Light Up His Life

by Shanae Johnson

  Light Up His Life

  The Brides of Purple Heart Ranch Book 10

  Shanae Johnson

  Copyright © 2019, Ines Johnson. All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the author.

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  Edited by Alyssa Breck

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  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition December 2019

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Also by Shanae Johnson

  Chapter One

  “Slow down, Luke. This isn't the Millennium Falcon.”

  In his peripheral vision, Luke Jackson saw that the green of the trees whizzed by in a blur, much like the end of a Star Wars scroll. He lifted his right foot from the gas. Moving it over to the brake pedal, he stomped down. The leaves on the trees became visible as though they’d just shot out of hyperspace.

  "Oof."

  "You okay?" Luke reached his arm out to brace his friend Paul Hanson. Paul rubbed at the back of his forehead. His head had slammed forward but missed the dashboard. When it slammed back, the back of his head collided with the cushions of the headrest.

  "Man, I'm sorry," said Luke, as he pulled over to the side of this road. "I didn't mean to."

  Luckily, there weren't many vehicles on the road early this morning. He doubted there were many vehicles on the road at any one time. They were traveling the backroads of Montana. There was nothing but fields and mountains as far as the eyes could see. The countryside was a welcome change from the harsh desert they'd come from.

  Afghanistan looked very much like Tatooine, the fictional planet of his namesake Luke Skywalker. Luke’s father had named his only son after his favorite science fiction character. No wonder Luke had gone on to be a pilot in the United States Air Force. But that life was over for him now.

  Luke had retired from service. He was now ready to start his civilian life in full. He just had one more mission to complete.

  "Calm down, buddy." Paul chuckled. "I get that you're used to speed and no one being on your rear in the clouds. But down here on the roads, there is an actual speed limit."

  Luke looked up at the white sign on the road. There were only two numbers in black on the sign where Luke was used to doing at least triple digits in the air. He'd performed many a death-defying stunt in his time in the air force. He'd saved many lives in his mission. When he was in the air. The one time his mission put him on the ground, his best friend got seriously wounded.

  "You think you might have a concussion?" asked Luke. He put the back of his hand to Paul’s head.

  "What?" said Paul. "No. I'm fine." Paul slapped at his friend’s hand like an annoyed adolescent swatting away a parent who was babying them. He brought his hand from his neck and down lower to rub at his back.

  "Is your back bothering you?"

  "Luke—"

  "Do you need to get out and stretch your legs? We've been driving for more than thirty minutes." Luke reached for the door handle, but Paul reached over and stayed his hand.

  "Luke, I'm good."

  Those were the same words Paul had said after the explosion rang through their ears. Paul hadn't been good then. He wasn't good now. Luke had walked away from the explosion with only a scratch on his knee from where he'd impacted the ground.

  "Look," sighed Paul, "if you must know, I'm just not in a hurry to get to this place."

  "Everyone has said it's the best place for an injury like yours."

  Paul shook his head, but he didn't argue. That was the problem. Paul had an opinion on everything. But these days, he wasn't arguing much. He hadn't so much given up as he had given in to his injury.

  "Three months, that's all I'm asking," said Luke.

  "Why three months?"

  Luke shrugged. That's what the pamphlet for the Purple Heart Ranch read. Give us three months to change your life. Luke didn’t need anything in his life changed. He was the luckiest man he knew. He’d survived three tours and only walked away with a scratch. But he’d lost many of his friends. He’d nearly lost his best friend. But he’d managed to save Paul’s life.

  Paul had limped away with all his limbs attached. But he was in chronic pain every day. Pain changed a man. It took a lot for Paul to laugh and find joy these days. It took a lot for him to want to try to live his life to the fullest.

  Paul had been honorably discharged for his injuries. Luke had had a year left in the service at that time. He’d gone to see Paul every time he could. Each time, his friend was more and more a shell of his former self.

  “You don’t have to stay and babysit me,” said Paul.

  “Yeah, I think I do. With all the trouble you’ll get yourself in if I’m not around.”

  There was a flicker of amusement in Paul’s light gaze. But only a flicker.

  Guilt washed over Luke. If he hadn’t been there to dive on Paul, his friend might not have made it out unscathed. Might. There was a chance that he could’ve walked away whole. But because Luke had hefted his bulk and thrown his friend to the ground, Paul had landed on a pipe that caused damage that wouldn’t let up on the pain.

  “We’re here,” Luke announced, pulling up to a gate.

  “Are you sure?” asked Paul.

  There was a curly flower on the gate. The name read The Bellflower Ranch. The purple flower looked much like a heart.

  “This is the right address,” said Luke.

  They’d drove through the gates and realized that they were indeed in the right place. A JROTC regiment practiced drills in the field. Men and women walked with rifles slung over shoulders toward a shooting range. A few men were on horseback. Their buzz cuts and rigid shoulders couldn’t hide the fact that they were all military. Neither could the prosthetic limbs many sported.

  This was the Purple Heart Ranch. A place for wounded soldiers to convalesce and get their lives back. Hopefully, they could help Paul get back to a good place.

  Luke parked the car. He stopped himself from hurrying around to the other side to let Paul out. He knew it wouldn’t be appreciated. It also was an unmanly thing to do, and Paul would ridicule him … for longer the second time.

  “You must be Major Solo.”

  A blond-haired soldier marched up to him. His gait was off. Luke looked down to see why. His right leg was a prosthetic. Beside him was an older man with golden-honey skin and a serene smile like a Buddha statue.

  “Oh, I get it. Luke and Han. Star Wars.” The young blond soldier turned to the older man who clearly didn’t get it.

  That was a running joke in the service. And the monikers were true to characters. Luke had been the golden boy who could pull off impossible missions. Han had the swagger and got all the girls. Or at least he used to. But his swagger was off with his chronic back and hip pains.

  “I’m Sergeant Dylan Banks.”

  “You’re the one in charge?” asked Luke after shaking the man’s hand.

  Banks shrugged. “As much as anyone
could be in charge of a herd of wildcats.”

  “This is Dr. Patel, the ranch therapist. He works with your internal wounds.”

  The old man had a friendly grin and kind eyes. But they were focused on Luke instead of Paul, the actual patient.

  “Welcome,” said the doctor. “We’re glad the two of you will be staying with us.”

  “Oh, I’m not staying,” said Luke. “I’ve found a place off the ranch in town.”

  “Nonsense,” said Banks. “Each unit has two bedrooms. The second room is unoccupied. You’re welcome to it.”

  That hadn’t been part of the plan. Luke had work of his own to do while his friend healed. But if he stayed, he could low-key spy on Paul’s progress. Paul shook his head like he saw Luke’s plan clearly.

  “You’re welcome to take part in the activities as well,” said Dr. Patel, his serene gaze still fixated on Luke instead of Paul.

  “Absolutely,” said Banks. He addressed the one of them with the actual problem. “We have physical activities, such as horseback riding, which I think will help with your hip and back. It certainly helped with me.”

  Banks indicated his prosthetic leg. The idea of riding horses did intrigue Luke.

  “We also have mental health activities, which Dr. Patel leads.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I’ll be needing that,” Luke said.

  Both men raised their brows at Luke, as though he was an addict holding a bottle of whiskey in his hand while denying his problem.

  “I’m not injured,” Luke said. “I’m here to support Paul. And to finish my latest book.”

  “Wait, you’re the pilot that writes the Military Science Fiction under the name Walker Skye.”

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  It was still strange for him when people praised his books. Mainly because he’d had to keep his literary activities quiet while he was active.

  Luke’s stories took place in another time and dimension, but war was a universal language. He had to avoid the appearance that he was disparaging his superiors in divulging secrets. Hence, the pen name.

  “I love your books,” said Banks. “So do a lot of the kids in the JROTC program. Will you talk to them?”

  “I wonder if you would be willing to do a talk at the local library?” asked Patel. “It’s difficult for kids to get out here. I think a lot of young people and older men would love to meet you and have a reading.”

  Luke hadn’t done a talk before. He hadn’t gone out as his pen name. Now that he was a full-time author, this would be expected of him. What better place to practice than here?

  Chapter Two

  There was nothing like the smell of old books. Musty, like something aged and left under a protective sheet for years, with a bit of manured earth and a touch of human sweat. Elaine reveled in it.

  That combination could only be found in a library. There wasn't the old smell there as most bookstores featured newly printed materials that were on some bestselling lists curated by people who only cared about what was popular at the moment. Those people didn't take into account what had been popular a hundred years ago. Or what had stayed the test of time.

  Elaine clicked on the lights of the library. The stacks illuminated one by one. Dust mites swirled as she turned on the air conditioner. She sneezed into her hand at the gathering dander and smiled.

  No, there were no new books in this section. These weren't the books that were pristine and purchased by one person to covet. Every volume had been through the trenches. Shared, paged through, returned, only to be picked up by someone new to experience what was between the pages.

  Well, some of the books had taken that journey. Many of the cards at the backs of the books of the classics had only a handful of checkouts. Or none.

  But they would always have a home in the library. That's what libraries were for. Homes for books, where people showed up to take them out and were fined if they forgot to bring them back. If only it were that way during her parents’ divorce. Then their remarriage. And then their second divorce.

  Elaine walked to the front door of the town library and flicked open the lock. There was no line waiting outside to come in and snatch up a book. It was nine in the morning.

  At noon, she was still the only person in the library. The shelves had been dusted. Book jackets stood straight with no slouching at the ends. Reading list books stood faced out waiting to be picked up. But no readers had arrived yet. Elaine sat behind the circulation desk, arranging and rearranging pens. She tugged at her cardigan, smoothing the warm fabric around her shoulders to find warmth in the chilly atmosphere.

  "I have great news."

  Elaine nearly fell out of her chair at the voice that came from behind her. Mary was the head librarian here. She'd gotten the job right out of college. Mainly because the last head librarian had been her aunt. Nepotism ran rampant in this small town.

  "I just got a call from Pastor Patel,” Mary continued, not noticing Elaine’s heart attack. “He said Walker Skye is in town, and he's open to coming and doing a reading here."

  "Walker Skye?"

  The name did not ring a bell.

  "You know who he is. He writes military science fiction. He hit the bestseller’s list earlier this year.”

  Elaine still didn't know who this person was, but she knew of that genre. She wasn’t a total literary snob. She enjoyed speculative fiction. But space wars? Really? What kind of value did that add to literature? None.

  “I don’t think he’s ever done a reading or a signing,” said Mary. “This is going to be so popular with the younger group. For the last year, we can't keep his books on the shelf."

  Mary walked over to the bestselling books section, a section Elaine always neglected. She could see one of the offending books from here. Very few of those books had been turned faced out this morning. Mary frowned, turning one particular cover outward-facing.

  A big old space ship was on the front cover. Vibrant colors splashed the jacket. The bold colors hurt Elaine's eyes.

  “Looks like someone neglected her shelving duties this morning,” said Mary.

  Someone hadn’t. Someone had spent time on the books that mattered, the books that shaped human thought, the books that changed lives. Though most people in this town preferred things the way they always were.

  Elaine pinched her lips. "If we don't showcase the classics like we do the bestsellers, how can we expect people to pick them up?"

  "Elaine, honey, you have to remember; the classics make kids think of school and homework. The bestsellers like Walker Skye make them think of downtime, relaxation, and entertainment. Which would you grab for after a long day of work?"

  Elaine opened her mouth, but Mary stopped her.

  "Don't tell me. I already know what you're going to say. Something by Hardy or Eliot or Austen.”

  Contrary to popular convention, Elaine was not an Austen fan. Sure, Pride and Prejudice and Emma were classics. But the stories were wholly unrealistic. The one where the wealthy guy fell for the plain, poor girl. Or the other one where the wealthy guy falls for the penniless girl. Like any of them would stay together. But Elaine held that unpopular opinion to herself.

  “Not everyone is like you, Elaine. Not everyone finds joy in five hundred page literary tomes that aren’t Harry Potter.”

  Elaine rolled her eyes again. She never got the Harry Potter draw. It was just The Lord of the Rings. But written for children.

  They were walking by the romance section. Mary’s favorite section. Elaine avoided this section like the plague. The short books were even more unrealistic than Austen or Rowling. Love that happened in just a couple hundred pages was doomed to fail after the last page. A book could end with a happily ever after. But no books ever showed what happened after the happily ever after began. After the last page was where the hard work started, and that’s where the fairytale fell apart.

  “Look, I know I’m not going to convince you of this,” said Mary. “But we need this kind of att
ention. Attendance is down here. If we can’t increase circulation, then the county will target staff for upcoming budget cuts.”

  Elaine still had objections. But she couldn’t argue that one. Either get the Star Wars author in here or risk losing her job. She would simply have to practice holding her tongue while the old guy espoused the virtues of space warfare.

  “Why don’t you take your lunch break,” said Mary. “It’s taco Tuesday, your favorite.”

  Elaine was nothing if she wasn’t a creature of habit. She liked her routines, just like she liked knowing the end of the stories she was reading.

  “No, it’s your favorite,” Elaine countered.

  “That’s right.” Mary grinned, reaching in her pure for cash. “Could you bring me back a chicken taco with extra guac?”

  “Sure, Mary.”

  Chapter Three

  So this was small-town America. The convenience stores were named for a family instead of the normal chain stores that broadcast commercials during morning television. The diners and restaurants also had family names; O’Malley’s Pub, Castro’s Mexican Cuisine, Patel's Family Restaurant.

  Walking down the main street of the town, Luke was greeted with delectable smells, friendly smiles, and welcoming mats at every turn. After years in hostile territory, he could get used to this.

  He wandered into the town's only bookstore. It too wasn't a chain, not that there were many bookstore chains left now that much of human literature and entertainment could be held in the palm of the hand. Still, the internet age was alive and well in this quaint town.