Hold Me: Delos Series, 5B1 (5 page)

“I’m sure when he gets back to base and he sees your card, he’ll be over the moon, Callie.”

She eased away from him, holding his dark gray gaze. “How did you know?”

“What?”

“That I needed you?”

His mouth compressed. “I’ve always had a special link with you, baby girl, ever since I held you for the first time shortly after your birth.” He eased his arm from around her. “Feel better now?”

“Much,” she said, giving him a grateful look. “Thank you.”

“Stacy will have lunch ready in an hour. We’ll see you then, okay?” He rose.

Lifting her chin, she nodded. “Yes. I’ll go home and email Beau. He needs to know how much I love what he wrote to me.” She saw Graham place his hands on his hips and give her a pleased look.

“That young man of yours is one in a billion, Callie. And I know his love for you is true and forever.”

The word “forever” resonated strongly with her. “I didn’t have any idea when I met him how lucky I was, Grandpa. At first, I didn’t want anything to do with him because I believed he wanted me only for sex like thousands of other guys at Bagram. I hated how they stalked women like that.”

Graham rubbed his strong chin. “He told me that those first couple of days with you were real touch-and-go. But he said that as soon as he started diapering babies, cleaning their bottoms, and washing out the diaper pail, you changed your mind about him,” he chuckled.

Rolling her eyes, Callie laughed with him. “That’s true. He told me the truth when I asked him why he’d bothered to come to Hope Charity. I knew he was pursuing me, but what surprised me was that he was honest about it. And he was the first guy to ever fess up.”

“And he won your heart because of the children he cared for at the orphanage?”

Nodding, she smoothed her hands over the card. “Yes . . . yes, he did, Grandpa.” She smiled up at him. “He’s so much like you. Mom was telling me that you were changing Dara’s and my diapers when we were babies, too.”

“Well, he’s not a Marine,” Graham teased, “but even though he’s Army, he has the heart of a Marine.” He leaned down, tousling her hair. “And he’s coming home to you, baby girl. You’re looking better now.”

“That’s true,” she murmured. “Most of all because all of you are here to support me.”

“Well, that’s what family is for,” he said, his voice gravelly with emotion. “We’ll see you for lunch, then?”

“I’ll be there,” she promised. Reaching out, she gripped his work-worn hand, squeezing it. “I just don’t know what we’d ever do without you and Grandma.” There was a catch in her voice as she saw his gray eyes lighten and she felt his love for her.

“You and Dara will be haunted by us for a long, long time to come,” he teased, squeezing her fingers and releasing them.

Callie watched her tall, proud grandfather walk quietly out of the room. She always marveled at his ability to walk without being heard, but Beau had told her one night after they’d made love that being a sniper meant never being seen or heard.

With a sigh, she stood up, gripping the card in her hand, imagining feeling Beau’s energy with every word he’d written to her. No longer was she the frightened little girl that he left. The last month and a half had been healing for her. Just getting away from a war-torn country where life and death could happen in the blink of an eye had settled her raw nerves. Now she slept at night. And just as Beau had told her, the nightmares and flashbacks would lessen, and they had. Now, she felt more like the old Callie before the ambush had changed her life forever. Hurrying to the foyer she grabbed her coat, hat, and mittens. She was eager to sit down and write Beau a long, wonderful, super-loving email.

April 2

B
eau was more
focused on danger than usual when he arrived at Hope Charity in busy, downtown Kabul. It was market day, and the whole city was on edge, since this was the day the Taliban frequently planted bombs in various markets around the city.

He stood outside the rear door, watching the foot traffic. Women in black, thick wool burkas with large baskets or sacks in their hands, hurried toward the market two blocks away. He would always remember that while Dara and Callie were here last November at the orphanage, two bombs had gone off in that market. Everyone had been shaken, and the children terrified. Maggie and the four Afghan widows who worked for her had herded all the crying, frightened children into their safe room for protection. Only Matt Culver had been there when it had happened.

Turning his head, Beau scanned the shining, black asphalt highway with its many white Toyota Hilux pickups. The Taliban used them all the time, but so did the everyday residents of Kabul. There was a smattering of taxis bringing some women to the market, too, but most of them walked to it. The sky above was spotted with gray, low-level clouds with occasional glimpses of a blue sky above them. It was early April, and he supposed that this was probably the last snowstorm of the year. The temperature was around forty and he could see the half-inch of snow that had fallen, quickly melting away.

Wearing civilian clothes and a black baseball cap, he leaned against the railing, one heel hooked on a lower rail, the M-4 rifle butt balanced on his thigh. On his gloves, the trigger finger fabric had been cut away so he had physical contact with his weapon. Beau knew that despite his civilian clothing, he’d be spotted as a black ops soldier of some kind by knowing enemy eyes. He was tall, white, male, and bearded. While he’d never pass for an Afghan it was important that he not wear military gear because he’d become the focus of the enemy as soon as he was spotted.

His mind wandered back to his Kevlar vest that he’d left indoors, hanging over the back of Maggie’s chair. He hated wearing it unless he had to because it was a level four vest and held heavy ceramic plates in it. His thoughts turned to Callie. Earlier, he’d gotten an email from her before he’d left for work. She told him that the snow was melting quickly in Montana. Now that it was early April, all of the wranglers working for the Eagle Feather Ranch were back. Graham McKinley, owner and foreman, had every one of them out riding the fence line. The heavy, deep Montana snow had taken down weakened wooden posts and they had to be found, replaced, or mended before the wranglers could move on to the next one. Callie said she was riding with one team digging post holes, helping the wranglers with the stringing of new barbed wire.

Smiling a little, his heart warmed. Callie was clearly an outdoors woman and wasn’t afraid of hard, physical work. That was one reason why she was such a fantastic belly dancer!

He decided to walk down the few steps to the concrete sidewalk. Everything around him appeared peaceful, but after five tours in Bagram, he knew looks could be deceiving. Beau could feel his gut tighten as the mid-morning sun rose somewhere above the grumpy gray clouds. Once the market opened in a few more minutes, everyone would be on guard. No longer did women, who usually came with children to the market, linger or chat as they used to. Now, they kept their children at home for fear of having them die in a bomb blast.

To maximize their time at the market, the women would rush to certain vendors, hurriedly get their food for the week, and dash out of the area to avoid a possible explosion. He didn’t know how long these people could continue to handle it, but if one looked in their eyes, they could see that they were traumatized for life.

Beau walked around the side of the orphanage, between the stucco building and the ten-foot-high wrought iron fence that kept everyone out. Theft was a constant in Kabul, so at the top of the spear-like points of the fence, concertina wire had been strung up by a Delta Force team after the market bombing last November.

Since it had been strung, there had been no more attempts by thieves to break in and steal food, medicine, or money from the orphanage. Hope Charity had so little to begin with and each month was a squeaker as to whether they’d have enough food, enough blankets, or shoes for the children. Maggie was constantly balancing the books.

Beau stopped walking as he picked up the roar of a pickup’s engine a block away. His gaze snapped to the highway. Damn! Six men with AK-47s stood in the back of the truck, racing his direction.
Taliban!
Cursing, Beau had no time to call out a warning as the AK-47s barked, and bullets whistled around his head, spatting up mud in front and around him where he stood near the playground within the enclosure. No doubt about it—Beau was their target!

Without thinking, he went down on one knee, taking the safety off his M-4, and jamming it into his right shoulder, sighting the group through the crosshairs. The Taliban were firing at the buildings on either side of the highway, including the orphanage. Grimly, he put his sights on the driver, squeezing off a shot. The windshield shattered inward and the truck careened suddenly to the left. Beau watched it flip over, throwing out all six enemy soldiers. They flew through the air like rag dolls, cartwheeling, rifles flying out of their hands, and into the air.

Four of the men slammed into the nearby walls of the unforgiving buildings. They were dead on impact. Beau got up, racing toward the gate. He knew that Maggie had heard the commotion, and he was sure the children were being swiftly gathered up and herded to the safe room within the orphanage. Digging the toes of his boots into the mud, he raced to the locked gate, his M-4 held up and ready to fire at a moment’s notice. He worried about shots that might have shattered one of the windows, flying inside, perhaps striking a child or one of the women.

He saw one man in the cab crawl out of the sprung door. Beau fired, killing him with a head shot. Another soldier, who was clearly injured, picked up his rifle while lying on his belly, and fired at Beau.

Beau fired off a simultaneous shot at the lone survivor.

He felt a hot, stinging sensation in his lower ribcage as he was flung backward, off his feet. Slamming into the mud and snow, Beau held onto his M-4. He’d seen his bullet kill the man who had shot at him. The air woofed out of him and he felt suddenly unable to breathe.
What the hell!
Simultaneously, he heard Maggie screaming, her voice growing closer and closer to where he lay on his back, gasping for air.

Maggie dropped to her knees, her eyes wide with terror, reaching out for him.

Beau tried to talk. Instead, blood burbled up and out of his mouth. Stunned, he realized he was wounded. Maggie was crying and telling him to lie still. He tried to get up, but lost consciousness, and then, he remembered nothing more.

*

April 1, Eagle Feather Ranch, Butte, Montana

The knocking on
Callie’s cabin door pulled her out of a deep sleep. Drowsily, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Pushing her hair off her face, she squinted at the clock on the dresser opposite the bed: three a.m.

The knocking grew louder and more insistent.

Something was wrong! She slid out of bed, pulling her flannel nightgown downward, the warm, fuzzy fabric falling around her ankles. Quickly pushing her feet into sheepskin slippers, Callie grabbed her chenille robe around herself. What was wrong? Was it one of her grandparents? Her parents?

Swiftly, she jerked open the bedroom door, rushing down the hall to the front door. Outside, she could see the silhouette of a man surrounded in the full moon’s light. It was her grandfather! She quickly unlocked the door. His face was shadowed by the lantern style light above the porch. He was dressed in his PJs and a heavy, red wool bathrobe. His eyes were stormy and his mouth thin. Her heart rate took off.

“Grandpa? What’s going on? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Let me come in, Callie.”

“Oh,” she mumbled, apologetically, “I’m sorry. Come in,” and she stepped aside.

Graham turned and waited until she closed the door. “Come sit with me on the couch, Callie.”

Terror raced through her. She stood paralyzed, her gaze locking with his. “It’s Beau . . . oh, God . . . what’s happened to him?”

Gently, Graham slid his hand around her arm and led her to the couch. “Come, sit down.”

Her knees went weak and Callie dropped to the couch, gripping her suddenly chilled hands, her gaze never leaving his. She’d never seen Graham this serious and it frightened her ten times more. “What’s happened to Beau?” she whispered unsteadily.

Graham sat next to her, his hand over hers in her lap. “We just received a call from the Department of Defense notifying us that Beau has been wounded.”

Callie gasped. “No!”

His hand tightened around hers. “He’s on a flight to Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany, Callie. He sustained a gunshot wound to the lower right side of his ribcage. The docs at Bagram said the lower one third of his right lung is destroyed. He’s stable and he’s going to live.”

Terror turned to relief. Her eyes rounded. “How . . . what happened?”

“I know most of the people at the Department of Defense. Told them who I was and I got more information than they’d normally give out. Beau was at the Hope Charity, making security rounds when a Taliban pickup, six soldiers in the rear with AK-47s, raced down the road, firing at everything and everyone. Beau fired back. He hit the driver and the truck flipped over. It killed all but one man, who fired back at him and hit Beau with a side shot that nicked the lower third of his right lung. Unfortunately, from what the caller said, he’s going to lose that part of his lung. However, the bullet went through at such an angle it did not do any damage to his other organs. He was lucky.”