Jenna's Cowboy

by Sharon Gillenwater

  “Some people didn’t make a recovery. That’s why there are so many Viet Nam vets who are drunks, drug addicts, homeless, or have spent time in jail. The divorce rate is a lot higher for vets who served in a war zone than it is for civilians, as is the suicide rate. I’m one of the blessed ones. God has been gracious to me, as has your mother.”

  “Let me go put Zach down,” Jenna said softly. She stood carefully so she wouldn’t wake her little boy and carried him into his old room. They’d left a bed and plenty of toys there for him to use on the days when she was at the ranch house. She got him settled and prayed over him, asking God to wipe away the memories of what had happened earlier. “Please, God, don’t let him be afraid of Nate.”

  When she rejoined her family, she studied her dad’s face, then her mother’s. “How do we help Nate?”

  “You should go see him.” Her mother checked her watch. “Give him about another hour.”

  “No,” Will said ardently. “He’s dangerous.”

  “Mom, Will’s right.” Chance glanced at Jenna and frowned, probably because she was glaring at both of them. “I’ll go talk to him.”

  “No. He needs Jenna. The rage has passed for now.”

  “How do you know?” Will jumped to his feet, then flinched. “We can’t be sure of that.”

  “Jenna should go talk to him.” Her father pointed at Will and motioned for him to sit back down. “Stick that ice back on your head. It’ll take the lump down and cool you off.” Grumbling, Will obeyed. Dub turned to Chance. “You go with your sister but stay in the pickup. You’ll be close if there’s a problem. Right now Nate needs to know that he hasn’t destroyed his chance at the one thing he wants most in this world—Jenna’s love.”

  18

  Nate sat in back of his house, tears pouring down his face. The drive from the Callahans was a blur of dust, heartache, and terror.

  He vaguely remembered throwing Chance to the floor, then Will jumping him. Tossing him aside had been easy. But what had triggered the rage? Nothing Chance could have done deserved that kind of response. But that’s all it took lately—nothing. He assumed he’d been ready to hit Chance, otherwise Will would have stayed out of it. And if he’d been about to deliver the same kind of blow the first time as he was the second, he would have crushed his windpipe.

  He could have killed his best friend.

  And Jenna and little Zach would have witnessed it. It was bad enough that they had seen what they had.

  “What kind of monster am I?” His chest ached, and a wave of dizziness hit him, adding to the pounding headache he’d had all week. Leaning against the headrest, he swiped at the tears that wouldn’t quit.

  Disjointed scenes from the war flickered through his mind like an old movie reel. Taking fire, returning it. Laughing with a kid, running with a wounded child. Hiding behind a rock in Afghanistan, diving into the sand in Iraq. A rocket attack in the mountains of Afghanistan, pinned down by the firefight. His buddy hit and dying. Another man wounded. Back in Iraq, the truck ahead of them hit an IED. A rocket took out the Humvee behind them.

  Yelling at the top of his lungs, he beat his fists against the dashboard. “Make it stop, Lord. Please, make it stop!”

  Sobbing, he slumped forward and gripped the steering wheel with both hands, resting his forehead on them. Lost in pain, he cried out to God for help, for peace—for forgiveness. He believed fighting to protect his country was right and necessary. He’d never harmed anyone who wasn’t trying to harm him or someone else, but he still felt guilty for the lives he had taken. And for the men he hadn’t been able to save.

  Nate didn’t know how long he sat there. Minutes? Hours? His tears spent, he slowly straightened. His hands still shook, though he didn’t know if it was from nerves or the cold. He’d left his jacket at the Callahans. When he pulled the keys from the ignition, they slipped from his fingers. He left them on the floorboard. He was too tired to care.

  Opening the console, he stared at the holstered .22, the pistol he kept with him for snakes. And intruders. But not crazy drivers. At least he hadn’t pulled it on anyone yet. Better not leave it in the pickup or take it with him when he was on the road. That proved he had a little sense left, didn’t it? He picked up the gun and managed to hold on to it.

  Opening the door, he slid out of the truck and walked slowly toward the house. He tried to go faster, but his feet and legs wouldn’t cooperate. So tired. Winston stood next to the pasture fence, watching him intently, his ears pricked forward. He nickered softly, sounding concerned.

  “I’m okay, boy,” he called. What a whopper, but maybe lying to a horse didn’t count. Probably didn’t matter anyway. Not after the things he’d already done today.

  Nate went inside, pausing at the sink to get a drink of water. When he set the glass on the counter, he noticed the thermometer outside the window. Sixty degrees. No way should he be as chilled as he was. Was this what it felt like to die? Not physically. His heart didn’t feel as if it was going to stop pumping. But emotionally, psychologically. Did a man go cold inside when he’d lost all hope? When he’d destroyed his dreams?

  Jenna’s stricken face hovered in his mind. And Zach . . . Nate closed his eyes and leaned his hands against the counter, picturing that precious child clinging to his mother, his breath coming in raspy shudders. How he must have scared that poor little kid. And wounded him. Wounded them both.

  He went into the living room and laid the gun on the coffee table. Using the bootjack in the corner, he pulled off his boots. One fell over, but he left it lying there in the way.

  Pulling the big cream-colored afghan off the back of the couch, he wrapped it around himself. His mother had crocheted it for him one year for Christmas when he worked out in Marfa. Normally, he would have stretched out in the recliner. This time, he lay down on the couch on his side, curling up in as tight a ball as he could.

  Things began to come back to him. Chance had been razzing him about being a farmer. It was an old running joke between them. His friend would call him a sodbuster, a plow chaser, or pumpkin roller. He’d retaliate by calling Chance a goat roper, saddle warmer, or leather pounder. They each had a long list of friendly taunts, always done in fun and ending in a laugh. Until today.

  He’d been troubled by what Will had told him. Angry with himself because he hadn’t finished the job he’d been assigned and rattled because he thought he had. He didn’t remember stopping in the middle of it or putting his tools away and throwing the roll of barbed wire in the back of the pickup. He’d awakened from his nap, checked his watch, and headed to the ranch house for dinner.

  But already being upset was no reason for him to explode the way he had. There was no logical explanation for it.

  His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten any of Ramona’s famous spaghetti. And he’d never have another opportunity.

  He’d blown it, pure and simple.

  Nobody would trust him again. How could they? Dub would show up any minute, ordering him to pack his saddle and get off the ranch, threatening to shoot him if he tried to see Jenna. Not that she’d ever speak to him. He’d really scared her this time.

  Scared himself.

  What are you going to do about it?

  “I don’t know.” Now he was answering himself. That couldn’t be good. Could it? Unless it was the Lord nudging him. He had asked God for help. He slowly uncurled and sat up. Warm now, he threw off the afghan. Wallowing in self-pity wouldn’t solve anything.

  He’d lost Jenna and Zach and his job. No question about that. Will would probably punch him the next time he saw him. Nate hoped he would. He deserved it. But what if he couldn’t stand there and let him? What if his instincts and training overrode his intentions? Better to avoid him.

  Chance might be a little more forgiving. Unless he realized what Nate had intended to do to him. He didn’t think his friend knew much about martial arts, but Dub did. Before Nate had gone into the service, the former helicopter pilot had su
ggested he get more training than the standard military fare. Dub had also understood that it would take a military order to penetrate the rage when Jenna’s cries and Zach’s shrieks couldn’t. He realized now that he’d heard her and Zach, but his mind had blocked the sounds, disconnecting them with what was happening.

  “I’m a danger to other people.” His gaze fell on the gun. He needed to get rid of it before he hurt somebody. Or himself. No, he wouldn’t go there. “I will not think about suicide. No matter how much you tempt me, Satan, that is not an option. God is my strength and my shield. Jesus is my Lord and my protector. The Bible says to resist the devil and he will flee. So get out of here!”

  He heard a vehicle pull up out front. His first impulse was to take the gun out of the holster. Instead, he ran across the room, ducked beneath the window, and stood on the other side of it, keeping his back against the wall. Nudging the edge of the cream-colored curtain out of the way, he released his pent-up breath. Chance. And Jenna was with him. She climbed out of the pickup, but her brother rolled his window down and stayed put.

  Hope leapt in Nate’s heart, but he quickly buried it. She’d come to tell him to keep away from her and Zach. Even if she didn’t, he had to tell her he didn’t want to see her anymore. He’d hurt her, and he couldn’t risk doing that again.

  She knocked on the door. “Nate, let me in.”

  “Go away, Jenna.” He watched her through the window.

  “No. I want to talk to you.” She stepped to her left and shaded her eyes with her hands, trying to see inside between the open curtains.

  He’d heard that stubborn tone often enough to know she wouldn’t give up. Opening the wooden door, he looked at her through the screen. His hands were shaking again. He gripped the doorknob with one hand and stuck the other in his pocket. “So talk.”

  “We want to help you, Nate.”

  “We?”

  “All of us.” She shrugged. “Well, Will wants to knock your block off, but he’ll come around.”

  “Not if he’s smart. Go home, honey. Stay away from me.”

  “No.”

  Nate closed his eyes and dragged in a breath. Couldn’t the woman see that she was tearing his heart out? “Don’t you understand, Jenna? It’s not safe to be around me. Tell Dub I’ll be out of here as soon as I can load up my stuff.”

  “Where will you go?”

  Good question. He couldn’t put his folks in jeopardy. Or anyone else. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t need to go anywhere.” Before he could think to lock the screen door, she opened it and stepped inside. Sliding her arms around his waist, she rested the side of her face against his chest and held him tight. “You need to stay right here.”

  Tears burned his eyes and throat. His mind screamed for him to get away from her, but his heart overruled his common sense. He needed her like he needed air to breathe. And she forgave him. She hadn’t said the words, but he felt it in her touch. He embraced her, holding her close. She was his lifeline. And Jesus was his anchor. With their help, maybe there was hope after all. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I know.”

  “But I might, no matter how hard I try not to.” Not physically. Somehow he knew he’d never hit her. “I don’t want to break your heart.”

  She eased back and framed his face with her hands. “If you leave, that will break my heart. You’re going through a rough patch—”

  “Honey, I’m losing my mind.”

  She lowered her hands, resting them on his chest, and smiled gently. “But you haven’t lost it yet. I don’t think crazy people know they have a problem.”

  “I guess there’s some sense to that. I think I have PTSD.”

  To his surprise, she nodded. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. That’s what Mom and Dad said.”

  “How do they know?”

  “Daddy had it after Viet Nam. Actually, he says he still has it according to the VA. They can help you, Nate. From what they said after you left, he’s been through some of the same things you’re going through.”

  “Did I hurt Will?”

  “He has a lump on the back of his head from hitting the floor. But he was griping more about Mom making him put ice on it than he was complaining about his headache.”

  He figured Chance wasn’t hurt, or he wouldn’t be sitting out front.

  “And Zach?”

  “He was really frightened, but he’s asleep. Mom is keeping an eye on him too.”

  “I’m so, so sorry for scaring him.” He couldn’t bring himself to voice his fear that the little boy would be terrified of him from now on.

  “He’s a pretty resilient kid. He might be a little cautious around you for a while, but I think he’ll get over it. Now, will you let Chance come in?”

  “Why would he want to?”

  “Because he’s your friend, and he wants to apologize.”

  “He wants to apologize? I’m the one who almost killed him.” Her eyes grew round, and he cringed. Better backtrack pronto. “Or broke his nose.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.” She turned and motioned to her brother, then took Nate’s hand and led him farther back into the living room.

  Chance got out of the pickup and stopped to get a plastic grocery bag from the backseat. When he walked through the doorway, he paused and checked Nate out. “Are you all right?”

  “You know I’m not.” Nate’s throat clogged up. “But I’m glad to see you. Did I hurt you?”

  “Only my pride. You move faster than you used to.” Chance handed the bag to Jenna. “Forgive me for teasing you? For not backing off when I could see you were annoyed?”

  “Yes.” Nate nodded and tried to clear his throat. When he spoke, his voice was still raspy with emotion. “If you’ll forgive me.”

  “You’re forgiven.” Chance wrapped his arms around him.

  Nate hugged him back. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t know what happened. I just lost it.”

  Chance slapped him lightly on the back, then stepped away. “Better me than somebody who’d have you thrown in jail.”

  Nate shuddered. “That’s one place I never want to go.” A tiny smile lifted his mouth.

  Chance raised one eyebrow. “What?”

  “Trust you to find something good in even the stupidest things.”

  His friend grinned. “The Bible says all things work together for good for those that love the Lord. Not that he sends bad things our way. But if we ask him for help in times of trouble, I firmly believe he gives it. I’m hoping he’s going to use what happened today to knock some sense into that thick skull of yours.” His expression sobered. “You have to get some help.”

  Nate shoved his fingers through his hair, then massaged his sore neck. “I know.”

  “Nate . . .” Jenna’s voice wobbled. When he turned around, she was standing beside the coffee table, her face pale. She pointed to his pistol. “Why do you have your gun out?”

  “I took it out of the pickup when I got home and haven’t put it away. That’s all, honey. I was so tired and cold when I came in that I wrapped up in the afghan and curled up on the couch.”

  “Cold?” She glanced toward the cover. “It’s sixty degrees outside.”

  “I know. It doesn’t make sense to me either, but I was chilled to the bone. I haven’t considered suicide, not even an hour ago when I didn’t think I had much to live for. I couldn’t do that to my folks. Or to you. And I worked too hard to stay alive during the war. The enemy couldn’t punch my ticket then, and I’m not about to do it now.”

  “There’s another enemy you have to fight,” Chance said quietly. “A spiritual one. And he attacks when you’re the most vulnerable. Such as now. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

  “Not quite that bad. But the nap I had this morning was the first rest I’ve had since Sunday. And then it was my usual hour or two.”

  “How long has that been going on?” Chance pointed toward the kitchen. Jenna picked up the groce
ry bag. Since they both went into the other room, Nate followed.

  “Months. I usually slept in one or two hour chunks in Iraq. Sometimes that was all the sleep we got a night, but more often it was two or three sessions a night. That didn’t stop after I got back to the States. Over time, it dwindled down to only a couple of hours a night, until this week, when even that disappeared.” He eyed the plastic containers Jenna had removed from the bag. “What’s that?”

  “Ramona sent your dinner.” She opened and closed cabinet doors until she found a covered casserole dish. “She said you weren’t in any condition to fix anything for yourself. She’s been worrying that you weren’t eating good enough since you came home. Gets annoyed when you’re working at the ranch and don’t join us at noon.”

  Ramona was so protective of the Callahans that he thought she’d throw something at him if he ever showed his face around the ranch house. Tears misted his eyes again. He had to figure out a way to turn off the faucet. “I was wishin’ I’d waited until later to pick a fight. Her spaghetti sure smelled good.”

  Chance laughed and tossed him a covered plastic bowl. “I’ll be sure and mention it to her. She sent some salad too. Start on that. After you eat, the folks would like to come talk to you.”

  “Is Dub going to fire me?” Nate pried the lid off the bowl and went to the refrigerator for dressing to top the salad. Not a simple salad with a chunk of head lettuce, a token snippet of cucumber, and slice of tomato. No, sir, this one had three kinds of lettuce, spinach, celery, cucumbers, tomatoes, sliced black olives, and marinated artichokes. His stomach rumbled in appreciation.

  “He didn’t say anything about it.” Chance nudged him out of the way. He reached into the refrigerator for the pitcher of iced tea. “Want some?” When Nate nodded, he took two glasses down from the cabinet. “Sis?”

  “I’ll have water.” She dumped the spaghetti into the casserole dish and covered it, then stuck it in the microwave.

  Chance retrieved another glass. He filled two with iced tea and the third with cold water from the tap. After setting them on the table, he opened the back door, went across the porch and down the steps.