Chapter 11 The Nook
the nook
DUKE
The Nook is one of my favorite small spaces on the sprawling ranch.
These more intimate areas make me happy that a movie star once owned this home.
The vets living here get to feel like they’re royalty, and they always do after one of our special dinners in this space.
We hold these dinners as little reminders that healing doesn’t have to feel clinical.
Sometimes all a person needs is good food, a soft place to land, and someone who listens.
The scents of rosemary and grilled peaches linger in the air, carried on the soft hush of a Colorado evening breeze.
Overhead, strings of warm Edison bulbs stretch between beams and tree trunks, their golden light flickering against the deepening blue of dusk.
It casts everything in a glow that feels half fairy tale, half homecoming.
Two long wooden tables wait under the canopy of light, set simply but beautifully with white enamel plates, black placemats, and sprigs of fresh herbs tucked beside each fork.
Down the center of each table, leafy green garlands frame glass hurricanes flickering with candles, the flames swaying gently in the breeze.
The head of the table is always reserved for Rusty and my mother when she’s here. I set my beer down at my spot in the middle of the table and that’s when the breeze seems to shift.
I hear her before I see her.
Soft footsteps crunching over gravel, the low hum of her laugh as she replies to something Allie says behind her. I don’t turn my head. Don’t need to. Every molecule in my body already knows she’s coming.
And then she walks into the light of the evening.
She’s wearing a black dress that hugs all the right curves, and her blond hair is pulled into a crisp bun. Her ruby red lips seem to call to me from across the yard. I take a long pull from my beer and force my eyes to focus on something else.
Rusty and Topper help introduce the World Explorer crew to some of the residents who have joined us for the evening.
The person most excited to meet Roxanne is Georgia Lennox.
We served together on more missions than I can count.
She came home after her convoy and hit an IED.
She lost part of her right leg, but you’d never know it from the way she moves.
Tough as they come, and one of the best medics I’ve ever worked with.
Georgia shakes Roxanne’s hand hard enough to pull it out of the socket. “You’re Roxanne Denning, aren’t you?”
Roxanne glances at Allie and Leo and then back to Georgia. “You know me?”
“I know your articles. I have a subscription to World Explorer magazine. Your stuff is so real. No fluff, no prose, just what you see and experience. I love it.”
“Why, thank you,” Roxanne says.
Over dinner, Georgia and Roxanne fall into easy conversation, swapping stories like they’ve known each other for years. Roxanne asks tactful questions which Georgia is excited to answer.
“You’ve got good questions,” Georgia says, smiling. “Most people don’t ask about the right things.”
Roxanne shrugs, a little embarrassed. “It’s my job to ask the right questions.”
Georgia nods. “Well, this place saved my life. I came here pretty dependent on painkillers after my accident.”
“And living here has helped that?” Roxanne asks with raised eyebrows.
“Oh, yes. That’s the mission of Firebird Ranch, Rusty, you want to do the honors and tell our guests what the mission statement is?”
Rusty, his mouth full of steak, holds up a finger.
He swallows and takes a sip of water. “Be happy to, although you do fine yourself, Georgia.” Rusty wipes his mouth and continues.
“At Firebird Ranch, we believe in rebuilding from the inside out. That means offering tools for healing that go beyond prescriptions. We believe in connection, responsibility, movement, and purpose. We don’t shame anyone for their past or their choices.
While you’re here, we’ll show you what healing can look like without numbing out. ”
Allie and Leo raise a glass to Rusty, who also raises his.
“That’s great, really,” Allie says.
“And how do you do this?” Roxanne asks. She’s leaning forward with one eyebrow arched. “How do you heal beyond prescriptions?”
“Well, of course, it depends on the individual whether our system works or not,” Georgia replies.
“They have to want to heal first, but we can get them there with many services like Equine-Assisted Therapy, Forest Walks and Nature-Based Therapy, Daily Group Therapy or Peer-Led Circle options. The list goes on, but you get the idea.”
“I do, but …” Roxanne pauses. By the expression on her face, it looks like two thoughts are wrestling with each other.
“I don’t know. I guess I have a hard time believing that nature walks can help with severe trauma better than medication.
Medication certainly isn’t the answer for everything, but it certainly helps with trauma-related illnesses. ”
“True,” I say. “And for a lot of people, meds are exactly what they need. But for others, it only quiets the symptoms without getting to the root. Out here, we try to teach different ways to manage without leaning on a bottle or a pill. We’re not saying what we do is better. It’s just another option.”
“And if we get more funding, we can help more people, whether or not they are a veteran, by building more programs in other places,” Topper adds.
“A very worthy cause, but I’m not convinced,” Roxanne says.
“I guess we have the summer to prove it to you,” I say, taking a sip of beer.
Roxanne’s eyes grip mine for a moment and then she turns her attention back to Georgia.
Dinner ends with an apple crisp, and everyone laughing at Allie and Leo telling stories about some of their travels abroad.
The evening is officially winding down when Allie claps her hands together.
“Okay, tell them the story about the club in Buenos Aires, Rox?”
Roxanne’s red lips twist into a frown. “No.”
“Come on,” Leo says. “That’s one of my favorite memories.”
“Leo, if you love me, you won’t—” Roxanne protests.
“She was wearing this divine sparkly silver dress that turned her into a human disco ball.”
Everyone laughs.
“Leo had on skintight, shimmery pink pants and a neon yellow tank top. It was perfection,” Allie says.
Leo shrugs and continues. “At the time, Roxanne was chasing an interview with a DJ-slash-activist, Echo Raza, who frequented this underground club.”
Roxanne buries her face in her hand.
“So, thanks to Roxanne we get past the bouncers,” Allie says. “It’s chaos. Sweaty, loud, no-air-conditioning chaos.”
“What did you do to get past the bouncers?” Georgia asks.
“Nothing really,” Roxanne says, her cheeks flushing.
Allie nudges Roxanne. “Roxanne has this way of using her feminine wiles to get a man’s attention.”
“I do not,” Roxanne says, her voice pinched.
She ducks her head trying to hide the flush hitting her cheeks.
She’s embarrassed, and I’m a little pissed off how much I notice.
I shouldn’t care, I don’t care, but something about that flustered look messes with me.
It’s none of my business who used to chase her attention.
So why the hell do I suddenly want to know exactly what she looked like lit up like a disco ball and hypnotizing men with her charm?
“We finally spot Echo, that’s the DJ, in one of the VIP rooms,” Leo says. “Roxanne goes in alone and at first everything seems fine, but then I get this feeling when an hour goes by and Roxanne doesn’t come out. I figure I better go check.”
“Leo peels away the curtain to see Echo, this six-foot-five, gold chain, sunglasses indoors kind of guy, getting a little too handsy with Rox,” Allie says after a sip of wine.
“I told him I obviously wasn’t interested,” Roxanne adds.
“She told him twice,” Allie says. “She just wanted some quotes.”
“When I tell Echo ‘Hands off,’ he laughs and makes a snide comment about my glorious pants,” Leo says.
“Big mistake,” Roxanne adds, finally smiling.
“Echo and I exchanged some words,” Leo says. “He got the message when I bent his fingers back and sent him to his knees.”
“But the best part! The best part is … well, tell them what you said,” Allie insists.
Leo finishes his glass of wine. “I said, ‘Touch my girl and make fun of my pants again and I’ll twist you into a cocktail garnish.’”
“He got the message,” Roxanne says.
“We still got the quotes, by the way,” Allie says. “And free drinks for the rest of the night.”
“Wow,” Georgia says. “And you didn’t even have to throw a punch.”
Leo shakes his head. “Nope, I don’t throw punches unless the earrings come off.”
“He’s all shoulders and glittery self-restraint,” Roxanne says. “It’s very effective.”
Topper raises his glass. “To Leo, cameraman, and part-time bouncer.”
Everyone shouts “Hear! Hear!” and part of me is disappointed when the conversations veer off in other directions. I want to hear more about Roxanne’s global adventures.
Later, when most everyone starts to wander off toward the fire pit, Roxanne stands. Our eyes lock. She doesn’t smile, she just nods toward the trail that leads off the Nook and starts walking.
I follow her without hesitation.