On His Bended Knee

Chapter One The sound of the hooves impacting the earth brought to mind the sound of artillery fire. It was a sound Dylan Banks knew all too well. He'd spent the last five years in a war zone. Any day during that time he might look up and see skies of azure blue, rolling hills of sand, or fields of pastel blooms. It was a cruel joke. War wasn't supposed to be pretty. The sky was blue in this place. Farmland stretched out. The sound of the horses trotting and galloping wasn't the only thing reminding him of war. His men were there too. The ones that had made it out alive, anyway. Those who escaped with their lives had lost many things. Family, friends, a part of their body, a part of their soul. But this place, the Bellflower Ranch, was healing them. He looked over and caught the sigil of the ranch. It was a purple flower with rounded petals. The flower clearly resembled a heart. The veterans who now inhabited the sanctuary had taken to calling the ranch the Purple Heart Ranch, in honor of the scars and wounds they'd each brought home with them. Dylan pushed his horse and himself to go faster. The sweet spring air hit his face. He pushed his body past what the doctors told him he was capable of doing. His hips had to work to absorb and control the movement of the horse. He felt the horse's powerful muscles stimulating his own, giving him the strength he needed to heal. He hadn't believed healing was possible when he'd awakened in a military hospital and found himself no longer a whole man. But he was getting a part of himself back now on the Purple Heart Ranch. They all were. This place had become a sanctuary for the wounded. A place where they wouldn't need to hide from their sleeping or waking nightmares. He hadn't been on good terms with God after his discharge. But when he had set foot on the ranch and climbed atop his first horse, he realized that God had given him a new purpose. The military doctors had saved his life, but hippotherapy gave him his life back. The practice of using horseback riding as therapy for impaired movement had been what truly brought Dylan back to life after the war and his injuries. He loved riding horses. He loved being on this ranch. He loved that he no longer had to take cover under a beautiful sky. After the hell that he and the other men had seen, the Purple Heart Ranch was the closest to heaven he'd ever get. With a pull of the reins, Dylan urged the horse to a slow trot. They made their way back into the training area where Dylan dismounted. If he'd felt a pang of pain before, he felt a definite pounding as he lifted his thigh up and over the horse's back. The prosthetic stuck out like a sore thumb as he did so, and the muscles of his hips and thighs screamed. The trainer, Mark, held back. He knew better than to offer a hand to the proud warriors. But he also knew when to ignore their pride and step in to give them extra care. Although Dylan was sore, he didn't need the extra care today. He carefully lowered himself to the ground using mostly his upper body strength. He stood awkwardly for a moment until he had his bearings, and then he nodded to Mark. The trainer only shook his head. He hadn't bothered arguing or offering commentary. But another man did. "You went a little longer than you were supposed to, soldier." Dylan stared Dr. Patel down. But even though Dylan had a good foot and a half on the older man, Dr. Patel still had a commanding presence. He smiled, but his eyes were stern and sharp, missing nothing. His voice was chiding, but at the same time paternal with the lilting accent of his homeland of India. "I can take it," Dylan said as he moved toward the man. He tried to hide his grimace as his prosthetic leg tried to buckle. Dylan knew he hadn't fooled the psychologist who watched him with a raised brow. "Just because you can take it doesn't mean you should." The older man moved closer, but like Mark, Dr. Patel knew better than to offer assistance unless absolutely necessary. Dylan made sure it was never necessary. The problem didn't require a hand, just a readjustment of his load. The socket of his prosthetic had likely loosened. He stood still and bared down, pushing his stump until he heard the telltale clicks of the socket reconnecting with the liner. "The old ball and chain and I are getting along fine," said Dylan as he straightened to his natural height. The prosthetic leg gave him an extra inch. That was a benefit, at least. "Your body is healing," said Dr. Patel. "All of the men here are doing well in body. But you also have to heal your hearts. Love heals the internal wounds." Dylan had heard this speech from the man before. He'd agreed to the therapy for his mind. After all he'd been through, he recognized that he needed someone to talk to about the horrors of combat. But he didn't like it when the good doctor aimed for the heart. "Maybe you should get your family up here?" Dr. Patel suggested. Dylan shook his head. He had no desire to see his family. And they'd made it clear that, now that he was half a man, they were just fine without him. "Or maybe leave the ranch for a date?" offered Dr. Patel. None of the veterans staying at the ranch left for dates. Well, except for Xavier Ramos. Ramos still had all his limbs and his looks. The women he went out with never saw his wound unless he took off his clothes. "Although, I’m still skeptical about dating with phone apps and computer programs," said Dr. Patel. "In my country, we trusted our elders to find us life-partners." Dylan had met Mrs. Patel a number of times. It warmed his heart whenever he saw the couple together. They each took such care with one another, offering secret smiles, and fussing over tiny things. Dylan had always imagined himself so fortunate. But the woman he'd given his ring to had handed it back before he'd even left the hospital. His injury hadn't allowed him to go after her. His pride would not have let him. His heart hadn't made it a priority. "I'm not looking for love right now," Dylan said. He conveniently left off the words at all. He wouldn't be looking for love ever again. If his own family couldn't love him, if his fiancée left him after she'd seen what he'd become, how could a stranger ever love the man he would be for the rest of his days. "That's the thing about arranged marriage," said Dr. Patel. "You get the partner first. Love comes in time." "Are you ready to start our session?" Dylan asked, pointing the way to Dr. Patel's office to get him on a different track. "I've been having some nightmares." Unlike some of the other vets on the ranch, Dylan never had nightmares. His sleep was dreamless and dark. Once again, Dr. Patel wasn't fooled, but he let Dylan lead him to his office. Dylan knew the old man meant well, but this wasn't a road he wanted to go down. He'd been hurt enough in this life.