathing was suddenly raspy and quick; his eyes had taken on a glassy look. The voice was softer and low. “We . . . we may have to . . . do that fishing trip in Glory, brother. . . . You tell her . . . you tell her I love her. . . . You tell her I done the best I could.”
“She knows that! But you tell her yourself! Don’t go!” Win tried to blink the fog in his mind away, but it wasn’t working. “I’ve . . . I’ve got to get help . . .” God help me! He tried to rise from his knees, but once again his legs wouldn’t obey his commands. He saw shapes moving into the room. He started to reach for his handgun, but he had no idea where it was. Trey’s calm voice was telling him to lie still. He didn’t know he was lying down.
They were in the olive green of HRT. There were several of them suddenly there. Win’s vision was blurred. He was trying to lift himself from his side. “It’s a ranger down! Medic!” someone shouted.
Trey’s voice in the background—sounds were becoming more distant. “Stay with me, Luke! Luke, stay with me!” Trey’s voice wasn’t calm any longer. Trey’s voice was pleading.
Someone above him in olive green was calling into a radio, “Got 10-7s in this building. Got several men down! Got two down here: one blow to the head, one with gunshot wounds to the chest. Got two red tags here!”
Win’s mind was floating. . . . He was wondering what a red tag was. It doesn’t sound good. Thoughts kept swimming in and out of his consciousness. Why can’t I get up? Are they talking about me? Matt Smith’s Georgia drawl came from somewhere nearby, as Win tried to rise again. “He’s not a ranger—he’s one of ours. Win, don’t try to move. Medical choppers will be here any minute.”
Win felt a firm hand on his chest, holding him down. In the background he could hear Trey begging Luke to keep fighting for his life. He willed himself to see Smith, who was kneeling beside him. He tried to focus on Smith’s shoulder patch, which was right above his face. It said Servare Vitas—HRT’s motto. What does the Latin mean? To Save Lives. A noble motto. A noble calling. They were living up to their motto. Have I lived up to mine? He tried to say something, but no words would come. He heard Smith command him sternly, “Agent Tyler! Don’t close your eyes! Look at me! I’m answering your question, Win! You’re on our team! Our team!” Then it all went quiet and dark.
Where is the light? Is the light not coming back for me?
Epilogue
It was like a deep, warm fog, with a heaviness to it. He couldn’t quite open his eyes, but he had to keep trying. A swirling haze, then harsh light, then sounds. A hushed female voice, and a steady, low beeping. Another voice, a familiar voice. He tried to blink toward the light. . . . He finally saw him standing there. It was Trey in his standard uniform, the gray shirt and the dark-green tie, the gold badge over his heart gleaming in the bright lights. Trey was standing near the side of his bed, holding his flat hat. Win felt someone take his hand. I can feel my hand.
“Yup, he’s coming out of it. . . . Easy, Win, don’t try to move—they’ve unhooked you from Lord knows what all and moved you out of ICU this morning. Your mom and dad are here, Win. Tucker Moses flew them out the night it happened. They just went down to get a bite to eat, be back up here in a few minutes. And a friend of yours came in, she’s . . . ahh, she’s still here, and some of your college buddies too. They’re all downstairs with your folks. I’m in town picking up one of my guys they’re releasing today.”
He tried to talk but couldn’t quite form the sounds yet.
Trey seemed to understand that. “You’ve been in an induced coma for over three days—trying to keep the brain swelling down. Was touch and go for that first forty-eight hours. . . . You must of turned just as he hit you. Glancing blow, thank God. That militiaman, Jeffery Shaw, made sure Chandler didn’t get a second lick in on you. But your tests are all coming in real good now. Still got you really doped up, will be that way for a couple more days, but you’re gonna be fine. Doctors now say you’re gonna be fine. Lotta people praying for you, Win.”
It was coming back to him now, in tiny pieces—trying to get those people out, the gunshots, all the blood, trying to stop the bleeding. Trying to make sure Luke knew he’d kept his promise. Smith’s words: You’re on our team . . . our team!
Win’s eyes closed, but he forced them open again. Trey was next to him; he felt him holding his hand. “Partner?” There, I can talk.
“Yup. You bet, and proud of it, Win.”
He fought for words, through the fog. His heart heard Trey’s desperate cry over and over again: Stay with me, Luke! Stay with me! He finally found the word. “Luke?” he whispered.
“He’s gonna make it too. Been through two surgeries. Bullet got a small piece of one lung, lost a huge amount of blood. He’ll probably be in here another week, but they say he’ll be good as new. Now there’s a scary thought! I sat in with Ellie when your ASAC told her you had it fixed for the government to pay all the medical expenses and so much more. She’s still in shock about it all. You done right by them, Win.”
Win still felt the pressure on his hand, and he tried to force himself to hear his friend. He realized he was thinking of Trey as his friend. That pleased him and he tried to smile, but he couldn’t quite make it.
Trey was still talking. “An agent named Murray asked me to tell you there’s some loose ends to tie up on this case and he has a new lead for you on some missing persons cases. He wants you outa here ASAP to handle all that. I think he was kidding, but you know those FBI types—maybe not. And hey, I brought over several cards. There’s a card from your bear girl. Be glad to open and read it for you.”
Win was able to smile at that, but the dense fog was closing in again. It was warm and his eyes were so heavy. He was floating above it all. It was peaceful, the light was fading. He was drifting away again. But he still needed to know . . . he still wanted to know . . .
He finally found the two words he was struggling to say. “Who . . . won?”
“The good guys.”
Acknowledgments
Writing a novel, I’ve discovered, can be a bit of a solitary calling, but it is certainly not a journey taken alone. For me it was an exercise in humility—so many contributed to the book, both directly and indirectly.
First, I thank God for the generous blessings He has given me that allowed me to have the time and resources to pause my life and follow my grade school dream of becoming an author. Foremost of God’s blessings in this regard was the leading of the Holy Spirit in nudging me forward to write Win Tyler’s stories.
I also want to thank my husband, Bill Temple, whose thirty-one-year career in the FBI provided practical insight into the workings of the Bureau and its agents. Several of Bill’s former colleagues at the FBI, both retired and currently employed, contributed to the realism of the text. They have asked not to be acknowledged by name, and I respect that request. You know who you are—thank you so much for your help! Several park rangers also made significant contributions and helped me understand, and hopefully convey, the hardships, hazards, and joys of a career in the National Park Service. A special thanks goes to Rangers Kevin and Melissa Moses, who spent hours answering questions and letting me tag along on fast-water and mountainside rescue training. Kevin is a tremendous encourager who read the book’s first draft; he offered wonderful advice. All the men and women in the FBI and Park Service provided excellent and detailed technical advice. Any errors on those issues within the novel are mine alone.
The book could not have been completed without the invaluable input from my band of twelve readers. Special mention goes to Barbara Mills, Anna Anthony, and Annette Maples, all of whom read three drafts of the book! Suzie James, my very best friend, read the first chapter years ago and told me I had to write the story. She never stopped encouraging me.
Thank you to all the associates at Girl Friday Productions, whose professionalism and enthusiasm helped me navigate the intricacies o
f the publishing process. Heartfelt gratitude also goes to my outstanding editors, Allison Gorman and Brittany Dowdle, who greatly improved the text while kindly allowing some deviation from the Chicago Manual of Style.
Lastly, I want to thank you, the reader. I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into Win Tyler’s world in Yellowstone National Park. I would encourage you to go there and visit—as Win discovered, it’s a magical place. Most of the locations mentioned in the book are real; a few are fictional or were modified to accommodate the story. Join me on my website at www.rhonaweaver.com and I’ll fill you in on which is which. Let’s go have a little adventure!
About the Author
Rhona Weaver is a retired swamp and farmland appraiser who had a thirty-five-year career in agricultural real estate and founded a program for at-risk children in Arkansas. She is a graduate of the University of Arkansas, a Sunday School teacher, and an avid gardener. Growing up on a cattle farm in the Ozarks gave her a deep appreciation of the outdoors and wildlife. Her ideal vacation spot is a state or national park. Her novel draws on her love of the land and her deep admiration for the men and women in our law enforcement community who truly share a noble calling. Those park rangers, FBI agents, and other first responders are her heroes. Rhona’s husband, Bill Temple, is a retired Special Agent in Charge and Deputy Assistant Director of the FBI; he helped immeasurably in researching the book. Rhona and Bill live in Arkansas on a ridge with a view with three contented rescue cats. A Noble Calling is Rhona’s debut novel and the first in the FBI Yellowstone Adventure series. Please visit her website, www.rhonaweaver.com.
