Free Be My Texas Valentine by Jodi Thomas, DeWanna Pace, Linda Broday, Phyliss Miranda

rock.
    Luck, Brody thought. For the first time in his life he’d found something worth keeping, someone worth loving, and right now she was sitting at their little place probably crying her eyes out because she thought he’d left her.
    He wanted to scream to high heaven that he’d never leave her. His proper little wife with her firm belief in what was right and wrong to do in the daylight. His wife who thought she could survive out on a farm alone, but was afraid of thunder. His wife who felt like heaven to touch, and when she smiled, he swore he could feel his heart start beating.
    He’d been cold inside for so long he’d forgotten how it felt to care, but he cared for her more than he’d probably ever be able to explain. He wanted to build the farm with her at his side. He wanted to watch storms and sunsets from the porch and sleep the rest of his life with her cuddled against his side.
    An hour before dawn he finally passed out from the pain. For a while he felt like he was home with her. He could feel her breathing next to him. How could there be any luck left in the world if fate let him find her and lose her so fast?
    When he woke, he screamed again and shoved at the hundreds of pounds of rock holding him in place. For a while, he lay back, giving up to the pain he felt inside his heart and all along his leg. The memories of the war came to visit like old relatives he’d hated. Memories of being hurt and lying among the bodies one night when the air seemed too cold to even breathe in. He’d been sure he would die before morning. All seemed dead around him. Memories of being lost in the night, cold and hungry. He’d walked toward a fire knowing there was a fifty-fifty chance it would be the enemy and he’d be dead before he could feel the fire.
    It occurred to him that he was already dead, maybe had been for years, and God was playing a joke on him, letting him see a window of what his life could have been like.
    “No!” he yelled. He wouldn’t give up. Valerie was real. If he closed his eyes, he could see her face. He could feel her breath.
    He could curl his hand to the exact size of her breast. Valerie was real and she was his wife. He’d promised not to leave. He’d promised he’d never lie to her.
    Brody pulled his wits together and began to plan. He’d yell as loud and as long as he could every thirty minutes. If he heard anything, he’d throw handfuls of rocks as high as he could and maybe a few would reach the surface. He’d keep trying to get his Colt free.
    An hour later, he budged the Colt an inch, then another. The sun was at midmorning when he pulled the gun out, relieving an ounce of the pressure. He tried to move his leg, but it wouldn’t respond. He checked the gun. Six bullets. Six chances.
    He fired off the first shot.
    No answer.
    Brody knew it was important to wait. If no one heard the first shot, it would be unlikely anyone would hear one ten minutes later. He had to wait.
    At noon, he fired the second shot.
    No answer.
    At about one he tried again and again at two.
    No answer.
    He guessed it to be three when he fired off the next to last shot.
    He thought he heard a gunshot echo thirty seconds later, then another closer to him. Brody yelled and kept yelling until he heard horses.
    A few minutes later, Earl Timmons looked over the ledge above him and shouted, “That you, Yank?”
    “It’s me! I’m wedged into the rocks!” Brody saw Montie’s red head lean over the top. He’d never been so glad to see the two worthless cowboys in his life.
    They didn’t waste time talking. In a few minutes, both were heading toward him with ropes looped about their waists.
    “We’ll get you out,” Earl said as he hit ground and started moving rocks bigger than his head. “If we get a few of these out of the way, Montie and me should be able to shove one enough to get you free.”
    Montie worked as hard as his brother, but complained the entire time about how they’d better hurry.