Smoked

London to Chicago. From there, it would take another two hours to get to the airport in Asheville. After consulting with the nurse, I agreed to let the doctor fly back directly from Chicago since, so far, all he’d done was tell her to do things she already did without his prompting. I sent Jagger and Vex along with him to ensure he got his money and understood what would happen if he spoke a word about his trip to the States and back.
Every time I checked, Siren was asleep, which was the best thing for her. “You can take a break,” I told the nurse, who looked up from the book she was reading. “There are seats in the main cabin or the other stateroom. Whichever you prefer.”
She stood, checked the monitors, and walked out, closing the door behind her. I sat in the chair previously occupied by the doctor, whose presence did nothing more than assuage my fear that if something happened to Siren while we were in flight, I would be to blame.
I studied her frail form, wishing I could go back and put myself between her and the bullet I’d been sure killed her.
Had I done so, had it struck me instead, and had I lived, I never would’ve heard the end of it from her. She would’ve lambasted me for thinking she needed my protection rather than going after Konstantine von Habsburg.
She didn’t remember, and maybe never would, but I had let him go to save her, without knowing if it would be possible, just that I had to try.
“Smoke?” Her eyes opened, and she looked around the stateroom.
“We’re in Chicago, still on the plane. The second leg of our flight should be underway soon.”
“Where are we going?”
I told her about the stroke-rehab center in Asheville and how I hoped we’d be able to work it out to stay at my ranch.
“Have I been there before?” she asked.
I shook my head. “The mission kept us in Europe for the last few months.”
“Tell me about it.”
“The ranch or the mission?”
She shrugged. “Both?”
Given I would avoid talking to her about the op during which she was shot, I started with the ranch.
“It sits a mile high on Walter Mountain and has one of the best views there is of the Smoky Mountains.”
“What’s there?”
“It’s a fully operational ranch, so along with the main house, there are other smaller dwellings, barns, and outbuildings.”
“What is ‘fully operational’?”
“I raise livestock.”
“Meaning?”
“Cattle, sheep, goats, horses along with poultry.”
“It sounds big.”
“About a thousand acres. Oh, and there’s a trout pond.”
“It sounds like a place I’d never want to leave if I were you.”
The older I got, the more I felt that way. These last few months were the longest I’d gone without spending at least a day or two there to get caught up. Home or not, I received regular reports from the ranch manager, but it wasn’t the same as riding the property myself.
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“I can’t wait to show it to you.” My words were thoughts escaped, and almost startled me. I’d never taken anyone to the ranch, not even Hammer, who had fished for an invitation more times than I could count.
Shortly after we landed at the small regional airport in Asheville, I received a message from Hammer saying he couldn’t get Siren an appointment at the stroke center until Monday. It made sense, given today was Saturday.
I carried her from the plane to an SUV that sat, waiting on the tarmac. It would take us to the other side of the airfield where, according to another text from Hammer, a medivac helicopter was waiting.
I had to hand it to him. He had no real idea of the state of Siren’s injuries, yet he was one step ahead of me in thinking of things to make travel exponentially easier for her.
One of my ranch hands got out of the vehicle and opened the back passenger door for me. “Hey, Smoke. Welcome home,” said Henry “Jack” Gray.
“Thanks. I’ll sit back here. You take the front passenger seat,” I said to the nurse.
Once inside, I helped Siren lower herself so she could lie with her head on my lap. She looked uncomfortable, but it was the best I could do for the five-minute drive.
Not that she’d ever been a big talker, unless she was bitching at me about something, but Siren’s silence unnerved me. “You okay?” I asked, resting my hand on her waist.
“I…uh…thank you for doing this for me, Smoke.”
“You’re welcome, but what were you going to say instead?”
“Nothing.”
We were in flight a few minutes when I looked over to where she lay on yet another gurney and saw Siren studying me.
“I wish I could see whatever it is you’re looking at,” she said.
“It’s nothing but mountains covered by trees.”
“I doubt that.”
I cocked my head. “Why?”
“Your expression. You look enraptured.”
My eyes opened wide when she lifted her left hand and held it out to me. “You have better movement.”
“I guess I do.” She looked down at her arm as though it wasn’t attached to her body.
A funny feeling settled in the middle of my chest. Did that mean her memory would soon improve too? And when it did, would she be angry with me for not telling her the truth about us, that we weren’t in a relationship? More that we barely tolerated each other?
“Describe it to me, Smoke.”
I turned my head, looking back out at the forests that never failed to take my breath away.
“They say that the Smokies are three million years old. I’m sure there’s scientific evidence to back that up, but looking down on them, it’s easy to believe. The range is part of both Blue Ridge and the Appalachian Mountains system. The Cherokees were the ones who first called the mountains Shaconage, meaning ‘place of the blue smoke.’”
She squeezed my hand. “Tell me what you see.”
I smiled. “I’ve never viewed the mountains from this vantage point. The rolling peaks look endless, like