A Soldier's Devotion

Val’s heart rate dipped, and then sped up. “We’re on the way. I would be there by now but I’ve been involved in a car accident.”

“I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

She fought a tremor in her voice. “I am. Please don’t tell Aunt Elsie about the accident.”

A remembrance of the angry red scrapes on Vince’s skinned-up body and hands caused her arms to ice. Images of his badly damaged helmet swerved through her mind. And to think if he hadn’t been wearing it—

Her arms went from deep-frozen to arctic-numb.

She could have killed him.

“Your aunt is mildly sedated but fairly adamant about seeing you before she goes into surgery.”

“Do you think she’s afraid she won’t come out of it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“She will come out of it, right?”

The extended pause on the line constricted Val’s throat. She shuddered, taking in a breath.

“We hope so. But I can’t promise. With her in her eighties, any surgery is risky. The anesthesiologist is here now. At this point it’s more of a risk to wait.”

“Then don’t. Tell her I was unavoidably detained but I’ll be there when she wakes up.”

Please let her wake up.

“Okay. Be careful.”

Val ended the call so Elsie could get treatment. At least she was a strong believer. God would be with her and give Elsie a sustaining sense of His presence.

But what about the man called Vince? Hadn’t he said he wasn’t one for religion? His eyes and tone had grown belligerent the more she’d prayed. So she’d resorted to praying silently. What if he had internal bleeding, too? The sudden thought struck terror in her.

She’d made a stupid, stupid mistake today.

One that could have cost a hero his life.

Where had he been going in his military garb? Someplace important, no doubt. Or what if he’d been deployed and was just returning home to his family? She hadn’t thought to ask if he wanted her to call his family.

Surely a man like that had a wife and children.

The more her mistake settled in, the more the acid reflux seared her throat. This man Reardon might never forgive her. But the bottomless pain she’d witnessed in his eyes ran deeper than the wreck today. He needed God.

“Everything okay with your aunt?” Stallings’ voice crashed into her thoughts.

“They’re taking her into surgery now.”

Now on Verbose Street, the main one running through Refuge, Stallings began passing traffic. Probably to get her to the hospital sooner, for which she was grateful. “It might far better for you if Reardon knows about the nature of the phone call you received while driving.”

“Maybe,” Val said. “But that still doesn’t excuse it.”

Stallings didn’t say anything for a few blocks.

Hospital in view, she pulled her purse into her lap. “Is there anyone else you know of who could help rebuild the bike?”

Stallings looked at her sharply. “Just his sister. But they’re estranged.”

“What else can you tell me?” Val asked, feeling indebted to the man whose bike she destroyed and whose life she endangered.

“If you can locate her, she builds custom bikes, too. That’s an idea if you really want to replicate that bike close to how his brother built it. She may have helped his late brother design it. But it’s no secret to anyone who knows Vince that he and his sister haven’t gotten along since their brother’s death.”

She probably shouldn’t wonder why. Hard to help it though. Her two options balanced on a mental justice scale. She had to do something to right this wrong.

She shifted in her seat. “Will it anger him more that he doesn’t get his bike fixed the way it was, or if I contact a family member he doesn’t get along with?”

Stallings made a slight coughing sound. “Not sure. Both rank equally high on the danger scale.”

“Would you know how I could contact her?”

Stallings shook his head. “I’m steering clear of this one. You’ll have to search that out on your own then decide whether contacting her is a risk worth taking.”

“If you at least know her name, I’ll obtain her contact information. I have to try.”

“Don’t know her first name.”

“Is she still a Reardon?”

“Far as I know. You might ask Joel, Vince’s team leader. He owns the DZ, Refuge Drop Zone, a skydiving facility west of town. He’s there a lot. I can’t guarantee he’ll know how to locate her or be free with information if he does.”

Stallings looked doubtful enough for discouragement to handcuff her normally bulletproof courage and arrest her determination.

But something about Vince called to her. He seemed an imprisoned soul with tortured eyes, and it had nothing to do with the wreck today. His pain dwelled deeper than the crash, larger than the loss of his bike.

And no matter how long or hard or difficult, she was determined to get to the bottom of it—to ease the trauma life had put him through and to erase the anger that had been directed at her and everything she stood for.

Somehow, this wreck was no accident. She felt God’s fingerprints all over it.

Something stirred in her soul for Vince Reardon’s. As sure as the land had law, she had to get through to him.

“You don’t need to be here,” Vince said to Joel and the rest of the team, who hovered in a restless horde as hospital triage staff wheeled him back to the emergency room after X-rays. “You should be on the field bringing a pilot back to his family. Not here bugging me.”

Why hadn’t they gone?

“We aborted. Petrowski sent another team,” Joel said as though perceiving his question.

“Yeah, thanks to Stallings’ loose lips and a reckless-driving woman’s big mouth,” Vince bit out. Mostly because mentioning her mouth evoked pleasant images more than unpleasant memories of the collision she’d caused.

A paternally stern look entered team leader Joel’s eyes. But so what? It was his bad day and he had a right to be rude and testy. At least outwardly. Didn’t help matters that his skin burned like fire from scrapes and nurses’ merciless cleaning of them. Speaking of, Nurse Torture stepped toward the door. “I need to see another patient.”

“Good.” Vince started to fold his arms but stopped. Pain clenched his shoulders.

He didn’t want to see or talk to anyone right now and especially not the crazy lady who crashed his bike and brought a bomb of worry crashing down on his team.

Worry for nothing. “It’s not like the wreck was fatal.”

“No, but it could have been,” Joel said.

“Well it, wasn’t. So you can all go home.”

His teammates eyed one another, but refused to budge. If it wouldn’t hurt his scraped-raw jaw to cuss, he would.

Aaron Petrowski, commander over three pararescue teams within their joint task force, entered the room and stood by Joel. Both were strong military leaders and two of Refuge’s most well-respected men. They also had the most solid faith of anyone he knew. Not that he’d admit it to their faces.

Why couldn’t his dad have been that kind of man? Then maybe his childhood wouldn’t have been so humiliating. Son of the town drunk. That’s what he’d been known for. And he’d grown to despise pity because of it.

Petrowski leaned over his side rail. “Saw your bike. Or what’s left of it.”

Vince cringed inwardly.

Manny Peña knuckled Vince’s unscathed shoulder. “Boy, I think you got me beat. Word on the street is you had a world-class crash.”

Vince raised the head of his bed. “Yeah, but my accident wasn’t my own fault.” He made sure to inject heavy doses of sarcasm in his words.

Manny grinned. Then his face sobered. “Seriously, Reardon. I’m glad you’re okay.” He assessed Vince’s bandages. “For the most part.”

Vince despised the sympathy in his stocky teammate’s eyes. Or maybe it was empathy.

Manny had crashed a parachute a couple years back. The one jump in Manny’s history that he’d left the plane without his hook knife. When a line-over collapsed his main chute, he couldn’t cut it away. When he’d activated the reserve chute, it tangled on the malfunctioning main chute and he’d crashed into the only grove of trees for miles.

Vince’s respect for Manny ramped though. The dude had to have been in much more pain than Vince was in now.

Teammate Chance moved in. “Yeah. You’re blessed to be alive.”

Blessed? Since when did Garrison start using churchy words? If one more member of his team crossed over to the dark side—as Vince deemed Christianity—he’d…well, he didn’t know what he’d do. Be hard-pressed for partying buddies, that’s what.

For once the thought of alcohol caused a sour taste to settle in Vince’s mouth. For sure he’d smacked his skull.

Joel eyeballed Chance then Vince. “God protected you, bud.”

It was on Vince’s tongue to remark against that and say that God hadn’t protected him, Vince just cheated death. But something stopped him. Weird. He never would have thought twice about spouting something like that before. If nothing other than to rile Joel.

A knowing settled deep inside. He’d felt protected by someone much bigger than himself. He couldn’t deny that.

Joel was right. The wreck could have killed him. Or caused permanent brain damage or spinal-cord injuries. None of which showed up on the barrage of tests Refuge’s trauma team put him through in the past hours.

Minor injuries, arm and leg abrasions from the skid and a slight concussion from impacting pavement at high speed were his only diagnoses. Doctors were calling him a miracle. Whatever. His mind would normally refute the word with vehemence.

But for some reason, this time the word sobered him.

The foreign feeling that had filtered through him back at the accident scene when the woman prayed fell in around him again. Tangible. Soothing. Like warm water on a cold day. He felt drugged. But he’d refused pain meds.

“You’re skinned up pretty good,” Joel observed as a doctor salved Vince’s arm scrapes then bandaged them.

“Still. You should be overseas with someone really hurt. Ridiculous that you guys chose to stay with a bike-wreck victim over a pilot whose plane crashed.”

“You’re not just a bike-wreck victim, Vince. You’re our brother.” Ben Dillinger bumped gentle knuckles into Vince’s uninjured shoulder.

“No way were we gonna leave you, not knowing how bad you were,” Petrowski added.

Everything in Vince wanted to flail against the friendship that had caused his team to choose him over a mission.

But looking into the eyes of his team—Leader Joel, Mountain Manny, Gentle Ben, Compassionate Nolan, Wise Aaron, Shy Chance and Boisterous Brock—Vince couldn’t bring himself to scrutinize their decision. He’d have done the same for each of them had fate’s tables been turned.

He clenched his jaw against an agitating sense of belonging. One he didn’t want to grow too comfortable in. He didn’t feel deserving of their love and sympathy.

If he was a soft kinda guy, their concern could get to him as far as stirring his emotions. He blinked and cleared a foreign knot from his throat. Alien emotions rushed forward and pressed against the back of his eyes. Vince clenched his jaw and blink, blink, blinked.

The guys eyed him then one another, surprise evident.

His hackles rose. “What? Hospital’s dry. Makes my eyes water.” He ground his teeth and wanted nothing more than to go home and sulk alone.

No one looked convinced. He scowled and huffed.

A nurse entered, breaking the moment. “Ready to get out of here?”

He yanked down his side rail and stood so fast she jumped. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Laughing, she brandished his instructions. “Take it easy for a few days. Doc says no skydiving or dangerous activities for a couple of weeks.”

Vince opened his mouth to protest but Petrowski’s hand clamping his shoulder stopped him. “We’ll make sure he has desk or rigging duty until his doctor clears him.”

Rigging chutes? He’d rather eat overgrown slugs. But desk duty was worse than rigging. A sitter he was not. A rigger he could be and survive. Anger resurfaced over the woman who sent his day south. Two weeks? Not only would he be at risk of death by boredom, he’d miss important training sessions with recruits. And for what? To be holed up in a back room with a bunch of parachutes that he’d have to fold instead of fly. Better than desk duty though.

He bypassed the wheelchair the nurse brought him and limped with his team toward the exit. They stayed close but knew well enough not to try and lend a hand. Speaking of, something else hit him.

He faced his superiors. “I’ll still be able to launch Refuge’s community swim-safety program, right?”

The cautious looks Petrowski passed Joel told Vince he probably didn’t want to know the answer to that.

Once again, ire flared against the woman who caused these problems. He wrestled mental frustration at thoughts that the community programs would be delayed, therefore risking the sponsors’ continued support.

Pressure-cooked anger boiled inside his lidded emotions to the point of explosion.

“If Miss Russo knows what’s good for her, she’ll steer completely clear of me.”

Chapter Three

“How’s the pilot?” Vince asked Petrowski through a door in a back room at the DZ the next week.

Chunka-chunka-chunka of a sewing machine whirred behind him. Chance, at its helm mainly to keep Vince company, paused as Petrowski stepped inside.

Vince surveyed this morning’s work lining the cubbyholes on the far wall. Neon parachute harnesses and canopies hung to his left.

Sewn canopies rested on a stainless-steel work desk against the wall behind him.

“Not sure yet.” Petrowski stepped over a parachute stretched across folding mats on the spacious floor.

Something in Vince’s gut said Petrowski was withholding information. His prerogative, he guessed. But every day that pilot remained unfound added sobering percentage to the possibility that he wouldn’t be found alive.

Joel entered. “What’s making you bark this time, Reardon?”

Vince tamped down his acrid mood because he didn’t want to stir the volatile pot and disrespect the authority of the man who was also his friend. “I mean no disrespect, sir, but there was no need not to send our guys to attempt that rescue last week.” Vince swiped up his plastic jug and swigged his water, wishing it was a cold beer instead. Then just as fast, the thought of tasting beer turned uncharacteristically sour. Way weird.

Maybe he had some undetected brain damage from the wreck. No other rational explanation for him not wanting to down a cold one.

Chance abandoned the sewing and knelt to fold the next chute in the lineup.

Vince dropped to his knees to help. “Though I’m sure they’re properly trained, they don’t have as much experience with pilot rescue as we do.”

Petrowski stood to his full height. “Then they needed the practice, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, but—they could practice during training. This was a real mission with an actual human life at stake, sir.” Frustration surged over the fact.

Joel shifted his stance. “Don’t ride Petrowski, Reardon. We requested he send another team as long as it wouldn’t further jeopardize the pilot.”

“Fine.” Vince’s diamond-plate will yielded. He trusted and respected his leaders and their decisions. Period. That still didn’t explain why they’d choose him over bringing a pilot back. That went completely against their creed. And against any good reason Vince could wrap his mind around.

Unless Vince meant more to them.

Nah. Not possible. Right? Not as intentionally difficult and brooding and belligerent as he strove to be.

Vince folded his arms across his chest and grunted. “I think all your sanities just fell off a corporate cliff.”

But the deep care embedded in their eyes said otherwise.

Petrowski leaned in, eyeing Vince’s elbow. “That has to hurt. But I expected you to look worse only a week after your wipeout.” He smirked.

Now that was more like it. Let them give him grief. Give him a hard time. Give him relentless razzing. Anything was better than the pity plastered on their faces upon seeing him ride down the hall strapped helplessly to an annoyingly creaky gurney last week.

“That’s because that dame who hit me blasted things out of proportion.”

“Whoa, grumpy,” a familiar voice said from the doorway.

Refuge’s Sheriff Steele and Officer Stallings walked in with an armload of his things.

“I recovered your stuff.” A metallic clank sounded as Stallings laid the items on an empty stainless-steel table.

Rounds of surprise rumbled through the room from each member of his team.

Obliterating silence followed as his leaders and fellow PJs eyed the objects.

Or what was left of them.

Vince swallowed hard. So did most of his team. If it hadn’t been for the thick leather jacket and helmet he had worn, he would have been far worse off.

Stallings handed Vince his scuffed-up wallet. “There’s a copy of the police report at the station once you feel up to filling your portion out. Although the other driver was cited for infractions, you should know she was distracted by a family emergency.”

Vince blinked. What kind of family emergency? She’d said she was on her way to court. So which time was she lying? Figured. Didn’t all attorneys?

“So, go easy on her,” Stallings was saying. “She’s fully prepared to take responsibility for the accident.”

“She admitted fault?” An attorney?

“Yes. Without hesitation. And she was insured.” Stallings’ gaze veered toward the helmet and the scuffed black jacket that had shredded down to his skin.

Vince’s arms tingled at the thought of how much worse he could have fared.

“You ought to thank the Big Man Upstairs that you’re alive.” Stallings jabbed a pointer finger toward the ceiling a couple times to drive his divine point home, then stepped out.

Silence pervaded for several moments.

Vince peered at the items. Joel walked over and lifted them up one by one. Vince’s other teammates moved close to look. Vince raised his head to see over Brock’s broad back and Chance’s tall shoulders.

“Wow. Dude.”

Who said that, Vince couldn’t be sure. His mind had skidded back to the moment of impact. He forced images away and focused on his rain-and-red-soaked belongings.

The bloodstained leather was mangled into shreds, the inside of the material scraped from asphalt and oil on the arms where he’d skidded.

Joel whistled long and lifted Vince’s helmet.

His very scraped helmet.

“That could have been your skull, Reardon,” Joel said.

What could he say to that? Certainly couldn’t refute it. He’d only recently begun wearing one, ever since Stallings had pulled him over for the third time and told him it was the law.

“Lemme see that.” Vince held out his hand. Joel placed the helmet in it.

Vince turned it over in his hands while his team looked on. His helmet was scraped down the back and the inner foam lining was compressed from absorbing impact.

Joel was right. That could have been his skull had he not been wearing it. In that moment Vince knew he would not be sitting here alive had he not been wearing it. And, not that he’d admit this quite yet, but maybe Someone upstairs did spare his life.

Why?

Why did God think him worth saving when good people died every day?

“Anything else there?” Vince asked, growing uncomfortable with his own thoughts.

No telling what had happened to his gloves. But they’d been a gift from his dad. One of the only things the drunken old codger had ever given him besides a hard life and a hard time. The old man spent all his money on booze.

Chance poked his head in the door and extended a cordless phone. “Petrowski, Central with word on the missing pilot.”

Chance’s solemn tone did not make Vince feel good. Aaron took the call in hushed words. When he peered over his shoulder, shook his head in somber motions and gestured Joel out, Vince cursed and looked around for something to punch just like the truth hitting him in the gut.

The pilot wasn’t coming home. Not alive, anyway.

Vince’s lingering headache expanded into something monstrous. Part of it was probably from worrying about the pilot’s family and how miserable the novice PJ team must feel right now. And his own misery over his jacked-up bike. And his hopelessness over his old man who refused to stop drinking. And his ruined relationship with the sister he still loved so much it hurt. Yet both of them were too stubborn to reach out first.

No use pining for things that couldn’t be fixed.

He thought of the pilot and of his brother.

Or continue to ache and seethe over someone who couldn’t be brought back from wherever souls go when they die.

But knowing that didn’t afford him the ability to let go. And now, some senseless woman had sabotaged a crucial mission and severed the one final connection he still felt he had with his brother.

And he didn’t know if he could ever forgive her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The familiar voice paused Val at the DZ entrance. She faced the man leaving and realized he wasn’t in uniform. “Officer Stallings.”

“Miss Russo.” He viewed the stuff in her arms. “For Vince?”

Her toe dug into the asphalt. “Ah, yeah.”

“Peace offering?” His head dipped toward the items.

Val plucked at her gift. A stuffed tan bear wearing a camouflage outfit, a tiny parachute and airplane Band-Aids she’d placed on his arms. “I found it at the gift shop near the unmapped military base on the outskirts of Refuge.”

She’d gone there yesterday after leaving the hospital where she’d checked on Elsie, scheduled for another surgery today.

When Val had called the police station last week to ask about Vince, the dispatcher had informed her she’d crashed into one of the town’s infamous PJs. Val wasn’t even from around Refuge, and had heard of them. Didn’t take much sleuthing to figure out she could find Vince at the Refuge Bed and Breakfast on Mustang Lane or at the DZ near Peña’s Landing.

“I went to the B and B and inquired about Vince. A nice woman named Sarah told me I could find Vince here. She offered directions to the DZ facility. So, is he in there?” She eyed the suddenly formidable-looking building.

“Yeah.” He angled toward her. “I hope you’re not planning to go in there with that stuff just yet.”

“Why not?” Val stepped into the DZ lobby.

Stallings trailed, looking ten kinds of tense. Like he might be gearing up to referee a domestic disturbance. “He’s still pretty steamed under the collar. And Vince is a hothead, anyway. That bear’s liable to have its limbs torn off and you’re liable to walk out wearing the stuffing.”

“It’s a chance I’ll take unless you think my presence will compromise his recovery.”

Stallings snorted. “It’s not Vince’s health I’d be worried about. Miss, I’m telling you, he’s not one to mess with when he’s this mad. I suggest you either send it in with someone else or come back at a later date. Ten years from now ought to do it.”

Though vaguely amused, she grew irritated and eyed her watch. She needed to be back at the hospital soon. Elsie would be out of her second surgery anytime now if everything had gone well. Val shoved the bear toward Stallings. “Then would you mind taking it in to him?”

Stallings’ eyes bugged. He backed away from the bear. “Me? Uh, no, ma’am.” He grabbed another officer coming out of a back room. “But Sheriff Steele here will.”

The stubby sheriff paused. Fluorescent bulbs buzzing above reflected light off his shiny bald head as it bobbled up and down to study her and Stallings. “Why do I get the feeling I’ve stumbled into a speed trap?” Steele adjusted his belt which secured a sidearm peeking under his paunch.

She extended the bear toward the sheriff. “I’m in a hurry. And you’re armed. So why don’t you take this in to Mr. Reardon for me?” She smiled her brightest smile and hoped it carried enough charm to convince him to do it.