Heart of a Soldier

by Belle Calhoune

  Awful. That didn’t even begin to describe it. It had been pure torment. But living in Madden had taught him a lot about survival, lessons he’d taken right along with him to Afghanistan. He liked to think those early lessons had kept him alive in a war zone. They had made him sharper and stronger, with an ability to land on his feet no matter what was thrown at him.

  His gaze locked with Holly’s. There was so much emotion in their azure depths. Despite all she’d been through, things that might have hardened a person, she still had empathy for him. Her eyes said it all. She ached for all he’d endured.

  But he still hadn’t told her the extent of the injuries he’d sustained. He hadn’t yet revealed his own devastating experience with losing the use of his legs. As difficult as his ordeal had been, it was nothing compared to all Holly suffered. And she still had day-to-day challenges. Guilt began to creep in on him.

  “I hate to complain about it after all you’ve been through. It must have been terrifying to wake up in a hospital bed and have a doctor tell you about your paralysis.”

  Her mouth tightened. “It was actually my parents and Tate who delivered the news. They made sure to be the ones to tell me.” The look on her face spoke of hardship and loss. “Even though it was devastating, learning about the gravity of the situation from my loved ones was a blessing. When I lost it, at least I had the three of them there to hold me as I fell apart.”

  “And your recovery. What was that like?” he prodded, overwhelmed by curiosity about her journey.

  She winced. “It took months to learn how to roll over, get dressed by myself, feed myself. I had to learn all the things most able-bodied people take for granted. That’s one of the reasons these lessons mean the world to me. Riding Sundance makes me feel like my old self. It helps me feel independent. I still have a lot of mountains to climb on this journey, but I’m determined to get there.”

  He felt something tighten in his chest and he knew that he couldn’t hold out on her a minute longer. It wasn’t fair to just sit here and listen while she bared her soul. He owed her so much more than that. Clumsily, he searched for the right words to say. “Do you remember what I wrote to you about the injuries I sustained two and a half years ago?”

  Her eyes went wide. “Of course. The Humvee you were traveling in... It was attacked, wasn’t it? That’s when your friend Benji was killed.”

  Benji. He tried not to think of him too often. Benji, with his Southern twang and gentle demeanor. He’d told more knock-knock jokes than Dylan had even knew existed. Even when they’d been stinkers, he’d found himself laughing. There was something so genuine and good-hearted about him. Dylan had never met a soldier more proud of his origins. Benji didn’t hesitate to boast about hailing from the finest town in Virginia. Manassas, Virginia. Benji told anyone who would listen about his hometown being the site of the First Battle of Bull Run in 1861. His friend’s patriotism has come at a devastating price. He’d lost his life protecting the freedoms most people took for granted.

  “Holly, what I want to tell you—” He put his cupcake down on his napkin and fiddled clumsily with his fingers. “What I need to let you know is that I can relate to your situation more than most. My injuries were quite serious. For a while there I was in really rough shape. I was out of commission for months.”

  Holly made a tutting sound. “That’s tough. I know what it’s like to be confined to a hospital bed and staring at four walls. It makes you value the normal, everyday life you lived before everything tilted on its axis and changed.”

  He sucked in a deep breath. “Holly, there’s more. We have more in common than you know. The reason I was in the hospital for so long was because I lost the use of my legs, just like you did.”

  Chapter Eight

  I lost the use of my legs, just like you did.

  The words slammed into her with the force of an explosion. She grappled with Dylan’s words, immediately assuming she’d misheard him.

  “Wh-what do you mean?”

  “My neck was broken as a result of the explosion. The force of the blast threw me from the Humvee. The doctors didn’t think I would ever walk again. They told me as much when I woke up from a medically induced coma.”

  Broken neck. Legs. Coma. The details were whizzing around her like hummingbirds. But she couldn’t seem to get past the shock induced by Dylan’s announcement. Dylan had been paralyzed?

  “How long? How long were you—?” She stumbled over the words, still reeling from his admission. So much of Dylan was reflected in his physicality. Being a soldier. His work around the ranch. Riding horses. For the life of her she couldn’t imagine strong, powerful Dylan paralyzed.

  “I couldn’t walk for two months. Once the swelling on my spinal cord went down, I began doing physical therapy.” Just reliving his experience seemed to have a drastic effect on Dylan. His complexion was ashen. Tight lines were drawn around his mouth and eyes. A look of stark terror flashed in his eyes.

  “To be honest, the pain was excruciating. Fear was my biggest motivator. The thought of never walking again—” He stopped midsentence, appearing worried that he might have put his foot in his mouth again.

  “It’s okay to say it. You’re being honest. For a while after the accident, I had this recurring dream where I regained the use of my legs.” She let out a shaky laugh. “I grew to hate that dream, because as good as it felt while it was happening, there was a world of disappointment when I woke up and realized it wasn’t true.”

  Silence stretched out between them. She was still grappling with this new information about Dylan. Her mind was working overtime trying to sort it all out when something clicked into place. Finding out the specifics of his injuries explained so much about Dylan and the way he viewed her.

  She tilted her head toward him, eager to see his reaction to her question. “When you look at me, there’s something else you see, isn’t there?”

  His brows shot up. “Something else? I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

  “I couldn’t put my finger on it until this very moment, but I get it now. Every time you look at me it’s as if you’re reminded of your darkest hour, your worst fear. My being in a wheelchair really brings it all back for you, doesn’t it? I’m the living, breathing embodiment of your nightmare, aren’t I?”

  Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, but she blinked them away. She could handle this, no matter what he had to say, no matter how badly it crushed her. It hurt so deeply to know that the very sight of her caused pain to Dylan. Because she cared for him. Deeply. And the sight of him did the very opposite to her. Her feelings were growing stronger and stronger every day. He was so much more now than the pen pal she’d reached out to as part of Main Street Church’s ministry.

  Dylan met her gaze without backing down. “Holly, you’re right. When I first got to the ranch and realized you were paralyzed, the memories from the bomb blast came rushing back to me. They were like a tidal surge I couldn’t hold back even if I tried.”

  His body shuddered. “I’m not sure I ever fully faced up to the events of that day. Losing Benji, having to deal with a devastating injury, feeling guilty about being alive when others weren’t so fortunate. Being around you has helped me heal from all that. It’s helped me face my fears. Seeing you working with the teens at Main Street Church and watching you tackle this riding thing head-on—” He shook his head. “It inspires me. I’ve been forced to take a good long look at myself and the things I haven’t faced up to. More important, it’s made me even more certain of what kind of man I want to be. I don’t want to be the type of man who runs away when things get tough, even though I’ve done that a time or two in the past. I want to be more grounded in my faith so I don’t feel so alone during the rough times.”

  “You never walk alone, Dylan. He’s right beside you. Always.”

  “Thanks to you,
I’m beginning to realize that, for the first time in my life. I’m so proud to know you, Holly Lynch.”

  She ducked her head down, overwhelmed by raw emotion and the beautiful sentiment he’d expressed. “I’m proud to know you, too, Dylan. In case I never told you in any of my letters, thank you for bravely serving this country. I know it wasn’t easy.”

  Shivers went through her as she remembered some of the harrowing details from his letters. IEDs. Insurgents. Friends killed in the line of duty.

  “It was my pleasure to serve and protect this country,” he said with an easy grin, his adorable dimples on full display. “There are few things more important to me than family, good friends and this amazing country we call home.”

  Dylan reached out to her, clasping her smaller hand in the grip of his larger, roughened one. He leaned toward her, his shoulder brushing against hers as he swept a kiss across her forehead. As his lips moved over her skin, she pressed her eyes closed, cherishing this tender interlude, which she feared would pass all too soon.

  This sweet moment of perfection, she thought, will forever linger in my dreams.

  Sometime in the future—months and months after Dylan was gone for good—she could relive it over and over again. She wanted to take this moment and brand it on her soul so the feelings it evoked would never leave her. It would give her a sense of peace just knowing they’d shared something so special. As she opened her eyes she found Dylan gazing into them with a tenderness that left her breathless. They sat in companionable silence until Dylan made mention of getting back to work. They began packing up the empty water bottles and trash.

  She said her goodbyes to Dylan, casting one lingering look over her shoulder as he ambled off toward the stables, his gait full of cowboy swagger. And even though she knew there were mountains standing between them, a small kernel of hope began to take flight within her soul. Could this really be happening? Was there a possibility of winning Dylan’s heart before he left West Falls?

  * * *

  For the next week, Malachi stayed put at the reservation, during which time Dylan gave Holly almost daily lessons. He wasn’t as nervous anymore about helping her out. So far, things had worked out well, although the past few times, she’d balked when he’d tried to end the lessons. At the moment, she was sitting on Sundance, her arms wrapped around her middle in a mutinous gesture.

  “Dylan, I’m fine,” she protested. “I could go another fifteen, twenty minutes.”

  “You don’t want to wear yourself out,” he said, trying to sound diplomatic. Although she was building up her endurance, he didn’t want to push her too hard. As it was, she looked wiped out. He couldn’t miss the signs—sweat gathered lightly on her forehead, winded breath, slumped posture. Her plucky personality made it impossible for her to say she’d had enough, even though she was dragging. Holly wanted so desperately to be back in the saddle and to make forward strides. She wouldn’t hesitate to push past her limits in order to get there. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t happening. Not on his watch.

  “Are you saying I look worn-out?” she huffed, placing a runaway curl back in place and wiping the sweat from her brow. At times he’d noticed her hair had a mind of its own, with the locks breaking free from the ponytail she’d placed it in. He liked seeing her hair falling all around her face. It softened some of her rough, tomboy edges. It made her look prettier than usual, if that were possible. As it was, she was stunning.

  “Right now you’re acting as stubborn as Rooster Cogburn.”

  Holly sputtered at the mention of her family’s feisty rooster, a legendary character at the ranch. “Seriously? You’re comparing me to a rooster?” Although her voice sounded indignant, Dylan could detect the amusement on her face and the twinkle in her eyes. She was seconds away from bursting into laughter.

  “If the shoe fits,” he drawled, intent on riling her up a little. “Come to think of it, your hair does get a little spiky from time to time.”

  She sputtered, her face resembling a storm cloud as she frowned at him. “One thing you better learn real fast about us Texas girls—never, ever insult our hair!”

  Dylan threw back his head and laughed out loud. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun with someone. He liked the spirited side of Holly, even if it meant she was digging in her heels and acting ornery. Their easy banter made him feel almost weightless, and a happy feeling settled over him every time they went head-to-head. He’d never met anyone quite like her. He had the feeling if he searched the whole world over he’d never find another woman like Holly.

  The sound of an approaching vehicle drew their attention away from their squabble and toward the dirt road situated just past the stables. The biggest horse trailer he’d ever seen came into view, then slowly made its way around the bends and stopped.

  Holly let out a high-pitched squeal and began to fidget in the saddle. “Dylan, please help me down. My parents are here. They’re back!”

  As Dylan helped her down from Sundance, his mind began to whirl with the news. After several weeks on the road, the Lynches had finally returned from picking up their newly acquired horses. Holly had talked a blue streak about her parents during several of her riding lessons. From what he’d learned about them, they were exceptional people. Maggie Benson Lynch had grown up as the princess of Horseshoe Bend Ranch, with all the rights and privileges of being the daughter of a wealthy horse breeder. She’d been born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth. According to Holly it had been love at first sight when Frank Lynch had clapped eyes on Maggie.

  “My dad was working at the ranch as a cowhand. My grandfather forbade the ranch hands from dating my mother, but once they laid eyes on each other...there wasn’t a force on earth that could stop it.” Clearly, Holly loved relaying the story. Her eyes had twinkled. Her skin had held a rosy glow.

  “Your parents have built a beautiful life for themselves,” he’d said, trying to keep a grip on his amazement. It was hard not to be impressed with all they’d achieved. Horseshoe Bend Ranch was a stunning monument to hard work and dedication.

  “My grandfather, Lucas Benson, had a lot to do with it. He came to West Falls from Kentucky with barely a nickel to his name.” Holly had shaken her head and chuckled.

  “So how did your father win your grandpa’s approval?” A cowhand winning the hand of the ranch owner’s daughter? It sounded like a fairy tale to him.

  “The old-fashioned way,” Holly had answered, her voice tinged with pride. “He earned it by dedicating himself to this ranch and by making it his mission in life to generate more revenue and higher standards. And by chasing all the other boys away.” She’d winked at him. “Gramps couldn’t resist that.”

  Dylan shook himself out of his thoughts as two figures emerged from the cabin of the rig. He followed in Holly’s wake as she quickly wheeled herself in their direction. A man he assumed to be her father strode toward her, meeting her halfway. As soon as he got within touching distance Holly wrapped her arms around his middle and hung on for dear life. He bent over and placed a kiss on the top of her head. Her mother walked over and ran her hands through Holly’s hair, her gesture full of affection.

  “If that hug was any indication, I dare say you missed us,” Frank said as Holly released him from her grip.

  “Maybe just a little bit,” Holly teased, her voice breathless. “Mama. Daddy. I’d like you to meet Dylan Hart, a friend of mine. He’s been hired on as a ranch hand and he’s been giving me riding lessons, as well.”

  Dylan stuck his hand out to Mrs. Lynch. “I’ve heard an awful lot about the two of you. It’s great to finally meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too, Dylan. Please call me Maggie. No one calls me Mrs. Lynch around here. It makes me feel ancient. And I don’t do handshakes. Only hugs.” Before he could comment, Maggie wrapped her arms around his shoulders and embraced him e
nthusiastically. Afterward, she stood back and grinned at him, her full cheeks resembling small plums.

  Maggie Lynch was an attractive woman who exuded a vibe of ease and charm. With her expressive eyes and delicate features, she reminded him a bit of her daughter. The dark hair tinged with streaks of gray and the glasses perched on the bridge of her nose were uniquely her own. Frank Lynch was a bear of a man, well over six feet and broad shouldered. Frank reached out and clapped him on the shoulder, his twinkling blue eyes and warm smile immediately dispelling any doubts about his kindly nature.

  “Welcome aboard, son. Any friend of my number one girl is always welcome at Horseshoe Bend Ranch,” Frank said, his voice laced with enthusiasm.

  Holly grinned at her father. “How was your trip home? You look a little tuckered out.” Frank reached down and tugged lightly on a strand of Holly’s hair. It was obvious that father and daughter shared a special bond. He didn’t know if he was imagining it or not, but there seemed to be a slight tension between Holly and Maggie. Their interaction seemed a little strained.

  “We made good time,” Frank answered. “Every three to four hours we stopped to give the horses a water break. We spent last night in Houston, so the trip wasn’t too bad. Wanted to make it home in time for the rodeo.”

  “The rodeo is not to be missed,” Holly explained. “At least if you’re a Lynch.”

  Maggie looked over at him. “One of the reasons we do our scouting in October is because of the temperature,” Maggie explained. “The summer months are too brutally hot to safely transport horses any kind of distance. And we want to make sure all our horses are comfortable and healthy.”

  Frank chuckled. “In case you haven’t guessed, this is more than a job for us. It’s our life’s passion. That and our two wonderful children.”

  Pride and an abundance of love rang out in Frank’s voice as he spoke about Holly and Tate. Dylan felt a small stab of jealousy. What he wouldn’t give to have a father who felt that way about him. To just once hear his father brag on him or hail his latest achievement would mean the world to him. Other than a few “atta boys” when he’d worked at the Bar M, there had been nothing to speak of. And he’d yearned for it. Like a starving person in search of a meal, he’d gone after any scrap of affection from him. Just when he’d felt as if they’d begun to establish a father-son bond, the rug had been pulled out from under him.