“I have no idea what Sierra sent.” He picked up the bag and dumped the remaining contents on the bed. “What the…?” He shook a plastic bag filled with military medals, and a second one with rodeo buckles. “Useless,” he said, his voice strained.
“Why don’t I just put them in a dresser drawer. Your sister is extremely proud of you, you know. She loves you.” Alexa smiled even though Rafe couldn’t see.
“Hell! I know that.”
A reaction at last!
Just as quickly, his face became impassive again. “Do what you want with that stuff. Toss it in the trash for all I care. Where’s that damned paper you want me to sign? Let’s get it done, so I don’t take up any more of your valuable time, Doctor.”
“All right. I’ll go get the form from my office, Major. Be right back.”
“I’m no longer a major. That’s over and done with. Call me Rafe.”
Two could play this game. “If you call me Alexa. Lately my practice has consisted of a pair of young mountain lions, a great-horned owl, a family of squirrels and other assorted forest animals. I’m not used to being called by my title.”
“Sierra said you’re a healer. I thought you were a curandera like our grandmother Velasquez, but it sounds like you’re a vet.”
“No, I’m not a vet or a curandera. I’m an osteopath, and I hold certificates in Chinese herbs and acupuncture.”
He twisted his mouth to one side. “So you stick needles in people. Guess it can’t be any worse than what they put me through in the field hospital.”
Alexa wasn’t sure if Rafe was trying to be funny or sarcastic. Whatever. He definitely presented a challenge—one that intrigued her.
She headed down the hall to her office, which was located off her bedroom at the opposite end of the house. She had always liked this split floor plan. The few summers her parents had brought her here to visit her grandparents, she’d had the room Rafe now occupied. As a teen she’d pretended this whole end of the house was all her domain. Mostly, she holed up there reading biographies of female scientists who’d changed the world. At the time she wore chunky braces and round black-rimmed glasses, which explained why she didn’t read romances and dream about boys like her mother wanted her to do. Bobby was the only boy who ever really saw through her serious facade. And even he liked her best for her brain.
Grabbing the release form she’d printed out the night before, she went back to Rafe’s room. He had drawn the blinds, making the room dark, and sat in the chair, petting Compadre. If dogs could smile, the collie gave a great imitation.
“Here’s the release,” she said. “It’s attached to a clipboard.” She started to read the outline of treatment but Rafe raised his hand.
“Just the part about the pills,” he said.
Alexa did as he asked and read the short statement giving her the right to wean him off his pills and instead use herbs, teas and Eastern techniques such as acupuncture with Rafe’s verbal agreement.
He took the pen and scribbled his name.
“Dinner’s at six,” she told him. “I’ll give you plenty of time to wash up. I thought I’d put a couple of steaks on the grill and make a salad with vegetables from my garden. Lettuce, if the rabbits and deer left me any, tomatoes and cucumbers.” She let the words hang, expecting his agreement and maybe a little enthusiasm or interest.
“I don’t want anything to eat.”
“Well, at least come out and learn how to navigate the rest of the house.”
“No, I prefer to stay here.”
Alexa struggled to remain patient. “Okay, suit yourself tonight. But even if you’re not hungry, there’s a hot mineral springs on the property. It’s therapeutic and you’d be amazed at how relaxed you’ll feel if you take a dip right before bedtime. I’d go with you, of course.”
He shook his head. “Not interested. I plan to turn in early.”
Alexa began to simmer. But he was the patient and she was the doctor, she reminded herself. “Tomorrow, then. We’ll get a fresh start. If Compadre makes a nuisance of himself, boot him out and shut your door.”
Hearing his name, the dog sat up, whined a few times, then laid his furry chin on Rafe’s knee. Alexa watched the man stroke the animal’s silky ears. “He’s fine,” Rafe said in a quiet voice. “I had a dog as a boy. A mongrel. We had to give him away when my parents died. Couldn’t afford to feed him. Chip. That was his name. I haven’t thought about him in years.”
He looked so vulnerable sitting there, steeped in memories of the pet he’d lost, and Alexa found her throat tightening in sympathy. Her reaction was totally at odds with the irritation she’d felt barely a minute ago. “I’ll, uh, go now, and check back later to see if you need anything. Oh, I forgot. There’s a small fridge in the closet. I wasn’t sure what drinks you liked, but I left a couple of bottles of water, a fruit juice and noncaffeinated soft drinks.”
“Beer?” He turned toward her.
“Sorry, alcohol doesn’t mix with all those high-velocity meds you already took today. But that’s something we can shoot for. Call it a carrot to wean you off those psychotropic drugs.”
“Psycho-what?”
“Sorry, doctor speak for antidepressants and the like.”
“Oh.” He sank back in the chair and closed his eyes. A sign their conversation, such as it was, had come to an end.
Alexa hurried down the hall, her mind already cataloging the herbs that might work as substitutes to help him start withdrawing from the most potent of his drugs.
After eating a salad by herself, she went into her office and pulled out the notes she’d made on Rafe’s current course of treatment. She skimmed them then sat down at the computer and searched the Internet for information on returning soldiers. A number of them came home suffering intermittent bouts of deafness from unspecified causes. But almost all cases of blindness could be traced to IED explosions that left shrapnel buried in the head. Rafe’s physical exams, including extensive X-rays and MRIs, revealed no foreign objects other than bullets in his left shoulder and thigh, both of which had been removed.
Alexa tapped a pencil to her lips. She wondered if anyone was studying the residual effects of severe concussion around the brain.
She flipped back to the detailed account of the firefight given by a young private—one of six men Rafe pulled to safety while he took and returned fire. Apparently saving half his patrol wasn’t good enough for Rafe Eaglefeather. He was the type of guy who’d feel guilty for not saving them all.
Alexa could relate to that.
Feeling weepy for no good reason, she shut down her computer and got ready for bed. She crawled under the covers, and it struck her that for the first time since she’d nursed Compadre back to health, he’d abandoned her for Rafe. Really, she didn’t mind. Dogs intuitively sensed which human needed the most attention.
IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, Alexa heard loud shouting.
Rafe.
Bolting out of bed, she wrapped herself in her silk bathrobe and stumbled down the hall. Had he fallen on his way to the bathroom? Halfway to his room she heard Compadre whining.
The bedroom door stood ajar and she could hear Rafe thrashing about, shouting men’s names, urging them to find cover and protect their heads. His medical file had noted episodes of post-traumatic stress flashback. Aware how violent some PTSD patients got, Alexa debated whether or not to enter his room. She had withheld his sedatives that night. Had it been a mistake?