by Sara Arden
There was a tap on her shoulder, and someone handed her an envelope.
“This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” she said into the microphones. “Before I open this envelope that tells us who our new prime minister shall be, I wanted to share with you my first and last act as ruler of Castallegna. Before me is the bill ratified by the Council that will make us a democratic nation. All that’s left is for me to sign it into law. This was my father’s dream. This is my dream. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
Byron’s hand was firm on the small of her back, almost as if he were holding her up. And maybe he was. It was his solid presence and only him that kept her from crying as, with only her signature, she changed the future of her country.
In that moment, she felt her father’s presence as keenly as her husband’s. He’d be so proud.
She looked around at the members of the Council and the press as she smiled. “It is my great honor to turn this government and sovereignty over to those who will do it best, the people of Castallegna.” With that, she scrawled her name on the documents, signing away her royalty and her privilege.
A cheer went up and the cameras were still rolling. All around the world, people saw the princess and the ranger give a country back to the public.
She’d done what she’d set out to do.
“Thank you, Byron. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“It’s what you were born to do. You would have found another way.” He quoted several of their earlier discussions back to her. Damara kept insisting that no matter what, she would have found another way.
“But another way wouldn’t have put us here.” The press was still recording everything, but she didn’t care.
“Open the envelope, Princess,” Sonja encouraged.
Damara wondered who the people had chosen and when she read the name, she smiled. “It is my pleasure to introduce to you the new prime minister of Castallegna, Hamdi Naserdine.” He’d been her father’s right-hand man, an advocate for human rights. She’d spent many evenings in her youth sharpening her political skills on his.
He was a distinguished gentleman, and had sharp eyes that seemed to see everything. When he came forward, she didn’t hesitate to kiss both of his cheeks.
“I know Castallegna is safe in your hands.”
“Our hands, Princess Damara. Our hands.” He accentuated the point by taking her hands and holding them tight. “But after your honeymoon.”
She wanted to say that she couldn’t possibly leave, but he was right. From the questions they’d gotten today, the world was still very much interested in the love story.
It would be easy for another faction to move in and try to break this fragile freedom. If the Russians and Americans wanted their ports, others would, too. She wanted to be there, to start programs and education, but Hamdi would make a place for her. And taking a week or two with Byron wouldn’t be any great torture.
She could go with him to Texas and help him bury his ghosts the same way he’d helped her bury hers.
And in doing so, she could secure future media interest and keep the world eye on Castallegna as she grew and prospered in relative safety. Then the Americans would have their base and their safe houses, and she’d have an ally, as well.
Her suspicion was proved correct when the next question posed was, “Where are you going on your honeymoon, Princess?”
“Byron hasn’t told me.”
“Some parts of a marriage shouldn’t be open to the public, and that’s one of them.” He winked and took Damara’s hand.
She wanted this to be about Castallegna, not her marriage. So she said, “Without further ado, the prime minister would like address the press.”
Hamdi took the microphone.
* * *
“IT STILL FEELS WRONG to be leaving at this stage, but I know logically it’s what I need to do. Even if it’s only for two weeks,” Damara said as they were boarding the plane.
“Damara, if you want to, you could hide out at your mother’s house for two weeks. You don’t have to come with me.”
“Yes, I do have to come with you to Texas. There’s no way I’d let you do this on your own. After all you’ve done for me? All you’ve given up for me?”
“I haven’t given up anything for you but my fear, Damara. You changed me, helped me start to heal. Before I met you, I never could’ve faced Belinda.”
“You know that for her, this isn’t facing some demon. She’s getting another piece of her husband by meeting you.”
“I know, and I’m still not sure how I feel about that.” Speaking with Belinda Foxworth seemed pointless—it would just be an experience in pain and learning to rip old wounds open with new weapons.
Byron was sure her invitation to visit wasn’t one he was supposed to accept. Not that Belinda would be insincere, but it might have sounded good at the time and she was probably wishing she could take it back, pluck it out of the air like a fly ball and put it back down in the dirt and dust where it belonged.
“I’m sure you’re afraid, hopeful, aching and maybe a little excited.”
“I’m all of those things and more. How do I tell a woman I’m sorry that it’s my fault her husband is dead? I’m sorry that I got to live the life he was denied? I’m sorry that her children don’t have a father? I’m sorry that she doesn’t have a husband?” he questioned quietly.
“Maybe just like that, if those are the things you need to say to her. But if she felt that way, I don’t think she would’ve invited you to visit the ranch.”
“But I want her to. I need her to be angry with me.”
“Haven’t you punished yourself enough?”
“It doesn’t seem right that I get this life. I get to be with you and he’s gone. Dust and dirt.”
“He’s not gone. He lives in her. In his children.” Damara paused for a long moment. “He lives in you. Not just in your nightmares, but in the piece of you that wants to do good in the world, the piece of you that wants to honor what he sacrificed.”
Byron was uncomfortable with that. It sounded too much like praise. He owed the man a debt of honor, and he had no idea how to repay it.
So he changed the subject. “What’s the first thing you want to work on when we get back?”
Her face brightened. “Education for women.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“Not yet, but I might have brought some reading materials.” She pulled out an overstuffed attaché case.
“Only you would bring work on your honeymoon,” he teased.
“And only you would understand.” She smiled.
“That’s because I know I’ll get what I want later.”
“You think so?” She flushed.
He reached out and traced a finger down her cheek. “I know so.”
“It’s a good thing I don’t have to be a princess anymore.” She nipped at his finger. “I’d never get anything done.”
“We seemed to get plenty done.”
“But it was hard. So very hard,” Damara teased him back.
“You’re as bad as I am. You know that, right?”
She laughed, and the sound was music to him. He didn’t think Damara would ever be his. He didn’t think retirement would suit him. And yet here he was, utterly content with overseeing Damara’s security detail personally.
He couldn’t help but think about Austin Foxworth again and the life he hadn’t been able to live. Damara seemed to sense his retreat into his own head and was content to let him be while she worked.
He liked that she understood that about him and the peaceful silence they could share together. Each moment didn’t have to be filled with inane chatter. They could just be.
The flight was interminably long, and Damara was her usual sel
f. She swore she wasn’t tired but fell asleep with her papers still in her lap. Byron spent the rest of the flight thinking.
Thinking about what had transpired, what he would say to Belinda.
When the pilot announced they were landing, he had a moment of sudden panic. He couldn’t do this. More important, he shouldn’t be doing this. He should let sleeping ghosts lie.
Only he supposed Austin wasn’t a sleeping ghost. He was a very real presence, and the weight of Byron’s guilt was still drowning him. He owed it to Damara to try to put this to rest.
He was glad they’d kept this part of their trip a secret. He didn’t want this pain, the remnants of Austin’s life, on display like some poor pinned insect under glass.
Damara’s hand was tucked into his, and he didn’t realize how much strength was in her little hand. He’d thought it before, but the point was driven home over and over again. She kept surprising him. This time it wasn’t because of how much she’d done—it was what she didn’t do. She was just there, and somehow that shored him up, filled in the holes where the darkness would have been.
Part of him wanted to believe it was some higher power telling him that she could survive him. It was okay to want her, to need her, because she was made of sterner stuff.
When the car turned down a long winding drive and finally pulled up in front of a large house, there was a woman standing outside waiting to greet him.
She was petite, like Damara, but blonde. She was wearing frayed jeans and cowboy boots, with two little girls clinging to her legs.
Damara released his hand slowly. “Go on. You can do this.”
When he got out of the car, he didn’t know what to feel first. Everything crashed into him at once.
As did Belinda Foxworth. She flung her arms around him and hugged him tight.
He would’ve stood on ceremony, he would have kept his distance, but she wouldn’t allow it. Her embrace was scalding and soothing at the same time.
“It is so good to meet you, Hawkins.”
If not for Damara’s warm presence at his back, he might have sobbed like a child. “I’m glad to meet you, too, Belinda. He talked about you all the time. You look just like your picture.”
“I know which one you mean. He took it. That was senior skip day back in high school. We went to the lake.” She looked wistful but then pursed her lips, as if she was trying to hold something back. “And this must be your lovely princess.”
Damara smiled and held out her hand, but Belinda hugged her, too. “Thank you so much for bringing him. I know if he was anything like Austin, he probably didn’t want to come.”
“It’s not that I didn’t want to come—”
“But you thought you shouldn’t. Now you’re here anyway, and I’m glad. I don’t know who that guy was who called in, but you needed to know. I don’t blame you, and neither would Austin.” She was fierce, again so much like Damara.
He wanted to say so much, but he wanted to keep silent at the same time. He didn’t want to give her more darkness than what she already had, but something in him demanded he speak. Demanded he do his duty and tell her how her husband died—that even though it was a horrible death, Austin was honorable and strong until the end.
“Are you a real princess? Momma says I shouldn’t bother you or ask too many questions,” the little girl with blond pigtails and a tiny voice said to Damara.
“Well, you must always listen to your mother. But if it’s okay with her, maybe you could show me around and we can ask each other questions. How does that sound?”
Leave it to Damara to know exactly what he needed and how to get him there.
Belinda nodded. Thank you, she mouthed to Damara.
The princess walked away with two excited, chattering little girls.
He didn’t know where to start. He wished he had Austin’s voice in his head now telling him what to say to the woman he’d left behind. The woman that Byron himself had taken him from. He didn’t know if he should tell her that he was a good man, because Belinda already knew that. She wouldn’t have married him, had his children or grieved for him when he was gone if he hadn’t been.
“I dream about him,” he confessed.
“Me, too.” Belinda nodded. “At first, when the grief was so heavy I thought it was going to crush me, I’d bawl myself to sleep and he’d always tell me, ‘There’s more to life than this, hoss.’”
A wrecking ball crashed through him. He must’ve paled, because Belinda gave a fey smile. “He said that all the time. I take it he’s said it to you, too.”
“He says it in my dreams.” Byron didn’t add that it was with his face blown off or carrion eaters picking at his bones.
“Because I wasn’t living. And I get the feeling that neither are you.” Belinda looked down at her boots. “Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I really don’t know anything about you.”
“You can tell me anything you want to tell me, Belinda.” He wanted to look down at his feet, at the wide-open landscape behind her, anywhere but in her eyes. There was where his pain lay, his failure. But he forced himself to meet her gaze head-on. “I’d hoped that when I came here, you’d throw things at me. Hit me. Scream at me. Hate me.”
“It’s not your fault. You did what you thought was best. I knew who and what Austin was when I married him. I knew he could die. He knew it, too. He chose to follow you. He was a ranger.”
The itchy feeling he’d had before was nothing like this new sensation. Everything was exposed, raw. It was like walking around without skin.
“I invited you because there’s something I think you need to see. It’s a memorial to Austin. It’s something that he wanted. He had a letter on file that he wanted sent to me if for some reason he didn’t come home.” Her voice was quiet and almost choked with tears but not quite. Determination laced her words.
Byron was rooted to the spot. If he took a step forward, he knew it would change everything. He realized that he was more comfortable with being born bad than he was with seeing a way to his redemption. His misery was an armor, and if he moved forward, he might have to shed it. Pick it out of his skin like so much broken glass. Yet, he’d already shed part of it when he’d told Damara he’d stay with her. He’d find a way. He was living his life, loving his life, even though there was some part of him that still thought it was a crime that a man like him could walk away and Austin was left with nothing. His family was left with nothing.
Morbidly, he imagined what it would be like for Damara if the situation were reversed. He’d want whoever had come to speak with her to do anything she asked—even if she asked for the moon.
“You came all this way, and I know Austin would want you to see it.”
“I—”
“Come.” She took his hand and led him toward the side of the house.
There beneath a tree was a headstone that marked a grave without a body. Yet somehow he knew that Austin Foxworth was more present here than he’d been in his own bones.
“He wanted this here so the girls could come talk to him whenever they needed him. So I wouldn’t feel so alone. Even if his body isn’t there, I know he is. I know he hears me.” Belinda put her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be in the house. Just come on in when you’re ready.”
Byron sank down on his knees, gripping the headstone with such force his knuckles had gone white.
He choked on his emotion, his body taut and his muscles bulging as if he were going to explode. Byron had nowhere to put his sorrow, his regret—his rage.
His vision blurred and he said it again. “I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.”
Recognizing that I volunteered as a Ranger, fully knowing the hazards of my chosen profession, I will always endeavor to uphold the prestige, honor and high esprit de corps of the Rangers. He heard Foxworth’s voice recitin
g the creed in his head, and he focused on the granite stone.
The creed was etched in the stone. This was what he’d wanted. This was his legacy. And this was what he had to say to those who loved him after his death.
Fully knowing the hazards of my profession.
He felt as though Foxworth was there with him. Maybe it was because he’d met the man’s wife, because he’d seen his children. He’d been invited into their sacred sanctuary and invited to mourn at their table. In the place where the man had laughed, loved and lived. Whether it was some passing fancy of a burdened soul or a grief-clouded mind, he found comfort in it, and, while he didn’t feel peace, he could see it.
Much like hope.
He recited the stanza again and it was as if they were speaking it together, as they had in his nightmare, but this time he wasn’t ashamed of his words. This time, he could speak them all.
“Never shall I fail my comrades. I will always keep myself mentally alert, physically strong and morally straight, and I will shoulder more than my share of the task whatever it may be, one hundred percent and then some.
“Gallantly will I show the world that I am a specially selected and well-trained soldier. My courtesy to superior officers, neatness of dress and care of equipment shall set the example for others to follow.
“Energetically will I meet the enemies of my country. I shall defeat them on the field of battle for I am better trained and will fight with all my might. Surrender is not a Ranger word. I will never leave a fallen comrade to fall into the hands of the enemy and under no circumstances will I ever embarrass my country.
“Readily will I display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the Ranger objective and complete the mission though I be the lone survivor.”
A heavy weight was lifted from his chest and he could breathe again. His surroundings became supernaturally bright, the sun in the sky, the rolling expanse of Texas plains, the scents of the place. He’d not even realized it was a working ranch until that moment.
