Chapter Two
Kyle
“Well?”
The big man appeared out of nowhere through the thick trees on the slope of the mountain. Kyle didn’t startle. He’d known he was there already, and the big man had known that he’d known.
Vigilance was something that you didn’t easily lose, even when you got out—not if you were smart.
“Well, what?” Kyle asked placidly.
The luxury chalet in front of them was finally finished and he was having a hard time believing it. They’d worked so long on this project, first drafting the idea, then pitching it to the right people, gathering sponsors, and finally getting the funding.
Then, the real work began…building it.
After all the preliminary desk and public relations work, getting his hands dirty was a real relief. He wasn’t made for office life. None of them were.
Kyle’s father had a construction background and he knew the trade well enough, and he had blueprints for everything else. The others had laughed at the idea of building a chalet from the ground up, but once he showed them the cost savings, they’d agreed.
Reluctantly.
Kyle felt sometimes that the only reason it got done at all was because of his never-ending supply of motivation, his legendary stamina, and a hell of a lot of coffee. The guys all took turns grumbling at Kyle, one another, and the building itself, but it got done and ahead of schedule to boot.
Today, they stared at a completely built, furnished, and inspected cabin. All they needed were the occupants.
“When are the first ones coming in?”
“Don’t know,” Kyle said, scratching his beard and the man scoffed.
“I don’t know why we let you handle the correspondence part of all this. We should let Evans do it.”
Kyle grinned. “Because this was my idea remember, John? You all wanted me to suffer and I have. Look at these scarred-up hands.” He smirked and held up his hands, displaying the multitude of scars from his years in the service.
“You’ve had those scars for years, Rev. You think I don’t recognize thatone in particular? My boots still have the bloodstains,” he said, sticking his foot out.
They didn’t, of course. Those boots were worn out a long time ago, but he wouldn’t be at all surprised if John had kept them as a memento. John Conner was a packrat of epic proportions. After moving with Kyle to Endurance, North Carolina, he’d had to rent a storage facility to store everything.
That battle in Nuristan had been the last firefight they’d been in together…and it had been a close one. The boots probably still held traces of the rocky soil of the mountains overseas. Kyle almost hadn’t made it back, not alive anyway.
That’s why he was doing this.
He crossed his arms and looked over freshly raked gravel and the concrete ringed with new shrubbery. He was satisfied with the work. The ramp that led up to the wide and immaculate main doorway was a symbol of his mission.
No, it was a symbol of the completion of the first phase of his mission.
He wanted to make a refuge here for wounded warriors—men who needed care after being wounded in combat and had no other place to go. Here, they could be among friends if they choose or stay to themselves. They would receive top-notch care courtesy of a team of physicians and surgeons and a safe place to recuperate.
The fifteen-bed chalet kept him sane in the dark hours of the night when he could only hear the rapid staccato beat of the M240s, the more sporadic pops of the enemy’s gunfire, the thumping of mortars, and the screaming of dying men.
Sometimes he felt like he’d spent more time working at night than any other time. Occasionally, one or two of the others would join him in the early hours and they’d work silently, each thinking their own grave thoughts.
Government grants and private sponsors had helped make it all possible and now they only had to wait for the first tenants.
He checked his watch. “Come on. We’ve got time for a ruck before supper,” he said, grinning.
John slammed his hat back onto his head. “Damn it, Rev.”
“You know a ten-miler will do you good,” Kyle smirked, capitalizing on his nickname.
Ever since he’d joined up, he’d been a near-constant source of motivation and optimism for his teammates. He’d always preached positivity and faith and hence earned the nickname Rev. What had started as a joke eventually stuck.
“My back is sore from lifting all those damned breeze blocks you wanted,” John grumbled.
“We can make it fifteen…” Kyle said, trailing off.
“Nah, ten’s good. Let me change my socks and grab my ruck,” the other man said.
Kyle knew the moaning and groaning were all for show. His guys loved a good ruck as much as he did.
“Make sure you load it up too!” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “None of that pansy shit. I want at least fifty pounds on your back!”
He smiled when all he got in return was a middle finger. Sometimes it was good for the guys to be riled up. It kept their minds off things.
He looked over the house and grounds once again, pleased and feeling truly optimistic for the first time in a long time. This time, it wasn’t just for show. He felt the darkness in his soul recede just a little more.
McClellan’s Hope.
He couldn’t save McClellan, but maybe he could help others.
∞∞∞
He kept a grueling pace up the mountain, ignoring the burning in his shoulders and the sting of a rash on his lower back from the weight of the pack. Sweat soaked every inch of his body and dripped from the ends of his hair. He breathed deeply of the pine and cedar-scented air and listened to the heavy breathing of the man behind him.
They’d purchased a hundred acres that bordered the Nantahala National Forest and he planned to take advantage of the fact whenever he could. He also planned to drag the guys along…whenever he could.
John was a team guy as well, and he served many years on Kyle’s Special Forces team. They’d known each other the longest. After a year in, Calvin Murdock came along, then Wyatt Evans a few years later. He was the oldest at thirty-nine, Evans was the youngest at thirty-two and the others fell somewhere in between.
Some days he felt every single one of those years and more.
They had all gotten out of the Army over a span of a year and a half. Fortunately, their ETS dates had coincided with deployments so that none of them had to deploy without one or more of the others along too.
They were brothers and they always would be. The other seven surviving men in the team were either still in or had married and settled down.
There was only one missing from their little group, and they all felt it every single day. They’d all failed him though none had come out and said it out loud. It didn’t need to be said.
James McClellan.
The trees were so green and beautiful along the trail that it was hard to stay melancholy for long. The old wars faded to the back of his mind as he contemplated new ones. His next campaign was going to be getting the first couple of guests settled into their rooms and making sure they were comfortable.
They had no strict check-out dates and the amount of time an individual stayed would be dependent on their rehabilitation status. After that, they would be released to go wherever they wished with as much help as Kyle could muster.
He was hoping the local community might see fit to welcome some of them in, the ones that had nowhere else to be or didn’t want to go back home to bad memories.
He could think of any number of potential jobs, though some would need to accommodate certain handicaps.
“You think Murdock and Evans are back yet?” John asked from behind.
Kyle scanned the trees and scrub along the trail, ever watchful for threats or danger. There was no telling what you’d find out there, even so close to civilization as they were. Wild animals were the obvious danger, but there were bad people everywhere. He carried his pistol everywhere he went and hoped he’d never have to use it.
“When there are still shots to be downed and stories to be told? Are you kidding?” Kyle said, stopping and spinning around so quickly that John almost ran into him.
He grinned. “Murdock doesn’t drink or tell stories. Hell, he barely talks.”
“Yeah, but Evans does enough for both of them and Murdock will always watch his ass.”
Kyle dropped his ruck and pulled out a protein bar before handing one to John. “You think those folks at Paddy’s believe that shit he tells them?”
“About his eighty-seven confirmed barehanded kills in the mountains along the Af-Pak border? Probably not,” Kyle said chuckling. “If that boy wasn’t in our team, I’d beat his ass just for that.”
John grinned and wiped the sweat from his face with the bottom of his shirt before he hefted his ruck back on. “Nobody’s ever going to know when he’s telling the truth or spinning a yarn.”
“Maybe that’s why he does it,” Kyle speculated. “As long as people are paying attention to his stories and not to him, he can hide in plain sight.”
“Pot. Kettle,” John murmured and gave him a significant look that Kyle completely ignored.
They spent the rest of the hike in silence and Kyle thought about his first guests. They were due to show up soon.
The first was a man who’d had both of his legs—and nearly his head—blown off in an attack in Africa. He had been on the teams, like Kyle and the others, and when his parents had heard of McClellan’s Hope, they knew they wanted their son to have a place there.
He”d accepted him right away and made sure the team of docs and their administrative assistant had coordinated with Veterans Affairs on all the details. The federal government was picky but incompetent, and he was glad he had a liaison to deal with all that. He knew his limitations, and paperwork and bureaucracy were at the top of his no-no list.
He slipped off his hat and scratched his head, feeling the hair that was beginning to curl at the ends where it wasn’t covered by the cap. He should stop and get a haircut. He’d relaxed his grooming standards quite a bit while working on the project, but now that he was going to be meeting guests he should probably look more professional. Nobody would want to trust him with their wounded looking like a scruffy old vet.
—Which meant he was also going to have to start shaving again at some point, and that just sucked. He made a mental note to deal with that too, and to dig out his clean cargo pants.
He drew the line at business suits.
Cargo pants were dressy enough for most things, plus he could carry several extra pistol magazines in his pockets. Jeans would work for his stealth mode days, which he planned to have plenty of.
In no form or fashion was he going to end up in a suit, no matter what.
The second guest they were expecting was a Marine who suffered from a traumatic brain injury and was missing a hand as a result of an IED blast. He’d run out of motivation to do anything and the government-run facilities he’d been to so far were woefully inadequate.
His surviving buddies had emailed Kyle two months ago after news of his project went public nationwide.
The future of his project would be determined by these first battles and he was determined to win them and help the two men as best they could. He wouldn’t accept defeat.
∞∞∞
Kyle checked his reflection in the mirror, wondering when he’d gotten those lines on his forehead, and that one in between his eyes in particular. He supposed it was from long hours squinting into the bright sun at high elevations, looking for the flash of a scope or subtle movement in the wadies.
He guessed he didn’t look too bad. Women seemed to stare now and then.
He’d been too wrapped up in McClellan’s Hope the last couple of years to think about dating, though Evans had insisted that spending time with a woman would get him over whatever was bothering him.
It wouldn’t and he knew it.
Evans took his own advice to heart and seemed to have enough bothering him to go through handfuls of women.
Kyle was long past those days of simple hookups and even simpler women. He’d never been one for a one-night stand or meaningless sex.
His last long-term relationship hadn’t fared well through a particularly trying deployment, and he thought maybe that’s why he’d been a little reckless on that last one. There was nobody left back here to be careful for, and so he hadn’t been.
Regina had really done a number on him.
The bullet that tore through his forearm and the edge of his hand had been the last straw after years of somewhat more minor injuries. That wasn’t to say that he’d had it easy. There had been way too many close calls to count, including one particularly brutal run-in with an RPG.
He rubbed his temples as the headache threatened to come back and turned away from the mirror. He didn’t particularly enjoy looking at himself these days. It seemed like he went to bed a carefree young man and woke up damaged and old, with death riding on his shoulders.
Not today, McClellan,he thought. Not today.
It was more of a plea than a challenge.
“Yo, Rev! You good to go?!” Evans hollered through the employees” hall.
“Roger that! On the move,” Kyle shouted back.
The employee section of the chalet was plain and unadorned, with five small bedrooms and two unattached bathrooms. They didn’t need luxury—actually, they eschewed it whenever possible. They were all somewhat nervous about getting soft, and maybe with good reason.
Without the constant danger and the need to be the best, what would keep them in top form?
There was a small kitchenette and living room just off of the main gourmet kitchen that served the guests. They had options for their meals. If they wanted company they could come into the dining room. If they wanted solitude they could have a tray sent to their room or even take a meal to-go if they wanted to wander the grounds.
He and the guys would be mostly eating in the dining room to set a good example. Healing involved more than just fixing and adjusting to physiological damage, they had shit that they needed to get straight in their heads too. The right kind of friendship could help with that.
The chalet was surprising in that it didn’t have the usual mountain cabin motif. Instead, the design firm had suggested something different and so the theme of the place was southwestern.
Inside, the walls were stucco and colorful, pastel stone. Woven rugs and blankets adorned the tiled floor and the cushy leather furniture. It was almost stereotypical, right down to the skull over the large fireplace. He had been assured that the colors were soothing and pastoral—whatever the hell that meant.
He thought it turned out pretty good, though it was a little strange for this part of the country.
He joined his brothers out in the main living room and noticed that they had all made an effort to clean up, at least a little.
Except for Murdock.
He eyed the silent man with a raised eyebrow but said nothing.
Murdock was the biggest of the bunch and the meanest when he needed to be. He rarely spoke and was always alert. He moved like a ghost through the house and the hills. His messy blond hair was long and wavy and brushed his shoulders, and his beard was golden brown and hid his face…probably on purpose. He looked a decade older than Kyle though he was only thirty-eight or so. He looked wild, untamed.
He was wearing his old faded OCP pants and a clean, but worn-thin, olive drab t-shirt. At least he’d washed his hair, though it didn’t look like he’d even tried to drag a comb through it.
Kyle thought they were lucky he even showed up at all.
Murdock wasn’t good with people, and it was only because Evans had saved his life once that he followed him everywhere like a giant, overprotective shadow.
“Car coming,” Evans said, interrupting his thoughts.
They all listened intently, but Kyle heard nothing. They watched the driveway and sure enough, a few moments later a van pulled up into the circular drive.
“How the hell did you hear that?” John grumbled.
Evans grinned and pointed to his ears. “Not as many explosions under my belt, old man!” he yelled as if John was deaf.
John punched him on the arm and then they all walked out to the waiting vehicle.
Kyle went first and met the clean-cut older man coming around to open his wife’s door. He was wearing khakis and a light blue polo shirt and Kyle wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have worn one as well.
Too late now.
“Mr. Daniels?” Kyle asked, holding out his hand.
“That’s me,” the man said with a worn and tired smile. He looked exhausted, but his eyes held hope…and that was precisely what he wanted to see.
“I’m Kyle Logan, Executive Director of McClellan’s Hope. We spoke on the phone,” he said as the man shook his hand firmly.
“Mr. Logan, we’re very honored that you’ve allowed Aiden to have a place here. We believe it will do him a world of good.” He looked over at his wife. “Won’t it, Betsy.”
The woman, Aiden’s mother, looked careworn and tears sparkled in her eyes, but her face held optimism. Kyle smiled and took her hand as well.
“Please, call me Kyle or Logan. We are very informal here. We’re all just old team guys trying to do our part.”
“Then you must call us Richard and Elizabeth.” He opened the back door of the van and Kyle got his first look at Aiden Daniels.
“Damn it, he’s practically a kid,” John murmured out of the hearing of the others.
Internally, he was furious. Externally, he was as cool as ever.
He was in his middle twenties and one side of his face was severely damaged. His legs ended just below the knee joint.
He was staring straight ahead, his left eye covered by a black patch. The left side of his face was a network of scars and skin grafts. His mouth was twisted up by the disfiguring scars, leaving him with a permanent sneer. His left ear was gone. His scalp was mostly unaffected, and his brown hair hung in waves to the bottom of his ear. Kyle knew he probably used it to hide his injuries.
Kyle reached out and took his right hand from where it rested on his thigh. “Aiden, I’m Kyle. I’m glad to meet you.”
His right eye twitched, but there was no response. Kyle readjusted his stance and approached the problem from another direction.
“Richard, Elizabeth, why don’t you help Aiden inside so we can show him around? We’ll have a little lunch and get to know each other better.”
Elizabeth smiled gratefully and began pulling bags from the back of the van. Kyle made a small gesture with his finger and Murdock strode to the back and loomed over Elizabeth—a little menacingly, or so Kyle thought—but he just plucked the bags gently from her and gave her a nod.
They were going to have to work on Cal’s people skills.
She smiled in thanks, and that was that.
“Son?” Richard asked.
Kyle watched the older man lean over and start to try to maneuver the younger man out.
“I’ve got it!” he exploded and brushed off his father’s hands.
Kyle watched him carefully as he lifted himself down and into the chair. He was angry—that was to be expected—but he hadn’t given up. He had strength in his arms and his thighs if Kyle judged correctly.
There seemed to be no spinal injury to complicate the situation, no paralysis.
The young man had a chance at a meaningful recovery if he could find it within himself to fight for it. The doctors would share his rehabilitation plan after they assessed him, and Kyle was going to do everything he could for the kid.
He was too young to be suffering so much.
∞∞∞
That evening, after Aiden had been settled in the accessible suite and had taciturnly dismissed Kyle, Evans met him in the employee living room.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said.
Kyle groaned. “I hate those words. Nothing good ever comes after I hear them.”
“At least this time doesn’t involve snipers, mortars, a Taliban attack, or the prized village goat mistakenly put on a spit,” Evans pointed out.
“True, but get to the point Wyatt.”
Kyle was anticipating all kinds of issues, things that could derail the entire project.
“The cook changed his schedule.”
“Why the hell did we hire an old swabbie to be our cook?” Murdock asked.
“Because he’s damned good at it,” Kyle said.
“And he was the only one who answered the ad and had experience,” Evans said.
The room was silent as John came in with a mixing bowl full of popcorn. He looked between them while Murdock scowled at the back window, looking out into the dim evening forest.
“Swabbie left us high and dry? Shit,” he commented, tossing a handful of overly-buttered popcorn kernels into his mouth.
Kyle leaned his head back, sighing heavily. “That’s the very last thing we needed right now. What did he say?”
“You know his wife is pregnant?” Evans began.
“Yeah, he said it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Well, she’s having twins and she’ll be on bedrest indefinitely.”
“Damn. I can’t fault the guy for wanting more time off for that,” he said, rubbing his temples. The headache that had begun that morning was back and worse than ever. “Do they have everything they need?”
“He said they’d be fine, but he needs to be home more. He can only work the breakfast and lunch shift, Monday through Friday.”
“What are you going to do?” John asked, cramming more popcorn in his mouth while watching the drama unfold. It made Kyle want to punch him.
“Sling some MREs on the table and call it good,” Murdock rumbled.
Evans raised his eyebrows consideringly, but Kyle was already shaking his head. “You’ve got to be joking.”
Murdock stared at him, frowning glacially. “I never joke.”
“So…looks like we’re having chili every night,” John said.
“Gross. Why?” Evans asked, brow wrinkling in confusion.
John laughed. “Because that’s all Kyle knows how to make.”
Unfortunately, it was almost true.
“I’ve had a busy life,” Kyle grumbled.