Sharp Shootin' Cowboy (Hot Cowboy Nights, #3)(13)

Within hours of their arrival, the miles-long convoy pulled out onto the highway headed for FOB Volturno, two miles outside Fallujah—the hottest zone in Iraq. The marines grew quieter and more reflective the closer they approached the Abdaly checkpoint separating the two countries. There were a number of changes since his last deployment. Hundreds of soldiers, low-flying helicopters, and a new barrier comprised of electrified fencing and razor wire, reinforced by a fifteen-by-fifteen-foot trench.

A short time after crossing into al-Anbar, a storm of screaming rockets and mortar fire commenced. Reid’s gaze flickered to the blanch-faced, wide-eyed “boots.” Although they’d had plenty of live-fire exercises at home, this was the real deal. Several mortars hit nearby, rocking the vehicles and quaking the earth.

Garcia snagged his gaze. “Ali Baba’s hospitality committee.” A wide smirk stretched across Garcia’s mouth. “Welcome back to hell, esé.”

Reid regarded the craters, careful to keep his tone bland. “At least their aim hasn’t improved.”

“Time to embrace the suck, hombres,” Garcia quipped to his comrades. “For the next eight months, this is about as good as it gets.”

On the heels of the attack came the familiar drone of an AC-130 Ghostrider circling overhead.

Garcia pointed to the sky. “I’m getting a hard-on now. I love that f*cking plane.”

More earthquakes echoed in the distance—the Ghostrider’s reciprocation.

By nightfall, mortars and missiles were raining down like a meteor shower, with hellfire rockets lighting up the nighttime skies like shooting stars.

*

Dear Haley,

This is my first real letter to you. I may not get another chance for a while. Hell, I may not get another chance, period. Truth be told, I don’t even know if I’ll send it. Although I prefer to live by the adage that if you can’t say something positive, it’s best to say nothing, there aren’t a whole lot of rainbows in the middle of a shit storm. And that’s what we’re up against. The grunts we came to replace greeted us with a nod and the thousand-mile stare. No words were exchanged. None were needed. We all know what we’re facing.

Every morning begins a new game of Russian roulette as we sidestep IEDs, dodge RPGs, rockets, mortars, and sniper fire, taking every minute as it comes, knowing nothing over here can ever be taken for granted. My first thought every morning is only to make it through the coming day, and my last, at night, is a prayer of gratitude that I’m still alive. At the end of each day, I can only marvel at the beauty of sunsets that are some of the most spectacular I have ever seen. Watching them is an evening ritual.

Reid paused to read the message, realizing it was far too raw and real. Did she ever think about him? He didn’t know. Did she care? He didn’t know that either. Maybe he never would.

With a shake of his head, he deleted the text of the email, attached a photo of a breathtaking desert sunset, and hit Send.





Chapter 5


San Jacinto, California

Haley mumbled a curse and inserted her earbuds. She wished her grandpa would swallow his pride and get hearing aids. He loved watching shoot-’em-ups, but the explosive bursts from the TV always broke her concentration. With a sigh she turned up the volume on her iPod, hoping to drown out the blare of the TV with the more soothing sounds of Evanescence. She’d barely returned to her notes when Yolanda barged into her room, an annoying habit formed from twelve years as best friends and neighbors.

“Oh my God, Haley! Have you been watching the news?”

“No.” Haley yanked out the earbuds and threw her notebook down in disgust. “I’ve been trying to study for exams. What has you in such a tizzy?”

Yolanda grabbed her arm and dragged her into the living room where Gramps lay snoring in his La-Z-Boy.

“Do you see that?” Yolanda jabbed a finger at the TV. “It’s happening right now, and Rafi and Reid are over there!”

Haley’s pulse quickened at the images of a full-blown military assault. Only weeks ago, Reid had sent her a selfie of him and Garcia both sporting ridiculous-looking moustaches that all the marines had been ordered to grow, ostensibly to improve cultural relations. By the state of things, the mustache mission had failed.

Amid Yolanda’s near-hysteria, Haley willed herself to sound calm. “They knew what they were getting into, Yo,” she argued. “It is a war, and they volunteered for it.”

“You are like ice! How can you be so heartless?”

“I’m not heartless. I just see the other side. We’re invaders. Of course they’re going to fight back. Wouldn’t you if someone invaded us?”

“I don’t care about the politics. I only care about our people over there.” Yolanda sniffed. “Is that what you have against Reid? You think he and Rafi want to hurt people?”

“No, but I think they’re misguided. War is never the answer,” Haley insisted.

“You really think so?” Her friend scowled. “It’s that university crap, isn’t it?”

“C’mon, Yolanda. Don’t be angry just because I have a different viewpoint.”

Yolanda threw her hands up. “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore. Having a degree doesn’t make you smarter than the rest of the world.”