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?
Still, he was under her care. She cracked the door wider. Thanks to a huge harvest moon filtering through the upper portion of one tall window, she saw Rafe sit up, shudder, and rub his forehead with the heels of his palms. Then he spoke softly to the anxious collie, who had both front paws on the bed.
Relieved to feel her own pounding heart settle, Alexa continued to hover, unsure if she should announce her presence. The doctor in her argued yes. But she went with her feminine instincts. A macho, tough-guy like Rafe would be embarrassed to have anyone, especially a woman, witness what he would perceive as a weakness.
As the dog quieted and settled back down on the floor beside Rafe, she withdrew and stealthily pulled the door closed behind her.
Unfortunately, she was too keyed up to sleep. After witnessing Rafe’s flashback, she realized she needed to focus more on alleviating his stress and tension than researching old Chinese remedies for blindness, so she went to her office and started making a list of restorative therapies. Lists made order of chaotic feelings.
But what if she got it wrong? What if her treatments made no difference, or God forbid, made Rafe worse?
After long hours of research, Alexa felt certain that the approach she’d come up with would do him no harm.
Around 4:00 a.m. she crawled back into bed, but her mind was filled with a new worry. Healing could happen only if the patient had the will to make it happen. And the million-dollar question was, did Rafe Eaglefeather really want to get well?
CHAPTER TWO
AT APPROXIMATELY SIX, after only a couple of hours of sleep, Alexa bustled about her kitchen fixing breakfast. Her mind mulled over possible chores Rafe might do. From his file she knew that he’d been sedentary in the months before his discharge, and she had a feeling that Sierra wouldn’t have pushed him to exert himself. But Alexa had no intention of letting him waste his mind or that finely honed body.
Compadre padded into the kitchen and went straight to his kibble bowl.
“Hey, boy. Is your new friend up and around?” Alexa moved a pot of oatmeal to a back burner and glanced expectantly down the hall. Rafe wasn’t in sight, and she couldn’t hear the shower or other sounds of him moving about.
Deciding she’d better check on him, she cracked open his door and saw he was still lying in bed. “Rise and shine,” she hollered. “Breakfast is ready and we have chores waiting.”
A muffled “Go away” came from under his pillow.
“What is the army term for get your butt out of bed, soldier? Sorry I don’t have a bugle. If you didn’t bring an alarm, I’ll give you one for tomorrow.”
“You’re pushing your luck, Doc.” Rafe’s voice sounded raspy. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Neither did I. The animals out in the barns don’t care. They need to be fed and watered.” Alexa pushed the door wider, strode across the room and yanked off Rafe’s covers. She immediately wished she hadn’t. Rafe Eaglefeather slept in the raw.
“What in hell do you think you’re doing?” Rafe’s head popped out from under the pillow, which he hastily jerked down to cover his privates.
Alexa’s heart wrenched at the sight of the red scars marring the bronze flesh of Rafe’s hip. A second scar ran from his rib cage to what looked like a bullet exit wound near his collarbone, just below his right shoulder.
She steeled herself against uttering the sympathetic retort that came automatically. She didn’t think Rafe would appreciate it.
“The oatmeal is getting cold,” she said. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes to show you the way to the kitchen. Call me if you need me.” Before she left she headed over to the window and threw open the curtains with unsteady hands.
Rafe winced, so she knew his eyes were sensitive to light.
He scowled. “I’m a civilian now, and I don’t have to take orders from you or anybody.”
“Oh yes, you do. For the next thirty days, unless you call your sister to come get you, you’re my patient. Put simply, that means I outrank you, Major.” Alexa walked out, Rafe’s succinct expletive echoing behind her.
THE DOOR SLAMMED SO
