Welcome Home (2 page)

Stupid, really. It was just a damn gate. A
gate he should have been able to open for her. Instead she’d had to
stop the van, open the gate, get back in the van and drive through,
and then she had to get out of the damned van a second time and
shut it, all while he sat on his useless ass and watched. And they
weren’t even to the house yet! How many more things was he going to
have to sit on his ass and watch her do? How many more times was he
going to face the stark reminders of his new limitations?

Those limitations had been shoved in his face
on a daily basis since he’d arrived at the military hospital in San
Antonio. In the dark of the night they made him wonder if his life
was even worth living at this point. He’d watched with no little
envy as the other paraplegics—an attorney, a teacher, a couple of
salesmen, an accountant—made the adjustment to their new normal and
wheeled their ways out the door to the rest of their probably
productive lives. But how was he ever going to run Reece Acres from
a wheelchair? More importantly, how in the hell was he supposed to
be the husband that a beautiful, vital, sensual woman like Christi
deserved? How was he ever going to dance with her or carry her off
to bed or make love to her the way he used to?

The answer was simple. He wasn’t.

No, they would never dance together again,
and he would never sweep her off her feet and carry her across the
house to their bed. And, lovemaking? Oh, the doctors had weighed
in, assuring him that a sex life was still available, but he knew
damned well he would never be the hot, horny, damn near insatiable
cowboy Christi fell in love with. Furthermore, passionate kisses or
no, Christi knew it too.

She drove the van around the bend in the
pasture and pulled up in front of the old farmhouse, and Tommy felt
his mood plunge even further. Already shabby when he’d left them in
Christi’s care, the ranch buildings had deteriorated just that much
more during his three year absence. The front porch was sagging,
the paint had faded and was peeling off the house and the barn, and
the water trough was rusted and dripping. But he could hardly fault
Christi. She was a small woman and didn’t have the kind of physical
strength needed to keep up a property like this. She had done well
just to take care of the animals.

Determined not to let his dismay show, he was
ready when Christi opened the door and swung himself down into the
waiting wheelchair. “Where’s Muffin?” he asked. “And where’s that
new bull you bought last fall?”

In answer, Tommy heard a familiar whinny and
turned to see his beloved old mare come running across the pasture.
Tommy grasped the wheels and propelled his chair across the yard to
the gate. Christi pushed him through, and Muffin lowered her head
and bumped Tommy’s nose with hers before nosing into his front
pocket.

“I’ll bring you some sugar later,” he
promised the old mare. But as he nuzzled her nose he thought,
Never again
. He’d competed with the roping
pony since he was nine years old, but he would never again throw a
saddle across her back, never climb up on her, never gallop out of
an arena chute when the buzzer sounded and rope a calf from her
back. He and this sweet beast would never compete together again.
Tears welled in his eyes and wet the hair on Muffin’s face.

Not wanting Christi to see his tears, Tommy
wiped his cheeks on the horse’s face and turned around as a sleek
young Beefmaster bull was led toward him across the pasture.

“This is Beauregard,” Christi said proudly.
The bull snorted and pawed the ground.

“He looks mighty good,” Tommy said.

“Coach Briscoe helped me pick him out at the
auction last fall.”

“How’s Coach B doing?” Tommy asked, wheeling
a little closer to the skittish bull.

“He got promoted to principal and married
Ryan’s birth mom last fall. She’s the new doc in town. You’ll need
to get your medical records from the hospital sent to her. And,
speaking of new neighbors, Judge Riley’s niece Holly moved here a
month or so ago. She’s organizing a support group for the wounded
warriors in this neck of the woods. I told her we’d come to the
meeting tomorrow night.”

“What the hell does she know about it?” Tommy
demanded. “Or is she just some damned do-gooder with too much time
on her hands?”

“No, she’s a Silver Star–decorated Army
veteran who got blown up by an RPG outside Ramadi,” Christi
replied, tartly enough to make Tommy cringe. “She and everyone else
in the group she’s organizing were hurt over there, and if she has
time on her hands it’s because she hasn’t found a job yet.”

“Great,” Tommy said, not trying to hide his
irritation. “Just what I need, another bunch of crips. Damn it,
Christi, I just got away from a hospital full of them. Why do I
need to hang around with more?”

“Because they’re in the same boat we’re in,
and we might learn a few things,” Christi shot back. “Maybe you
don’t need to be part of a group like that, but I sure as hell do.
It starts at seven, so you need to be ready by six-fifteen at the
latest. She lives out by the lake, and it will take us a little
while to get there.”

“But—”

“Non-negotiable, Tommy. We’re going.”

Christi stood
at the bathroom mirror in her lacy underwear and dusted blush onto
her cheeks.

She could hear Tommy moving around in the
bedroom and assumed he was putting on the shirt and jeans she’d
laid out for him across the king-sized bed they had shared and yet
not shared last night. They had gone to bed together and slept side
by side, but Tommy made no move to take her into his arms. Gripped
by paralyzing awkwardness and fear of the unknown, she made no move
toward him either, instead curling up with at least a foot between
them. Even with the comfort of Tommy’s presence, sleep had been a
long time coming, and by the time she finally awakened Tommy was
already up and showered.

Despite her increasing worry about his state
of mind, she was more than a little impressed by how well he
handled his needs. He could dress entirely on his own, and with a
few bars and supports added to the bathroom he could manage a
shower unassisted. The ramp Benny and Rory Keller had put on the
side of the porch made it possible for him to come and go as he
pleased.

But it hadn’t pleased him to do any coming
and going today, Christi thought with mounting concern. He’d tried
to put on a happy face for breakfast and lunch but otherwise sat
quietly at the front window staring out at the pasture. Maybe
tonight would be good for him, she thought as she dashed gloss
across her lips. She sure hoped so.

She returned to the bedroom just in time to
see Tommy’s thick mat of red chest hair disappear under a tight
T-shirt. Stifling the sudden urge to run her hand up under the
fabric and explore his muscled chest, she wiggled into her tight
jeans and pulled a blouse over her head. “Almost ready?” she asked
as he flipped one leg across the other and pulled on a sock and his
boot.

He repeated the process and gestured toward
the door. “After you, milady,” he said, grinning wickedly. She
hated when he called her that, so Christi muttered something
derogatory and swept from the room.

They were mostly silent on the drive to
Heaven’s Point, the little lakeshore community outside Verde where
Holly Riley lived. Christi parked in front of the tiny lakefront
cottage, and together they approached the front door, which was
flung open by a dark-haired man supporting himself on heavy bracing
crutches.

“I’m Armando Fuentes,” the man said, “and you
must be Tommy Joe and Christi. Come on in.”

Christi followed Tommy into the tiny living
room and peered around. Another man stared at them a bit vaguely
and held out his hand. “H-h-hi, I-I’m Hal,” he stammered.

Christi and Tommy introduced themselves
before turning to the two women struggling at the dining room table
to put out what looked like some nice finger foods. One, a thin but
stunning auburn-haired beauty, struggled one-handed with a heavy
sandwich tray she was about to drop. The other, a brunette with
burn scars down one side of her face, swayed uncertainly on a new
leg prosthesis as she carefully laid out plates and napkins with a
normal left hand and a prosthetic right.

Christi moved and spoke swiftly. “Hi, I’m
Christi. What can I do to help you ladies?” she asked as she
rescued the heavy sandwich tray and set it on the table.

The auburn-haired woman limped painfully
toward the miniscule kitchen. “I’m Holly Riley, and this is Cathy
Armbruster. Can you bring in the punch bowl and help us get the
punch mixed?”

Cathy brought in the bowl, and the three of
them got the punch put together and the rest of the food on the
table. As she had with Tommy, Christi marveled at just how much
Holly and Cathy could do in spite of their obvious injuries. Holly
invited everyone to make themselves a plate of food, and they all
sat down in the living room in a circle.

“I want to thank you all for coming tonight,”
Holly said to the group. “We have two more possible members: Beto
Flores from San Saba, and Otis Hibler. Some of you already know
Otis, but neither man could make it tonight.”

She paused a moment and looked around. “I
think you all know why you’re here. It seems that we’re all in the
same boat now, more or less, and I thought that it might be good
for us to get together every so often and provide each other with a
little support. What do you all think?”

“I th-think it’s a g-good idea,” Hal
volunteered.

“So do I,” Cathy Armbruster said. “God knows
I could use a little support these days.”

“Hear, hear,” Armando said. “How about you,
Tommy?”

Tommy shrugged. “The truth? I don’t want to
be here at all. I’m only here to please this lovely lady.”

He nodded to her, and Christi felt her face
turn beet red. “Damn it, Tommy!” she hissed.

But instead of taking offense, the others
looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Good grief, Tommy Joe, do you think the rest
of us
want
to be here?” Holly asked. “Do
you know what I would give to be back in Iraq with a militant or
two in my rifle scope?”

“That’s right, cowboy. I’d rather be cooking
in a restaurant kitchen about now,” Armando said. “But I’m not, and
that’s why I need to be here with other folks who know how it is to
be like me these days. I figure that’s probably true for all of
us.”

“Point taken,” Tommy said.

Chairing the meeting, Holly had them all
introduce themselves again, share a little about what had happened
to them and talk a bit more about where they found themselves now.
Christi felt her heart going out to these men and women as Hal
described as best he could the devastating effects of a
closed-brain injury that had robbed him of many of his cognitive
skills and admitted that the best he could manage these days was
odd jobs for local ranchers. Armando talked about dealing with the
permanent aftereffects of a crushed pelvis and his fear that he
would never again find work as a chef. Cathy talked about the long
months of rehab with painful skin grafts and learning to use not
one but two prostheses, and she admitted that her facial
disfiguration was costing her office jobs right and left. Holly
talked about the RPG attack that left her with a paralyzed left
arm, a permanent limp and blinding migraines, and she confessed
that she’d intended to be career military and now had no idea what
she even wanted to do for a living.

Tommy talked about the sniper attack, and he
admitted that he didn’t know how he was going to run a ranch from a
wheelchair. “And I don’t know about the rest of you,” he added,
“but this discussion is scaring the hell out of me. I came here
thinking you all had things put together. But you’re in just as bad
a shape as I am!”

“Or worse,” Cathy agreed. “Tommy, I know
you’re scared to damn death, and you have every right to be. But
you have one asset that, with the exception of Armando, the rest of
us don’t. You and Armando have wonderful women by your side that
love you and would do anything for you.” The woman reached up and
dashed tears out of her eyes. “Holly, Hal and I are going it alone.
What I didn’t talk about tonight, Tommy, are the divorce papers I
had my attorney draw up this afternoon. Darryl took one look at me
in the hospital and said he wasn’t going to look at me like this
for the rest of his life.”

Christi sucked in her breath as Tommy Joe
said indignantly, “Jesus, what a dick! You didn’t deserve
that.”

“But that’s what I got,” Cathy said. She
reached over and patted Tommy’s hand. “You have a good lady who is
in your corner with you, and with her help you ought to be able to
face just about anything that’s coming in your direction. You’re a
lucky man, Tommy Joe, even if it doesn’t feel like it right
now.”

* * *

Maybe I am a lucky
man,
Tommy thought later as he sat on his front porch and
stared up at the splash of stars blazoned across the night sky.

Christi was a godsend; he knew that. The
woman in the house sound asleep in his bed loved him. She not only
loved him, she was willing to stay with him and help him run his
dilapidated old ranch and do all the things he couldn’t do himself
anymore. But was that really fair to her? She was young and
beautiful and so full of life that it took his breath away. Didn’t
she deserve better than a man in a wheelchair? Wouldn’t he just end
up being a burden to her? Wouldn’t she be better off if he just
sent her away?

It would be in her best interests, he
decided, even if she didn’t feel that way right now. He just wished
he had the courage to cut her loose and set her free.

Or, was this just the depression talking?

Tommy Joe sighed. Yes, he was depressed,
badly depressed, and perceptive enough to recognize the signs and
symptoms. But he would be damned if he burdened Christi with that,
too. If he didn’t have the courage to break it off with her, he
would at least
by God
hide just how down
he really was, how deep in the pit he found himself. He would do
better than that, in fact. It might be a performance worthy of the
next Academy Awards, but from now on, no way was he going to be
anything but pleasant and cheerful around her.