“All right.”
The words were pulled from her. They came from deep inside and she hadn’t known she was going to say them. He rubbed her lips with his thumb.
She turned back to the wall and started to climb. She wanted to go as high as she could, up the steepest wall, so all she had to think about was hanging on. After all, the alternative was to fall.
ARTURO KNOCKED on Mitch’s open office door.
“I’m going to drive the fence lines,” his manager said. “Want to come with me?”
Anytime up to two days ago, Mitch would have refused and he guessed Arturo expected him to. But Alex’s point had been a good one-Fidela and Arturo had to adjust to the changes nearly as much as he did. This wasn’t easy on them, either.
“Sure,” he said, and saved his work, then grabbed his crutches.
“You feeling better?” Arturo asked as they made their way to the truck parked behind the barn.
“I’m healing. I need to call about my temporary prosthesis.” Assuming Joss was ready to give it back to him. Mitch had a feeling the new socket had come in fairly quickly, but Joss wouldn’t tell him that. He would wait for Mitch to make the first move.
“How’s the temporary one different?” Arturo asked, then held up a hand. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“You can ask,” Mitch told him. He waited for his friend to open the truck door, then slid onto the passenger seat. When Arturo was behind the wheel, Mitch continued.
“The temporary prosthesis has a different kind of foot on it. It’s easier to learn to walk with it. The permanent leg will have a spring-loaded foot, which will ultimately give me more endurance and a more natural walk, but it takes getting used to.”
“Makes sense.”
“I was walking too much on an incision that wasn’t completely healed. I got a few raw spots that I didn’t take care of.”
“You’re okay now, though, right?”
Mitch smiled. “Let’s say I’ve learned my lesson. I don’t like being on crutches and will do what I have to so I can stay off them.”
“Fidela worries about you.”
“I know.” Arturo worried, too, but he wouldn’t admit that.
They rode in silence to the fence line. Mitch stared out at the cattle, grazing in the warm sun.
“This is better,” Arturo said. “The cattle are healthier.”
“If you’re trying to convince me about going organic, I’m starting to see your point,” Mitch admitted. “I’ve been looking over the books. We’re averaging two dollars a pound more than regular beef. And the cattle don’t get sick, which is a cost savings.”
“It’s more than that,” the other man said, driving slowly by the fence. “We respect the land. All those chemicals and pesticides weren’t good. We contract with three small farms for organic feed to supplement the grass. They had to be certified, as well. Now they’re growing more vegetables that they’re selling. The grasslands are coming back. We breed the cows later, so the calves are born closer to summer. The weather’s better and they can eat grass.”
He stopped the truck and climbed out to inspect a post, then returned to the truck.
“To stay organic, the land around us has to avoid chemicals. The groundwater is better quality.”
“I swear if Fidela starts serving tofu for dinner, I’m firing you both.”
Arturo grinned. “No tofu. I hate the stuff. She keeps saying she’s going to put it in a burrito and I won’t know the difference, but she wouldn’t do more than threaten.”
“She’s a good woman.”
“Yes, she is. You know, she checks on you in the night sometimes.”
Mitch hadn’t known that. “Why?”
“To see that you’re really there.”
He wondered if there was more to it than that. He wondered if she heard him screaming. “Sometimes I have nightmares.”
Arturo glanced at him, then returned his attention to the dirt road. “About the explosion?”
“Mostly right after.” He wasn’t sure if he remembered the explosion or had heard about it enough that he thought he did. “There are missions I dream about.” Mostly ones where someone he cared about died.
“You were gone a long time. You did things. Saw things.”
Mitch nodded.
“You could have come home.”
Mitch looked at his friend. “I was-” He didn’t have an excuse.
“We’re your family. We raised you, loved you. You don’t have our name, but you are as much our child as any we could have had. Fidela prayed for you every night. Not a day went by that she didn’t speak of you. But you never came home to see her.”
Or him, Mitch thought, waiting for the anger. It was the familiar response, the easy one. But for once, it wasn’t there. Instead he felt regret and sadness.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want to come back.”
“Because of Skye.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Because I didn’t belong here.”
“You have always belonged.”
“Because I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to see…” Everything he’d lost. Everything that wasn’t his. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“I know.”
Arturo did know and he probably understood, which only made Mitch feel worse. “I’ll talk to Fidela.”
“She would like that. She’s making a baby blanket for your friend Pete. His wife called after…to say what a hero you were to them. She mentioned she was pregnant.”
“That’s nice of her,” he said, knowing both Pete and his wife would appreciate it. They didn’t have a lot of family around.
Without wanting to, he remembered the noise and chaos right after the explosion. Pete had been dragging him, yelling at him to hang on. At first Mitch hadn’t felt anything but stunned and confused. Then he looked down and saw blood, bone and muscle where his leg had been.
His first instinct had been to run so far and so fast, he could go back in time before any of it had happened. But he couldn’t move, could barely keep breathing as Pete dragged him behind an overturned truck.
He remembered the blood on Pete’s jacket, but hadn’t known where it had come from. Himself, Pete or someone else.
“Stay here,” Pete had yelled over the gunfire. “I’m going to find a medic.”
After talking to the doctors, Mitch knew he’d been in shock from the explosion and the blood loss. He’d been unable to speak, but when his friend had disappeared, he’d managed to grab his gun, turn over and lay down some cover.
The pain had come then. Dark and alive, it had sucked the strength from him. He’d wanted to curl up and scream. Instead he’d searched for the snipers pinning them down and had picked off at least two of them.
He’d fired until he was out of ammo, then he’d crawled to a fallen enemy, had taken his rifle and used it until Pete returned.
“Pete saved my life,” he said. “He dragged me to safety and got a medic to stop the bleeding. He was wounded himself, but didn’t stop to get help until later.”
“The way his wife tells it, you saved his life,” Arturo told him. “You saved everyone. You’re getting a medal.”
“I don’t want it.” What would it prove or change?
“You should take it. People like to say thank you.”
“Good point.” He wanted to thank Pete for saving him. He’d tried but his friend had brushed off the words. They were a team. They took care of each other.
They crested a small rise. Arturo stopped the truck and watched a couple of calves running around their
