A Soldier In Conard County

He’d found it much the same when he’d slipped across the border into Tibet to collect intelligence, although the Chinese takeover had managed to wipe out some of the brightness, mainly on the faces of the Tibetans. They still wanted their country back.

Drawing himself out of memory, assisted by fresh pain, he tried to minimize his limp as he returned to the kitchen. Limping only made everything else hurt, too. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. The saga of life.

Miri was serving up her casserole on large plates. “Hungry?” she asked. “I imagine you didn’t eat much if you weren’t stopping for water.”

“I’m starving,” he admitted. “Thanks for asking me to dinner.”

She raised a brow and lifted one corner of her mouth. “Do you think I was going to let you arrive after a trip like that and not ply you with food? Seems unneighborly.”

Again he felt his face trying to thaw. He didn’t want to let it. Showing emotion could be weakening. When he was leading men he could joke, he could get angry, but he couldn’t go much beyond showing them he’d do everything in his power to get them back alive.

He also admitted it was a form of self-protection. If you didn’t feel it, it couldn’t hurt you. Straightforward enough.

But now he was among people who had a whole different metric for dealing with life. Only look at Al’s cousin, her readiness to welcome him into her home, her offering him dinner, a place to stay.

It wasn’t unusual. He’d met that kind of courtesy the world over, unless people were terrified. There was no reason to be terrified here in Conard County, Wyoming. He felt a vain wish that he could have sprinkled that kind of safety around the whole world. Instead, all he’d ever been able to do was chip away at threats...and sometimes make them worse.

He eased into the chair and balanced his cane against the wall.

“So,” she said, “I invited you to stay here.” A heaping plate of chicken and rice appeared in front of him. “Say you will, because I’m going to feel just awful if you go to the motel.”

He looked up as she brought her own plate to the table, then set the casserole dish nearby in case either of them wanted more. “Why would you feel awful?”

“Because you’re Al’s friend. Because my office-slash-bedroom is marginally better than the motel. I can guarantee you no bedbugs, not that the motel gets them for lack of sanitation. Some of the people passing through...”

A jug of water joined the casserole dish, and at last she quit buzzing and sat across from him.

He arched a brow. “You think I’ve never met a bedbug?”

Her expression turned into a mixture of amusement and disgust. “I suppose you have.”

“Of course, that doesn’t mean I like sharing my bed with them. But we have to get impervious to a lot of things.”

“I’d guess so,” she said after a moment. “Are you saying I’m squeamish?”

He liked the way humor suddenly lit her blue eyes. “No. You’re a product of where you live. Most bugs probably stay outside.”

“I have a rule,” she answered as she picked up a fork. “If a critter is outside I’m happy to leave it alone. If it comes inside, I’ll kill it.”

“Seems like a sensible arrangement.”

“I love nature,” she said, almost laughing. “Outdoors, where it belongs. Please, start eating. If you don’t like it, let me know.”

“Is it hot?”

“Very.”

“Great. That’s all I ask.”

Meals in the hospital had usually been lukewarm by the time they reached him. He’d developed a strong loathing for oatmeal that would have made a great wallpaper paste. The mess hall was better but, since army cooks had been replaced by private contractors, not what he remembered from the past. As for when he was in the field...

“One of the best meals I can remember eating,” he said as memory awoke, “was in a teahouse in Nepal.”

She looked up from her plate. “Nepal? What were you doing there?”

“Passing through. I can’t tell you any more than that. But they plied us with hot soup full of fresh vegetables, and roasted yak meat and yak milk. And an amazing amount of hot tea. Those people had next to nothing, Miri, but they treated us like kings.”

“They sound very welcoming.”

He almost smiled. “I’ll never forget them. Strangers in a strange land, and we were met with smiles, generosity and genuine welcome.” He looked down and scooped up more casserole. “I’ve noticed in my travels that the most generous people are often those who have the least. By no standard measure would you think the Nepalese were wealthy. But they were wealthy in soul and spirit.”

He emptied his plate in short order and Miri pushed the casserole dish toward him. “I’m not counting on leftovers. Eat, Gil.”

He was happy to oblige. Hot meals were still a treat.

“From what Al used to talk about, I guess you’ve seen a whole lot of the world.”

He raised his gaze, feeling himself grow steely again. Some matters were not to be discussed with civilians. “Not from a tourist perspective,” he said, closing the subject. A subject he’d opened himself, talking about Nepal. But it needed to be closed.

She nodded slowly, her blue eyes sweeping over his face. “Stay here tonight,” she said finally. “You can decide about the barbecue tomorrow.”

He was content to leave it there.

Chapter Two

Morning arrived, still dark, but already promising a beautiful day. Miri made pancakes and eggs for breakfast. The tall stack of cakes disappeared fast, with much appreciation from Gil.

“Do you cook?” she asked eventually, making idle conversation over coffee before she cleared the table.

“Over an open fire I’m passable. A can of paraffin even better.” He shook his head a little. “When we could, anyway. At base camp we often took turns cooking for each other, but my efforts weren’t especially appreciated.”

She smiled. “So you got out of it?”

“Often as not. Whatever the knack is, I missed it.”

She rose, took the plates to the counter and looked at the thermometer outside her window. Sunshine had begun to spill over the eastern mountains, brightening the morning.

“It’s going to be a beautiful day,” she remarked. “The forecast said we’re going to reach the upper sixties, and we’re already at sixty-one. A great day for a midwinter barbecue.”

She waited, wondering if he’d respond to the open invitation about the barbecue, but he said nothing. He sipped coffee, his gaze faraway, and she admitted at last that this guy wasn’t about to share much of himself. Safe little tidbits here and there, but no more. Or maybe, despite the passage of time, he was still somewhere else, perhaps the place he’d been wounded. She couldn’t imagine the difficulty he must experience transitioning between worlds. Maybe it was never easy. Perhaps it was harder under these circumstances.

She spoke, daring herself to ask. “Does your body feel like a stranger to you?”

One brow lifted. “How did you guess?”

“Well, it just crossed my mind. You’re used to being in top physical form. That’s gone now, at least for a while. You must be frustrated.”

“Not exactly the word I’d choose, but it’ll do. Let me help as much as I can with the dishes. I need to be moving.”

“Betsy said you could settle in and hold court today if you come.” Miri waited, nearly holding her breath.

“I’ll go,” he said after a minute, then pushed his chair back. “But I doubt I’ll hold court. Not my style.”

He managed to wash all the dishes and put them in the drain rack without any assistance from her. She had to admit to enjoying watching a man scrub her dishes while she sipped a second cup of coffee.

He was a good-looking man, too. Not as ramrod straight and stiff as at the funeral, which had been kind of intimidating. This version of Gil looked a whole lot more relaxed and approachable. Even if it was discomfort causing it.

When at last he dried his hands and returned to the table, she noticed the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. “You did too much,” she said instantly.

“I did very little, and it’ll do me no good to sit on my duff and stiffen up. Don’t worry about me. I won’t push my limits too far. This isn’t some kind of contest.”

Firmly but kindly put in her place. The man didn’t want anyone worrying about him. Okay then. She could manage that. She couldn’t even feel slightly offended. This was a spark of the man she’d seen at the funeral. She was glad to know he was still in there. Living around here, it was possible to get to know veterans who had a lot of trouble returning. She supposed it was unlikely that Gil wouldn’t have any problems as a result of his wounding and time at war, but she hoped they were minimal.

“You must still be missing Al,” he remarked.

“Yes. You?”

“Damn near every day. You know, even when you’re in the midst of the most dangerous situations imaginable, you don’t believe the bad stuff’s going to happen to you.”

“How could you?” she asked. “You’d be paralyzed.”

“Maybe. What I do know is that we don’t think about it until it’s shoved into our faces, like when Al was killed, and then we have to shove it back into a lockbox. Anyway, he had plans. I was supposed to come here with him and help with the family ranch. I guess I told you that.”

Gil was rambling a little, she thought, but no more than most people in casual conversation. At least he was talking.

“Al,” he said again. “Damn. Ever the optimist. He could find a reason to be happy about cold beans on a subzero night.”

That was Al. That was definitely the Al she remembered. “I take it you’re not as much of an optimist?”

“Maybe I was, too much, anyway. Doesn’t matter. Here we are.” He gave her a faint, almost apologetic smile.

“Are you going back to duty?” she dared to ask.

“Yes.”

There was a firmness to the way he said the word that again suggested a line had been drawn in the sand. “Do you have any idea when?”

“Not yet. Probably as soon as they feel I’m well enough to play desk jockey for an eight-or twelve-hour day.”

“So...you won’t be going back into the field?”

“No.” A single uncompromising word. A warning to back off.

She could have sighed, except she knew she had no right to be asking many questions. He’d wanted to come out here for some reason...and she suspected it wasn’t just to tell the family amusing stories about Al. All she’d done was offer him a bed and a few meals. He didn’t owe her anything, certainly not answers to questions he might consider to be prying.

Apparently, he must have caught something in her expression. Much as she schooled herself to keep a straight face when necessary, because her young students picked up on even the subtlest of clues, she must have just failed. He spoke.

“Sorry to be so abrupt.”

“It’s okay,” she said swiftly. “You’re not feeling well...”

“Feeling unwell has nothing to do with it. Months of arguing with my family does. I’m not retiring, much as they may want me to, and if I can get back into shape for the field I will.”

Now she wondered if getting away from his family had been his primary reason for traveling this way. “Families are harder to handle than combat missions?”

He astonished her by cracking an unexpected laugh. “Are you suggesting I turned tail?”

“I don’t believe I said that.”

For the first time she saw a spark of something in those flinty eyes. Heat? Humor? She couldn’t read it. “No, you didn’t. What time is this barbecue and what can I do to help?”

* * *

Because night fell so early in the winter, the barbecue had been planned for midday. By noon, Miri had two huge containers of potato salad in the back of her sport SUV, along with four paper bags full of hamburger buns. There’d be leftovers, but she was sure they wouldn’t go to waste.

She hesitated, wondering if she should tell Gil to follow her or invite him to ride with her. If he had his own vehicle he could leave whenever he wanted. She stood there, feeling the delightfully warm air blowing over her neck and into the open front of her jacket.

Gil addressed the question first. Apparently he wasn’t shy about organizational matters. “Want me to follow you or ride with you?”

“Will you want the freedom to take off? Because once I get there, I’m going to be there for at least a couple of hours.”

“I think that I can manage a couple of hours,” he said wryly.

“Then hop in.”

The ride out to the Baker ranch required nearly an hour of slogging over bumpy roads. Pavement had begun to buckle as usual when water had seeped into cracks and then froze. Gravel roads hadn’t been graded in a while. Miri concentrated on driving and left Gil with his own thoughts. She figured if he wanted conversation he knew how to start one.

It was nice to have her window cracked open during the drive. The ground hadn’t really started to thaw, and all the growing things were still locked into their winter naps. But the air was fresh and after a few months of mostly enjoying it for only a few minutes, Miri was glad to indulge more than she’d been able to the last few days.

The Bakers had set up a sign pointing to an elevated area of paddock for parking. Dead grasses were thick, and if the ground started melting it should drain fast enough to ensure no one got stuck in mud. A lot of cars had already arrived, and as Miri parked she got a sudden whiff of barbecue grills heating up and the unmistakable scent of smoking meat.

Betsy had pulled out all the stops. Miri guessed nearly forty people had already arrived. Folding tables groaned under offerings, and a stack of paper plates on one of the tables was held down by a snow globe paperweight. A perfect touch.

Gil helped her carry one container of potato salad, leaning heavily on his cane as he did so. He didn’t appear steady on uneven ground yet. Miri grabbed the other, plus the bags of burger buns, and they made their way over to the only empty table left.

Betsy didn’t let them get far. Wearing a light jacket, she swooped in, smiling. “I’m so glad you decided to come, Gil. Al always said he was going to bring you out here. I’m just sorry you couldn’t get here sooner.”

As soon as they had deposited their offerings on the table, Betsy gave Gil a tight hug. He seemed a bit uncomfortable and awkwardly patted her shoulder.

Miri cataloged that for future consideration. Walled off. Totally walled off.

Betsy took Gil with her, introducing him around. Miri smiled faintly and bent her attention toward getting the potato salad ready to serve and putting her buns with others.

Then she wandered over to join her uncle Jack, whose smoker was emitting delicious aromas. “Did you start smoking yesterday?” she asked him.

“How else do you barbecue? You doing all right with Al’s friend?”

“Gil’s a pleasant guy. Restrained.”

“Shut down, most like,” Jack answered. “I could see it in Al. Do you remember? It was like every time he came home he’d left another piece of himself behind.”

Those weren’t the memories of her cousin that Miri was trying to cherish, but she felt her stomach tighten as she acknowledged the truth of what Jack had said. War had been cutting away pieces of Al for years.

Or causing him to lock them away. “Jack? Why do they keep on doing it?”

“What do I look like? A shrink?” He lifted the lid on the huge smoker and began basting the ribs. “Almost done.” He said nothing for a few minutes. “I can only answer for Al. He felt a real sense of duty. A need to serve. And, to be brutally honest, maybe a little adrenaline addiction. Anyway, I think Al was always testing himself for some reason. I don’t know what his measuring stick was, but he seemed to me to be using one. But all that’s my guess, Miri, and it may not apply to Gil at all.”

Finished basting that side, he turned the meat with tongs and basted some more. Then he closed the smoker lid. “Not much longer. That’s almost to the point of falling off the bone.” He stepped back, hanging his tongs on a rack at the end of the smoker, and looked around. “Seems like almost everyone’s here. And Gil has found himself a place.”

Miri turned to look, too. An interesting place, she thought. The old sheriff, Nate Tate, was sitting in the group, a man who had served in the special forces in Vietnam, followed by thirty years as sheriff here. He’d been retired for nearly a decade now and didn’t look a day older. But it wasn’t just Nate Tate who made the group interesting. Gil had been found by a phalanx of vets, among them Seth Hardin and a few others who had served in special forces. Even Jess MacGregor, who’d been a combat medic, had joined them.

Edie Hardin, who had her own experiences of combat, had gravitated with her and Seth’s child to a group of women. Billy Joe Yuma, formerly a medevac pilot in Vietnam and now director of the county’s emergency services, had not joined the group around Gil.

Miri studied the group dynamics and wondered what was going on. The meeting of some kind of elite club, no outsiders welcome? Or something else.

Jack spoke. “Go join ’em.”

“I don’t belong.”

“Exactly.” Jack gave her a little nudge. “This is a barbecue to make Betsy happy, not to create a support group.”

He had a point. Miri took a couple steps in the direction of the knot of men, then hesitated. There might be a good reason for that huddle. She also suspected there were stories about Al that would never be repeated to Betsy, but that Gil could share with these men of similar backgrounds. Maybe that was cathartic for a man who said very little. Except that he didn’t appear to be sharing much. The others were talking, and occasionally a bark of laughter would punctuate the otherwise quiet conversation.

There were other clusters, as well. Nearly sixty people. They’d hardly congregate into one large crowd. Miri had been to lots of large gatherings as a teacher, and crowd breakout was common. Conversation became easier.

Jack was right, however. This barbecue, while ostensibly to welcome Gil back, was really about giving Betsy some happiness again. Not since the funeral had she joined in any social events, but now she had organized one in an amazingly brief span of time. And everyone she had called had evidently arrived to support her and Jack.

Gil was only a small part of it, as Al’s best friend.

Betsy had decided to rejoin life. For that alone, Miri would feel eternally grateful to Gil. He’d provided the push she needed, the excuse.

So what did Jack expect her to do? Go break up that huddle of men? She didn’t think Betsy would want that, especially since she’d said Gil could just find a comfortable chair and hold court—or not come at all if he didn’t want to.

Gil was the excuse. Betsy was the one smiling for the first time in ages, having a bit of a hen party around the folding tables that held enough food for an army. Three other men were working grills with hamburgers, hot dogs and bratwursts.

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