The Rancher's Secret Wife. Brenda Minton

was here. He shook his head because he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t have her here, in his life.

      “What are you doing here?” He spoke quietly, but the words were loud and echoed in the darkness, sounding harsher than he’d intended.

      “I wanted to check on you.” Her voice wavered.

      Next to him his grandmother mumbled that he had the manners of an ogre. She released his arm and told him he was on his own. He could handle that. He’d been coddled since the minute he’d walked through the front door a week ago. His grandmother had actually been the only one who didn’t smother him. She’d told him to cowboy up and remember he still had a life—unlike the men in his platoon.

      She hadn’t said those words; they were his. But she’d told him he owed it to those men to live his life to the fullest.

      “This was a mistake.” Cheyenne’s voice slipped away from him. He heard a chair move and heard her footsteps again.

      He reached for her, but she wasn’t there. “Could we have some privacy?”

      Cheyenne stepped close again, bringing her scent: lavender and vanilla. “They’ve already left the room.”

      He reached, needing a place to sit down. A hand touched his arm, guiding him to the table where he felt the back of a chair. He smiled. “Give me a minute. I didn’t expect you.”

      “No, of course you didn’t.” She pulled her hand loose from his. A chair scraped, and he knew she’d sat down across from him. “I got a visit from the military, someone checking on my welfare after you were injured. I wasn’t the person to notify in case of emergency, but they saw that you were married and they sent someone to tell me about the accident.”

      Reese brushed a hand through his hair trying to make sense of how all of this had happened and what he should do. His wife of six months was sitting in his mother’s kitchen, needing him. And he couldn’t be the person she relied on. He had no hope of ever seeing again. His left arm and his spine had been hit with shrapnel, and walking still took everything out of him. What was he supposed to do for her?

      She moved again. He knew she did because her scent brushed past him. He’d only known her for three hours, and he recognized her scent. He didn’t know if it had to do with enhanced senses from losing his eyesight or because he’d memorized that scent while he stood next to her in a little wedding chapel in Vegas.

      “I should go. I shouldn’t have come.”

      He couldn’t agree more. This hadn’t been the deal, her showing up here. In any other life, it might have been okay, but in this new life, everything had changed.

      “Where will you go?”

      She sobbed a little, and he reached, found her arm. That day in Vegas he’d thought she was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Tiny, with light blond hair that hung wavy to her shoulders and big blue eyes smudged with mascara and tears. He’d been about to be deployed, and she’d needed someone.

      “I’ll figure something out. I have family, you know.”

      “Yes, family.”

      She’d told him bits and pieces about the parents who had turned their backs on her. She didn’t really have family. She didn’t have anyone. He took a long breath that hurt deep in his back and wished he could do more for her. “Cheyenne, I’ll give you money. You have to eat and find a place to stay.”

      “I can take care of myself. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. I used the money deposited in my account to go to cosmetology school. That’s what I always wanted. You gave that to me.”

      “So where will you go?”

      “I’m not sure yet.”

      “I’ll need your address.” It seemed like a pretty rotten time to bring this up. “For the paperwork.”

      “I’ll get it to you once I land somewhere.” She kissed his cheek, and he was sorry he hadn’t shaved in days. “Goodbye, Reese.”

      “The baby?”

      “He’s fine. It’s a boy.”

      He smiled at that. “I’m glad.”

      She was already gone. He heard her walk through the house. He heard the front door close. And then he heard the light-soled steps of his mom walking back into the kitchen. He heard her hesitate at the door, but she didn’t ask questions. He knew she had them.

      “She’s a friend. I met her in Vegas.” He stood, unfolded the white cane he’d been learning to use and somehow managed to make it to the fridge without bumping into anything. Each day he got a little better. That’s what the rehab experts had promised.

      The counselor he saw each week told him he’d get past the anger, past the nightmares and the guilt. Cheyenne Jones somehow managed to be on the list of people he’d let down.

      “Is the baby yours?” His mom stood behind him, her voice hesitant.

      Reese turned, a glass of water in his hand. “No.”

      “Does she need help?”

      He walked to the counter, feeling for it, finding it and then edging around to the bar stool he knew would be there. The first few days he’d had a few bumps and falls because people forgot and left chairs out of place. They were learning. He was learning.

      “I don’t know.”

      “Reese, this isn’t like you. She’s young. She’s here alone, and you let her walk out of this house not knowing if she had a place to go or money to get there?”

      He brushed a hand through his hair and leaned back in the chair. No, it wasn’t like him. He didn’t know who he was anymore.

      “I know. I’ll work through this. I’ll find her.” How?

      “Do you need help?”

      He got up from the chair, smacking the cane against the side of the counter, looking for a way out. “I’ll take care of it.”

      “Reese.” His mom hesitated.

      He turned toward her, waiting. And she didn’t say anything. Because she didn’t know what to say? Or because everyone he knew was afraid to say anything to him.

      “Do you want me to go with you?” Heather spoke from nearby. He shook his head. When had his sister entered the kitchen?

      He wondered if he would ever get used to voices slipping through the dark. It reminded him of a cartoon, a black screen and animals—maybe cats—popping into the dark and then fading again; laughing cats. That’s how he imagined sounds, words. Nothing connected anymore. Everything was separate. There were sounds, words, touch, taste but nothing cohesive. Nothing made sense.

      He raked his hand through his hair and wondered how bad he looked. He hated to shave, hadn’t shaved in days. He knew his hair had grown out from the military cut he’d had two months ago. He wondered if he looked as angry as he sometimes felt.

      “Reese?” Heather stepped close, touched his arm.

      “I’m going for a walk.” He took a few cautious steps and made it out of the kitchen. With the cane as a guide, he made it through the house and out the front door. And then what? He couldn’t get in his car and go after her. He couldn’t call her.

      He couldn’t see anything but black, and Cheyenne had left. The man he used to be was somewhere inside him, and even though he wanted to hide from this life, he couldn’t.

      Cowboy up, Reese. He could hear his grandmother’s words, sharp, lecturing. How did a cowboy do that when he couldn’t even get on a horse?

      Chapter Two

      Cheyenne left the Convenience Counts convenience store and turned right on a little side street with pretty turn-of-the-century homes and