Page 9 of Buck

The pilots’ and DEA agent’s bodies had been recovered from the crash site, which eased Buck’s mental tension over leaving them behind. Fucking Nacho was going to pay.

It was midmorning the next day after he’d had breakfast and was dozing that he felt a light touch on his arm and his name being called.

“Sam?”

He opened his eyes and found his mom standing there. “Mom? What are you doing here?”

“My son is injured and you’re asking me why I’m here,” she said with exasperation. “I’m here to see you, and I think it’s time you came home for a visit and to convalesce.”

Something in her expression made the argument he was going to fire at her melt away. For the first time in his military service, he noticed what it was doing to his mom. He realized that when he’d enlisted, he hadn’t really thought about anyone but himself and his need to fill that hole. But this whole mission had kicked him out of his own head. He’d been so certain about his decision, just assuming his truth was the only truth that mattered. His focus on making his own way in life blinded him to his refusal to listen to others or understand his impact. But she loved him. That was evident in the way she smoothed out the sheets and got him a sip of water. She was his soft spot, and dang it, but he loved her with a fierceness that made him temper his response, and for once in his life, give in to her needs.

“Okay, Mom. I’ll come home,” he growled affectionately, discomfited by his inability to be all right with someone taking care of him. This was going to be a study in patience while he healed.

She smiled, blinking back tears.

Before he left, in a wheelchair he argued against, he was adamant about seeing Joker. So, after he was discharged, his mom wheeled him to Joker’s room. He was awake and talking to Pippa. When he saw Buck, he smiled and said, “I heard you were reading the nurses the riot act about your backside exposure.”

Buck chuckled. Nothing got by his LT. He got close to the bed and clasped Joker’s hand. “You have to admit those hospital gowns leave nothing to the imagination.”

Joker laughed, then winced in pain. “I heard you received mostly tens, and one enthusiastic eleven.”

Buck chuckled. “Well, there you go. That’s at least something.”

Pippa piped up. “I believe she said, ‘That was one fine looking bare butt.’”

“My claim to fame.”

“I heard it was America’s ass,” D-Day said as he came into the room. “Superhero material.” He also clasped Joker’s hand, all of them chuckling. “Sorry about the language, Mrs. Buckard.”

She shook her head. “I know you guys say it how it is,” she responded. “How are you?”

“Good. Pretty sore, but good. Are you taking Buck home?”

“Yes, but only after I wore him down.”

“I’m envious. Wyoming is beautiful and I loved being a greenhorn.”

“Why don’t come home with us, unless you’ve got family?—”

“No, no family, and I would love to.”

After heading over to D-Day’s apartment so he could get some clothes, Buck found himself at the airport.

“We’re not going to the terminal?” D-Day asked as they pulled through the gate and the car service his mom ordered stopped on the tarmac. The driver got out and opened the door for him, and he gritted his teeth as he used his good side to get out, shrugging off D-Day’s help. His mom frowned at him.

“This is the ranch’s jet,” his mom said. Most of Buck’s life he had lived well with his parents. The ranch had first been successful under his grandfather, who had made very smart investments, and then his father who continued the legacy. He really didn’t know how much his family home was worth, and material things didn’t really faze him that much. But as he shuffled toward the plane, he did feel a stab of pride at the Bucking Horse name across the side along with their logo of a man on a bucking bronc.

He settled into one of the cushy seats and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, and his side hurt like hell. A hand touched his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to his mom. She had a glass of water and some painkillers. He gladly took them, smiled at her, and rested back.

The next thing he knew, they were landing at the Cheyenne Regional Airport. His mom had brought his winter clothes, and she helped him put them on. A car from the ranch was waiting for them once they cleared baggage claim. Buck didn’t need much, since he kept a working wardrobe and the necessities in his old room and adjacent bathroom.

Moving through the city, he was aware that it was seen in the eyes of tourists as the Old West—cowboys, rodeos, railroads, and the majestic high plains.

But he’d grown up here, and he’d worked the ranch and participated in that cowboy culture because that was their legacy as much as the Bucking Horse Ranch. Wyoming wasn’t named the Cowboy State for nothing.

It was clear D-Day loved it here. His eyes lit up when they landed, and Buck had to wonder why he clearly didn’t relish going back home to see his family. He knew D-Day loved his mom and dad, his brother as well, although he was enmeshed in his pilot training. Buck was aware that D-Day was reserved, and in fact, painfully shy in social situations. Not on missions and certainly not in combat. He excelled everywhere it mattered in his chosen profession.

After the confines of city life and being part of a busy Naval base, the sense of space was almost overwhelming, but familiar. The state was surely full of wide-open spaces, giving anyone who came here a feeling of solitary awe. The miles and miles of forest were punctuated with craggy outcrops and beautiful lakes. There was a raw, wild beauty about it, but there was also a haunting aura of isolation, especially with the cover of snow.

---