Texas On My Mind. Delores Fossen
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swallowing him up and had erased everything within view at the rescue site.
Everything but the sounds.
He could hear the thump of the Pave Hawk’s blades behind him. Could hear the cry for help just ahead.
His extractions.
An airman and a kid, injured from an IED. Riley knew why the airman had been there. He’d been doing his job, but Riley didn’t want to guess about the kid. Didn’t want to think about the kid, either.
Focus.
A quick in and out.
Forty-five seconds left.
Riley trudged forward. Fast but cautious steps toward those sounds. His crew was around him, nearby, and every now and then he caught a glimpse of one of them from the corner of his eye before the sand curtained them again.
His heartbeat was drumming in his ears. His pulse too fast like those seconds that were ticking away. He’d done rescues like this nearly a hundred times but never with that warning punching him in the gut.
Get the hell out now!
“I got a visual,” one of the crew said. Not a shout but loud enough for Riley and the others to hear. “McCord, your one o’clock.”
Riley automatically adjusted, moving slightly to the right, and he spotted the extractions. Both down. Both injured. He knew after just a glimpse that the airman wouldn’t make it, not with the blood spurting from his femoral like that. The kid was fifty-fifty.
Sixty-forty if Riley went in even faster and got him back to the Pave Hawk in under thirty seconds.
So that’s what he did.
Riley pushed forward, his boots bogging down in the sand, and made it to the kid. He scooped him up, knowing someone would be right behind him to take the airman. Riley focused on the kid. He would save him and get the rest of his crew and the airman back on the Pave Hawk.
But that didn’t happen.
The sounds stopped. Everything stopped. Like that split second of watching and waiting for a pin to drop onto a tile floor.
This was no pin, though.
The pressure exploded in his head. And the pain came, cutting off the air to his lungs. Strangling him. Riley couldn’t move, couldn’t run, but he could feel the blood, all warm and thick. His blood.
Get the hell out now!
“Riley?”
The sound of someone calling out his name gave him a jolt. Riley’s eyes flew open, but since the nightmare was still with him, it took him a moment to realize this wasn’t one of his extractions.
It was Claire.
And she was leaning over him, her mouth so close to his that he nearly kissed her. She was a welcome sight, all right. A lot more welcome than the flashbacks. But she was sporting a very concerned look on her face.
“You were dreaming,” she said.
Yeah, that was a good word for it. Better than the brain-fuck label that Riley had slapped on it. Because it hadn’t been just a dream. All of that, and more, had happened in the blink of an eye.
Since Claire’s mouth and therefore that kiss was still within striking range, he waited until she backed away a little before Riley sat up in the porch swing. He only grunted once. Only felt the blinding pain twice.
She looked amazing. Since this was Claire, looking amazing was a given. Her face was a little shiny with sweat. Her top, a little clingy—also from the sweat. But she didn’t smell like sweat. She smelled like roses. Except he soon realized that smell wasn’t coming from her. She really did have some roses in her hand.
“I wouldn’t have woken you up,” Claire added, “but you were talking and thrashing around. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself. Do you need your pain meds?”
He did, and needed them badly, but Riley shook his head. “I’m off the oxy, and the new stuff makes me drowsy.”
Which explained why he’d fallen asleep in his uniform in the porch swing. It was spring, but in Texas that meant it was already hotter than hell. Of course, that pretty much described three and a half of their four seasons.
Riley put his feet on the porch but didn’t risk standing just yet. The porch was swirling beneath him. However, there was maybe something he could do to get that look of pity off Claire’s face.
“I nearly kissed you,” he admitted.
As expected, the pity vanished, and she looked about as shocked as if he really had kissed her. “When? Wait, that wasn’t part of the dream, was it?”
Uh, no. “I nearly kissed you just now when you were leaning over me.”
Since he had never kissed her, this would have been the time when most women would have asked why he’d nearly done that. Or at least continued on the subject a bit until she got some more info. Claire didn’t. She dropped back another step.
“What happened to the kid?” she asked. She hooked her fingers around the neck strap that was holding a camera. “The kid in the nightmare you were having?”
Ah, hell. How much had he said? Apparently, too damn much. Since that was the last thing he wanted to discuss with her, with anyone, Riley went on the offensive.
“I heard about Daniel’s proposal. Including the or else.” He wouldn’t give her his opinion about that.
She nodded. “Trisha blabbed.” That was it. Her complete response on the matter before Claire suddenly got very interested in looking at her fingernails.
“Do you think we can find a subject that we both will actually discuss?” he asked. “If not, this is going to be a very short visit.” And while he was at it, Riley added something else that was sure to get her mind off what he had said or hadn’t said while napping. “Why are you visiting anyway? Did you bring me flowers?”
His tone alone should have put her off since it wasn’t very welcoming, but Claire didn’t huff or look insulted. She sank down on the seat next to him. “I’m just taking a break from stripping wallpaper and sorting boxes. And, no, the roses are for your mother’s grave. They’re the first batch from Gran’s garden, and I thought your mom would like them.”
That put an instant lump in his throat. He wasn’t usually so lump prone when it came to the mention of his mother, but those flashbacks had left him raw, as if some of his skin had been stripped away. It made it too easy for the feelings to get in.
“Mom would like them,” Riley settled for saying.
Claire nodded, smiled, put the flowers on the railing. “I’ll swing by the cemetery on the way home, but Ethan wanted to play with Crazy Dog first. I brought my camera so I could get some pictures. He’s growing up so fast that I’m trying to hang on to the minutes by making sure I get at least one new picture of him every week.”
Since Riley hadn’t heard a peep from Ethan, he looked at the yellow Lab’s usual resting spot, and as predicted Crazy Dog was there, sleeping, and Ethan was tugging on his ears, trying to get the dog to move.
Good luck with that.
“Crazy Dog’s not so crazy anymore,” Riley remarked. And he hadn’t been for the past six years or so.
But before that, he’d been worthy of the name that Lucky had given him. Well, actually the name had been Bat-Shit Crazy Dog, but that hadn’t gone over well with Della and Stella. Neither had Ol’ Yeller—Riley’s suggestion. Logan hadn’t offered any name options, but he had been the one to call a dog obedience instructor.
For the most part, Crazy Dog slept under that particular tree during the day, though there was a doggy door for the house so he could come and go as he pleased. The only time he went inside was to eat and do more sleeping. The vet had assured them that the dog wasn’t