Holiday Heroes

by Rachel Lee

  Melinda stared, dumbfounded and enchanted all at once. She kept trying to say something, but no words came out.

  “Don’t worry,” Nate said swiftly, as if he expected an objection. “Marge had already started house-breaking him. I’ve got forty pounds of food, dishes, leashes and everything else, including something called a Dogloo, for this guy. “I’ll just go move the stuff into your car.”

  He hurried out, as if he wanted to avoid an explosion.

  Melinda stared at the puppy, who stared back at her with a cocked head.

  Shock began to give way to enchantment. Slowly she sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to startle the small creature. After a moment he pranced over to her as well as he could on the mattress and began sniffing. Melinda let him, waiting patiently for him to learn whatever he needed to know about her.

  A puppy. A dog. She’d never had a pet before. And she hadn’t even thought about getting one. It was something that had never crossed her radar. Yet here she was being intently sniffed by an irresistible bundle of fur. Any moment now, she realized, she was going to fall in love.

  Slowly, slowly, the little furball began to warm her somewhere deep inside. When she at last reached out and stroked the silky fur, he made a little sound and rolled over on his back, showing his pink puppy tummy. She smiled. The smile stretched so wide that her cheeks hurt as she reached out and gave him a tummy rub.

  By the time Nate reentered the room, she had the puppy on her lap.

  “Well,” he said, putting his hands on his hips, “I guess maybe Marge didn’t make a mistake.”

  Melinda looked up at him, her eyes stinging. “Thanks, Nate. Thank you so very much.”

  He nodded. “I’ll tell Marge. Honest to God, I didn’t have anything to do with this except for following orders. I don’t think it’s smart to just give a pet to someone without making sure it’s okay. But I guess Marge had you figured better than I do.”

  Melinda looked down at the pup, who was now licking his paws as if he were a cat. “What’s his name?”

  “That’s for you to decide. Let me bring in some things you’ll need tonight, then I’ll be on my way.”

  “It’s magical, Nate.”

  His expression grew somber. “Yeah,” he said finally. “We all need a little of that.”

  “Oh!” Remembering suddenly, she looked up from the puppy. “You said I could bring someone to Christmas dinner, right?”

  “Of course you can.”

  “Jon Erikson is back in town. Do you remember him?”

  Nate frowned thoughtfully. “Oh. Yeah. I do. He’s been gone a while.”

  “He doesn’t look too well, Nate.”

  “Well, by all means bring him around. Sooner than Christmas, if you want.”

  “Maybe I will.” Without realizing it, she had begun to stroke the puppy’s back. Looking down, she saw him yawn, his eyelids heavy.

  “Don’t let that deceive you,” Nate said.

  “What?”

  “That he’s sleepy. That little bugger runs twenty out of every twenty-four hours. My advice? Nap when he does, ’cause that’s all you’ll get.”

  Laughing, he went back out to get the things he’d said she would need tonight. Twenty minutes later, she was alone again.

  Only not alone. She had a furry bundle of magic sound asleep on her lap.

  She stroked him lightly and said softly, “Hello, Noel.”

  Chapter 3

  Before he left town, Jon stopped by the grocery to gather supplies and ate a hearty meal at the truck stop. He couldn’t stand the motel room another minute, and he was too wired to stay in town. He figured the only way to save his sanity was to get out into the countryside. Up in the mountains. The only place he felt comfortable anymore.

  Some part of him recognized his behavior as abnormal, yet another part of him recognized that training was difficult to overcome. You couldn’t be on a battlefield one day, then step off the plane the next day at home, and expect to feel comfortable and safe immediately. Far from it.

  Besides, he was worrying about his guys back in Afghanistan. He needed to be on the move, thinking, dealing with his internal turmoil, not locked up in some stuffy motel room. Nor was he sure he wanted to soften his edge, not when he was going back there in just under a month.

  The state highway out of town had already been plowed, but he didn’t plan to walk along it very far. He remembered another road that led up to some ranches and then to a forest service road, and he took it. Not that he needed roads. No, man. Back in Afghanistan, he was lucky if he had a goat track he could follow safely.

  The early light was washed out beneath a ceiling of dove-gray clouds. The world seemed to have lost its depth and become flat. Even the ridges in the snow were nearly invisible in this light.

  But he could see for miles, and that helped calm him. He needed that sphere of emptiness just now.

  And the walking felt good. It lulled his demons into silence, and while he remained alert, he also felt calm. On the move. Never holding still.

  Survival.

  Gradually the slope steepened, and finally he reached the end of the plowed road, near a ranch entrance. Above that the road was marked only by the reflector poles sticking up out of the snowbanks, guides for plows and fools. He walked right between them, the snow knee-deep and exhausting.

  He needed the exhaustion. He needed it to silence all the voices and all the visions he had accumulated. Just put one foot in front of the other and don’t think about it. The warrior’s creed. Because the minute you started thinking, you couldn’t do what you needed to do.

  Sometimes he thought this business of sending people home between tours in-country was a bad deal. They didn’t do that in the Second World War. But these days they seemed to think you needed to get away for a while. Maybe you did. It wasn’t long enough to truly feel at home again, but it was long enough to soften the edge that protected you. It was also the time most guys deserted, because the thought of going back drove them nuts.

  And knowing you were going back, you had to hang onto things that made you all but unacceptable in regular society.

  The devil’s dilemma.

  As he climbed higher into the quiet mountains, the trees began to close in again, evergreens and leafless aspens, but this time the shortened visual range didn’t make him tense. In fact, for once, the climbing truly relaxed him. For a little while he didn’t have to be wired. No threatening sounds reached him; no sense of eyes following him bothered him.

  Slowly a sense of peace began to infiltrate his body and mind. He shouldn’t feel this way. It was dangerous to relax. But he relaxed anyway.

  The cold, dry air felt good in his lungs, the higher altitude fresher and more comfortable. He had acclimated to the mountains of Afghanistan so well that only now did he start to feel comfortable physically. The scent of evergreens spiced the air, but he couldn’t pick out any of the other scents that always constituted a caution: no smell of wood smoke, food or heavy tobacco. No scent of another human being’s unwashed body.

  Then, just as his whole being had relaxed into the rhythm of the hike, he heard the distant sound of an engine behind him.

  At once he halted and swung around, his eyes immediately searching out places that would provide cover. His hands felt achingly empty without the comfort of his rifle. His right hand went immediately to the hunting knife hanging from his belt.

  Wired.

  Then it struck him where he was. That engine offered no threat whatever. When it got near, if it did, all he had to do was move to the side and let it pass.

  But his heart didn’t stop hammering immediately. He turned and forced himself to resume his walk, even though the back of his neck was prickling like mad again.

  The engine grew steadily closer, and finally he turned to face it. At once he recognized Melinda’s forest service Jeep. It was plowing its way up the road, occasionally straining, but gamely pushing forward. Jon crossed the road so he would be on the f
ar side of the snow she was shoving to the side of the road. Shortly she came up beside him and braked.

  “Where are you going?” she asked him.

  “Looking for a place to camp.”

  “Then climb in. There’s a campground not too far from my cabin, and it has some important amenities, like water that isn’t full of giardia.”

  He understood her reference immediately. Amoebic dysentery was a problem everywhere in untreated water.

  He hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Thanks.” He rounded the Jeep, tossed his backpack in the rear and climbed in beside her.

  “You should have told me you were coming up this way this morning,” she said as she shifted into gear. “I could have saved you the walk.”

  “I needed it,” he said. “But thanks.”

  “Sure.” She tossed him a smile and returned her concentration to the road ahead.

  Then Jon felt something move against his hip. Startled, he jumped and twisted, only to find himself looking into a pair of eyes as blue as a summer sky. “What the…?”

  “Oh, sorry.” She laughed. “I was given a dog for Christmas last night. His name is Noel.”

  “Uh…cute.” Except for the part where his heart had slammed into his throat and every instinct to kill had filled him.

  “Sorry he startled you. I should have mentioned he was in here, but I’m so new to having a dog I didn’t think about it.”

  Jon stared down at the dog, which stared solemnly back at him. And then started wagging its tail.

  “He’s friendly,” Melinda said, pressing the accelerator a little harder to gain momentum against a wind drift ahead. “At least I think he is. I doubt Nate Tate would have given me a killer.”

  “He’s too small to kill anything except a mouse. A rat would probably outweigh him.”

  “Right now.”

  The Jeep slid slightly sideways then regained traction. The dog, apparently tired of staring at the man who was holding as still as a statue, turned to a more interesting pastime: sniffing him.

  Jon tried to ignore the little mammal. There was no room in his life for an attachment, however brief. But there was something about the puppy that wouldn’t let him ignore it.

  Maybe it was the little animal’s intensity. He seemed totally involved in absorbing Jon’s scents, whatever they were. Or maybe it was the absolutely unconcerned way the puppy began to crawl onto him, everything about him saying, I know you won’t hurt me.

  “If he bothers you,” Melinda said, “just put him in back.”

  Jon wasn’t going to admit that anything so small and harmless could bother him, although his skin was crawling with wariness at letting anything get so close. “He’s fine.”

  He looked out the window, trying to ignore the pup, but that didn’t work very well when he felt ten pounds of warmth settle on his lap.

  He looked down and saw that Noel had curled up quite comfortably, and his eyelids were hanging at half-mast.

  God. The thing trusted him.

  “I’m trying to decide,” Melinda said, “whether he should be an indoor or an outdoor dog.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I hear huskies are healthier if they live outdoors. But I’m not sure that doesn’t have more to do with their coats getting wet if they come indoors for a while covered with snow. If that happens and you take them back out right away, they’d get awfully cold, don’t you think?”

  “Probably.”

  “So I guess, in winter, it’s an either-or proposition. I guess, given how young he is and that I don’t have any other dogs, it would be better to keep him with me inside most of the time. And just make sure he’s dry before we hit the trail.”

  “Do you walk around out here much in the winter?”

  “I have to. We have winter hikers and campers from time to time, and I have to keep an eye on the wildlife. So I hike, snowshoe, ski…whatever’s best for where I need to go.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “I love the isolation,” she said. “It’s so quiet out here. Especially in the winter. It’s my favorite time of year. So how come you decided to go camping?”

  He hesitated. He wasn’t accustomed to talking about himself anymore. And worse, he was certain that she would think he was crazy, which he probably was by now. “I, uh, just don’t feel comfortable indoors. When I’m in Afghanistan, I live in the mountains, mostly in caves. I just got used to it.”

  She nodded as if she understood. “There’s a safety in not being in town.”

  Now what the devil did that mean for her? he wondered, but didn’t know how to ask.

  “So you don’t enjoy the amenities even when you’re on leave?” she asked.

  “I thought I would. But I’m going back.” As if that explained it all. Maybe it did.

  She didn’t respond, and he was left to wonder if she understood what he meant. Or if even he understood it. Wired. It was as if he couldn’t stop being wired.

  After a bit she spoke. “There are some caves on Thunder Mountain. I could show you. Or, if you don’t have a tent, I have a spare you can use.”

  “Thanks.” Her acceptance seemed strange to him. He’d half expected her to tell him he was nuts. Instead she was offering to show him a cave if he wanted one.

  The last four years didn’t mean that he’d forgotten how things were supposed to be here. The disjunction felt weird, as if he hadn’t left Afghanistan at all, yet he had.

  Then the humor of it struck him unexpectedly. Apparently that hadn’t deserted him along with the other things that had vanished. He laughed.

  She glanced at him. “What?”

  “I just thought how ridiculous it sounds, looking for a cave to hide in.”

  Her lips curved upward, and a chuckle escaped her. “I expect a lot of people would like a cave to hide in.”

  “Yeah. Of course, for most it’s not a compulsion.”

  “Do you really have to live off the land over there? No bases?”

  “Not big bases, although we have some. But believe me, it’s safer just to keep moving.”

  “So do you deal a lot with the locals?”

  “All the time. I like most of them a lot. But things are getting worse over there.”

  “How so?”

  “The Taliban are coming back and raiding. We spend a lot of time hunting for their weapons caches, of course, and hunting for them. But they’re still rolling into villages and killing people. And they burn a lot of schools, mostly schools for girls.”

  “God, that’s awful.”

  “We were actually making headway for a while. Now it feels as if we’re losing ground. But it’ll turn around again.”

  “You’re very committed, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t think of it that way. “I just do what I have to.”

  Silence fell again, except for the grind of the Jeep’s engine and the crunch of snow against the plow. Half an hour later they came to a halt beside a small log cabin, beneath a slanted roof that served as a carport. Also parked there was a snowmobile, and not too far away was a gas pump.

  Noel stirred, sitting up and yawning massively, showing rows of tiny milk teeth. At once he howled.

  “I guess he needs a walk,” Melinda said. She reached over and scooped him up. “Come on. I’ll make us both a warm drink before I show you the campground.”

  The puppy seemed dismayed by the deep snow at first. He stepped into it, lifting each paw high, as if to keep it clear. It was as deep as he was tall, and for a few moments it appeared he was going to chicken out.

  Then, surprising them both into laughter, he nosedived into the snow and began to burrow into it.

  “I guess he really is a husky,” Melinda said.

  “I hear they stray a lot and can’t find their way home.”

  “What an awful thought.” But she didn’t run to pick him up. Instead, she let him burrow to his heart’s content, and then laughed again when his head popped up out of the snow. Then, with app
arent pride, he came back toward the carport, squatted and did his business.

  An instant later he leapt into Melinda’s arm. She laughed again as he licked her face and led the way into the cabin.

  The front room clearly served as both office and living area. There was a counter sporting park brochures and a cash register, and maps decorated the walls. Over to one side were a sofa, an easy chair and a woodstove. Melinda dropped the puppy to the floor, and went to stir up the embers in the stove and add wood. It wasn’t long before the fire blazed merrily and warmth began to penetrate the chilly air.

  “Have a seat,” she told Jon. “I’ll get the stuff from my kitchen, and we’ll make hot drinks on the stove here.”

  “Is that where you cook?”

  “Naw.” She flashed a smile. “I have a propane stove, and a generator if I really need electric power.” But she lit an oil lamp before disappearing into the back of the cabin.

  Jon took the opportunity to look around. She appeared to lead a very basic lifestyle, one that didn’t look as strange to him as it might to others. Most of the world lived like this, or worse. And after the earthquake that had destroyed so much of Kashmir, a lot of them didn’t have even this much, although he and his men tried to help out, tried to assist in rebuilding homes.

  He finally came to rest on the sofa, figuring the easy chair was probably her favorite, and unzipped his parka. A thump-thump issued repeatedly from the rear of the house, and finally Noel reappeared, skittering to a stop on the bare wood floor, his tongue hanging out and a sappy grin on his face. He looked at Jon, then tore off again, thump-thump, on his own private racetrack.

  By the time Melinda returned with a teakettle and a coffeepot and set them atop the stove, Jon had removed his parka. The room was warming rapidly. Melinda adjusted the damper, then settled into the armchair. “I’m making both coffee and water for tea,” she said. “I didn’t know which you’d prefer.”

  “Either is fine. I’m easy to please.”

  She gave him a long, thoughtful look. Before she could ask him a question, he decided to forestall her.

  “How long have you been doing this?” he asked.