Jenna's Cowboy (9 page)

Nate wasn’t ashamed of having a bear when he was a toddler, but he knew the Callahan boys, especially Will, would figure out a way to kid him about it. And he wasn’t in the mood for teasing. Even if the fragrance of coconut and a bright pink stroller with pig’s ears eased his tension slightly.

Until he caught a whiff of smoke from somebody’s barbecue. His mouth went dry and sweat broke out on his forehead. How long before the football team tossed torches onto the huge stack of dried scrap wood? Years ago, he’d been one of those wielding a torch to light the bonfire. Now the thought of it made his heart pound.
Lord, help me through this. Don’t let me lose it.

They strolled between the cars in the parking lot until they reached the back half of it, which had been roped off to keep the vehicles at a safe distance. Jenna spotted a group of old friends from out of town and rushed over to give them hugs amid girlish squeals and laughter.

Nate stared at the thirty-foot-tall pile made mostly of old pallets with some wooden odds and ends tossed around the bottom and a weather-beaten chicken coop perched precariously at the top. The stench of diesel hung in the air.

Foreboding crawled along his skin.

He couldn’t do this.

He took a deep, slow breath. He had to do this. For Jenna. For himself.

“Our outhouse was better than that chicken coop.” Chance’s words barely registered. After a long pause, he added, “Earth to Nate.”

When his friend nudged him with an elbow, Nate jumped, barely catching himself before he drew back a fist. He shoved his hands in his pockets to hide their trembling.

Chance frowned, his eyes filled with concern. “You all right?”

“A little jumpy.”

“Hey, man, we don’t have to stay.”

“No, it’s okay.” Nate took a deep breath, focusing on Jenna. The women were all talking and giggling at the same time. “I think we’ve been beamed back to high school.” His voice was steady. Maybe nobody else would notice that he had a major case of the jitters.

“It’s good to see her having fun and acting a little goofy. So do you think they had to steal that chicken coop or did someone donate it?”

Nate didn’t look at it again. “Donated it. It’s too big to carry off without somebody noticing.”

“A few years ago, Mr. Brown told me that he spotted us swiping his outhouse.”

Nate turned to Chance. “And he didn’t come after us with his shotgun? I’m not buyin’ it.” The fear of the cantankerous old man chasing them off had added to the excitement the night Chance, Nate, and two other guys from the football team appropriated the rickety one-holer in the name of school spirit. Not that Mr. Brown or anybody else had used the outhouse in ages.

“He’d been waiting years for somebody to take it for the bonfire and was about to give up and tear it down. So he was happy as a pig in slop that we hauled it away for him. He even attended the pep rally that year but stayed in the shadows so we wouldn’t see him. Said he and his friends had done the same thing when he was a senior.” Chance’s face broke into a wide grin. “Only the one they pilfered was still in use. They went back the next day and built the owner a new one.”

Jenna rejoined them, bringing her friends with her. The Callahan men and Nate were older, but they were acquainted with all of them. In a town the size of Callahan Crossing, most students at least knew the names of all the other people in high school. Nate figured Will and Chance had dated almost all of Jenna’s friends at one time or another. They exchanged greetings and visited a bit, catching up on the nutshell version of what each one was currently doing.

Nate noted that a couple of the single ladies were still adept at flirting, though he was surprised when they gave him as much of their attention as they did Chance and Will. It certainly hadn’t been that way before he left Callahan Crossing. He tried to be friendly—not easy when he was tied in knots— but not give them any reason to think he might be interested in anything more than a casual group conversation.

When the band began to play, relief that the women’s attention turned to the twirlers’ routine and the cheerleaders’ dance steps swirled with apprehension of what was to come. The first two songs were new ones, but the third was an old standby. Laughing, Jenna and her friends did a few of the more sedate dance moves they’d used to the tune when they were cheerleaders.

Afterward, everyone joined in rousing renditions of several cheers, the last one ending with a mighty shout to “Cage the Tigers!”

The school mascot removed the laughing wolf head on her black and gray costume and handed it to a skinny kid who was at least a foot taller than her. Nate wondered if the outfit had been cheaper in a smaller size.

He glanced at Will. “When did the growling mascot turn into a happy one?”

“A couple of years ago. The old costume wore out, and since a girl usually wears it, they—whoever that is—decided it would be better to project a cheerful image.”

“To reflect the expected victories,” added Chance dryly. At Nate’s skeptical expression, he grinned and shrugged. “I’m simply repeating what the cheer advisor told the newspaper. She said it was called the Big Bad Wolf in the catalog. She seemed to think that would mollify some of the irritated cowboys and former members of the Wolf Pack.”

“Did it help?”

“Naw. But we’ve gotten used to it. Allie has been such a good mascot that nobody complains anymore. Wait until you see her doing flips and cartwheels in that getup.”

Allie, the vivacious gymnast-mascot-homecoming-committee-chairman, pulled a white card from a furry pocket. Picking up an electronic megaphone, she announced the award-winning floats from the parade. The freshman class took first prize, the seniors second, and the Spanish Club third.

She passed the megaphone to the head coach and tugged the wolf’s head back on, her friend snapping it into place. When she and the cheerleaders moved well away from the woodpile, Nate breathed a little easier. He had a few minutes’ reprieve.

The coach introduced each of the football players. Nate was surprised that no one was wearing his old number this time around. The team captains thanked everyone for coming to the pep rally and promised to give them a good game on Friday night.

Then the senior football players filed over to the back of a truck and picked up the unlighted torches. They formed a circle around an open barrel nearby that held a small fire. At the captain’s nod, they dipped the torches into the flame, lifting them up in the air when they ignited.

Nate tried to turn away, but the flickering flames mesmerized him. His mouth went dry. His heart pounded, and his palms grew damp and cold. A shiver swept through him, then another.

With a yell, the football players jogged to their appointed places surrounding the chicken coop’s pyre. The team captain gave the count. “One, two, three!” Five torches flew through the air in a low toss, landing at integral points at the base of the pile.

Whoosh!

The dried wood, much of it soaked with diesel, ignited with a roar.

The crowd shouted their approval, and the Wolves’ fight song blared in the background. Sparks and embers flew into the air. Smoke billowed upward toward the stars. Crackling. Popping. A steaming, whistling sizzle. Flames danced and leaped, devouring one board after another, shattering the fragile thread holding Nate in the present.

•• He took the stairs slowly, watching for IED trip wires, listening for any unusual sound. Not that he could hear anything over the shouts of the Iraqi man downstairs. The man talked too fast for interpretation until a phrase jumped out.
Allah be praised.
“Bomb!”

The building shook, the noise deafening. The blast threw Nate near the top of the stairwell, and he sprawled on the stairs. His head throbbed, and a wave of dizziness had him reaching for the wall to steady himself. Pain stabbed his leg. A large jagged chunk of metal protruded from his thigh. Jerking it out, he pulled the silk scarf from around his neck and tightly wrapped the wound, mentally blocking out the pain. Had to move.

Lying on the stairs, he peered around the corner to the second floor. One big room. Empty. Smoke poured up the stairway, making him cough. Over the ringing in his ears, he heard moans. “Brown!” No answer. “Lieutenant!”

“Here, Sarge.” The lieutenant’s voice was weak.

Bracing against the wall, Nate stood and hopped down the stairs on his good leg. Paused at the last step. Checked the room. Clear. A crumbled wall splattered with blood and a lone shoe told the fate of the Iraqi man who’d led them into a trap. Broken furniture blazed, and flames slithered through the rubble. Private Brown lay by the door, one leg twisted and broken, his helmet blown out into the street. Head wound, possibly a bad one.

Lieutenant Myers sat against the remnants of another wall, struggling to tie a tourniquet above a gaping wound in his upper arm. Nate dropped to one knee beside him, catching his breath at the pain ripping through his leg, and quickly tied the cord around Myers’s arm. Did the officer realize that the bones were crushed? Trying to avoid the smoke, he dipped low and dragged in a breath of air.

“Get Brown out of here,” said the lieutenant, coughing. “I’ll be behind you.”

Nate carefully lifted the kid from Ohio and laid him across his shoulder. Myers was on his feet. Nate hid behind the doorframe, surveying the area. Across the street, a young Iraqi woman opened the door of her house, quickly looked around, and motioned for him to bring the wounded man inside.

Limping, Nate ran across the empty street as best he could. Hot, sticky blood saturated the bandage and the leg of his fatigues, oozing into his boot. He laid Brown on the floor of the house. Stepped back to the doorway. Street clear.
Where’s
Myers?
Smoke poured from the damaged house. Flames leaped from the roof and one shattered window.

He started back across the street. Couldn’t run. Leg dragging.
Can’t stop
.

Shouts down the street. American.

Myers on the floor. Door and wall on fire.
Have to get him.
Go through the flames.

Roof collapsing
. Shield the lieutenant.
Searing pain. Smell of burning flesh.
Mine.
Flames everywhere. Gunfire outside.

I will not die in here.

8

“We need to move back. It’s too hot.” Jenna tugged on Nate’s arm, but he didn’t seem to hear her. He stared at the flames, his body rigid, his hands knotted into fists. He was breathing way too fast. Sweat rolled down his face. She tugged harder. “Nate, we have to move back.”

First one person, then another jostled him as the crowd moved away from the fire. He looked at her, his eyes filled with sheer terror one second, blazing with fury the next.

She dropped her hands and took a step back. “What’s wrong?”

Without a word, he spun around and pushed through the crowd, shoving people out of his way. When he got past them, he broke into a run.

Jenna met Will’s startled gaze, then turned to Chance. “What in the world just happened?”

“I think the fire got to him.” Chance shouted to be heard above the cheer the pep squad was leading. “We’d better go after him.”

It took a few minutes to work their way through the crowd. At the street, they spotted Nate running full out toward the other end of the high school. Not an easy task in boots. He slowed to a jog, then a walk.

Jenna mentally kicked herself. She should have considered the possibility that the bonfire might bring back bad memories. No one forced him to come with them, but Nate was like most of the men she knew, macho to the core. He would never have admitted that the fire might bother him.

When they caught up with him, he was leaning forward against Will’s truck, his hands on the hood, back curved, head down. Jenna and Will hung back, letting Chance take the lead.

“Are you all right?” Chance stopped beside Nate but didn’t touch him.

“Yeah.” He straightened and turned around to face them. Enough light shone from the streetlight on the corner to see that his hands were shaking. “I think so.” He glanced at Jenna. “I thought I could handle the fire, but guess I was wrong.”

“It’s okay.” She smiled, trying to reassure him. “You didn’t knock anybody down.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

Oops.
“You were in a big hurry to get out of there.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and slumped against the pickup. “So I was a jerk.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Will. “It didn’t seem to bother anybody for more than a minute. They probably figured you got a spark down your shirt. Or were getting even for all the people who bumped you as they moved back from the fire.”

Confusion clouded Nate’s face, and he shook his head. “I don’t remember any of that.”

“I think you were caught up in some bad memories,” Jenna said gently. She pretended to yawn. “I don’t know about y’all, but I’m ready to head home. I want to see my little guy before he falls asleep.”

“Don’t you mean before you fall asleep?” teased Will, playing along.

“Well, that too.” She slipped her hand around Nate’s upper arm. “Come on, cowboy. Let’s hit the trail.”