Page 17 of A Texas Hero

“And second of all, I can’t see you pushing anybody out of your way. Instead, you’d probably get out of the way so they can get ahead of you and have a chance at winning.”

She quirked a brow. “Don’t sign me up for sainthood yet.”

“You’re too nice. Way too nice.”

“That better not be another word for doormat.” She narrowed her eyes.

He snorted. “Not even close.”

“You make it sound like being kind to people is a bad thing. And it’s not. Kindness matters. It counts in even the smallest of ways. You never know when your attitude is going to change the trajectory of somebody’s entire day.”

He nodded, because though he didn’t quite see things the way she did, this wasn’t the time for an argument.

“I have an appointment in town. I won’t be long. You will stay here, with the alarm on, corporate monitoring the house from Houston. That way there’s no lapse. If there are any threats, I will be alerted in real time.”

She blinked. “Really? Corporate is monitoring the house? Because of Scott?”

Yeah, she didn’t appear to be buying it and Archer didn’t blame her. Regardless, this was the cover. A lovesick boyfriend, who so far hadn’t even made an appearance.

“We take our work seriously,” Archer said.

“Yes, I guess you do.”

* * *

Within minutes, he was on the road to the local hospital, where he’d been advised the staff there were prepared to make any necessary adjustments to his prosthetic. Unfortunately, he wound up waiting far longer than he had hoped. He didn’t like being away from his principal for this long. Yes, it was a low-level risk, but the hours were passing by. He kept checking the app on his phone that would alert him to any breaches to Zoey’s security system. Nothing.

Finally, the medical assistant, Tammy, called his name and led him to the unit for prosthetics. Passing other offices, he caught sight of a little boy getting a new leg.

“Mom, check this out… I got a robot leg! This is so cool.”

Archer chuckled. The kid had the right idea. Children were the best. Attitude was everything. No use in regretting what might have been or picturing life with his old intact leg. In decades past, he might have spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair or hobbling along on crutches. But modern medicine had brought about amazing advances, and Archer—just like that little boy—was one of the lucky recipients.

He could give himself a pep talk all day long and believe it, but nights were another thing altogether. More like 3:00 a.m., when he’d wake in a cold sweat without fail, questioning all his life choices. Suddenly every mistake he’d ever made was put under a microscope. He had no mercy on himself, either. His father hadn’t wanted Archer to join the service, worried about the escalating conflicts overseas in the wake of 9/11 and the seemingly endless war.

“This is not your war,” Enzo Rossi had said in his broken English. “Do not go and die. You are my only son.”

“I won’t die. They’re going to die,” he’d said to his poor father, filled with a nineteen-year-old’s hubris.

His father couldn’t understand Archer’s beliefs, maybe because he was an immigrant. Archer was an immigrant, too, but he was a first-generation Italian American filled with a patriotic spirit that had gripped him after 9/11. Archer was in fifth grade when the twin towers fell. New to the United States, he’d found inspiration in the national pride that swept the country. He and his new classmates wished they were old enough to enlist, because they would go over there and kick some ass. He had never let go of that dream.

“How’s the new foot?” the male specialist asked now. “Need some adjusting?”

“My position requires me to be on my feet all day. Yesterday the foot bothered me a lot. It’s radiating pain, but I can take it. I just want to make sure nothing’s wrong, or that it doesn’t need to be readjusted.”

“No need to take the pain. Let me take a look.”

Archer’s new foot was removed in front of the only kind of people who’d ever seen him without one. Medical professionals. Sad and pathetic though it sounded even to himself, Archer preferred a male attendant. He would prefer no woman saw him in this condition. Yes, he’d had someone waiting for him when he’d left the country, but he’d come back a different man. Even if she denied it, he’d seen it in her eyes. He wasn’t the same man.

The transition to intimacy was rough for some men, and in the end his relationship wasn’t strong enough to withstand the changes. He wanted to believe he was confident enough not to care, but unfortunately he did. If he ever wanted to have a relationship with a woman again…well, he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

Archer waited as both of what was left of his foot and ankle were briefly examined, and then the prosthesis. A surreal feeling once again enveloped him. Not many people could understand the feeling of having an essential part of their body removed. It was odd to watch his foot wander away without him.

The attendant came back after a few minutes, having taken a look at the prosthesis.

“As you know, the swelling and contracting of tissue on your residual limb can cause pain. The socket seems fine. It may be that you’re still getting used to it. But we’ll check again at your regular exam. Meanwhile, do you need the doctor to prescribe any pain meds?”

He’d been offered OxyContin after the amputation but Archer liked it a bit too much. Since then, he’d medicated with nothing stronger than Tylenol. Sometimes he thought the problem might be that he didn’t spend enough time with the foot off at home. He only took it off before bed. Even he had a difficult time looking at his stub; he couldn’t imagine how anyone but a medical professional used to his condition might feel seeing it.