“Jenny,” Tuck caught up with her and put his hand on her arm, gently pulling her to a stop.
“Are you okay?”
She took a deep breath and tried for a smile. Feeling foolish for her reactions. And almost tearful for the ending to their coffee time.
“Sorry. I, uh, it turned out to be more than I could deal with. I should have known. Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I asked the waitress to make our order to go. If you wait here, I’ll go back and get the drinks.”
She wanted to vanish, wished she had that superpower. No, if she had a superpower it would be to vanquish PTSD.
“I’m holding you up,” she said, not meeting his eyes. So much for wishing she'd run into him in town.
“I’ll be right back with our drinks. Wait here.”
She nodded, feeling Val’s weight leaning against her leg. Her hand tangled in his thick fur, she continued deep slow breaths, trying to reduce the stress. Trying to return to normal.
“Come on, we’ll have a tailgate party. Sit on the back of my truck,” Tuck said a moment later handing her a cup.
“Novel idea in the dead of winter,” she said, walking beside him, the warm to-go cup in her right hand.
When they reached the truck, he let down the tailgate. It was still higher than she could easily sit on. Before she could even voice her doubt, he put his coffee down and picked her up and set her on the cold metal as if she weighed nothing.
Sitting beside her, he looked at Val.
“Should he come up with us?”
“I think he’ll be okay there,” she said. Taking a sip of her chocolate, she gazed down the street.
Feeling embarrassed, she wondered if she could explain.
“This is why I live outside of town. Little things can trigger an episode. This time I felt stress rising. I have a hard time with loud noises, whether it’s voices or something else. Especially when they’re unexpected. The IED we encountered was, of course, totally unexpected, then the gun fire.” She trailed off, focusing on her dog. She was in Wyoming. There was no danger. It was freezing cold, not the desert. She was safe.
“Tough.”
She nodded, glad he didn’t try to offer some platitude or dumb advice.
“So, I think I asked you how things were at the Bar 7. Did the snow cause any major problems?” She desperately wanted the subject changed.
“Some,” he said with a shrug. “And there're always cattle who get themselves in a fix. We didn’t lose any, though.”
She looked him in the eye. “Care to elaborate?” she asked hoping he'd talk more so she could regain her composure.
He returned her look and for a moment they had an impasse. Then slowly he began to smile.
“I can elaborate,” he said. “I got back from your place to a bunch of steers in more than a foot of snow with no way to get to the grass below, so we took out hay. Broke the ice in a couple of water troughs, pulled a few cantankerous ones out of some gullies that were clogged with snow. Then one of the pumps near the homestead broke. I ordered the part and came in this morning to collect it.”
“Are the cattle okay?”
“Yes.”
“And you can fix the pump?”
“Yes.”
She took a deep breath, holding on to her patience by a thread.
His eyes sparkled with teasing. “I’ve fixed a pump or two in my time. If that’s what you want to know.”
She shrugged. What she wanted to know was more about Tuck and his life, not his abilities to repair mechanical things.
“Did you finish the baby sweater?” he asked.
“I did and gave it to Darcy this morning. She’s about three weeks away from her due date. I think it’d be cool if the baby’s born on Valentine’s Day. That’s Val’s birthday, you know.”
Tuck shook his head. “How would I know your dog’s birthday?”
She grinned. “It’s why he’s named Valentine. He was born on February fourteen.”
“And someone named a big German Shepherd Valentine?”
“It’s a perfectly fine name. A guy’s name—remember Saint Valentine?” she protested. “Besides, he was probably a cute little puppy. Who knew then how big he’d get?”
“True, but doesn’t seem macho enough for your dog.”
“I call him Val most of the time.”
“I thought it was short for Valor–for your valor in serving.”
“I didn’t name him. He was almost three years old when I got him. He had to grow up and then go through service dog training. These are smart dogs, but they aren’t born knowing how to be a service dog.”
“I hear the training is extensive.”
She nodded, finishing the last of her chocolate. Should she ask for another–to keep Tuck a little longer?
“Finished?” he asked. “I need to get going.”
“Yes. I'm glad to see you, sorry I was such a wimp.” She hopped down. Once he left, she and Val headed to their next stop—the yarn shop. Be careful what you wish for, she murmured to herself. Look at what having coffee ended up being—scared to even sit in a cafe. He probably thought she was a total dork.
Jenny was ready to start a new afghan and picked out the colors she wanted to work with–bright lavender and deep purple. She didn’t have a recipient in mind, but she enjoyed knitting. It was something she could focus on for as long as her attention span lasted. The PTSD had a way of making her restless and knitting soothed her anxieties.
She sang along with the radio as she drove home. Val barked a few times as if joining in. Reaching the cabin, she noticed how windy it had become. The remaining snow on the trees was showering down, courtesy of the wind.
“This’ll make it even colder,” she complained as she got out of the car and faced the onslaught. Gusting stronger, it caused the trees to sway and more snow to spiral off.
Val jumped from the car and ran around the yard. When a burst of snow fell on him, he shook his head, looking bewildered.
Jenny laughed. “Watch where you’re going or you’ll be covered in snow,” she called.
She felt a bit uneasy. With this wind, there were bound to be broken limbs snapping from the trees. Thumping sounds when large clumps of snow fell at once. But there were no mortars here. She took a deep breath. She could handle this. She just needed to focus on something else and not worry about sounds she couldn’t control.
She was safe.
This wasn’t Afghanistan, she reminded herself.
She was not in a jeep heading to help wounded in a hot desert halfway around the world. She was safe in Wyoming. Safe in her house as soon as she got inside.
Taking all the bags at once, she hurried inside, calling Val to come in as well. Once settled, she went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. A nice cup of hot chocolate would help. And maybe she’d warm some more of those brownies.
Distractions from the fear of flashback was needed. The psychiatrist at the VA had suggested ways to focus on the here and now and distance herself as far from the trauma as she could.
There had been no hot chocolate or brownies in Afghanistan.
Val stood right by her side, leaning against her slightly. His presence was another comfort. And she knew if she did fade into a flashback, he’d pull her through.
But she couldn’t resist the anxiety that built.
“I’m fine. There are no IEDs, no mortar fire. I’m fine. We’re fine,” she repeated to Val, gazing into his golden eyes. He wagged his tail.
“I know. And you help make me fine,” she said rubbing his neck and behind his ears with both hands. “And I’m grateful.”
The afternoon passed slowly. The wind howled through the trees. True to her expectations, from time to time she’d hear the crack of a branch. She’d jump in startled surprise each time. Steeling herself over and over to remain in the present, her stress continued to rise.
Late afternoon the phone rang. Glad for the distraction, she answered it quickly.
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“Hey, Jenny. It’s Tuck. You doing okay?”
“Sure,” she said, hearing the strain in her voice.
“The wind’s almost gale force over here. How’s it there?”
“Same. Trees are bending and swaying. Branches are dropping.”
“You sure you’re okay? Your voice doesn’t sound like normal.”
“Well, it’s been a bit of a challenge not to flashback, but Val’s helping. I’m doing the best I can. So far so good.”
“I’m coming over.”
“No, no need. It’d be a bear to drive in this wind.”
“Expect me as soon as you see me,” he said and then hung up.
“Okay,” Jenny said to the dead phone.
She hung up and looked at Val. “Tuck’s coming over. What if I have a flashback while he’s here? Maybe I shouldn’t let him in. Maybe the wind will stop. I hate this!”
She paced the room. Picking up her empty cup, she carried it to the kitchen, then paced back to the fireplace. Then to the window, watching the trees sway in the strong wind. Maybe if she could see them, stay in the present, she could avoid any problems if unexpected loud noises sounded.
Time seemed to stand still. It was growing darker when she saw the familiar white pickup truck pull to a stop beside her jeep. The tall cowboy got out, carrying a box. The wind lifted his cowboy hat and he slapped a hand on it before it could get away, holding the box in his other hand.
A moment later he was at the door. Jenny opened it though the wind almost snatched it from her hand.
“Come in,” she said. Val stood by her side, his tail wagging.
Pushing against the force of the wind, she shut the door.
“I can’t believe you came out in this weather,” she said turning to smile at him.
She couldn’t believe how happy seeing him made her.
“It wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”
He set the box on the table next to the sofa and shrugged out of his jacket. Hanging it and his hat on the hooks, he turned to look at her.
“You doing okay?” he asked.
She smiled brightly. “As good as can be expected.” Please don't let me have a flashback now, she prayed.
Another limb snapped and she jumped. Val was right there, pressing against her, reassuring her.
“So, I brought you some things,” he continued. “First, four battery powered LED lanterns. They’ll give you a lot of light when the power goes out and aren’t a danger in causing a fire.”
She smiled as she reached out for one of the lanterns when he lifted it from the box. Turning it on, she was surprised at how bright it was.
“Thank you, these will come in handy.”
He pulled out three more and handed them to her. She set them on the counter in the kitchen, taking them out of the boxes.
“And I brought you a CD player and some CD’s.”
She turned, puzzled.
“Oh.” That was unexpected. “Thank you.”
Her voice must have sounded perplexed because Tuck gave that lopsided smile she liked so much.
“I could have asked if you had a playlist on an iPod or smartphone, but I figured a woman who didn’t have a TV probably didn’t have anything more current.”
“Hence the CDs.”
He withdrew a small CD player with earphones and a stack of CD’s.
“I wasn’t sure of what you liked, so I brought my whole collection. I don’t listen to them anymore since I have moved into the modern world and have a smartphone.”
She smiled at his teasing, still not understanding why he thought coming out in this weather to lend her his CD player was so important, but she couldn’t deny she was delighted to see him. Nothing said earlier that day had her expecting to see him again any time soon.
“For the noise,” he said, holding the player and earphones out to her. They weren’t the small buds that fit inside ears. These looked like top of the line noise canceling, full ear covering earphones.
She put them on. Instantly all sounds were muffled to a high degree. For the first time that afternoon, she felt herself relax slightly.
He handed her the stack of CDs and she looked through them, surprised at his choices. There was classical music, country, which she would have expected, and some others she wasn’t familiar with.
He reached out and took one from her hand, opened the player and inserted it. Pressing play, he watched as the music began.
It was an orchestra. She wasn’t familiar with the song, but she could hear the different instruments and the cadence of drums. All noise from outside was gone. She was totally immersed in the rousing tempo.
Even Val seemed to relax his stance as Jenny seemed to grow more relaxed.
Tuck pointed to the sofa and she turned to sit down. He sat on the chair by the fire and watched her. She closed her eyes after a moment, totally engrossed in the music. She could feel the stress evaporate. Val remained at her side, pressing against her leg. Her hand rested on the dog.
A few minutes later her eyes flew open.
“Oh, Tuck, I’m sorry,” she said, pulling off the earphones. “I’ve ignored you. Thank you for this. You don’t know how much this means. I couldn’t hear anything but the music.”
“Actually, I guessed it might work. I have a buddy, a Marine. He has PTSD and when noise triggers are around, drowning them out with music helps him. I thought of you when I heard the wind.”
“I never thought about doing something like this,” she said, holding the earphones. “And I love this music, what is the song?”
He rose, then stooped down beside her and opened the player. “Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture.”
“I didn’t expect you to like classical music.”
He looked up at her. “What did you expect, country only?”
She grinned. “Yep.”
“I like country,” he said resuming his seat on the chair. “But I like other music, too.”
“So I see from your collection. You can spare them for a while?”
He nodded.
“Is it bad on the ranch?”
“Not too much now. The wind is sweeping a lot of the snow off the flat land, so cattle can go back to grazing. Which means we don’t have to find ways to get hay out to where the cattle are at the crack of dawn every day.”
“The wind’s also blowing the snow off the trees.”
Just then three things happened at once: the loud crack of a falling branch exploded, Val jumped into Jenny’s lap, and the power went out, plunging the room into gloomy gray.
“Hold on, I’ll get the lamps,” she said, just as Tuck flicked on the flashlight feature of his phone. He walked with her into the kitchen. It was a lot easier to turn on the camping lanterns than the oil lamps.
“That last one sounded close,” he said.
She nodded. All four lanterns turned on gave the room almost as much light as the regular lights.
“And brought down the lines I guess.” She was so relieved she hadn't panicked with the sound.
She carried the four lights and placed them around the living room. The amount of light was wonderful. And the best part–no stink of burning oil.
“This is my first winter back and I didn’t realize how fragile the electricity was this far from town. I don’t remember outages when I was a kid.”
“We don’t get them very often on the ranch,” he commented.
“Do you want to stay for dinner?” she asked. That last sound had been loud, but with other things going on, she’d been fine. She enjoyed the company and focusing on Tuck kept the PTSD away.
“No, thanks, I better head back. Dawn comes early.”
“Thanks for the lights and the CD player. I know it’s going to help a lot.”
“Good.”
He put on his coat and hat.
“Do you want me to start your generator for you before I go?” he asked.
“That’d be great. Thank you.”
He left by the ba
ck door. In a couple of minutes Jenny heard the hum of the generator.
She waited a moment, but when he didn’t return, she moved to the window. She saw the lights in the truck go on when he climbed in. He started the engine, made a three-point turn and headed back down her driveway.
Turning back to Val, she smiled. “What do you think? I think that was amazing–he came all this way just to offer something to help me cope with loud noises. I wonder if I can sleep in the earphones?”
The dog barked and wagged his tail. He went to circle in front of the fireplace and then flopped down.
“I don’t know why you aren’t burning up you get so close to the fire,” she said. “Isn’t it hot?”
Heading for the kitchen, Jenny put on the earphones and clipped the CD player to her jeans. She continued listening to the classical music CD Tuck had selected. She planned on grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for dinner. Comfort food. She was slicing the cheese when Val rose and went to the door, his tail wagging.
“What–”
The door opened and Tuck stepped in.
Pulling off the earphones, she looked at him.
“Forget something?”
“No, but I know where that last crack came from. There’s half a tree across your driveway. Looks like it broke off about twenty feet up. Too big for me to move alone. Do you have a chain saw?”
Valentine’s Rescue: Chapter 5
She shook her head. “No. Can I come and help? Maybe together we can move it out of the way.”
“I doubt it. Like I said, it’s half a tree.”
“Walt’ll have a chain saw. I’ll call him,” she said, hurrying to the phone.
No dial tone.
“Not only the electricity’s gone, so’s the phone line.”
He pulled out his phone and looked at it. “No service.”
“Not out this far. Let’s see if the two of us can move it.”
Getting a powerful flashlight from his truck, Tuck led the way to the fallen tree—a cedar. Its branches reached out a dozen feet from the trunk, and Jenny could see it was about a foot or more in diameter. She looked up into the darkness. Tuck shone the flashlight and she saw where the tree had split. The wind whipped around them, other trees still swaying.
Cupid to the Rescue: A Tail-Wagging Valentine's Day Anthology Page 62
