The Marine Finds His Family. Angel Smits

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      The air shifted and time slowed. The roar behind him shattered the quiet. A ball of fire shot up the street. Language, his and others’, blistered the night.

      Searing pain tore a scream from his throat and ripped DJ from his feet. His back, his shoulder, his legs roared with agony.

      Light surrounded him, and in the glow, he saw a pair of startled eyes. So far away. So damned far away. DJ tried to speak, but the heat stole his words and burned in his gut.

      The night returned. Pure silence. Nothing but pain engulfed him.

      “Tyler!” A name that sounded strange in this land, so far from home, echoed down the deserted streets. A name DJ whispered into the darkness that took him.

      And then the nothing was simply blank.

CHAPTER TWO

      Two months later

      MORNINGS WERE THE WORST. DJ lay there, listening to the ranch come to life, not moving, because once he moved, reality and pain came back. For those first few minutes, he could pretend that he was still normal.

      And then he’d do something stupid, like breathe, and the pain would shoot through him with a knife’s vengeance.

      He cursed, long and loud, before forcing his body into a sitting position and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He didn’t know how long he sat there trying to convince himself that getting up was a good idea.

      “Dad?” A small voice came through the door, reminding DJ that he didn’t really have a choice. DJ closed his eyes and let the sweet sound rattle around in his head. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of hearing Tyler call him Dad.

      It had taken months to build a relationship with his son. Tyler had called him DJ at first.

      “Yeah?” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “Just a sec.” He grabbed the jeans he’d tossed over the back of the captain’s chair that now sat in his room, and yanked them on with the chair’s support.

      The sturdy chair had been his father’s and the extra leverage the arms provided was a huge help when his scarred legs didn’t want to cooperate. Half-dressed, he called, “Come on in, buddy.”

      Moving around, while it hurt like hell, loosened up the damaged muscles and skin of his back and legs.

      Tyler came through the door slowly. A stab of concern overrode the pain in DJ’s legs when he saw Tyler’s furtive glance up, then back down. Uh-oh. What’s going on?

      “What’s up?” DJ tried to be nonchalant, but curiosity was killing him. He focused on trying to get his boots on.

      “I wanna ask somethin’.”

      “Ask away.” DJ watched Tyler out of the corner of his eye. His son was holding a notebook from school, the wire binding bent sideways in places. Tyler climbed up on the foot of DJ’s bed. Sitting a minute, he began swinging his legs to kick the edge of the mattress.

      “Well, ya know. My birthday’s coming up.”

      DJ fought the grin. “Yeah. It is. In a couple weeks, right?”

      The smile on Tyler’s face made DJ’s heart hitch a little.

      “Yep. Less than a month. I’ll be nine. I was sorta thinking maybe I’m big enough for this.” Slowly, reverently, Tyler reached into the notebook and pulled out a pristine magazine picture.

      A picture of a dirt bike. Bright green.

      “Whoa!” The kid had taste. The bike was top-of-the-line. “It’s a beauty.”

      “It’s a Razor Dirt Rocket, and Morgan in my class has one. It’s so cool.”

      “I don’t know, buddy.” His brother Wyatt, who owned this ranch, would kill him. Kill them both.

      “Aw, come on.” Tyler slid off the bed and came over to stand beside the chair. “All the guys were talkin’ about it at recess. And everyone’s gettin’ ’em.”

      DJ doubted that, but didn’t say anything. “We’ll see. I don’t think Uncle Wyatt would be too thrilled with you riding it near the horses.”

      “He doesn’t say nothin’ about you and your motorcycle.”

      “That’s different.” DJ pulled on the first worn combat boot and took a deep breath. “And he says plenty, believe me.” Boot two coming up.

      “How is it different?” Tyler’s voice rose in frustration.

      “It just is.”

      “That’s not fair.”

      “Who told you life was fair, kid?” DJ mumbled, his back aching from bending over to struggle with his boots. The silence grew long, and DJ looked up when Tyler didn’t say anything more.

      “Mama always said to play fair.” There was a sheen in Tyler’s eyes, but DJ didn’t dare point it out.

      Nearly two months had passed and there was still no word from Tammie—no sign of her promise to Tyler to return. And while Tyler seldom spoke of her, when he did, the pain was sharp in his voice. That pain made DJ ache.

      “Look.” DJ left his second boot untied and turned to face Tyler. “I won’t promise anything right now. Let me think about it, okay?”

      “’Kay.”

      “Keep that picture in a safe place, though. Just in case I need a reference.” DJ winked at Tyler and the smile that bloomed on the boy’s face warmed his heart.

      “When Mama says she’ll think about something, that’s almost always a yes.” Tyler turned and ran from the room.

      “Hey, now wait—”

      Yep. Wyatt was gonna kill him. With a sigh, DJ followed Tyler downstairs. While the kid ran, DJ took his time. He could move much easier these days, especially after loosening up with the past few weeks of physical therapy, but it was still slow going.

      Finally, he reached the ground floor and breathed a sigh of relief. Another day without a tumble down the stairs. It was looking good.

      The old ranch house was big, with four bedrooms upstairs, a huge kitchen and several living areas on the main level. DJ’s grandfather had built the place, and they’d all come out here in the summers as kids to visit, and later in life to work and play—in his case mostly play. Of the six siblings, Wyatt was the only one who took to ranching. It seemed only natural that he take over after Grandpa passed.

      Wyatt was just where DJ expected to find him. In the big country kitchen, at the counter pouring himself a cup of coffee. Though it was early, DJ would bet this was not Wyatt’s first cup. “Mornin’,” they spoke in unison and both laughed.

      DJ bypassed the coffee and grabbed a hunk of the ranch cook Juanita’s always-amazing coffee cake and stuffed it in his mouth. He poured himself a СКАЧАТЬ