Hers to Heal

by Vonnie Davis

  “Gina has a child?” The words were out of Reece’s mouth before he could stop them. Really, why would he give a shit if she had a passel of kids and one potbellied husband? It wasn’t as if Reece was jealous in any way. If she had a child and was married, where was her wedding band? A beautiful, caring woman like her deserved a fancy ring, so she’d probably need to remove it to work on patients.

  Not that he gave a damn about her marital status. If he told himself that often enough, he just might believe it. Truth was, he hated the thought he’d been fantasizing about a married woman. He wasn’t that type of man.

  Stuffing half a biscuit into his mouth, ZQ talked around the pastry. “Yeah. She’s a single mom trying to raise a little girl on her own. Seems to be doing a good job.” He chuckled. “Wait until you meet the little chatterbox. Tape your ears to your head or she’ll talk them right off.”

  Hell, the kid can’t possibly talk as much as her mom.

  “Tell me, Steelhead”—ZQ pointed to Reece’s fake hand with his fork—“what did Gina threaten you with to get you to keep your prosthesis on? By now, it would be sticking out of one of the trash barrels. I have to admit it’s been galling my ass you’re not even trying to adjust to it. Hell, man, improvements are being made to these things every day. Get proficient with the damn thing.”

  Reece stared at ZQ for a minute. He wanted to tell him to mind his own damn business. Why the hell was he so concerned about his using or not using a prosthesis? Deciding it wasn’t worth the battle, he simply answered ZQ’s initial question.

  “Threatened to reprogram the microchip embedded under my skin so my fingers are permanently wrapped around my cock. So even if I removed the prosthesis from what remains of my real arm before nine at night, my grip would remain and I’d look like I had two and a half legs.” He shot a sheepish glance at Junebug. “Pardon my language, ma’am. We guys are so used to talking to each other, we forget when a lady’s present.”

  “Fudge and buttermilk, son. I understand that.” She pursed her lips. “Although I prefer a more gentler term than cock—rooster. One good thing with Gina’s idea is women wouldn’t notice the absence of most of your arm; they’d be too focused on how you filled out a pair of jeans.” She snorted, hung her head, and shook it a time or two before a peal of laughter exploded. “Merciful heavens, I’d love to watch their reactions.”

  Reece’s gaze slid to ZQ, who just grinned. He’d heard this nonsense from his mother before. Rooster? What the hell? How did he respond to this? Reece shoved more roast beef into his mouth and nodded. Certainly this will be enough to end this train wreck of a conversation.

  Junebug pointed to his hand. “I was wondering—”

  Or not.

  “You mentioned computer chip. Where is it? Does it operate your arm?” She speared a potato and popped it into her mouth.

  He pointed to the back of his neck. “It’s there.” Sweat started to break out. He hadn’t talked this much to a lot of people in a long time and missed the comfort zone of silence.

  Junebug stood and rounded the table to peer at the base of his neck. A cold finger rubbed over the spot. “I see a teeny tiny scar and feel a miniscule bump. What does this chip do?” She returned to her seat.

  “It transfers my thoughts or voice commands to my arm or hand. It’s a communications link between my brain and my prosthesis. There’s a battery in my fake arm that operates it once the signals have been received.”

  Junebug squirmed in her seat, her excitement almost palpable. “Oh, Reece darlin’, show me. Talk to it.”

  Damn, he was not some freak show. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for calm. This woman had welcomed him into her home, cooked for him, did his laundry. He would not upset her. His mom had raised him better. Opening his eyes, he pasted on a weak smile. “Here goes. I’m not very good at this.”

  “Could be because you keep refusing to practice with it, you hardheaded sombitch,” ZQ said.

  Dammit man, get off my back.

  Reece focused on Junebug and then extended his arm across the table toward her. “Close hand. Open hand.” The prosthesis responded to both commands. “Extend index finger. Tap table with index finger. That’s really about all I can do. Although I learned how to pick up a fork today.” He’d been too pissed to pick up the dimes Gina had set before him. All he could do was order her to talk. No doubt he’d sounded like a crazy man. Maybe that’s what he was. Crazy with a capital C.

  Junebug had her palms together as if she’d been clapping for him. “Could I ask you to think a command for me? I know I’m being a pest, but I find this so fascinating. Why, I recall when all that was available to someone who’d lost part of an arm was a metal hook.”

  She had a special sweetness about her. How could he refuse? Raise arm. Lower arm. His fake arm reacted properly. Pick up fork. I might as well show off my newly acquired functionality of this damn fake arm.

  This time she did clap. “Oh, just look at how amazing he is! Reece, a couple weeks from now, I predict you’ll be eating with that hand.” Her head bobbed as she used a biscuit to soak up the gravy. “Don’t give up. SEALs never give up.” She patted her son’s arm. “They might get cranky as Hades, heal a little slower at times, but they never stop trying.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Reece had all he could take. He was going to the quiet of his room. “Thank you for the meal. Very delicious, as always.” Having talked enough for the night, he prepared to rise.

  “Don’t go yet! I made coconut cream pie just for you. Isn’t that your favorite?” She stood to untie Nance’s bib that read, “I love my horse” and featured a rocking horse under the caption. Junebug had mentioned once that the bibs ZQ wore as a baby were now relegated to Nance.

  JJ and ZQ cleared the table and brought over the coffee and pie. This was an evening ritual Reece found calming—if he didn’t have to talk.

  Nance trotted over and rested her chin on his thigh, her big brown eyes staring at him. The service dog had led the team to where he’d been held prisoner in Syria, hanging by chains around his ankles, and a dirty bandage on his arm’s stump. “You’re the best,” Reece whispered.

  Nance jumped onto his lap and licked his face and neck. How could anyone not love this furry dog? Beneath the muscled mass of German shepherd beat a giant golden heart. He hugged her and kissed her neck and head. “Thank you, baby girl. You did a good job.” How many times had he told her that since he’d arrived at the ranch?

  For some reason she acted as if she didn’t believe him—and that had to be his fucked-up mind imagining this nonsense. Nance whined and jumped down, trotting toward the door JJ held open. She stopped, turned her head, and barked once at Reece before going outside.

  ZQ set a coffee mug in front of Reece. “I think Nance just repeated in doggie-speak what Mom said earlier, Steelhead. ‘A SEAL never quits.’ ”

  —

  Once the kitchen was clean and the dishwasher hummed, ZQ locked himself in his office while his mother and JJ watched a movie on the TV in the living room. Reece had gone to the stables to check on his horse, Cochise, and ZQ’s Magic Moon, a mare about to foal.

  New intel from Admiral Callaghan, his handler at the CIA, had arrived today via overnight government courier. ZQ wanted to study it again, slower, absorbing every detail.

  One thing that had helped him make the transition from active duty to retired life besides caring for his dad as cancer took him was the opportunity presented to him during his exit interview. Thank goodness the two admirals understood his need for time with his parents before he’d be ready to assemble a black ops team. He and his dad enjoyed ten months together before his lifelong hero passed. He’d been one lucky kid to have had a dad like Austin Quinlan.

  Now, ZQ had his team—Black Eagle Ops—in place. While he had six men, including himself, a couple more would have been preferable.

  He set his squat glass of scotch on his desk, spun his office chair, and dialed in the combination of the safe behind
him, removing the latest file delivered today. The CIA had finally gotten some decent photos of that miserable asshole Adrik Vlaslov, leader of the Morozov Circle, the branch of the Russian Mafia that dealt in child trafficking for sex purposes and forcing small businesses to pay shakedown monies for “protection.”

  His cell rang and he noted the caller. “Good evening, Ashley.”

  “I’m ready, Commander.”

  “Are you sure?” He’d been trying to convince Ashley Vogel to come to Eagle Ridge Ranch for nearly a year, but she’d been too emotionally damaged from being abducted, tortured, and repeatedly raped by the members of a large ISIS cell to make a decision. Hell, most of the time, she could barely speak when he’d call her.

  When SEAL Team 5 stormed the building where she’d been held prisoner, if she hadn’t had a pulse, they wouldn’t have known she was still alive. The petite blond translator had been beaten so badly, she was unrecognizable. Poor kid had gone so deep inside herself to hide emotionally from all the fuck-all shit done to her, he wasn’t sure the Ashley who’d teased his men about their many bad habits would ever resurface.

  “Yes. I’m sure. I thought I could handle my recovery on my own. I’ve tried booze, drugs, isolation. Nothing’s worked.”

  “I don’t allow drugs on the ranch, sweetheart, unless they’ve been prescribed by a doctor.”

  “I’m clean. I need to have control after all that happened. Drugs made me feel as if I had zero control over anything. I’ve been forcing myself to walk outside, but the noise on the streets frightens me. I can’t handle horns blowing or people yelling. If someone bumps into me, I go into a panic. I need lots of quiet space.”

  “How soon do you want me to drive to Phoenix to get you? Will you be ready Monday?” He didn’t want to give her too long to think about things and chicken out.

  “Yes. Here’s where I’ll be.” She gave him an address and he promised to call her as soon as he hit Phoenix so she could watch for him.

  ZQ opened his office door. His mom and JJ were both eating popcorn from a large bowl, their attention glued to an old suspense flick.

  “Mom?”

  A handful of popcorn went airborne and she swiveled in his direction. “Fudge and buttermilk, son, you liked to scare the daylights out of me! What is it?”

  “Looks like you’ll be getting a daughter on Monday. Ashley just called. She’s ready to come to the ranch for some quiet and healing time.”

  “A daughter, at last. How marvelous. I’ll put fresh linens on her bed and dust everything. Air out her room. Won’t take me long to get it ready.”

  “I’ll go into town and buy her some flowers,” JJ added. He didn’t look at either one of them. He just kept petting Nance. He and Ashley had once shared a close relationship, nothing sexual according to JJ. Even so, ZQ could see during the deployment that they both cared deeply for each other. “Ashley likes to read books about other cultures,” JJ continued. “I’ll stop by Kelcee’s bookstore to see if she has anything on hand Ashley might enjoy reading.”

  Mom grinned. “See? We’ll have everything ready for her. Have no fear.” This generous woman he’d had the privilege of being born to had always wanted more offspring, but it hadn’t been in her reproductive cards. Having former members of his team drift in and out pleased her. At last she had more children to fuss over and spoil, even if they were old enough to have youngsters of their own.

  ZQ leaned over his mother and kissed her forehead. “You’re the best. Sleep well. I’ll probably be poring over files when you go to bed.”

  Nance stood, her paws on the back of the sofa, and whined.

  “Can’t forget you, can I? Good night, baby girl.” He ruffled her fur and scratched behind her one ear. She bestowed a few canine kisses to his chin and cheek before eating the popcorn ZQ’s mom had dropped.

  ZQ glanced at his watch as he entered his office. Wanda would still be up. He’d have to call to cancel their date for Monday night. She’d bitch, but it couldn’t be helped. Ashley had been part of his team; she came first. He glanced at his empty glass and decided to pour another two fingers before he made the call. Wanda was getting whiny and manipulative of late. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could put up with her shit.

  He thumbed her number and sipped his scotch.

  “This better be good. I’ve just smeared a mask on my face and I don’t want it to crack once it hardens.”

  He propped his boots on his desk and leaned back in his chair. “Now darlin’, a pretty filly like you doesn’t need to wear a mask.”

  “You’re laying it on pretty thick. What are you up to?” She talked as if her lips were pursed into a small hole so whatever junk she’d slopped on her face wouldn’t crack or crinkle. Hell, whatever.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to cancel our date for Monday. I’m driving to Phoenix to pick up a member of my former team. It’ll be late when we get back to the ranch and I won’t feel like going anywhere else. Can I have a rain check with that sweet body of yours? Maybe we’ll go to Marcel V’s for supper and do a little dancing.” He sipped more scotch, waiting for the explosion.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, it’s dinner not supper. Supper sounds so common. Why is some soldier more important than me?”

  He ground his back molars. God, she could be irritable as hell when she wasn’t getting her way. Maybe it was time to end this dead-end companionship. “Any serviceman or woman who served and bled under my command is more important than anyone else. Mother understands that and if we’re to continue seeing each other you’ll have to come to terms with it, too. I’ll call you in a few days.” He ended the call and drained his glass.

  Hell, he should never have gotten involved with Wanda. Neither one did relationships, or commitment, or love. Both were after a good time and some sexual release. Few could handle his demands. Wanda loved his domination in the bedroom. That’s what kept them together.

  He opened the file and began reading through the newly gathered intel again. When Black Eagle Ops was assigned with the mission to eradicate this Russian Mafia group from American soil, he wanted his men ready. To effectively lead them, ZQ had to know every shred of data about the Mafia. He had to be able to recognize each of their top leaders on sight.

  Chapter 4

  Reece stepped into a pair of plaid sleep pants, jerking them one-handed over skin still damp from his shower. He opened a drawer and snatched out an old t-shirt, yanking it over his head and raking his fingers through his long wet hair to restore some semblance of order. His hair hadn’t been this long since before he joined the Navy. Much longer and he’d need to start wearing a man bun, especially when the Texas heat kicked in. It would make more sense to get a haircut.

  He lifted the framed picture of his parents from the top of his chest of drawers. They were at the Elks Club when it was taken. Pops had his beefy hand around a beer, laughing at Mom while she waved a stalk of celery in the air, no doubt regaling him with one of her ornery jokes. Pop adored her sense of humor. Hell, he’d worshiped the ground she’d walked on.

  His father had taught him by example how to love a woman completely, how to make her the most important thing in his life. And it showed in this picture. Reece stroked his index finger over the frame. A happy moment frozen behind glass. He’d have to call his pop tomorrow, make sure he was okay.

  Someone knocked at his door. “Reece, are you still up? I have a dish of chocolate cookie ice cream for you.” Junebug. The longer he stayed here, the more she reminded him of Mom.

  He opened the door and eyed the heaping bowl of frozen delight speared with two spoons. “Are we going Dutch?”

  The silver-haired woman chuckled as she waltzed in, handed him the bowl, and scooped a spoonful for herself before she winked at him. “I don’t want much. Some people just feel strange eating alone in front of others.” She dragged the rocking chair closer to his bed and sat.

  Just what was this woman up to? He settled on the side of the bed and took a fe
w bites of ice cream, enjoying the cold and the crunch of broken Oreos. It was so good, he ate faster. Brain freeze!

  “I see you have your prosthesis off. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you alone tonight.” She scooped another bite from her side of the bowl. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you at the dinner table by getting so wound up over how your arm works. My late Austin, God love his soul, used to say I was often childish in my enthusiasm. Not as a criticism, mind you. I think he enjoyed my exuberance and love of life.” She patted Reece’s knee. “Please forgive me if I made you feel ill at ease.”

  God, she was a good-hearted woman, so much like his mother. His eyes misted and he blinked, embarrassed at how close to the surface his emotions were. “It’s okay,” he croaked. His gaze drifted to the photo he’d held earlier. He hadn’t cried at his mom’s bedside or her funeral. Now, two years later, he was a mess. Dammit.

  Junebug lifted the bowl from his trembling hand and set it on his nightstand. “What is it, son? Talk to me.” She enfolded his hand in her cool, gnarled ones. “I’m here,” she whispered. “Won’t you tell me what hurts you so?”

  He swallowed and looked away. Fuck! I’m going to lose it. He blinked several more times and swallowed again. “My mom died.” He stared at a place on the carpet between his bare feet. “Two years…” He cleared his throat and nodded. “Two years ago today.”

  The bed shifted marginally after the petite older woman shuffled from the rocker to his side and enveloped him in her arms. “Oh, my sweet, sweet boy.” She rocked him back and forth. “Losing a loved one leaves a painful hole that can never be filled. Time may dull the ache, but the hole, that damnable emptiness, is always there.” She kissed his forehead. “Hold on. I know just the thing we need. It’s in my linen closet.”

  She bustled out of his room. He flopped across the bed, blamed himself for being a weak son of a bitch, for showing how much he still mourned for his mom. How long had it been since he’d been flattened by emotional pain? Lord, he’d been numb for so long. Thanks a helluva lot, Mom, for dragging me back to the land of the living. I was doing fine in my solitary world, you know, numb to pain. Seriously.