A Cowboy's Duty

“Susie? It’s Dixie,” she hollered, stepping into the shop.

“Be right down!” Sandals clacked against the stairs that led to an apartment above the store. Susie greeted Dixie with a smile. “You look good.”

“I do?”

The older woman moved closer and studied Dixie’s face. “Your skin is glowing.” Susie dropped her gaze to the wicker basket in Dixie’s hand. “Which one made your complexion so radiant?”

She’d used the same olive soap this morning that she’d washed with the past three years and until today no one had ever used the word radiant to describe her.

It’s because you’re pregnant.

Dixie set the basket on the counter and selected the organic peppermint soap. “This is what I’m using.” She held the bar beneath Susie’s nose.

“That smells amazing. What’s in it?”

“Sunflower, palm, coconut and peppermint oils.” Along with wheat and barley grass, alfalfa, parsley and grapefruit-seed extract. “I also brought along a Christmas soap I’m experimenting with.” Dixie handed Susie a star-shaped bar.

“How pretty. I love the threads of red and green that run through the soap.” She sniffed. “Pine boughs, fresh fruit and spices. Very nice.”

“I was hoping you’d consider using a display instead of leaving the soaps next to the register.”

“I won’t know if I have room for a stand until I finish stocking the Christmas merchandise,” Susie hedged.

Dixie’s soaps were available in other stores along Main Street, but Susie’s Souvenirs was the most popular tourist shop in Yuma and Dixie made more money here than the other places combined. “Can you find room if I pay you a fifteen-percent commission instead of the usual ten?”

“What else did you bring?” Susie peered inside the basket.

“Eucalyptus and spearmint.” Dixie lined up the soaps on the counter. “Lemongrass. Desert Sage. Oats and Spices.” Each bar was a unique shape wrapped in colored tissue paper and a frilly ribbon with a hand-stamped label—Dixie’s Desert Delights, Inc. $6.99.

“I’ll find room for a display.”

“Thanks, Susie. I put extra business cards at the bottom of the basket.”

“I’ll give you a jingle when inventory gets low.”

Dixie could only hope she’d sell all forty bars before Christmas.

* * *

WHERE THE HELL WAS HE?

Gavin stood in the dark shivering. He knew he was in the desert, because coarse grains of sand pricked his feet. But where in the desert? And what had happened to his weapons? He wore nothing but his sweat-soaked fatigues. The booming sound of a rocket-propelled grenade sent him running, his lungs burning with each gasp of air.

The target exploded in the distance and streaks of bright light lit up the night sky.

Nate! Nate, where are you?

Gavin glanced over his shoulder and a second explosion illuminated the darkness. In that instant of clarity Gavin spotted Nate a hundred yards behind him.

Run, Nate! Catch up!

Something wasn’t right—Nate wasn’t moving. Gavin turned back, determined to reach his friend, but with each step, his feet sank deeper into the ground as if the desert had turned into an ocean of quicksand.

Nate reached out his hand for help and time passed at a crawl as Gavin pressed forward, muscles burning, sweat stinging his eyes. Fifty yards from Nate another explosion rent the air and suddenly half of Nate disappeared. Gavin stared in horror. Where were Nate’s legs?

A thud hit the ground by Gavin’s combat boot. He looked down. Half buried in the sand was Nate’s leg.

Gavin woke with a start and bolted from the motel bed. He stumbled into the bathroom, ran the cold tap and splashed his face, choking on the water that hit the back of his throat.

Damn it.

He lowered the toilet cover and sat with his head in his hands. He hadn’t had a nightmare like this in weeks. Why now?

Maybe he was pushing himself too hard.

Or maybe you’re not pushing yourself hard enough.

Whatever the reasons behind his recurring nightmares, as long as Gavin ignored them they’d eventually go away.

* * *

“ANOTHER TOUGH NIGHT for Gavin Tucker,” the announcer said at the Growler Stampede Rodeo in Growler, Arizona.

Gavin picked himself up and dusted off his jeans, then waved his hat at the crowd as he jogged out of the arena. Dumb bronc. Thunder Rolls had tossed him on his head as soon as he’d cleared the gate. Ignoring the twinge in his wrist, Gavin stuffed his gloves into his gear bag.

“Better luck next time, soldier.” Mitch Farley, a Colorado rancher approached.

Gavin shook hands with the retired marine. Mitch’s son had been stationed with Gavin in Afghanistan. “How’s Scott? Still overseas?”

“Yep. He’s coming home for Christmas.” Left unsaid…if he doesn’t get killed first.

“What are you doing in Arizona?” Gavin asked.

“Drove down with a neighbor to watch his nephew compete in bull riding.” Mitch cleared his throat. “What made you decide not to reenlist?” The older man had spent twenty-five years in the military before taking over the reins of his family’s cattle ranch.

Gavin didn’t mind discussing his military career with fellow servicemen and women, but he didn’t care to share the information with his rodeo competitors. He grabbed his gear and motioned for Mitch to walk with him. “After Nate got killed nothing was the same over there.” Nate had been Gavin’s best friend. They’d gone to high school together and had joined the army on a whim.

“Is it true one of the villagers you were helping planted the roadside bomb?”

“Yeah.” After that day, the goodwill Gavin possessed toward the Afghan people had died a quick death. Gavin thought of the sacrifices he and Nate had made while living in the hostile region. And for what? Nate had given his life and Gavin couldn’t shake the dreams that had followed him home.

“You did good work in Afghanistan, son.” Mitch clasped Gavin’s shoulder. “Don’t let one idiot take that away from you.”

“After Nate died—” Gavin shrugged off Mitch’s touch. The last thing he wanted was pity “—I knew I wasn’t going to be any use to the army, so I checked out.”

“What about a military position stateside?”

Staying in one place wasn’t an option. Keeping on the move was the only way Gavin felt as if he could breathe. “I wanted a change.”