Blood Lines

32

›› Intensive Care Unit

›› Presbyterian Hospital

›› Charlotte, North Carolina

›› 1402 Hours

“What are you doing?”

“I’m getting out of bed,” Shel said. “It’s what you do when you choose not to sleep all day. Like some people I could name.” He pulled the IV stand toward him.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to get out of bed.” Don pushed himself up from the chair.

Suddenly light-headed, Shel hesitated for a moment. He breathed slowly and steadily till the feeling passed. Then he disconnected the sensors attached to the adhesive pads stuck to his chest and pulled off the finger sensor.

The machines immediately chirped for attention.

“The nurse is going to know,” Don said.

“If you would stop being such an Eeyore,” Shel complained as some of the pain hit him, “we might be able to make an escape before the nurse comes to investigate.”

“You’re going to get into trouble.”

“Not if we hurry. And they don’t build Marine-size trouble here.”

“ I’m going to get into trouble.”

Shel chuckled. “If I hadn’t gotten you into trouble when we were kids, you would have turned out boring. You wouldn’t have anything to talk about in church.”

“We didn’t get into any real trouble.”

“ This isn’t any real trouble.”

“Says you,” Don told him. “All you have to do is fake being in pain and they’ll leave you alone.”

“Tell them you came after me as soon as you found out I was gone. I’ll back you up.”

“You’re not going to be able to escape. You’re decrepit.”

“I’ll warm up.” Shel used the IV stand as a crutch and got to his feet. He was actually amazed to find that he could stand on his own.

“You’re going to fall flat on your face.”

“When I do, you can tell me that you told me so then. At the moment, a little more help with the escape, please.” Shel started to shuffle off.

“Hey,” Don called. “Wait.”

“I don’t have time to wait. Escaping’s more of an active thing.”

“Yeah, well unless you intend to moon the rest of the people in ICU, you’d better put this robe on.”

Shel turned to find Don standing there with a robe. “Thought I noticed a draft.” He held his good arm up, and Don slid the robe’s sleeve over it. Then, with his good arm over Don’s shoulders and Don holding on to the IV stand, they were off.

“Do you have any idea where you’re going?” Don asked.

“Yeah. To see my dog.”

“Max left with Commander Coburn and Remy last night.”

“Yeah, well he’s back now.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m a Marine,” Shel said. “We know things.”

›› Rafter M Ranch

›› Outside Fort Davis, Texas

›› 1307 Hours (Central Time Zone)

Tyrel dished up bowls of pinto beans flavored with jalapenos and onions, then put them on the table at the same time the oven timer went off. He used a dish towel to fetch out the pan of corn bread.

Before he reached the counter, he knew he should have gotten an oven mitt. The towel was damp enough to conduct the heat. Still, he managed to get the pan to the counter without dropping it. The distraction provided by the hangover helped.

He waited a few minutes for the corn bread to cool while he watched ESPN. Watching baseball was only a habit, though. His thoughts were on Shel and Don. And the danger they faced.

Victor Gant was probably the most dangerous and cold-blooded man Tyrel had ever had the misfortune to meet. He could remember that night in Qui Nhon like it was yesterday. The metallic odor of blood filled his nostrils.

“Don’t you worry none about this, Private McHenry. You’re Army. We’re Army. We’ll take care of this. Ain’t nobody never gonna know. This’ll be our little secret.”

But that little secret had gotten bigger and heavier to carry every year. Tyrel sometimes thought it was amazing that his back and shoulders weren’t bent under the weight of it. Back when the boys’ mother had still been alive, it hadn’t weighed as much. Being alone had made the burden worse.

›› 1322 Hours (Central Time Zone)

Ramon entered the small kitchen and looked a little apprehensive. Tyrel knew the boy wasn’t completely at ease around him even though they’d known each other for years. Most people, Tyrel reflected, hadn’t been at ease with him.

He didn’t regret it. That was just how things had been. With the hand that God had dealt him, that was just the best that things could be.

Don was always at him about seeking God’s help for one thing and another, but Tyrel knew the truth. That one evil thing he’d done in Qui Nhon had pushed him right out of the Lord’s sight.

No sparrow fell without God knowing, but he still let them sparrows fall, didn’t he?

“Did you get your hands washed?” Tyrel asked.

“ Si, senor.” Ramon stood awkwardly.

“Pull out a chair and have a sit.”

Ramon did.

Tyrel cut the corn bread into large hunks and put them on a plate. He put the plate on the table, then got the butter-fresh-churned, none of that store-bought stuff-from the refrigerator. His wife had always made it before she died, but he did now because it reminded him of her.

“What would you like to drink?” Tyrel asked.

“Anything will be all right,” Ramon said.

Tyrel opened the refrigerator and peered inside. He ran on coffee all day, but he kept milk and some juice and soda pop for Don and Joanie’s kids.

“I got juice and pop,” Tyrel said.

“Either will be fine,” Ramon said. “Thank you.”

“I got strawberry pop,” Tyrel offered. “Don and Joanie’s kids seem to like that.”

“I like strawberry.”

Tyrel took a can of pop from the refrigerator and stopped himself short of just plunking it down on the table.

“You want a glass?” Tyrel asked.

“The can is fine.”

Tyrel handed it to the boy, then poured himself a tall glass of buttermilk. He sat at the table and took his hat off.

“Do you want to give thanks, senor?” Ramon asked.

The question caught Tyrel off-stride. Normally he and Ramon didn’t take meals together. Tyrel provided food, but generally food was eaten on the run, microwaved from the refrigerator, and eaten out of hand or alone.

Tyrel blinked at the teenager and felt increasingly uncomfortable. He didn’t give thanks for meals. There hadn’t been much in his life to give thanks for in a long, long time.

“If you don’t want to…,” Ramon said.

“No,” Tyrel said. “Giving thanks is all right. Your mama and daddy raised you up right. I was just forgetting myself, is all. I’m not used to eating with somebody and saying it out loud.” He hesitated. “You know the words?”

“ Si, senor.”

“Then why don’t you say ’em?”

“If you wish, but my father always reserves the right to lead prayer at his dinner table. He says it is a father’s duty to show the way to God and all things in the world.”

“Well,” Tyrel said, “I’ve always thought your daddy was a smart man. One of the smartest I’ve ever known. Now and again, I’ve told him that.”

Ramon smiled, more at ease now. “ Si, senor. Very smart.”

“But this here’s my table, and I do things a little differently. Don was always the one to give thanks.”

“Pastor Don?” Ramon grinned. Don was well liked by most of the community.

“Since he ain’t here, why don’t you do it?”

“Of course, senor. I will be glad to.” Ramon put his hands together, closed his eyes, and bowed his head.

Even though he felt like a hypocrite, Tyrel put his hands together too. He didn’t close his eyes or bow his head, though. He wasn’t that much of a hypocrite.

Ramon prayed in a strong, steady voice. All of the insecurity he had shown was gone. “God, we give our thanks for this meal and for your blessing. Thank you for the fine young horse you gave to Senor McHenry. He is beautiful. Thank you for our chance to be together today. Keep us in your sight and always guide us in your ways. Amen.”

Tyrel took a deep, slow breath and tried not to think too hard on the fact that he didn’t feel the trust the boy obviously did. God had turned away from him a long time ago. He’d accepted that.

›› 1328 Hours (Central Time Zone)

Tyrel and Ramon ate in silence. Tyrel was never moved much to talk while he ate. Eating was a chore, something to be done so he could move on to his next thing to do. But he remained conscious of the boy, and he was beginning to think he’d made a mistake to ask Ramon to stay. Tyrel still didn’t know why he’d done that.

As Tyrel had watched the boy praying, still clad in his dust-covered clothes, he’d been reminded of how many times he’d seen Shel and Don sit across that table from him. He’d watched them grow up at that table, had talked with them about the ranch and chastised them there too. But he’d missed a lot of dinners with them because there was always something to do around the ranch.

Had he attended more dinners than he’d missed? Tyrel honestly couldn’t remember, and it hurt him that he didn’t know. Then he got angry because he hadn’t been the one to choose to be away from the table on those evenings. He would have liked to have been at dinner instead of chasing cows, mending fences, or working on the equipment.

His life hadn’t gone the way he’d wanted it to in a long time. Still, the guilt even at this late date was sharp and jagged-edged. It cut especially deeply today, and he didn’t know what had caused that.

Looking at Ramon in his work-stained clothes, Tyrel remembered how Shel had been as a boy. Quiet and methodical, always giving himself to everything he’d ever wanted to do. He had constantly challenged himself and everything around him, like he could throw a saddle on the world and ride it till he had it in hand.

But listening to Ramon’s words had made Tyrel think of Don. Like his mama, Don had always been pulled toward the church and God. When he’d been young, Tyrel had been like Shel, but he’d given his Sundays to the Lord. That was how he’d met the boys’ mama. They’d gotten to know each other at Sunday school, then started dating at church socials.

When he’d gone away to Vietnam, Tyrel had known she might forget about him or give up on him. A lot of women during that time did. After the events that night at Qui Nhon, he hoped she had forgotten about him. He stopped writing her back; he started drinking and just put in his days on patrol, expecting the bullet that would cut him down and balance the scales that he owed.

But that bullet never came. And when he’d gotten back to the States, she was waiting. Despite his best intentions to turn away from her because he knew he wasn’t the man she thought she knew-and definitely not the man she deserved-he’d been drawn to her.

“Senor?”

Tyrel looked up at Ramon. “What?”

“Are you going to call Pastor Don and his family?”

“Why?”

“To tell him about the colt. You promised him you would call.”

Joanie and the kids wanted to know when the colt was born. Tyrel had forgotten that.

“The children will want to see the baby horse,” Ramon went on.

“I’ll give ’em a call when we finish up here,” Tyrel said. He felt resentful about having to do it, though. Don and Joanie knew how to keep their distance from him, but their kids didn’t. They kept trying to treat him like a grandpa.

“Good.” Ramon smiled. “They’ll like the colt.”

Looking at the boy, Tyrel suddenly missed Shel and Don when they were that age. Shel had been the fireball of the two, always in the middle of something and always pushing himself to go faster and higher. Don had been more quietly contemplative, but he’d let Shel talk him into trouble more than a few times. They’d never gotten into bad trouble, but often enough they’d gone and done when they shouldn’t have been going and doing. It was just how boys became young men.

He pushed those feelings away. He had no place for them. More than that, he didn’t deserve them. Their mama had been the real parent in the family. Not him.

He turned his attention to eating and walled away from the past like he’d done every day since Qui Nhon. He’d lost his past the night he shot that soldier, and he had denied the future every day he’d lived since.

That was the best he could do.

He’d held up for forty years doing that. If Victor Gant’s name hadn’t come at him, he was sure he could have finished out his tour on this world and been done with it. He concentrated on that and thought about the work he had ahead of him.

›› Visitors’ Room

›› Presbyterian Hospital

›› Charlotte, North Carolina

›› 1432 Hours

“See? I told you he was here.”

Don gazed across the room and saw Max lying at Remy Gautreau’s feet. Remy was busy chatting up a young woman in a neighboring chair.

“I still don’t understand how you knew that,” Don said. Over the years that Shel had been paired with Max, he’d often been amazed at the connection between the two.

“Part of being a Marine,” Shel responded. “I couldn’t explain it to you if I tried.”

Max’s ears pricked when he recognized Shel’s voice. Still, the Labrador didn’t move from where he was. His pink tongue snapped back into his mouth and he tensely waited.

Shel made a signal. It was so fast and so small that Don, who was watching, didn’t see it.

Immediately the dog hurled himself up and sped across the intervening space. Other people in the waiting room pulled back, but two small boys laughed and pointed at Max. His attention yanked from the pretty woman sitting beside him, Remy made a frantic grab at Max, but he was way off the mark. Then he saw Shel and relaxed.

Max immediately sat on his haunches in front of Shel. He nosed Shel and sniffed the offered palm.

“Hey, buddy,” Shel said in a low voice. Carefully, using the IV stand, he knelt beside the dog. Max licked his face in obvious excitement. “It’s good to see you too.” Shel patted the dog.

“Well, look who came back from the land of the dead,” Remy said as he joined them.

Shel looked up. “Don, this is Remy Gautreau. Remy, my brother, Don.”

“Are you supposed to be out of bed?” Remy asked Shel as he shook Don’s hand.

“Sure,” Shel said.

“No,” a stern feminine voice said from behind Don. Dread filled him immediately. “He’s not supposed to be out of bed.”

Busted, Don couldn’t help thinking.

Shel reached for Don, who helped pull him to his feet. At the same time, Max stood and took a defensive posture in front of Shel.

The nurse was in her fifties and obviously liked the position of power she had. She had a clipboard in one hand, and her other hand was braced on her hip. Her hair was permed, and she wore pale pink glasses.

“You’re not supposed to get out of that bed, mister,” the nurse said disdainfully. “You’re going to be in big trouble with the doctor.”

Doctor, Don thought. The woman used the term like she was addressing a recalcitrant five-year-old.

“Yes, ma’am,” Shel said.

“Don’t ‘yes, ma’am’ me. You’ve got my whole nursing staff in a tizzy.” The accusation came out hard and high-pitched.

Don cringed a little. It was the type of voice that bullied other people into submission.

A deep, low growl came from Max’s chest.

The nurse peered at the Labrador. “Is that a dog?”

“No, ma’am,” Shel said immediately. “That’s a Marine.”

“That’s a dog,” the nurse argued. “What is a dog doing in the hospital? And why is he growling at me?”

“He doesn’t care for your tone of voice, ma’am,” Shel said. He talked more softly. “If I was you, I’d use my inside voice right now.”

Don knew that Shel could stop Max’s growling with a single word, and he knew there was no threat from the Labrador. But the nurse didn’t.

“I’m going to get security,” the nurse said defiantly. She backed away; then-when she felt like she’d reached a safe distance-she turned and fled.

“Man,” Remy said, “you are gonna be in so much trouble.”

“Nah,” Shel said.

“Yeah, you are,” Don said.

“Is he like this all the time?” Remy asked Don.

“I can’t take him anywhere,” Don said.

“You guys are funny,” Shel said. “Maybe you should think about getting an act together.”

“Are you supposed to be out of bed?”

Don turned and saw Commander Coburn coming up the hallway.

“No, sir,” Shel said. Despite everything, Don noticed that his brother stood a little straighter.

“Now,” Remy whispered, “you’re a dead man walking.”

At that moment, the head nurse returned with three large security guys in tow. She pointed at Shel and Max.

Smoothly the commander stepped up to intercept the group. He opened his badge case and froze the security guys in place.

“Who’s in charge?” the commander asked.

The three security guys looked at the nurse.

“We won’t need you,” the commander said.

The three security guys faded like morning mist.

Suddenly alone, the nurse looked around nervously.

“I’ll need to speak to the doctor in charge of Gunnery Sergeant McHenry,” the commander said.

“Doctor is busy.”

“Then get someone else who can sign Sergeant McHenry out.”

“Only the doctor can do that.”

The commander sighed. “Then find the doctor and get him here.”

The nurse looked like she was going to protest, but there was something in the commander’s steely gaze that broke her in an instant. She turned and hurried away.

The commander walked back to Shel. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s get your kit packed. I’ve got a bed and a doctor waiting for you back at camp.”

Shel grimaced.

“I’m pulling rank on this doctor only to get you clear of the situation so we don’t endanger civilians,” the commander said. “We took Victor Gant down this morning, but that doesn’t mean all the Purple Royals are going to stay clear. Do you read me?”

“Five by five, sir.” Shel saluted.

“Then let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

Shel took a step and almost fell. Even though he’d been prepared for the eventuality, knowing Shel would push himself past the point of endurance, Don couldn’t get to him in time. But the commander shifted so quick Don almost didn’t see the movement. He slid under Shel’s arm and supported him.

“I’ve got you,” the commander said. “Do you want a wheelchair?”

“No, sir. I got out here on my own two feet. If you don’t mind helping me, I’ll get back the same way.”

“All right.”

Amazed, Don watched them go. Max walked on the other side of Shel.

“Your brother’s a tough man,” Remy said.

“He always has been,” Don said.

“Give him a couple of weeks, he’ll probably be good as new.”

“I know.” Don took a breath and let it out. “I worry about him, though.”

“It’s okay to worry,” Remy said. “It’s good to worry. But you have to realize that he’s going to chart his own course no matter what you say or do.”

“I know that.”

“Brothers are special,” Remy said in a wistful voice.

The tone caught Don’s attention immediately. Whenever someone said cryptic things like that, sounding as if they were halfway in the present and halfway in the past, he knew there was a story. There was always a story.

“You have brothers?” Don asked.

“One,” Remy said but didn’t turn to look at Don. “I had one.”

“I’m sorry,” Don said.

“Yeah,” Remy said. “Me too.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get going if I’m going to stay up with the commander. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Don.”

Don took the hand Remy offered. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Remy. And if you ever feel the need to sit down and talk about brothers, I’m here.”

Remy held his gaze for a moment. Don saw the pain in the other man’s eyes.

“I appreciate that,” Remy said. “Maybe someday.” Without another word, he took his hand back and walked away.

Don watched him go and wondered at the pain and confusion he’d seen in Remy’s gaze. But Don knew from years of experience that whatever the story was, it was meant for another time.