He paused to drink in the view, which might even be better than the one from the therapy lodge.
“I haven’t seen more than a couple people here all day. This place is like a ghost town. You’re not fully staffed?”
Upchurch huffed a quiet laugh. “Not yet. The facility’s government funded, but you know how they operate. Everything takes twice as long as it should.”
Crew did know. Too well.
“As soon as the funds come through,” Upchurch continued, “Gray, Theo, and Denver have the all-clear to begin hiring.”
He cast Crew a sideways look. “How much time you have left in the program?”
The question hit harder than it should have.
Crew’s stride slowed, his jaw tightening before he could stop it. People didn’t usually ask—didn’t talk openly about the vets being in the program. Not because there was a stigma, exactly. But there was a vulnerability that came with it. A quiet humiliation some guys never shook, the sense that needing help meant they’d failed somewhere along the way.
He reached up and tugged the brim of his hat lower, trying to balance his own feelings on the subject of leaving. “Not sure,” he said after a beat. “But it’s getting close.”
Upchurch bobbed his head. “Well, when it comes…think you might throw your hat in the ring for a position?”
Crew glanced across the field toward the helicopter. It sat there like a big judgmental bug that was annoyed it had been set down in the wrong spot.
“That depends on what that position is,” he said evenly. He lifted his jaw at the aircraft. “You put the cart before the horse there.”
Upchurch chuckled. “Yeah. Government works backward at times. Or maybe they think, bring it and a pilot will fly it.”
Crew felt it then. The pull. The itch in his palms.
His fingers flexed instinctively before he shoved his hands into his pockets, forcing the urge down. He’d been wrong in the past. Muscle memory was a dangerous thing.
So was wanting something he wasn’t sure he should want anymore.
Upchurch studied him for a second, then changed tack. “Your lady friend okay? After what happened?”
“Yeah,” Crew said immediately. “She’s holding up.”
Fern was stronger than she looked. Life had made her shield herself in armor, but she didn’t need it—she possessed a core of steel few people did.
Crew shifted his weight. “Well, I best get going. I have someplace to be.”
And someone to see.
That someplace was a tent erected at the garden site.
And the someone was Fern.
Upchurch smiled knowingly. “Figured.”
Crew drove the few miles back to the ranch and strolled directly to the community garden.
He spotted her before she saw him, standing beneath the canopy someone put up to provide protection from the rain that had been predicted but hadn’t yet begun to fall. A few tables were set up, along with chairs for those vets who weren’t up to standing.
Crew’s breath punched from his lungs. Christ, she was stunning. Her soft auburn hair was tucked behind one adorable ear. She had a clipboard stuck under her arm while directing the activity like she’d been doing it her whole life.
Boxes of seed packets were stacked neatly on a folding table. Bags of soil waited nearby. Around her, veterans hovered—some eager, some hesitant, but all paying attention.
There was a lot going into the garden. Work on the infrastructure had begun. Gravel had been tamped down to form the base for the pathways. On top of that was a layer of sand. The pavers would go on top, which would be delivered soon. Lumber for the raised beds had arrived that morning, stacked in clean lines off to one side.
It wasn’t just a garden—it was hope.
