Grimacing, Kira sipped the black coffee, both hands around the cup. “I don’t have much of an appetite anymore, ma’am.”
“I see.” Barbara studied her in the growing silence. “You’ve had it rough. This last report indicates you’ve run out of money.”
Shrugging, Kira said, “I’ve still got a little left, ma’am. I make ends meet by translating Arabic on an Internet website. My father sent me some when I told him I got fired from my last job.” That hurt to say it, too. Her father, Les, had wanted her to stay home to recover, but her nightmares, the screaming, was keeping him up half the night several times a week. Kira felt so ashamed of herself, and the fact that she couldn’t stop or control them, that she left. Her father was a hardworking man running a lumber business and he needed his sleep. If it wasn’t for his generosity, she would have starved by now.
“Is the stress and anxiety stopping you from holding a job, Kira?”
Nodding, it hurt to admit it. Shame, deep and invasive, flowed through Kira. Her stomach tightened until it felt like a boulder was sitting in it. Barbara had requisitioned the money for her truck trip, reserved her a motel room and given her a food stipend to get her here because Kira couldn’t afford to do it on her own.
“Eat.”
Kira forced herself to bite into the sweet apricot Danish.
“My placement team has a lead on a job for you,” Barbara said briskly, choosing a lemon Danish. “One of the things my team is tasked with is to get returning black ops women who have PTSD long-term employment.”
Kira knew that. The team had found five jobs for her in the past. She’d been fired from all of them. “Yes,” she whispered, unable to meet the general’s eyes. She’d failed her, too.
Reaching out, Barbara gripped her lower left arm and squeezed it. “I’m not disappointed in you, Kira. You have PTSD. You were one of two survivors in your team. You saved your fellow sergeant’s life. And for your valor, you were awarded a Silver Star, not to mention a Purple Heart. You should be proud, not ashamed. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve served your country with courage and honor.”
Hollow words. They only deepened Kira’s sense of hopelessness. At one time, she had been the cream of the crop as far as women in combat went. She was good at what she did. And she’d never failed Barbara or anyone else in those three years. Her teammates admired and respected her. General Ward was pleased.
Until the ambush . . . and since then, her life had been in free fall, all her control over herself taken away. The only place Kira knew she was headed was down a rabbit hole she couldn’t see any end to. “With all due respect, ma’am, it doesn’t mean a thing to most people in America. Military people comprise one percent of the US population. We’re a niche minority at best.”
Grimly, Barbara nodded. She pulled a piece of paper from the file and nudged it in Kira’s direction. “My team has found a place for you to apply for a job.”
Kira stared at it. She wanted to cry. To run. To hide from life. She tucked in her lower lip between her teeth, afraid she’d burst into tears of humiliation.
Barbara kept her hand on the paper. “This one is different, Kira. I talked to the owner of the Bar C in Wind River, Wyoming, yesterday. Her name is Shaylene Lockhart. She’s a military veteran who was in the Marine Corps. She served in Afghanistan until she was given an honorable medical discharge.”
“Does she have PTSD?” Kira asked, unable to meet the general’s gaze.
“Yes. She came home on a hardship discharge because her father, who ran the ranch, had a stroke that partially paralyzed him. By the tenets of her mother’s will, the ranch legally went to her when her father was incapacitated, and she now owns it. The place was in pretty bad shape because he’s an alcoholic.” Barbara’s husky voice lowered with feeling. “She decided to hire only military vets as wranglers. Vets like herself, who struggled daily with PTSD. They’re slowly bringing this ranch back to life, as well as healing.”
Kira’s heart leaped with hope and she lifted her chin, gazing into the officer’s patient, warm eyes. She was like a fierce mother at times, and now Kira was on the receiving end of her ability to nurture others. “But—I’m not a wrangler.”
“I sent Mrs. Lockhart your résumé by fax. She e-mailed me and said you’d be a good fit for the ranch. I think the fact that you worked in your father’s timber business, know mechanics and can fix equipment, was helpful in making her decision, Kira. And in the Special Forces team, you were their mechanic. You can fix anything.”
“I guess,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her middle. She couldn’t even fix herself.
“Look,” Barbara said, “this isn’t like working for a company. You’ll be assigned to a real house with all the amenities. You’ll work five days a week and have weekends off. Fifteen percent of what you make as a translator goes into the ranch account. Everything else, you keep. There’s a weekly vet session where you sit down every Friday night with everyone else. A woman psychologist holds the session and her specialty is PTSD. Every person there, Kira, has PTSD as bad or worse than you do. And the four male vets who are there are all improving, thanks to Mrs. Lockhart’s vision. I think you will, too.”
“If I could save some of my translation money, that would help a lot,” Kira admitted quietly. “And I wouldn’t mind a weekly get-together and therapy session with other vets.”
“Especially ones who have PTSD like you. Mrs. Lockhart has a good program in place and I’m very impressed with it. I’ve placed her on our list of employers for any future women in black ops who may end up with PTSD. I think getting back to nature, working around horses, cattle and being outdoors, is helpful to vets like yourself.”
Kira gave the general a kind look. In her heart, she knew Barbara Ward was a fierce mother-protector of all her women. She knew all of them on a personal basis. Barbara had flown to Bethesda shortly after Kira’d come in from Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany, and spent time with her. The general cared for the women under her command, no question. And now she was feeling hopeful once more. “I love horses. I used to have one growing up . . .”
“I think your lumber company experience is going to be a good fit with a ranch life, Kira. We’ve seen time and again if a PTSD vet can work around animals, be it dogs, cattle or horses, get out of the city and into a rural country environment, it helps his or her symptoms. The other jobs you were given were in the city. Looking back on it, we should have been a little more circumspect and placed you in a rural community. I think you’ll do very well at the Bar C.”
Rubbing her face, Kira muttered, “I’m so tired of being fired, ma’am. I know I do it to myself—”
“Did you ever quit in the middle of a firefight?” Barbara demanded, her eyes narrowing on her.
“Of course not.”
“Then see this time in your life like a firefight, Kira. It’s survival reflex time, and I know you have that in spades.” Barbara patted her hand and pushed the paper toward her. “Give this a try. My assistant will contact Mrs. Lockhart and let her know you’ll be driving out there. Make the most of this. You’ll be around people who understand your situation and symptoms. And all of them are fighting to get better, to get their lives focused and back on track. The ranch will serve as an incubator of sorts to help you make this work.”
Her emotional words buoyed Kira. She forced a little smile and took the paper. There was a photo of the ranch. It looked peaceful and beautiful. “This is a different kind of job offer,” she agreed.
“It’s right up your alley, Kira. These people care deeply for one another.”
“Kind of like a new A team?” she ventured.
Barbara smiled a little. “Yes, a new A team. Where everyone becomes extended family to each other in the best of ways.”
Kira was afraid to hope. The job sounded so good. She studied the paper with the information. The ranch looked like a dream to her. A way out. A way up, not down.
“You’ve talked to Mrs. Lockhart?�
�� she asked, looking at Barbara.
“Yes.”
“Was she . . . nice?”
“She was kind and warm. She just got married to one of the vets who was working on her ranch, Reese Lockhart. I liked her spirit, Kira. She has a passion to help vets like herself to find a place in the world where they can lead productive and happy lives, despite their PTSD.”
“I see on this list of things I’m expected to do is some caretaking of Mrs. Lockhart’s father, who’s partially paralyzed?”
“Yes. Ray Crawford is fighting back and getting better. As you can see, you’re wanted for housekeeping, providing him three meals a day, plus driving him to doctor or other appointments in town. You okay with that?”
Nodding, Kira said, “I miss my father . . .” Maybe Ray Crawford would be good for her, but then she remembered he was an alcoholic. She had no experience with anyone with that problem.
“In time,” Barbara said gently, “maybe you’ll heal enough so you can actually go back home, where your father would like you to be.”
“I tried that, ma’am. We both wanted it to work, but it didn’t.”
“I know. A lot of vets go home and then have to leave. Have you ever read any of Joseph Campbell’s books?”
“My mother loved them. I confess, I don’t have much interest in myths and how they parallel our lives.”
Shrugging, Barbara said, “Do yourself a favor. Read his book on the Hero’s Journey. I think you’ll recognize yourself in that myth.”
Intrigued, Kira sat up, more hope drizzling through her. It was far better than feeling hopeless. “What? That I’m a hero?”
“Campbell uses the word hero in a different way,” Barbara assured her. “It’s about the journey many people take in a lifetime, the ups and downs, but eventually, the rewards for their courage under fire are given to them.”
“Well,” Kira said dryly, “mine was literal.”
Sitting back, Barbara nodded, studying her intently. “It was in one respect, Kira. In another, like the hero of Campbell’s book, you got knocked down. And you’re struggling to get back up.”
“Oh,” Kira said, “I’m down the rabbit hole, ma’am, no question.”
“Read the book. I’m not going to order you to do it, but I want you to sit down with it and really absorb it. It’s really your story, Kira.”
“What? That I’m the princess? And I kiss a frog and he turns into my prince?” she scoffed mildly, seeing Barbara grin a little.
“A hero’s journey is comprised of many things known and unknown,” she said enigmatically. “There are challenges, falls from grace, learning to get up and move forward whether you feel like it or not. I can’t promise you a prince or a frog at the end of it.”
“Sound’s like Campbell’s hero had PTSD like me.” And the last thing Kira wanted was a relationship with a man. She was a mess. She was mature enough to know that in her present emotional and mental shape, no relationship she entered into would have a happy ending.
Chuckling, Barbara’s grin broadened. “PTSD isn’t mentioned in his book. But who knows? Maybe the hero did have it before a time when it was diagnosed and given a medical name. And maybe it was part of his—or—her challenge to work through and struggle to move to a higher level of being alive, despite it.”
“Just as long as there’s no frog in there I have to kiss. I’ll make sure to pick up a copy of it, ma’am.”
“One of the greatest lessons to come out of this story is the people the hero—or heroine—meet on the journey.” Barbara waved a finger at her. “Keep your eyes open, Kira. I’ve always said our best teachers are the people we draw to ourselves. I believe working at the Bar C may symbolize getting out of your ordeal and it will instead become a place where you can regain yourself.”
Chapter Two
“Do you have any questions about what I just covered with you, Kira?”
Kira felt bathed in the warmth and care of Shay Lockhart as they sat in the kitchen of the Bar C’s main ranch house. She’d arrived shortly after lunch, met two of the military vets, Noah and Harper. Shay had fixed her a late lunch, introducing her to her husband, Reese Lockhart, who went down the hall to his office afterward. That left Kira with Shay to go over the employment opportunity. “No questions. You’ve covered everything pretty well.”
Shay smiled and said, “Are you interested in taking the job?”
“Absolutely.” Kira’s hope had climbed in the last two hours as Shay had outlined the responsibilities of the position. Earlier, they had bundled up in their coats on the cold but clear day, and Shay had taken her around the main buildings on the Bar C. Kira was impressed with what the vets had done to repair the broken-down ranch. They were slowly fixing, building and bringing it back to life.
Shay’s father, Ray Crawford, had met Kira and shaken her hand. He was nothing like her father but felt she could certainly do weekly housecleaning plus make his meals. Shay was more than fair about financial compensation and that made Kira want to work for someone like her.
“Okay, then the only other thing left to do is assign you to a house,” Shay said with a smile. She took a pen and wrote “House A” on the file.
Kira knew there’d been four new homes built on the ranch property not far from the main house. Shay assigned each vet to a home. The fourth house was for Ray Crawford. There were two bedrooms in each home. And Shay had designed the homes to hold two vets each. All told, Shay had informed her, she wanted to eventually hire six wrangler vets. Kira would be wrangler number four, and the first woman vet.
“Okay,” Kira said.
Shay frowned and looked across the trestle table at her. “Are you sure you’re okay living with a strange guy underfoot?”
Kira smiled a little. “He’s a military vet. I don’t think I’ll have an issue with him, Shay.”
“Well, not everyone gets along with each other,” she said. “I’m assigning you to Garret’s house because he’s been here the longest. In fact, he was the first vet I hired. I feel he can show you the ropes, be kind of a mentor in some ways to you, introduce you to the ranch rhythm and the duties around here. He’s a good go-to guy and is very helpful. But if you feel it’s a problem, Kira? Just tell me and I’ll move you to another house.”
“Thanks, that’s good to know. He’s got PTSD, right?”
“Oh, yes. It’s pretty bad.” Shay shrugged. “But then, what PTSD isn’t bad? He has nightmares, insomnia and anxiety just like the rest of us.”
“I’ll fit right in.” She found herself more than a little curious. “You said his name is Garret?”
“Yes. Why?”
The front door to the ranch house opened and closed. Both women stopped and looked toward the entrance.
“Oh,” Shay said, “that’s Garret coming back. He was up in Jackson Hole for the last two weeks. He’s a heavy equipment operator and he had jobs on two ranches down there. Jackson Hole is fifty miles north of here, so he stayed at a bunkhouse on those ranches, not returning nightly to the Bar C. It snows a lot and he didn’t want to risk driving on icy roads for several hours both ways.”
Nodding, Kira heard the vet stomping snow off his boots in the mudroom. “Makes good sense.”
Shay smiled. “Well, you’ll get to meet him in a few moments. He had to see Reese when he drove back from the work assignment. He’ll be coming by the kitchen here any second and I’ll introduce you to him.”
Kira nodded. “Are you sure he won’t mind a woman in his house?” Her mind snapped back to another Garret who she’d known for three years. The man she’d fallen helplessly and completely in love with, who had been part of her A team. Kira wasn’t sure Garret had loved her; he’d always treated her like a sister. But she had secretly fallen in love with him. Utterly. Rubbing the red sweater she wore, Kira felt her heart ache without relief. She’d never known what happened to him. Where was he now? How was he doing? That part of her life was a black hole. A blank slate.
“Garret is easygoing
,” Shay assured her. “All the men know that sooner or later they’ll get another military vet living in the same house with them. And they’re all okay with it.”
Kira heard the echo of heavy boots meeting the oak hardwood floor out in the hall. “What military branch was he in?”
Shay was about to answer when Garret came around the corner, his black Stetson in his hand.
Kira froze. Her eyes widened enormously as Garret Fleming stood in the doorway, staring at them. Her heart crashed in her chest. His hazel gaze snapped to her and stopped. And then he blinked slowly as he absorbed her sitting at the table.
Shay felt a palpable shift of energy in the room, as if a bolt of lightning had suddenly slammed into it. Confused, she looked at Garret and then at Kira.
“Kira?”
Garret’s low, deep voice, filled with disbelief, plunged through her heart. Kira’s lips parted as she wrestled with the shock bolting through her. “Garret?”
“Yeah,” he rumbled, scowling. “What are you doing here?”
Kira gulped. “I—uh—” and she choked, unable to speak, her hands against her heart as she stared up at his tall, powerful form. Garret Fleming was six foot two inches tall, two hundred and twenty pounds of pure, rock-hard male muscle. He no longer wore a beard, which all Special Forces men in the teams did when in Muslim countries. His face was scraped clean and she saw how ruggedly handsome he really was. A beard hid so much of a man’s face. Her heart stuttered and she felt swept away on a giddy joy that avalanched her. Garret had a square face, large, wide-spaced intelligent eyes that glittered with green, brown and gold flecks as he stared at her in disbelief. She wanted to get up and hurl herself into his arms. To kiss him. To celebrate he was alive! To Kira, he looked so strong and healthy, his face darkly tanned, exuding the vitality she’d known when she was on the team with him.
“What’s going on here?” Shay asked, puzzled.
Wind River Cowboy Page 2
