The Soldier's Homecoming. Patricia Potter

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      “A friend of mine, a former navy SEAL—yeah, I know, strange friend for a Ranger—just bought a small ranch where I live. He’s thinking about starting a horse therapy program for vets. He’s knee deep in getting it started and needs help with the business aspects, particularly possible grants, regulations, staffing...”

      “Why me?”

      “Because I know how you cared about your men. The job needs someone who would be committed as well as having some knowledge of athletics and business.”

      It definitely sounded interesting, particularly Manning’s participation, but he wasn’t qualified. “I don’t get it,” he said. “I don’t know anything about grants.”

      “But you know about physical therapy and organization. I also remember how you used to work the system to get what you needed. You never took no for an answer. That’s what we need now.”

      “We?”

      “It’s kinda a joint effort. You have to see it for yourself to believe it,” Manning said. “It would just be temporary, and we can’t afford to pay much.”

      “In other words, you want someone cheap.”

      “More like free, except for the use of a really nice cabin, as long as you stay.”

      “You really know how to sell a job,” Travis replied. Could it be that Manning had somehow discovered that Travis had no family, no plans?

      Being a desk jockey held little appeal for him. “Where?” he asked.

      “A little town in Colorado. It’s...unusual.”

      “You living there now?”

      “About eighteen months. After I recovered, I found Amos. He’s with me now.”

      “That’s great.” Travis remembered the military dog, how the animal mourned when his handler, Manning’s best friend, died. The dog was eventually sent back stateside.

      “Call it a working vacation,” Josh said. “I have a cabin that will be all yours. It’s on a lake, next to a mountain. The town is vet-friendly.”

      “How long?”

      “A few months. We have volunteers, enthusiasm, horses. Just no expertise.”

      Travis looked around the room. Danny was still here, supporting the others.

      “You said there’s a ranch?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Any jobs available there for a young amputee?”

      “We could find something. You have a prospect?”

      “A corporal. Lost his right leg. He’s a foster kid. No family. No place to go. But he’s a damn hard worker and has encouraged everyone around here.”

      “Sounds like someone we can use,” Manning said. “We’ll figure something out.”

      “You sound...” Travis couldn’t find the right word.

      “Content? I am. I have a wife, a kid, five or six dogs—it changes by the day—two horses and a crazy cat. I’m even an innkeeper,” Manning said with a humor that was definitely new.

      “This I have to see,” Travis replied, signaling his acceptance. They discussed the logistics for a moment more, and then he hung up.

      Stunned, Travis stood there for a moment. His thoughts raced ahead as he looked at too many warriors struggling to get their lives back.

      For the first time in two years, he felt a sense of excitement. He had a challenge, another battle, even if the campaign might be brief. He’d seen so many fellow patients sink into hopelessness. He’d felt it himself. Maybe, just maybe, he could do something worthwhile, both for himself and others fighting for a new life.

      He whistled as he limped down the hall. It was the first time he had whistled since his injury.

       CHAPTER TWO

      Denver

      A LITTLE GIRL RUNNING. Blood everywhere. Spreading like a river. Edging nearer and nearer...

      Panicked, Jenny woke, soaked in her own sweat. The jerk of her body as she woke renewed intense pain in her shoulder. Disoriented, she looked around, trying to control the trembling. The night-light, now necessary for sleep, was just strong enough to reveal the shadowed bedroom, rather than the rubble of a once prosperous city.

      Had she screamed again? God, she hoped not.

      Her brief prayer was not answered. She heard a tentative knock on the door, and her mother inched the door open and entered the room. Her hair was in rare disarray, her robe partly open, her face slathered with some kind of cream.

      “Jennifer?” Her mother’s voice was loud, and Jenny smelled alcohol on her breath as she leaned over. “Another nightmare?”

      Jenny struggled to sit upright. Even after four months, the pain in her shoulder could stop her cold.

      “It’s okay, Mother. It’s gone.”

      She’d never told her mother the truth of the nightmares, that they always revolved around the child standing bewildered in a blood-soaked street. Had the little girl survived? The question wouldn’t leave her. “I’m okay now. Really. Just a bad dream. Remember, I used to have them as a child.” Jenny looked at the clock. A little after 4:00 a.m. “You go back to bed. I know you have that luncheon today. I’ll read for a while, then go back to sleep.”

      “If you’re sure...”

      “I am. It’s gone now.”

      “Maybe a sleeping pill...”

      “Maybe,” she said, although she had no plans of taking one. She had watched others in pain become reliant on pills. That would not happen to her. She knew her recuperating time would be long and painful. It was too easy to become addicted to pain meds.

      “I’ll get you a glass of water, okay?” her mother persisted.

      Jenny nodded. She could do that on her own, but the small chore would satisfy her mother.

      After her mother brought the water, Jenny went to her bathroom and took a hot, and then cold, shower to shake off the nightmare.

      She knew she couldn’t go back to sleep. Not yet. The horror of those moments was still too real. She went to the corner of her room, where she kept the physical therapy equipment. She selected a rod, turned on the portable TV to an all-news station and sat down in front of it. Her injury didn’t seem to hurt so much when she was occupied with news.

      She started moving the rod from side to side as she watched. An upset election in Europe, Congress fighting again, riots in a Middle Eastern country. She ached to be in the middle of it. She didn’t belong in a luxurious СКАЧАТЬ