The Winter Soldier

The statement surprised him. “How do you know he isn’t?” he asked.

“Because I asked him if he’d ever done the Fan Dance and he didn’t know what I was talking about.”

He stopped the truck in the middle of the road and just stared at her. “Who told you about that? Your husband?”

“He knew about the British Special Air Services, but mostly just what I told him—including that bit about the Fan Dance, one of their rigorous training tests.” She smiled self-consciously. “I guess it sounds strange, but I love reading books about them. They’re really something, like the French Foreign Legion, you know. A group of men so highly trained, so specialized, that they’re the scourge of terrorists the world over. They go everywhere, covertly, to rescue hostages and gather intelligence about terrorist groups.” She sighed and closed her eyes, oblivious to the expression of the man watching her. “I’d be scared to death to do anything like that, but I admire people who can. It’s a way of testing yourself, isn’t it, so that you know how you react under the most deadly pressure. Most of us never face physical violence. Those men have.” Her eyes opened.

“Men like you.”

He felt his cheeks go hot. She was intriguing. He began to understand why Walt had married her. “How old are you?” he asked bluntly.

“Old enough to get pregnant,” she told him pertly. “And that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

His green eyes narrowed. She was very young, there was no doubt about that. He didn’t like the idea of her being in danger. He didn’t like the idea of the man Luke Craig had sent over to look out for her, either. He was going to see about that.

“How old are you, if we’re getting personal?” she asked.

“Older than you are,” he returned mockingly.

She grimaced. “Well, you’ve got scars and lines in your face, and a little gray at your temples, but I doubt you’re over thirty-five.”

His eyebrows arched almost to his hairline.

“I’d like you to be my baby’s godfather when he’s born,” she continued bluntly. “I think Walt would have liked that, too. He spoke very highly of you, although he didn’t say much about your background. I was curious about that. Now I understand why he was so secretive.”

“I’ve never been a godfather,” he said curtly.

“That’s okay. I’ve never been a mother.” She frowned. “Come to think of it, the baby hasn’t been a baby before, either.” She looked down at her flat belly and smiled tenderly, tracing it. “We can all start even.”

“Did you love your husband?”

She looked up at him. “Did you love your wife?” she countered instantly.

He didn’t like looking at her belly, remembering. He started down the road again, at a greater speed. “She said she loved me, when we married,” he said evasively.

Poor woman, Lisa thought. And poor little boy, to die so young, and in such a horrible way. She wondered if the taciturn Mr. Parks had nightmares, and guessed that he did. His poor arm was proof that he’d tried to save his family. It must be terrible, to go on living, to be the only survivor of such a tragedy.

They pulled up in front of her dilapidated ranch house. The steps were flimsy and one of the boards was rotten. The house needed painting. The screens on the windows were torn, and the one on the screen door was half torn away. In the corral, he could hear a horse whinny. He hoped her fences were in better shape than the house.

He helped her down out of the truck and set her gently on her feet. She was rail-thin.

“Are you eating properly?” he asked abruptly as he studied her in the faint light from the porch, scowling.

“I said you could be the baby’s godfather, not mine,” she pointed out with an impish smile. “Thank you very much for the ride. Now go home, Mr. Parks.”

“Don’t I get to see this famous puppy?”

She grimaced as she walked gingerly up the steps, past the rotten one, and put her key in the lock. “He stays on the screen porch out back, and even with papers down, I expect he’s made a frightful mess… That’s odd,” she said when the door swung open without the key being turned in the lock. “I’m sure I locked this door before I… Where are you going?”

“Stay right there,” he said shortly. He opened the truck, took out the .45 automatic he always carried and cocked it on his way back onto the porch.

Her face went pale. Reading about commandos was very different from the real thing when she saw the cold metal of the pistol in his hands and realized that he was probably quite proficient in its use. The thought chilled her. Like the sight of the gun.

He put her gently to one side. “I’m not going to shoot anybody unless I get shot at,” he said reassuringly. “Stay there.”

He left her on the porch and went carefully, quietly, through the house with the pistol raised at his ear, one finger on the trigger and his other hand, in spite of its injury, supporting the butt efficiently. He swept the house, room by room, closet by closet, until he got to the bedroom and heard a sound inside. It was only a sound, a faint whisper. There was a hint of light coming from under the door, which was just slightly ajar.

He kicked the door open, the pistol leveled the second he had a clear view of the bed.

The man’s face was a study in shock when he saw the expression on Cy Parks’s dark face and the glitter in his eyes. Bill Mason, Luke Craig’s erstwhile cowboy-on-loan, was lying on the bed in his shorts with a beer bottle in one hand. When Cy burst in the door, he sat up starkly, his bloodshot eyes blinking as he swayed. He was just drunk enough not to realize how much trouble he was in.

“You’re not Mrs. Monroe,” he drawled loudly.

“And you’re not Mr. Monroe. If you want to see daylight again, get the hell out of that bed and put your clothes on!”

“Okay. I mean yes, sir, Mr. Parks!”

The man tripped and fell, the beer bottle shattering on the floor as he sprawled nearby. “I broked it,” he moaned as he dragged himself up holding onto the bedpost, “and it was my…my last one!”

“God help us! Hurry up!”

“Okay. Just let me find…my pants…” He hiccuped, tripped again and fell, moaning. “They must be here somewhere!”

Muttering darkly, Cy uncocked the pistol, put the safety on, and stuck it into the belt at his back. He went to find Lisa, who was standing impatiently on the porch.

“I saved you a shock,” he told her.

“How big a shock?”

“The great unwashed would-be lover who was waiting for you, in your bed,” he said, trying not to grin. It wasn’t really funny.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, not again,” she groaned.

“Again?”

She was made very uncomfortable by the look on his face. “Don’t even think it!” she threatened angrily. “I’m not that desperate for a man, thank you very much. He gets drunk one night a week and sleeps it off in Walt’s bed,” she muttered, oblivious to both her phrasing and his surprised look. “I lock him in, so he can’t cause me any trouble, and I let him out the next morning. He’s got a drinking problem, but he won’t get help.”

“Does Luke Craig know that?”

“If he did, he’d fire him, and the poor man has no place to go,” she began.

“He’ll have a place to go tomorrow,” he promised her with barely contained fury. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t know you,” she pointed out. “And Luke meant it as a kind gesture.”

“Luke would eat him with barbecue sauce if he knew what he was doing over here!”

There was a muffled thud and then the tipsy man weaved toward the front door. “So sorry, Mrs. Monroe,” Mason drawled, sweeping off his hat and almost going down with it as he bowed. “Very sorry. I’ll be off, now.” He hesitated at the top step with one foot in the air. “Where’s my horse?” he asked blankly. “I left him out here somewhere.”

“I’ll send him to you. Go back to Craig’s ranch.”

“It’s two miles!” the cowboy wailed. “I’ll never make it!”

“Yes, you will. Get in the truck. And if you throw up in it, I’ll shoot you!” Cy promised.

The cowboy didn’t even question the threat. He tried to salute and almost fell down again. “Yes, sir, I’ll get…get right in the truck, yes, sir, right now!”

He weaved to the passenger side, opened the door and pulled himself in, slamming the door behind him.

“I’d sleep on the sofa,” Cy advised Lisa. “Until you can wash the sheets, at least.”

“His girlfriend must be nuts. No woman in her right mind would sleep with him,” she murmured darkly.

“I can see why. I’ll send a man over to the bunkhouse. And he won’t get drunk and wait for you in bed,” he added.

She chuckled. “That would be appreciated.” She hesitated. “Thanks for the ride home, Mr. Parks.”

He hesitated, his narrow green eyes appraising her. She’d taken her husband’s death pretty hard, and she had dark circles under those eyes. He hated leaving her alone. He had protective feelings for her that really disturbed him.

“I’ll want to meet that pup when I come back again.”

She managed a smile. “Okay.”

“Go in and lock the door,” he instructed.

She clutched her heating pad and her purse to her chest and glared at him, but he stared her down. Oh, well, she thought as she went inside, some men just didn’t know the meaning of diplomacy. She’d have to make allowances for that little character flaw.

He waited until she got inside and locked the door before he climbed into his truck. He wondered why she’d said Walt’s bed and not their bed. The question diverted him as he drove the intoxicated but quiet cowboy over to Luke Craig’s house and showed him to Luke. The blond rancher cursed roundly, having closed the door so that his new wife, Belinda, wouldn’t overhear.

“I’m very drunk,” the cowboy said with a lopsided grin, swaying on the porch.

“He was stripped to his shorts, waiting for Lisa in her bed,” Cy said, and he didn’t grin. “I don’t want this man sent over there again.”

“He won’t be. Good God, he’s hidden it well, hasn’t he?”

“I’m very drunk,” the cowboy repeated, and the grin widened.

“Shut up,” Cy told him. He turned back to Luke. “I’m sending one of my own men over to sleep in the bunkhouse. Can you handle him?”

“I’m veerrryy drunk,” the cowboy interjected.

“Shut up!” chorused the two men.

Belinda Jessup Craig opened the front door and peered out at the tableau. “He’s very drunk,” she pointed out, and wondered why they looked so belligerent. “You’d better bring him inside, Luke. We can sober him up in the kitchen. You can’t leave him stumbling around like that. I’ll phone the Master’s Inn and see if they’ve got room for him.” She glanced at Cy’s puzzled expression. “It’s a halfway house for alcoholics. They offer treatment and continued support.”

“She wants to save the world,” Luke muttered, but he grinned at her.

“And he wants to control it,” she shot back with a wink. “Care to come in for coffee, Mr. Parks?”

“No, thanks,” he replied. “I have to get home.”

“I’m sorry about the trouble,” Luke said.

“Your heart was in the right place. She’s special,” he added in spite of himself.

Luke smiled slowly. “Yes. She is.”

Cy cleared his throat. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Luke answered.

“Good night!” the cowboy echoed before Luke propelled him firmly into the house.

CHAPTER TWO

Cy took his medicine and had the first good night’s sleep he’d enjoyed in days. He’d sent a capable, older cowboy over to Lisa’s ranch the night before to sleep in the bunkhouse and keep an eye on things. He’d also arranged covertly for sensitive listening equipment to be placed around her house, and for a man to monitor it full-time. He might be overly cautious, but he wasn’t taking chances with a pregnant woman. He knew Manuel Lopez’s thirst for revenge far too well. The drug lord had a nasty habit of targeting the families of people who opposed him. And Lopez might not know Lisa was pregnant. Cy wasn’t willing to risk leaving Lisa out there alone.

The next day he drove over to Lisa’s house and found her struggling with a cow in the barn, trying to pull a calf by hand. He couldn’t believe she was actually doing that!

He’d barely turned off the engine before he was out of the big sports utility vehicle and towering over her in the barn. She looked up with a grimace on her face when she realized what a temper he was in.

“Don’t you say a word, Cy Parks,” she told him at once, wiping the sweat from her forehead. “There’s nobody but me to do this, and the cow can’t wait until one of my part-timers comes in from the lower pasture. They’re dipping cattle…”

“So you’re trying to do a job that you aren’t half big enough to manage. Are you out of your mind?” he burst out. “You’re pregnant, for God’s sake!”

She was panting, sprawled between the cow’s legs. She glared up at him and blew a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “Listen, I can’t afford to lose the cow or the calf…”

“Get up!” he said harshly.

She glared at him.

For all his raging temper, he reached down and lifted her tenderly to her feet, putting her firmly to one side. He got down on one knee beside the cow and looked at the situation grimly. “Have you got a calf-pull?”

She ground her teeth together. “No. It broke and I didn’t know how to fix it.”

He said a few words under his breath and went out to his truck, using the radio to call for help. Fortunately one of his men was barely two minutes away. Harley, his foreman, came roaring up beside Cy’s truck, braked and jumped out with a length of rope.

“Good man, Harley,” Cy said as he looped the rope around the calf’s feet. “If we can’t get him out ourselves, we can use the wench on my truck. Ready? Pull!”

They were bathed in sweat and cursing when they managed to get the calf halfway out.

“He’s still alive,” Cy said, grinning. “Okay, let’s go again. Pull!”

Three more firm tugs and the calf slipped out. Cy cleared his nose and mouth and the little black-baldy bawled. The cow turned, gently licking away the slick birth membranes covering her calf.

“That was a near miss,” Harley observed, grinning.

“Very near.” Cy glowered at Lisa. “In more ways than one.”

“Excuse me?” Harley asked.

“It was my cow,” Lisa pointed out. “I thought I could do it by myself.”

“Pregnant, and you think you’re Samson,” he said with biting sarcasm.

She put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. “Go away!”

“Gladly. When I’ve washed my hands.”

“There’s a pump over here,” Harley reminded him, indicating it.

“You go ahead, son,” Cy muttered, glancing at his stitched arm. “I’ve got a raw wound. I’ll have to have antibacterial soap.”

Harley didn’t say anything, but his face was expressive. He thought his poor old crippled boss was a real basket case, barely fit to do most ranch work.

“Antibacterial soap, indeed. The germs would probably die of natural causes if they got in you!” Lisa muttered.

“At least my germs are intelligent! I wouldn’t try pulling calves if I was pregnant!”

Lisa almost doubled over at the thought of a pregnant Cy Parks, which only served to make him angrier.

“I’ll get back to your place and start the men culling cattle for the next sale, boss man. I can wash up there!” Harley called, and didn’t wait for an answer. The amused expression on his face was eloquent—he wanted to get out of the line of fire!

“Craven coward,” she muttered, staring after the cloud of dust he and the truck vanished in. “Are all your men like that?”

He followed her into the kitchen. “He’s not afraid of me,” he said irritably. “He thinks I’m pitiable. In fact, he has delusions that he’s soldier of fortune material since he spent two weeks having intense combat training with a weekend merk training school,” he added with pure sarcasm. “Have you got a hand towel?”

She pulled one from a drawer while he lathered his arms, wincing a little as the water and soap stung the stitches.

“You don’t want to get that infected,” she said, studying the wound as she stood beside him with the towel.

“Thanks for the first-aid tip,” he said with failing patience. “That’s why I asked for antibacterial soap!” He took the towel she offered, but his eyes were on her flat belly even as he dried away the wetness. “You take chances,” he said shortly. “Dangerous chances. A lot of women miscarry in the first trimester, even without doing stupid things like heavy lifting and trying to pull calves. You need to think before you act.”

She studied his quiet, haunted face. Discussing pregnancy didn’t seem to make him feel inhibited at all. “You must have been good to your wife while she was pregnant,” she said gently.

“I wanted the baby,” he replied. His face hardened. “She didn’t. She didn’t want a child until she was in her thirties, if then. But I wouldn’t hear of her terminating the pregnancy,” he added, and there was an odd, pained look in his eyes for an instant. “So she had the child, only to lose him in a much more horrible way. But despite everything, I wanted him from the time I knew he was on the way.”

She felt his pain as if it were tangible. “I won’t have anyone to share this with,” she said, her voice husky with remembered loss and pain. “I was over the moon when they did the blood test and said I was pregnant. Walt wouldn’t even talk about having children. He died the night after I conceived, but even if he’d lived long enough to know about the baby, he would have said it was too soon.” She shrugged. “I guess it was.”

She’d never told that to another soul. It embarrassed her that it had slipped out, but Cy seemed unshockable.

“Some men don’t adjust well to children,” he said simply. It went without saying that he wasn’t one of them. He didn’t know what else to say. He felt sorry for her. She obviously took pleasure in her pregnancy, and it was equally obvious that she loved children. He sat down at the table with her. Maybe she needed to get it out of her system. Evidently she could tell him things that she couldn’t tell anyone else.

“Go on,” he coaxed. “Get everything off your chest. I’m a clam. I don’t tell anything I know, and I’m not judgmental.”

“I think I sensed that.” She sighed. “Want some coffee? I have to drink decaf, but I could make some.”

“I hate decaf, but I’ll drink it.”

She smiled. She got up and filled the pot and the filter and started the coffeemaker while she got down white mugs. She glanced at him with pursed lips. “Black,” she guessed.

He gave her an annoyed look. “Don’t get conceited because you know how I take my coffee.”

“I won’t.”

She poured the coffee into the cups and sat back down, watching as he cupped his left hand around it. “Does it still hurt?” she asked, referring to the burns on his hand.

“Not as much as it used to,” he said flatly.

“You don’t have anyone to talk to, either, do you?”

He shook his head. “I’m not much for bars, and the only friend I have is Eb. Now that he’s married, we don’t spend a lot of time together.”

“It’s worse when you hold things inside,” she murmured absently, staring into her coffee. “Everybody thinks I had a fairy-tale marriage with a sexy man who loved danger and could have had any woman he wanted.” She smiled wryly. “At first I thought so, too. He seemed like a dream come true. Boy, did my illusions leave skid marks taking off!”

“So did mine,” he said flatly.

She leaned forward, feeling daring. “Yes, but I’ll bet you weren’t a virgin who thought people did it in the dark fully clothed!”

He burst out laughing. He hadn’t felt like laughing since…he couldn’t remember. Her eyes bubbled with joy; her laugh was infectious. She made him hungry, thirsty, desperate for the delight she engendered.

She grinned. “There. You look much less intimidating when you smile. And before you regret telling me secrets, I’d better mention that I’ve never told anybody what my best friend did on our senior trip to Florida. And I won’t tell you now.”

“Was it scandalous?”

“It was for Jacobsville.” She chuckled.

“Didn’t you do anything scandalous?”

“Not me,” she popped back. “I’m the soul of propriety. My dad used to say that I was the suffering conscience of the world.” Her eyes darkened. “He died of a stroke while he was using the tiller out in the garden. When he didn’t come in for lunch, I knew something was wrong. I went out to find him.” She moved her coffee cup on the table.

“He was sitting against a tree with his thermos jug of coffee still in his hands, his eyes wide-open, stone dead.” She shivered. “Mom had died when I was in sixth grade, of cancer. Dad loved her so much. He loved me, too.” She lifted her sad eyes. “I suppose I’d rather have had him for a short time than not to have had him at all. Walter felt sorry for me and asked me to marry him, because I was so alone. He’d just lost the woman he loved and I think he wanted to marry me just to spite her. The ranch was a bonus. I was really infatuated with him at first, and he liked me and loved this ranch. I figured we had as good a chance of making a marriage work as people who were passionately in love.” She sighed again. “Isn’t hindsight wonderful?”

He leaned back in his chair and looked at her for a long time. “You’re a tonic,” he said abruptly. “You’re astringent and sometimes you sting, but I like being around you.”

“Thanks. I think,” she added.

“Oh, it’s a compliment,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t offer you anything except the truth.”

“That really is a compliment.”

“Glad you noticed.”

“What happened to the drunk cowboy?” she asked.

“Luke’s wife is getting him into a halfway house,” he mused. “A real crusader, that lady. She is a bleeding heart.”

“She likes lost causes,” she countered. “I’ve heard a lot about her, and I like what I’ve heard. If I can get this ranch back on its feet, I’d like to help her.”

“Another latent crusader,” he teased.

“A lot of people need saving, and there aren’t a lot of reformers around,” she pointed out.

“True enough.”

“Thanks for sending that other man over to keep a lookout. He’s very nice. Did you know that he likes to do needlepoint?” she asked matter-of-factly.

He nodded. “Nels does some exhibition-quality handwork. Nobody teases him about it, either. At least, not since he knocked Sid Turpen into the water trough.”

She chuckled. “He looked like that sort of man. I knit,” she said. “Not very well, but it gives me something to do when I’m by myself.”

“You’re always by yourself,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you come home with me one or two evenings a week and we can watch television after I’ve finished with the books. I could come and fetch you.”

Her heart jumped. She didn’t need telling that he’d never made that invitation to anyone else. He was like a wounded wolf in his lair most of the time. “Wouldn’t I be in the way?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m alone, too. You and the baby would be good company; before and after he’s born. You don’t have a husband anymore. I don’t have a family,” he said bluntly. “I’d like to help you through the next few months. No strings,” he added firmly. “And absolutely no ulterior motives. Just friendship.”

She was touched. He made her feel welcome, warm and safe. She knew that a lot of people were intimidated by him, and that he was very standoffish. It was a huge compliment he was paying her. “Thanks,” she said genuinely. “I’ll take you up on that.”

He sipped his coffee and put the cup down. “It might be good for both of us to spend less time alone with the past.”

“Is that what you do, too, thinking about how it might have been, if…” She let the word trail away.

“If,” he agreed, nodding. “If I’d smelled the smoke sooner, if I’d gone to bed earlier, if I’d realized that Lopez might send someone after me even from prison…and so forth.”

“I kept thinking, what if I hadn’t got pregnant so soon after I married,” she confessed. “But I’m not sorry I did, really,” she added with a tiny smile. “I like it.”