Tomas: Cowboy Homecoming

“Damn it. Can’t you see how restless he is? He needs the excitement of the rodeo.”

“I agree,” Tuf said before he thought it through.

His brothers swung around to stare at him. It wasn’t a good stare. His settling-in period was over.

Ace’s eyes narrowed on him. “You haven’t shown any interest in this ranch for eight years and now you think you have a say?”

“Yeah, Tuf,” Colt added. “We understand about the first six years. You were fighting a war, but where in the hell have you been for the last two?”

Ace had a lot more to say. “Do you even realize how bad it’s been around here? We had to lease a lot of our land and take out a mortgage with my vet business on the line to survive. Everyone pulled their weight to make sure Thunder Ranch didn’t go under.”

“I didn’t know.”

“No, because you never called home to find out.” Cool, collected Ace had reached a breaking point, and Tuf knew he had every right to be upset. “You never even called home to check on Mom. That I can’t forgive. Do you know she had a spell with her heart and was hospitalized for a few days? We had no way to get in touch with you.”

He felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut by the wildest bronc in Montana. He swallowed. “Mom had my cell number. I gave it to her when I called that one time.”

“No.” Ace shook his head. “Mom would have told me.”

“I had it,” their mom said from the doorway. Uncle Josh, Beau, Duke and Dinah stood behind her.

“What?” The color drained from Ace’s face. “But you asked me to call his friends to see if Tuf had contacted them.”

The group walked farther into the barn until they stood in a circle. Horses neighed, and Royce and Gracie came in through a side door. But everyone was staring at his mom.

“Yes, I did,” Sarah admitted. “I was worried and wanted to know if Tomas had reached out to some of his old buddies. They would talk to you quicker than an overprotective mother. I’m sorry, Ace. I know I lean on you too much.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Ace assured her. “It’s not your fault. It’s Tuf’s.”

Tuf took the blow to his heart like a marine, like a cowboy, without flinching. It was his fault, and it was time to open that wound and let it bleed until he couldn’t feel the pain anymore.

Uncle Josh patted his shoulder, and Tuf hadn’t even realized he’d moved toward him. “We don’t mean to pressure you, Tuf, but you’re a part of this family and we’ve all been worried. It’s not like you to shut the family out. If you found someone and wanted to spend some time with her, we’d all understand. We just need to know why you’ve ignored us for two years.”

“There isn’t anyone,” he murmured under his breath.

“Were you injured and in a hospital?” Dinah asked.

“No. It wasn’t that.”

He looked at their expectant faces and knew he had to tell them. They deserved the truth. But once he did, they would look at him differently.

And he didn’t know if he was ready to handle different.

Chapter Four

Tuf couldn’t put it off any longer.

Accountability had arrived.

He held up his hands and took two steps backward. “Okay. Just listen. Don’t say anything until I’m through.”

Everyone nodded, except his mom.

“This is ridiculous,” she said. “You don’t have to tell us a thing if you don’t want to.”

Ace flung a hand toward Tuf. “Stop protecting him. You always do that. Tuf’s old enough and strong enough to take responsibility for his own actions.”

“Why did you start this?” his mom demanded of Ace. “I told you to leave it alone.”

Ace sighed and turned away.

His mother instinctively knew he’d been through something horrific, and she was doing everything she could to protect him. Shielding her kids from pain had been her life’s work, but Tuf couldn’t take the easy way out. Not this time.

“Ace is right,” he told his mother. “I have to take responsibility for the last two years, so please just listen.” He stared down at the dirt floor. “I was all set to come home. My commander said the paperwork was in order. One more mission and I was going to be flown to Germany for evaluation and then to a base in the U.S. and finally home. I couldn’t wait to get back to Thunder Ranch and family.”

He took a deep breath and stared at the corner post of a horse stall. “The insurgents had attacked a small village that they suspected of giving aid to U.S. Marines. Most of them were able to get out but two families were trapped. Our orders were to go in a back way in the dead of night and rescue the Afghans. An Afghan soldier guided us through rocky terrain to the village. Getting in undetected was no problem. We found four adults and three kids in a mud-walled hut. Dawn was about to break and we had to get them out quickly. Then we were informed by the Afghan soldier that there was an elderly woman trapped in another hut. We found her and brought her to the others.

“When we were finally ready to leave, daylight broke. For some reason a little girl about three darted for the doorway. PFC Michael Dobbins was closest to her and he jumped to grab her. But it was too late. The insurgents knew we were there. They fired at Michael and he went down and fell on the girl. We immediately returned fire, but Michael was taking the brunt of the hits. His body jerked every time a bullet struck him. I told the corporal to call the commander and let him know what was happening and to call for mortar fire. We needed help.”

His lungs expanded and his hands curled into fists as red flashes of gunfire blurred his eyes. “Then I charged out that door, firing blindly, and covered Michael’s bloody body.”

“No,” Sarah cried, and Josh put his arm around her.

Tuf didn’t pause or look at his mother. He couldn’t. He had to keep talking.

“The rest of my unit joined me, and we made a wall in front of Michael to keep more bullets from hitting him. We just kept returning fire, and we all knew we were in the open and could very well die there. Then the order came, charge up that hill and take out the insurgents, so we hauled ass. A marine was hit and then the Afghan soldier went down. We found shelter behind some rocks and then we waited, hoping and praying that the attack chopper would come in soon with mortar fire.”

He paused. “As soon as the blasts started, we continued our surge to the top. When we got there, six heavily armed insurgents came out of a cave. They fired on us, but we had the upper hand. It was over in seconds. We ran down that hill, picked up our two wounded men and headed for the rescue chopper. Everyone was shouting, ‘Run, run, run,’ but I kept thinking about Michael back at that hut. I couldn’t leave him in that hellhole.”

He unclenched his numb hands. “I ran in the other direction, and I could hear my men shouting for me to come back. We didn’t know if more insurgents were in the area, and we were ordered to get out fast. But I still kept running toward that hut. I fell down by Michael. The mother and father of the little girl were there desperately trying to lift Michael’s body off their child. He was a big man and deadweight. I helped them and the girl was still alive. On the ground was some sort of Muslim toy. The girl must have dropped it when they’d rushed into the hut to escape the insurgents. I handed it to her and realized the toy was the reason she’d run for the door. I pointed in the direction where the chopper was landing and told them to go. Then I hoisted Michael’s blood-soaked body over my shoulder and followed.

“Everyone had already boarded, but the chopper waited for me. Two marines helped to carry Michael inside. I watched as a medic covered Michael’s body with a blanket. He was dead. He was finally going home, too.”

“Oh, no,” his mother cried.

Tuf kept talking because he knew if he stopped he wouldn’t be able to start again. “I leaned my head against the chopper wall, closed my eyes and imagined I was back at Thunder Ranch in Mom’s kitchen eating peanut butter from a jar with my finger. I could see that look on Mom’s face when I did things like that and I relaxed, wishing and praying I was away from that awful war. Away from the killing.

“I don’t remember much about the next few days, but I was flown to Germany for evaluation and then to the San Diego base. I was going home and putting it behind me was all I could think about, but first I planned to go to the commander’s office and ask for Michael’s parents’ address. I wanted to go see them and tell them what a hero their son was in saving the little girl’s life. Before I could do that, I got a message my presence was requested in the commander’s office. I thought he wanted to wish me well or something. I was unprepared for what he really wanted. He said to call my folks and let them know I wasn’t coming home just yet. A plane was waiting to take me to the naval hospital in Bethesda, Maryland. Michael Dobbins was asking to see me.”

A collective “oh” echoed around the dusty barn, and Tuf noticed Royce and Grace had taken seats on bales of alfalfa, listening intently.

“I was stunned but glad he was alive. I figured he wanted to thank me for carrying him out of there. I was mistaken. The doctor advised me to be prepared for the worst. But nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Michael. He was bandaged from head to toe. Tubes seemed to be attached to every part of his body. The gunfire had blown off the left side of his face. They’d amputated his left leg and he was in danger of losing his left arm. But Michael was refusing any more surgeries. He wanted to die.”

He gulped a breath. “I stood there staring at his one good eye. The right side of his face and mouth were the only parts of him that weren’t bandaged. A suffocating feeling came over me, and I didn’t know what to say or what to do. Michael had plenty to say, though. ‘Why couldn’t you have left me there? Why did you have to play the hero and come back for me?’ His strained voice demanded an answer. Again, I didn’t know what to say. ‘I hate you,’ he screamed at me. ‘I’d rather be dead. I have no life like this. Why did you have to save me?’

“I couldn’t answer so I walked out. The doctor informed me that Michael was refusing to see his parents, his wife and their three-month-old son. I was the only one he’d asked to see. The doctor added that I was Michael’s only hope. I was overwhelmed by the responsibility, and I wanted to leave that hospital and never look back. But I found I couldn’t. All the years of Mom and Dad preaching morals, values and honor must have reached me. I went back into that room prepared for battle.

“As soon as I entered, Michael screamed, ‘Get out.’ I told him no. He’d asked for me and I wasn’t leaving. He looked at the ceiling and refused to speak. I searched my brain for something to say, something to get his attention. I just started talking off the top of my head, telling him the cowboys around the rodeo circuit have a saying—when things get rough, ‘cowboy up.’ I reminded him it was time to ‘marine up,’ to fight for the most precious thing he had—his life. He kept staring at the ceiling, and I kept talking, saying stuff like cowboys and marines don’t give up and if he did, he wasn’t the man I thought he was.”