Roz Fox - The Cowboy Soldier

The bedroom door stood ajar and she could hear Rafe thrashing about, shouting men’s names, urging them to find cover and protect their heads. His medical file had noted episodes of post-traumatic stress flashback. Aware how violent some PTSD patients got, Alexa debated whether or not to enter his room. She had withheld his sedatives that night. Had it been a mistake?

Still, he was under her care. She cracked the door wider. Thanks to a huge harvest moon filtering through the upper portion of one tall window, she saw Rafe sit up, shudder, and rub his forehead with the heels of his palms. Then he spoke softly to the anxious collie, who had both front paws on the bed.

Relieved to feel her own pounding heart settle, Alexa continued to hover, unsure if she should announce her presence. The doctor in her argued yes. But she went with her feminine instincts. A macho, tough-guy like Rafe would be embarrassed to have anyone, especially a woman, witness what he would perceive as a weakness.

As the dog quieted and settled back down on the floor beside Rafe, she withdrew and stealthily pulled the door closed behind her.

Unfortunately, she was too keyed up to sleep. After witnessing Rafe’s flashback, she realized she needed to focus more on alleviating his stress and tension than researching old Chinese remedies for blindness, so she went to her office and started making a list of restorative therapies. Lists made order of chaotic feelings.

But what if she got it wrong? What if her treatments made no difference, or God forbid, made Rafe worse?

After long hours of research, Alexa felt certain that the approach she’d come up with would do him no harm.

Around 4:00 a.m. she crawled back into bed, but her mind was filled with a new worry. Healing could happen only if the patient had the will to make it happen. And the million-dollar question was, did Rafe Eaglefeather really want to get well?

AT APPROXIMATELY SIX, after only a couple of hours of sleep, Alexa bustled about her kitchen fixing breakfast. Her mind mulled over possible chores Rafe might do. From his file she knew that he’d been sedentary in the months before his discharge, and she had a feeling that Sierra wouldn’t have pushed him to exert himself. But Alexa had no intention of letting him waste his mind or that finely honed body.

Compadre padded into the kitchen and went straight to his kibble bowl.

“Hey, boy. Is your new friend up and around?” Alexa moved a pot of oatmeal to a back burner and glanced expectantly down the hall. Rafe wasn’t in sight, and she couldn’t hear the shower or other sounds of him moving about.

Deciding she’d better check on him, she cracked open his door and saw he was still lying in bed. “Rise and shine,” she hollered. “Breakfast is ready and we have chores waiting.”

A muffled “Go away” came from under his pillow.

“What is the army term for get your butt out of bed, soldier? Sorry I don’t have a bugle. If you didn’t bring an alarm, I’ll give you one for tomorrow.”

“You’re pushing your luck, Doc.” Rafe’s voice sounded raspy. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Neither did I. The animals out in the barns don’t care. They need to be fed and watered.” Alexa pushed the door wider, strode across the room and yanked off Rafe’s covers. She immediately wished she hadn’t. Rafe Eaglefeather slept in the raw.

“What in hell do you think you’re doing?” Rafe’s head popped out from under the pillow, which he hastily jerked down to cover his privates.

Alexa’s heart wrenched at the sight of the red scars marring the bronze flesh of Rafe’s hip. A second scar ran from his rib cage to what looked like a bullet exit wound near his collarbone, just below his right shoulder.

She steeled herself against uttering the sympathetic retort that came automatically. She didn’t think Rafe would appreciate it.

“The oatmeal is getting cold,” she said. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes to show you the way to the kitchen. Call me if you need me.” Before she left she headed over to the window and threw open the curtains with unsteady hands.

Rafe winced, so she knew his eyes were sensitive to light.

He scowled. “I’m a civilian now, and I don’t have to take orders from you or anybody.”

“Oh yes, you do. For the next thirty days, unless you call your sister to come get you, you’re my patient. Put simply, that means I outrank you, Major.” Alexa walked out, Rafe’s succinct expletive echoing behind her.

THE DOOR SLAMMED SO HARD Rafe heard it click and bounce back open again. He sat for a minute contemplating if he would continue to resist or just give in. His roar had sent seasoned military nurses skittering from his room, but it didn’t seem to faze Dr. Robinson.

He swung his legs off the bed and counted the steps to the chair where he’d left his clothes. He couldn’t help but be intrigued by her. She was a woman who spoke with a velvet voice but acted with hardfisted resolve.

Pulling on the clothes he’d worn yesterday, Rafe wondered if Alexa had flinched at the sight of his scars. Even though he’d never seen them himself, he knew they weren’t pretty. He had that on good authority from several battle-hardened nurses who had changed his bandages after each series of surgeries. And within his hearing, doctors had discussed his wounds in gory detail.

But why in hell did it matter to him if Alexa Robinson had recoiled or not? No woman was going to look at him now with anything but pity.

This was not the first time since he’d woken up in a field hospital alive but blind that Rafe regretted he wasn’t one of the lucky soldiers who had a wife waiting at home. A loyal, loving wife. Several guys in his shot-up unit had wives who were just glad to see them come home. Rafe didn’t want to, but at a gut level, he envied those men.

If he wasn’t careful, he mused, making sure he had gotten his shirt on with the tag at the back, he might start imagining Dr. Robinson as a possible candidate. God, but she smelled good enough to eat. Or did he think that because he’d had his fill of medicinal smells and the acrid odor of war? When a man lived too long in rough surroundings, he lost touch with the gentler things in life. But the few times Alexa had come and gone from his room, he hadn’t missed the clean, summery scent she left in her wake.

He gave himself a hard mental shake. As far as he was concerned, the doctor was being a hard ass, and he’d better keep it at that.

ALEXA WAITED THE FULL fifteen minutes. She started down the hall, but stopped when she saw Rafe emerge from his bedroom. He walked slowly and with an odd gait because he kept one hand resting atop Compadre’s furry head.

“There you are,” she called over her shoulder as she beat a hasty retreat and waited for them in the kitchen.

“Yeah, Dog is as persistent as you are,” Rafe muttered.

“I named him Compadre. He’s more like a friend than the other animals I doctor back to health. He’s been with me almost a year. I pulled him half drowned from the Rio Grande when it flooded. I asked the park rangers to put out the word to try to find his owner, but no one came forward. He seems to like living here.”

Rafe merely grunted.

She pulled out a chair. “Here, have a seat at the kitchen table.”

Rafe grasped the chair back and awkwardly felt his way around the cushioned seat until he seemed sure enough of his bearings to sit.

Alexa picked up a teapot. “I’m pouring you some tea.”

“I prefer coffee.”

“Tea has greater healing properties. If you think of your plate as a clock, I set your mug at two o’clock. It’s quite hot, so be careful.”

Alexa anxiously watched Rafe pick up the sturdy mug and take a sip.