Hold Me: Delos Series, 5B1

by Lindsay McKenna

  Graham rubbed his strong chin. “He told me that those first couple of days with you were real touch-and-go. But he said that as soon as he started diapering babies, cleaning their bottoms, and washing out the diaper pail, you changed your mind about him,” he chuckled.

  Rolling her eyes, Callie laughed with him. “That’s true. He told me the truth when I asked him why he’d bothered to come to Hope Charity. I knew he was pursuing me, but what surprised me was that he was honest about it. And he was the first guy to ever fess up.”

  “And he won your heart because of the children he cared for at the orphanage?”

  Nodding, she smoothed her hands over the card. “Yes … yes, he did, Grandpa.” She smiled up at him. “He’s so much like you. Mom was telling me that you were changing Dara’s and my diapers when we were babies, too.”

  “Well, he’s not a Marine,” Graham teased, “but even though he’s Army, he has the heart of a Marine.” He leaned down, tousling her hair. “And he’s coming home to you, baby girl. You’re looking better now.”

  “That’s true,” she murmured. “Most of all because all of you are here to support me.”

  “Well, that’s what family is for,” he said, his voice gravelly with emotion. “We’ll see you for lunch, then?”

  “I’ll be there,” she promised. Reaching out, she gripped his work-worn hand, squeezing it. “I just don’t know what we’d ever do without you and Grandma.” There was a catch in her voice as she saw his gray eyes lighten and she felt his love for her.

  “You and Dara will be haunted by us for a long, long time to come,” he teased, squeezing her fingers and releasing them.

  Callie watched her tall, proud grandfather walk quietly out of the room. She always marveled at his ability to walk without being heard, but Beau had told her one night after they’d made love that being a sniper meant never being seen or heard.

  With a sigh, she stood up, gripping the card in her hand, imagining feeling Beau’s energy with every word he’d written to her. No longer was she the frightened little girl that he left. The last month and a half had been healing for her. Just getting away from a war-torn country where life and death could happen in the blink of an eye had settled her raw nerves. Now she slept at night. And just as Beau had told her, the nightmares and flashbacks would lessen, and they had. Now, she felt more like the old Callie before the ambush had changed her life forever. Hurrying to the foyer she grabbed her coat, hat, and mittens. She was eager to sit down and write Beau a long, wonderful, super-loving email.

  CHAPTER 3

  April 2

  Beau was more focused on danger than usual when he arrived at Hope Charity in busy, downtown Kabul. It was market day, and the whole city was on edge, since this was the day the Taliban frequently planted bombs in various markets around the city.

  He stood outside the rear door, watching the foot traffic. Women in black, thick wool burkas with large baskets or sacks in their hands, hurried toward the market two blocks away. He would always remember that while Dara and Callie were here last November at the orphanage, two bombs had gone off in that market. Everyone had been shaken, and the children terrified. Maggie and the four Afghan widows who worked for her had herded all the crying, frightened children into their safe room for protection. Only Matt Culver had been there when it had happened.

  Turning his head, Beau scanned the shining, black asphalt highway with its many white Toyota Hilux pickups. The Taliban used them all the time, but so did the everyday residents of Kabul. There was a smattering of taxis bringing some women to the market, too, but most of them walked to it. The sky above was spotted with gray, low-level clouds with occasional glimpses of a blue sky above them. It was early April, and he supposed that this was probably the last snowstorm of the year. The temperature was around forty and he could see the half-inch of snow that had fallen, quickly melting away.

  Wearing civilian clothes and a black baseball cap, he leaned against the railing, one heel hooked on a lower rail, the M-4 rifle butt balanced on his thigh. On his gloves, the trigger finger fabric had been cut away so he had physical contact with his weapon. Beau knew that despite his civilian clothing, he’d be spotted as a black ops soldier of some kind by knowing enemy eyes. He was tall, white, male, and bearded. While he’d never pass for an Afghan it was important that he not wear military gear because he’d become the focus of the enemy as soon as he was spotted.

  His mind wandered back to his Kevlar vest that he’d left indoors, hanging over the back of Maggie’s chair. He hated wearing it unless he had to because it was a level four vest and held heavy ceramic plates in it. His thoughts turned to Callie. Earlier, he’d gotten an email from her before he’d left for work. She told him that the snow was melting quickly in Montana. Now that it was early April, all of the wranglers working for the Eagle Feather Ranch were back. Graham McKinley, owner and foreman, had every one of them out riding the fence line. The heavy, deep Montana snow had taken down weakened wooden posts and they had to be found, replaced, or mended before the wranglers could move on to the next one. Callie said she was riding with one team digging post holes, helping the wranglers with the stringing of new barbed wire.

  Smiling a little, his heart warmed. Callie was clearly an outdoors woman and wasn’t afraid of hard, physical work. That was one reason why she was such a fantastic belly dancer!

  He decided to walk down the few steps to the concrete sidewalk. Everything around him appeared peaceful, but after five tours in Bagram, he knew looks could be deceiving. Beau could feel his gut tighten as the mid-morning sun rose somewhere above the grumpy gray clouds. Once the market opened in a few more minutes, everyone would be on guard. No longer did women, who usually came with children to the market, linger or chat as they used to. Now, they kept their children at home for fear of having them die in a bomb blast.

  To maximize their time at the market, the women would rush to certain vendors, hurriedly get their food for the week, and dash out of the area to avoid a possible explosion. He didn’t know how long these people could continue to handle it, but if one looked in their eyes, they could see that they were traumatized for life.

  Beau walked around the side of the orphanage, between the stucco building and the ten-foot-high wrought iron fence that kept everyone out. Theft was a constant in Kabul, so at the top of the spear-like points of the fence, concertina wire had been strung up by a Delta Force team after the market bombing last November.

  Since it had been strung, there had been no more attempts by thieves to break in and steal food, medicine, or money from the orphanage. Hope Charity had so little to begin with and each month was a squeaker as to whether they’d have enough food, enough blankets, or shoes for the children. Maggie was constantly balancing the books.

  Beau stopped walking as he picked up the roar of a pickup’s engine a block away. His gaze snapped to the highway. Damn! Six men with AK-47s stood in the back of the truck, racing his direction. Taliban! Cursing, Beau had no time to call out a warning as the AK-47s barked, and bullets whistled around his head, spatting up mud in front and around him where he stood near the playground within the enclosure. No doubt about it—Beau was their target!

  Without thinking, he went down on one knee, taking the safety off his M-4, and jamming it into his right shoulder, sighting the group through the crosshairs. The Taliban were firing at the buildings on either side of the highway, including the orphanage. Grimly, he put his sights on the driver, squeezing off a shot. The windshield shattered inward and the truck careened suddenly to the left. Beau watched it flip over, throwing out all six enemy soldiers. They flew through the air like rag dolls, cartwheeling, rifles flying out of their hands, and into the air.

  Four of the men slammed into the nearby walls of the unforgiving buildings. They were dead on impact. Beau got up, racing toward the gate. He knew that Maggie had heard the commotion, and he was sure the children were being swiftly gathered up and herded to the safe room within the orphanage. Digging the
toes of his boots into the mud, he raced to the locked gate, his M-4 held up and ready to fire at a moment’s notice. He worried about shots that might have shattered one of the windows, flying inside, perhaps striking a child or one of the women.

  He saw one man in the cab crawl out of the sprung door. Beau fired, killing him with a head shot. Another soldier, who was clearly injured, picked up his rifle while lying on his belly, and fired at Beau.

  Beau fired off a simultaneous shot at the lone survivor.

  He felt a hot, stinging sensation in his lower ribcage as he was flung backward, off his feet. Slamming into the mud and snow, Beau held onto his M-4. He’d seen his bullet kill the man who had shot at him. The air woofed out of him and he felt suddenly unable to breathe. What the hell! Simultaneously, he heard Maggie screaming, her voice growing closer and closer to where he lay on his back, gasping for air.

  Maggie dropped to her knees, her eyes wide with terror, reaching out for him.

  Beau tried to talk. Instead, blood burbled up and out of his mouth. Stunned, he realized he was wounded. Maggie was crying and telling him to lie still. He tried to get up, but lost consciousness, and then, he remembered nothing more.

  *

  April 1, Eagle Feather Ranch, Butte, Montana

  The knocking on Callie’s cabin door pulled her out of a deep sleep. Drowsily, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Pushing her hair off her face, she squinted at the clock on the dresser opposite the bed: three a.m.

  The knocking grew louder and more insistent.

  Something was wrong! She slid out of bed, pulling her flannel nightgown downward, the warm, fuzzy fabric falling around her ankles. Quickly pushing her feet into sheepskin slippers, Callie grabbed her chenille robe around herself. What was wrong? Was it one of her grandparents? Her parents?

  Swiftly, she jerked open the bedroom door, rushing down the hall to the front door. Outside, she could see the silhouette of a man surrounded in the full moon’s light. It was her grandfather! She quickly unlocked the door. His face was shadowed by the lantern style light above the porch. He was dressed in his PJs and a heavy, red wool bathrobe. His eyes were stormy and his mouth thin. Her heart rate took off.

  “Grandpa? What’s going on? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Let me come in, Callie.”

  “Oh,” she mumbled, apologetically, “I’m sorry. Come in,” and she stepped aside.

  Graham turned and waited until she closed the door. “Come sit with me on the couch, Callie.”

  Terror raced through her. She stood paralyzed, her gaze locking with his. “It’s Beau … oh, God … what’s happened to him?”

  Gently, Graham slid his hand around her arm and led her to the couch. “Come, sit down.”

  Her knees went weak and Callie dropped to the couch, gripping her suddenly chilled hands, her gaze never leaving his. She’d never seen Graham this serious and it frightened her ten times more. “What’s happened to Beau?” she whispered unsteadily.

  Graham sat next to her, his hand over hers in her lap. “We just received a call from the Department of Defense notifying us that Beau has been wounded.”

  Callie gasped. “No!”

  His hand tightened around hers. “He’s on a flight to Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany, Callie. He sustained a gunshot wound to the lower right side of his ribcage. The docs at Bagram said the lower one third of his right lung is destroyed. He’s stable and he’s going to live.”

  Terror turned to relief. Her eyes rounded. “How … what happened?”

  “I know most of the people at the Department of Defense. Told them who I was and I got more information than they’d normally give out. Beau was at the Hope Charity, making security rounds when a Taliban pickup, six soldiers in the rear with AK-47s, raced down the road, firing at everything and everyone. Beau fired back. He hit the driver and the truck flipped over. It killed all but one man, who fired back at him and hit Beau with a side shot that nicked the lower third of his right lung. Unfortunately, from what the caller said, he’s going to lose that part of his lung. However, the bullet went through at such an angle it did not do any damage to his other organs. He was lucky.”

  Callie was stunned, reeling with all the news. “You said he’s going to live, Grandpa. Is that right?”

  Nodding, Graham said, “Yes. They’ve stabilized him and he’s already on a C-5 flight to Germany right now. They’re prepping him for surgery and once the plane lands, he’ll go straight to the medical center to be operated on.”

  She pulled one hand free, holding it over her pounding heart. “He’ll live …” That meant more than anything else to her right now. Graham released her other hand, his gruff voice softening a little.

  “Yes. I asked the caller for more medical information and they patched me through to the surgeon who’s going to perform the surgery on Beau once he arrives. I got special treatment and I’m indebted to them. The surgeon promised to call me directly once Beau is out of surgery and in recovery. Usually, they keep a wounded soldier or Marine for two to three days, and then they’re flown here to the States for continuing recovery.”

  “When is the surgeon going to call you? Did he say how long the surgery would take?”

  “He said it depended upon a lot of things. If there’s no compromise to other organs in the area, it’s going to be around seven hours.”

  Pressing her hand to her eyes, she whispered, “Oh, God …” Tears leaked between her fingers as she sat there hunched over, her mind spinning, her emotions at hurricane force. “W-what can I do, Grandpa? Can I fly to Germany to be with him?”

  He shook his head. “Callie, we’ll know more within twelve hours. It would take us twenty-four hours to fly to Germany. And the surgeon said Beau wouldn’t be there for more than two days with that type of wound. We’d get there and they’d be taking him out on another C-5 flight heading stateside.”

  Her stomach fell and she suddenly felt nauseous, relief entwining with future fears and possibilities. “What does it mean to lose part of your lung, Grandpa?”

  “Well,” he said, holding her tearful gaze, “one thing is for sure. Beau’s going to receive a full medical discharge. He needs a complete set of lungs to remain a black ops soldier. He won’t have the oxygen levels an operator needs when he’s in major distress or running for his life. He’ll have less oxygen available to him, Callie, but it won’t bother him at all as a civilian. But he’s done soldiering, honey.”

  She wiped her face, her voice wobbly. “That means he’s coming home once and for all, doesn’t it?”

  Nodding, Graham slid his hand across her hunched, taut shoulders, moving it slowly back and forth, trying to get her to relax. “Yes, it means exactly that. And that’s good news.”

  “Where will they take him?”

  “Doc said they’ll be flying him into Joint Base Andrews outside of Washington, D.C. Then, he’ll be transported by ambulance to Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland. He’ll be kept there until he’s discharged.”

  “Can I see him, then?”

  Nodding, Graham said, “Just as soon as we know when they’re leaving Germany, you and I are going to fly to Maryland. We’ll be there to meet him. Okay with you?”

  Callie couldn’t stem her tears and she sniffed, reaching out, gripping her grandfather’s hand. His face was hard, expressionless, but his eyes were bright with emotion. “I-I’d really appreciate that.”

  “Okay,” he said, “I know it’s going to be hard for you to sleep the rest of the night. Why don’t you get dressed, Callie and I’ll wait out here for you. Then, we’ll go over to the main ranch house. Grandma is up and making us some hot chocolate. Your parents are up, too. We’ll all sit at the kitchen table, have hot chocolate, and wait. I think you should stay over there with us until the surgeon gives me a call, and when he does I’ll let you talk to him as well. Okay?”

  Right now, Callie needed their support as never before. “Beau’s not going to
die,” she whispered.

  “No. He’s going to pull through this. Go on, get dressed. You need to be surrounded with family right now.”

  “But what about Beau’s parents? Do they know what happened to him?”

  “Yes, they’ve been informed.”

  “Could you call them and talk to them? Tell them what else you know?”

  He smiled a little. “I was going to do that when we got back to the main house.”

  She stood up. “Then I need to get moving.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  *

  At ten a.m., the phone rang sharply in the main ranch house. Callie, already on edge, jumped. The entire family was going about their daily jobs while Callie was nervously knitting, trying to still her trembling fingers, her mind going wild with terror that Beau could die on the surgery table.

  Earlier, her grandfather had called Mr. and Mrs. Gardner in Black Mountain, West Virginia. By giving Beau’s parents the good news that their son would survive, she could see his tight features soften, knowing he was giving them the best of news.

  Graham asked if they could fly to the medical center in Maryland to see him, but they couldn’t afford it. But depending upon how long Beau was going to be at Walter Reed, Cletus Gardner said they’d hop in their old pickup truck and drive there to be with their wounded son.

  Most heartwarming for Callie was that both wanted to speak to her. That had surprised her, but it shouldn’t have because Beau reflected his parents in kindness and thoughtfulness. For the first time since Christmas, when Beau had called and introduced Callie to his parents, they’d talked again.

  She saw Graham get up and answer the phone sitting on one of the lampstands near the couch where she sat knitting. Instantly, she stopped knitting as he sat down. Her mother and father walked into the living room, standing, grim looks on their faces. Grandma Maisy came in from the kitchen, her hands dusted with flour from making three blackberry pies for the family this evening. She, too, looked strained and was as exhausted as Callie felt.