Saving Sam (The Wounded Warriors Book 1)

Saving Sam

The Wounded Warriors Book 1

Simone Beaudelaire and J.M. Northup

Copyright (C) 2015 Simone Beaudelaire and J.M. Northup

Layout Copyright (C) 2015 by Creativia

Published 2015 by Creativia

eBook design by Creativia (www.creativia.org)

ISBN 978-952-7114-87-2 (mobi), 978-952-7114-88-9 (paperback)

Cover art by http://www.thecovercollection.com/

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

This book is dedicated to all the men and women who have served in the military, past, present, and future.

At first, Amy almost didn't recognize the hard-bodied, hard-eyed stranger who emerged from the welcome center entrance at the front gate of Lackland Air Force Base, his eyes scanning the scrub of the weathered Texas countryside.
Could this weary-looking soldier really be Sam
? Amy searched in vain for the goofy, slightly overweight boy with the wild blond curls.

No, scanning from head to foot revealed only a uniformed Airman with tightly shaved hair, barely recognizable as blond. His muscular forearms gave hints of the heavily corded biceps that were hidden beneath the rolled sleeves of his camouflage uniform. Dark, piercing eyes seemed to catch every moment, like a predator on the hunt. Eyes that had once been warm and friendly had now become… so cold. Amy shivered involuntarily.

Where was Sam, her boss's son and her oldest friend? Where was the young man she loved? Then those eyes turned to her, swallowing her in their depths. Amy flinched at the contact as though she had been physically struck. Always painfully shy, Amy hated to be the center of attention, and this stranger's gaze seemed to strip her down to expose her deepest, most shameful secrets. Those sharp eyes penetrated all her defenses and saw everything she wanted to hide.

Panic raised in Amy an overwhelming urge to flee. Then, the hard expression eased as recognition flashed, and a faint half smile appeared.

“Amy!” He approached her quickly, slinging his ruck to the ground beside them and scooping her into a bear hug.

“Sam?” For a moment, she was disoriented by the speed of his movements and the strength of his grip. She had hugged this man hundreds of times, but he had never felt so powerful.

As a boy and later a teen, Sam had been lazy, slow, and indolent, but no longer. Amy gave herself over to the moment, wrapping her arms around his neck. As she did so, his familiar scent wafted over her. Sam, despite the physical changes, was still himself.

Amy relaxed enough to whisper, almost inaudibly, “I've missed you so much…”

“Me too,” he murmured, “It's so good to see you, Amy.” His arms tightened almost painfully for a moment before he pulled back a little and looked deep into her eyes. “You look the same as always.”

Amy smiled shyly in response. Apparently, it sufficed because Sam scooped up his bag and slung his arm casually around her shoulders. She leaned against him, eyes closed, inhaling his essence. During his months overseas she had worried incessantly for his safety, and now, he was here with her. Offering a brief prayer of thanks, she began to move toward her pickup.

“Dayam, bro,” a raucous voice intruded on their privacy. “Your girlfriend is HOT!”

Sam whirled around, his teeth baring in what looked like a snarl. His movement dragged Amy with him, and she saw the speaker, a dark-eyed man with full lips and short, gelled hair. He leaned against the wall, one foot propped up, in a casual pose. Yet there was something about the man's posture that struck Amy as false.

Amy blushed, waiting for Sam to deny the relationship. Instead, he just said in a flat, chilly voice, “Thanks, Lozano. See you around.”

Then Sam guided her to the truck where he opened the driver's side door for her. He offered her a hand, assisting her as she climbed into the high cab and shut her door while she snapped her seatbelt into place. He then circled around the front of the truck to the passenger's side. Sam hopped into his seat and secured his own seatbelt. Amy started her truck and backed out of the parking space in silence as Sam leaned against the window with his eyes closed.

“Who was that guy?” Amy asked.

Even though her voice was soft, Sam started violently before replying. “That's Loz… uh… SPC Raymundo Lozano…we, ah, we served together.”

“Why didn't you tell him I'm not your girlfriend?” she asked, not sure where the courage to ask the question had come from.

Sam met her eyes and grinned, white-toothed and so sexy it made her heart skip a beat. His words, when he spoke, hit her in an even deeper place. “I didn't want to embarrass you. You have every right to be someone's girlfriend. And besides, you
are
hot.”

Unable to think of a single word to say in response to that, Amy returned her attention to the road, smiling to herself.

After several quiet moments, Sam broke the silence again. “What have you been up to these days?”

“Work,” she told him, referring to her secretarial and custodial position on the large commercial ranch Sam's father owned. Then, because that seemed too abrupt, she added, “I finished my business degree last year.”

“Congratulations,” he replied, sounding a bit surprised. “I should probably think about doing something like that soon myself.”

“There's no rush,” she told him, reaching across the console to lay a gentle hand on his wrist. “You just got home from war. You're entitled to a break.”

Sam nodded absently before asking, “How's Dad?”

“He's doing great,” she replied with enthusiasm, “especially since he heard you were coming home. He wanted to bring a huge welcome party to meet you today.”

“Ugh,” Sam groaned, then dragged his hand across his face.

“I had a hard time restraining him,” Amy commented with a soft chuckle, “but I managed to convince him not to do it.”

“I'm glad you did,” Sam said gratefully, his relief evident in his voice.

Silence returned to the cab. In that quiet, Amy wondered about Sam. He had always been so full of life. Now, he just seemed…tired. He wore his weariness with a tangible weight even she could feel. She wondered if he might not be a little shell shocked.
War can do that to a person, I've heard.
The knowledge Sam was suffering from his experiences made her sad. She soothed her concerns with the hope that being home would revive him, bringing the happy-go-lucky man she knew and loved back to the surface.

They continued the rest of the way back to the farm, interspersing silence with quiet and idle conversation. Though they had always been close friends, Amy's meek personality had often curtailed her conversational attempts, even with Sam. Preferring to avoid open discussions, she didn't feel a need to fill the void with chatter, but she found it odd that Sam no longer felt compelled to either. This new Sam seemed to prefer the quiet himself, which was at odds with the popular young man she had grown up with.

After about an hour on the road, they entered the city limits of Seguin, Texas. Amy followed TX-46 up along the northwest side of the town, where it converged with I-10, heading towards New Braunfels. They hadn't driven very far when she turned left onto a gravel road. The long driveway swerved and meandered among green and slightly golden oaks, which towered over the roadway, adding shade to the late-autumn afternoon. Fat, white clouds grazed like sheep across the surface of heaven, adding texture and life to the sky. They passed under a gate marked with a spiral of metal twisted into the shape of a dust devil; the family brand. Sam reached across and squeezed Amy's hand with enough force to make her joints throb in protest.

Amy said nothing, ignoring the discomfort in order to appreciate the unexpected touch. A weathered, twisted live oak loomed over the roadway. She veered sharply, following the road around 'The Old Devil,' as the tree was known. Though still topped with a nimbus of wide, pointy leaves, the gnarled gray trunk showed the scars from generations of Wallace men leaving their mark, whether by knife or accident.

On the right, as the tree disappeared into the rearview mirror, a small pond reflected the yellow glow of the slanting sunlight, so the three grumpy-looking longhorns standing at the edge appeared to be slurping liquid gold. She smiled.
Bossy, Missy, and Sadie are in their usual spot.
And she was in her usual spot… her home, though she hadn't been born to it. And Sam was here. It felt as though all the jangly parts of the world had been smoothed to angel harps. Amy couldn't help beaming.

As she made her way over the bumpy gravel, she recalled when she'd first seen this place, over a decade ago. Even then, the sight of the dry, sparse ranchland had touched a place deep in her heart.
Here is permanence,
her beleaguered soul had told her.
Here is home.

“Mommy, can we stay here?” she'd begged the first time they'd approached the farmhouse. “Can we stay forever?”

“Forever is a long time, silly goose,” Tara had replied, tossing her long red hair out of her eyes. “Don't you think you might want some new adventures someday?”

Amy shook her head. ”Nope. I want this place. Please, Mommy? I'll never ask for a Christmas present again.”

Though startled by her earnest delivery, Tara had relented. For the rest of Amy's childhood and adolescence, through several failed love affairs and a broken engagement, Tara had cleaned the Wallace ranch house and answered the telephone, allowing Amy to live out her dream of a permanent home. And true to her word, she'd never given a single gift after that day. Amy didn't complain. She also hadn't cried the week after her high school graduation when Tara had hopped into a Mustang with a man Amy hadn't known and never looked back.

If I were to be honest, I'd have to admit I don't miss her at all.

Shaking off the memory, she concentrated on the road, skirting a muddy pothole and avoiding a collision with a mesquite stump to pull up in front of a massive and convoluted one story house with red siding and a white wraparound porch.

Dusty met them in the driveway with all the hired hands and several friends from the town. A huge banner in bright colors blared “Welcome home, Sam.” Amy glowed with pleasure.
Sam's a hero of war, after all, and deserves a hero's welcome, not just his father's timid secretary and her battered pickup truck.

Strangely, Sam did not seem pleased by his welcome. His shoulders tensed, and when Dustin boomed out, “Son, you're home!” he visibly flinched. Jumping down from the pickup, he submitted to his father's bear hug with obvious discomfort. As usual the blunt, outspoken rancher didn't seem to notice. Dustin was as kind and big-hearted a man as anyone could hope to find, but he was about as subtle as a two-by-four, and proud of it. Sam had once been much the same way.

Slinging his arm around his son's shoulders, Dusty boomed in his typical enormous voice, “And here he is…back home safe again.”

As the assembled guests applauded, Amy watched Sam closely. He seemed to steel himself against the onslaught of noise. Strange, considering the old Sam would have happily accepted the attention as his due. Amy could relate to his discomfort though. She would hate to have all those people looking at her; it was difficult enough for her to mingle with such a large crowd in silence and mostly unnoticed.

She caught his eye and smiled before slipping away to her most comfortable place – her desk in the business office of the farm's large family home. Almost hidden from view amongst a collection of filing cabinets, Amy could work competently and without nerves. She did have to answer the phone, but when no one was looking at her, this was not a problem.

Diving into a pile of invoices, Amy became so deeply immersed in her work, she didn't hear the door opening until a low-pitched and wholly unexpected voice broke into her thoughts.

“Is it all right if I hang out in here with you for a while?”

This time, when Amy looked into Sam's face, she felt more able to adjust to the changes. In reality, his new look suited him well, as did the jeans and t-shirt for which he seemed to have abandoned his uniform. Amy still found it difficult, however, to reconcile her memories of Sam as a boy with his new, manly demeanor, though her heart sped up at the idea of exploring this new version of him.

“Sure, if you want,” she told him timidly, “but it's pretty boring in here. If you want excitement, you'll have to find someplace else.”

“Amy,” he said gently, “I've just gotten back from a war. I've had all the excitement I can take for one lifetime. Boring sounds wonderful to me right now.”

“Sure, take a seat.” She shrugged, indicating the sofa that vendors and other visitors to the ranch used. Sam sprawled across both cushions, leaning his head against the arm rest.

“By the way,” he said, a little grimly, “Dad wants to have a party this weekend. He asked me to tell you to make all the arrangements.”

“Sure, no problem,” She regarded Sam's posture and facial expression again.
He's so tense and uncomfortable.
She took a risk and addressed it directly. “But why do you look so unhappy…I'm assuming the party is to welcome you home, right?”

Sam shrugged, one corner of his mouth curling upwards in a humorless smile. “Yup. Frankly, I would rather skip it, but Dad insists, and you know how he is.”

Amy's smile in affection for her employer. “Yes, I certainly do. Once he gets an idea, there's no discussing it.” Confused by his lack of interest, she couldn't help inquiring, “Why wouldn't you want a party though? You used to love parties.”

Sam shrugged again, but something about the movement suggested a shudder. “I dunno. I'm just tired I guess. I had hopes of sleeping late, hanging around, eating too much… you know, the usual vacation stuff while I'm on leave.”

“Leave?” Amy blinked. “I thought your enlistment was over.”

“It is, but I still have to report to the base after my ten days are up. There's more to do before I officially separate. I have a bunch of out-processing steps I need to get done first.”

So many things I don't know about the military, and that's been Sam's life all these years. I need to find out more information.
But when she spoke, it was to return to the practical. “Oh…well, I don't see us being able to talk your dad out of the party. Is there anything I can do that will make you feel better about it?”

“Come. I would love to have you there.”

Amy blinked again, this time in utter amazement. “I don't like parties, but I'll go if you want me to.”

This time his smile turned up both corners of his mouth, though his eyes remained bleak. “Then I should be able to stand it.”

With nothing further to be said, Amy finished with her invoices and turned her organizational skills to the party. She busied herself with securing the services of Janie the cook (with the promise of time and a half, of course – Janie was no fool), emailing and telephoning invitations to friends and family members, and making a shopping list. By this time, Sam had fallen sound asleep on the couch.