Somewhere Montana (14 page)

“Let’s mount up,” said Sage. “We need to finish and get back. You have a lot to do.”

* * * *

When they reached the stables a bit later, Mac sent Sage to the house. He would take care of the horses. It had been a silent ride back. What had started out as a wonderful day had ended up bad. He wanted to kick himself for spoiling it for her. Maybe he could think of something to make amends. His heart ached for her. No wonder she had come to them thinking she was an island.

As he left the barn, his cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the long distance number. “Elm Creek Ranch,” he answered, expecting a business call.

“Mr. Mac?” said a hushed little voice. “It’s JJ.”

“Hey, little buddy, How’d you get this number?”

“I took one of your booklets and business card from the cabin. I can’t talk long, but I wanted to warn you.”

“About what?”

“I went in Daddy’s study to ask him a question and he had a man there. When the man saw me, he looked so mean and scary I almost peed my pants. I turned to run out and heard Daddy tell him Miss Sage was at your ranch. He called the man Diego and told him never to come to the house again. Is he the bad man looking for her?”

“Yes. Thanks for calling. We’ll be prepared.”

“Please, don’t let him hurt Miss Sage. I gotta go before Daddy sees me.”

“I won’t. You be careful.” The line disconnected.

Mac spun around back into the stable. When he found Zeb, he explained the situation, stressing the danger to Sage, and ordered all the men be armed at all times. Then he headed on the run for the house. In the kitchen he found Two Feathers and Little Mouse.

“Where’s Sage?” he asked, breathing fast.

“Upstairs. Why?” said Little Mouse.

Mac told them of the phone call from JJ and what precautions he had already put in motion.

“Bless that little man,” said Two Feathers. “What will you tell Sage?”

“I hate having to tell her anything. She’ll be ready to bolt out the door before I finish, more worried about the danger to us than herself. I need to call Dante, too, to be on the lookout for him. He can’t arrest the man for breathing the air, but he can keep an eye on him and give us a heads up if he heads in our direction.”

“You go on up to Sage,” said Two Feathers. “I’ll call the sheriff.”

Mac took the stairs two at a time. Knocking on her door, he didn’t wait for her permission to enter. He caught her staring out the window.

“Sage, please sit down. I have something important to tell you.”

“What could have you so dismayed you come barging in?” She approached him with arms extended, palms up. He sat her on the closest chair.

How could he tell her her worst fear had materialized? He didn’t want to just blurt it out, but what else could he do?

“I got a phone call from JJ.”

“How wonderful. Are he and GG all right?”

“They’re okay. But it wasn’t a social call. Turns out Graham Swindon is Marcos Diego’s lawyer. He now knows where you are.” He watched her face turn as pale as the snow outside.

She jumped up, went to the dresser, and started pulling clothes out, tossing them on the bed. He grabbed her to stop her, turning her to face him.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he ordered, gathering her in close. “You’re safer here. We can protect you.”

“But this puts you and the ranch in danger. You should have left me up on the mountain.”

“Then you wouldn’t have been. You needed our help to survive. Please, don’t make any hasty decisions.” He held on tightly, his cheek against her hair, wondering if he had or could convince her to stay. His heart beat like a snare drum at the thought she could be taken away from him.

It was a very quiet dinner a few hours later, everyone concerned with their own thoughts. Mac glanced at Sage frequently, trying to get an inkling if she was planning something.

“I’m short on some supplies. I’ll need to pick them up tomorrow,” Little Mouse broke the silence.

“I’ll go with you,” spoke up Sage. “I want to stop by the bookstore.”

“We don’t have enough reading material here?” asked Mac. “It’s too dangerous for you to be in town.”

“He won’t be here that quickly. Two of my favorite authors have new books out. If I’m going to be cooped up in the house for the duration, I need something to brighten it up. It’s a quick run in and out.”

“Then I’ll drive you,” stated Mac. No way was he letting her out of his sight. If Diego had arrived, maybe seeing her with another man might deter him. Then again it might not, if his main objective was to keep her from testifying. The uncertainty tied his stomach in knots.

So far he’d made her promise she would stay. If, or when, Diego showed up, would she abide by that promise? He wished he could wrap her in a cocoon and hide her away until he could deal with Diego. But that’s not how she judged the situation. The danger to her was not important, because she believed she was not important. To her, the main point was the danger to him and his family.

Nothing is more important than the woman I love. I am better equipped, better trained to handle these circumstances. I can maneuver him into the location of best advantage. End this once and for all. We’ll see how tomorrow plays out.

Later, Mac knew Sage had showered and gotten ready for bed, but she evidently wasn’t sleepy. He could hear her pacing. The news about Diego had been unsettling. Was he already in Somewhere? Or outside the house? No, he couldn’t get that close. The men were all armed and prepared for any surprise visitors.

He finished showering a good ten minutes ago. He should already have left the bathroom. She opened the door and stopped short, her eyes and mouth wide open. Mac stood at the sink finishing shaving, his back toward her. The myriad of scars on the back of his torso, arms, and legs were still prominent. More were hidden by the towel draped around his waist.

At her gasp Mac’s eyes flew up to meet hers in the mirror. Her look of pure shock, and something else he couldn’t decipher, had him withdrawing. His hands clasped the rim of the sink, his head bowed.

“What do you want?” he snapped.

“I—”

“Just go, Sage,” he replied, his order a little rougher than necessary. She stood as though glued to the spot. “Go!” he nearly shouted. She slowly backed out and closed the door. His shoulders slumped. No way could he tell her about the one hundred and twenty-eight pieces of shrapnel the doctors removed, nor could he tell her about how he got them in the first place. He pulled the plug on the sink and watched the water and soap swirl down the drain, his future probably going in the same direction. He rinsed the rest of the shaving soap from his face. Wiping off the excess water, he threw the towel in the corner and headed for his bed.

He laid there, seeing again the look of shock on her face. He had realized her mind would be centered on his scars. She wouldn’t be able to comprehend the number. Some large. Some small. A few irritated, probably from his backpack during survival camp. She wouldn’t understand what he had been through. He hadn’t been captured and tortured. Whatever caused them, could also be the provocation for him descending into that dark place where no one else was allowed to enter.

It was one o’clock in the morning. Mac had finally fallen asleep. But it wasn’t a sound sleep. He was restless, his mind going back to his time in Afghanistan, the good times with his men segueing into the reasons for his injuries.

He heard the explosion that blew him aside to land belly down in the sand. The smell of sulfur and blood. The stench of death. He could see some of his men and tried to crawl to them. Coyote propped against the front wheel of the next truck, his arm hanging at the elbow by a thin strip of skin. Tank, both legs missing at the knee, his expression one of disbelief. Kentucky running from the wreckage, enveloped in flames. The screams of those still trapped in the twisted, burning remains of the truck. Every time he tried to crawl forward, his back and limbs felt like they were being stabbed by hundreds of fire arrows and he wasn’t getting any closer to his men.

He awoke screaming “Rob! Rob!” His chest was tight, he was barely able to get a breath, and his heart was pounding like it wanted to beat through his chest. He needed to take deep breaths, in through his nose, out through his mouth, like they taught him at Walter Reed, to clean the stench from his nostrils. Only this time he could smell roses and a small hand rested on his shoulder. As he slowly opened his eyes, he could see a feminine shadow beside him. One of the nurses? He was still in the hospital? No. He was home, in his own bed. The dream gradually fading, he could hear a soft voice pleading with him.

“Mac. Wake up. Are you all right?” whispered the voice. “Please wake up. You’re scaring me.”

Untangling himself from the sweat soaked covers, he sat up in the middle of the bed, gouging his eyes with his knuckles in hope of banishing the horrendous scene. When he felt he had calmed sufficiently, he looked again at the form beside the bed.

“S’okay, Sage,” he said, his voice raspy, words slurred. He reached for her, backlit by the moonlight shimmering through the window, surrounding her in a silvery incandescence, like an angel. Yes, she was his angel. God, how he loved her! When would he be able to tell her? Witnessing his nightmare couldn’t have helped. He took her hand and pulled her down beside him.

“What happened, Mac?” she asked, turning his face toward her. He shuddered at the worry in her voice, the compassion in her eyes. He didn’t deserve it.

“Let it be,” he said, his breath releasing in a long sigh. When he realized how sweaty he was, he could almost smell the fear connected with it. Could she detect it? Would she know what it was? “I need to shower.”

Sage turned on the lamp and could see the sheen on his face, down his arms, and across his chest. She realized how serious the nightmare’s toll was on him, not only mentally, but physically. His eyes looked wounded. What he had suffered was soul deep. What could she do for him to help ease the burden? Would her love be enough? But suppose that wasn’t what he wanted. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him.

“I need to shower,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, keeping the sheet bunched in his lap. She could see one bare thigh and hip and recognized he was nude. Blushing, she turned her back to him. He scooped the towel from the floor where he had dropped it and, standing, wrapped it around him and held it in place with one hand. With the other he snatched his pajama pants from the foot of the bed and headed for the bathroom.

He turned on the shower full force and stepped in to lean his hands against the tiles, letting the hot water sluice over him, to warm his cold body and wash away the shakes left by the torment of his memory. When he was at last thinking rationally, he realized Sage had been the one to awaken him from the nightmare. How could she love him now? Not after witnessing him at his weakest. And he couldn’t in all honesty expect her to be with him. Her safety came first. He wouldn’t take the chance of hurting her during one of his episodes.

Mac turned off the shower and stepped out to grab a towel. Still somewhat wired, his movements were jerky as he dried off and pulled on the flannel pants. When he opened the door, Sage was flipping the blanket back onto the bed. He’d hoped she’d returned to her room.

* * * *

Sage turned to him and her throat went dry. The in-the-flesh body in front of her was more than she imagined. Her eyes traveled over him, from the tousled, damp hair to the broad shoulders, down over the muscular chest and six-pack abs dusted with a fine coating of hair that arrowed down to the waistband riding low on his hips. The muscles in his arms flexed as he moved toward her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, scowling at her.

“Ch-changing the b-bed,” she stammered, wondering if he was angry with her. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms when she discovered his scars and now she had to be the one to rouse him from the nightmare. “The sh-sheets were damp and it would be un-uncomfortable to get back in it. Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he said, his answer coming out a little shorter than necessary. He threw back the covers and dropped onto the bed, piling the pillows against the headboard so he was half sitting, half lying down.

“Then I’ll let you get back to sleep,” she said, turning to leave.

“No,” he said gruffly, his hand out to her. “Please. Sit.”

She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and he pulled her back against him, until he had both arms wrapped around her, his cheek nestled against her hair.

They laid like that for several minutes, until he started to speak. The words came pouring out. It was like someone had breached the dam and he couldn’t stop the flow. The whole incident he had kept trapped inside was fighting to be let loose.

“It started out like any other day. We pulled the forward guard for the supply run from the depot in Kabahl to the MASH unit in Isaaba. Not one of our usual details. It’s only about a hundred klicks through open desert, an often traveled route. Only a couple villages along the way. We had just passed through the second village, about five klicks from our destination when all hell broke loose.

“Our truck ran over the wire to an IED that was rigged to set off a couple more surrounding us. Meant to cause major damage. Thankfully we were far enough ahead it didn’t affect the rest of the convoy. Taffy was driving.”