His Rodeo Sweetheart

by Pamela Britton

  My family owns a big ranch. You’d be welcome there.

  He recalled her eyes. They shared the same eye color, only his were nothing like her green eyes. Hers were like the rind of a lime. Bright green. Bottle green. Sun shining through glass and right into her soul green. He’d never seen anything like them before. They’d been filled with kindness, too, and maybe that’s why he’d driven to her hometown. That, and the truth was, he had no place else to go.

  Out in front a new car pulled into an empty parking spot, one of the diagonal kind. A small family. Two little kids. Mom laughing at something Dad said. It was such a stark contrast to his view over the past four years—crumbling buildings, half-dressed children, dust-covered cars—that for a moment he simply stared. The mom took the hand of the youngest child, a little girl with cute blond curls that caught the morning sun. Behind them and across the street, someone loaded what looked like grain into the back of their truck. The sign on the store read Via Del Caballo Farm and Feed. Out in front sat a row of livestock feeders. Round. Square. Tall. Feeders of all sizes. When he’d first sat down he’d gazed at them for the longest time, just thinking about the times he’d been in the Middle East, longing for a view like the one he had now.

  Hometown, USA.

  “Need more coffee?”

  He glanced up at the waitress—a teenage girl with dirty blond hair and freckles—and said, “No, thanks.”

  She smiled and walked away, Ethan would bet she entered her pig in the county fair every year. FFA. Local rancher’s daughter. Good kid with no bad habits and a weekend job.

  Life in a small town. He’d fought to protect that lifestyle. Had kept going even when the chips were down. And then Trev and Janus had been shot and...

  He nearly cracked the handle of his coffee mug. It took him a moment to regulate his breathing again. When he did, he glanced across the street.

  And froze.

  It was her. Claire Reynolds. The woman he’d come to see. The one he’d convinced himself wouldn’t be home. The woman who’d called him on the phone one day—out of the blue—and asked for his opinion on a dog in her care. Behavioral issues, she’d said. But instead of calling her back he’d slipped behind the wheel of his old truck and found himself heading north and then west.

  And there she was.

  She’d slipped out of a pickup truck, that long, black hair he remembered so well pulled into a ponytail. She glanced toward the restaurant and he found himself turning away, even shielding his face with a hand, for some reason embarrassed even though he doubted she could see him sitting in the window of the local coffee shop. He’d felt stupid for arriving unannounced. He’d been debating with himself for over an hour whether he should call her now, drop into her place, or just go back home. Except he didn’t have a home. Just an empty apartment near the base that he hated with a passion.

  She’d moved to the back cab of her truck, helping a little boy down. That must be him. Her kid. The little boy who was sick. After he’d buried Trev, he’d done some calling around to find out more about the woman who now had care of Janus. He’d learned a lot about Claire Reynolds. He knew she’d started the rescue in honor of her deceased husband. They’d had trouble adopting his dog once he’d been discharged. The man had been sick and the dog had been healthy so the military had reassigned the dog—something that happened pretty frequently with wounded warriors—and so they’d lost out on the animal. The whole ordeal had prompted Claire to start Combat Pet Rescue and, when her husband had passed, to help write legislation that mandated combat veterans would have first pick at their dog. She’d thrown herself into the endeavor whole hog—or so he’d been told. And now her son was sick, too. Cancer. Pediatrician had caught it early, but still... Some people had no luck at all.

  He watched as she hugged her son, and then straightened. Her hand found the top of his ball cap, rested there for a moment, then gently stroked it, as if she’d forgotten he didn’t have any hair. She snatched her hand away.

  Some things just weren’t fair.

  Trev’s wife was on her own now, too. At least she didn’t have a sick kid.

  He found himself standing up before he could stop to think about what he planned to do. The waitress smiled at him as he left, and Ethan nodded before sliding past the family of four and out the glass doors. It was one of those perfect Saturday afternoons. The kind made for sitting on a porch and drinking tea. Blue sky. Probably 70 degrees. The smell of summer hung in the air thanks to a sidewalk planter that held rosemary and lilac.

  He headed toward the store. Up and down the street, people went about their Saturday business. It was a picturesque town. Storefront windows. Dark green canvas awnings swooping low over the sidewalks. Boutiques sat next to hair salons that sat next to antiques stores; and in front of it all, cars parked at an angle. He ducked between two of those cars now, pausing for a moment to check traffic. Just his luck to come home after three tours in the Army and get mowed down while jaywalking. The traffic on Main Street was pretty light and he made it across in time to watch Claire and her son enter the store.

  “You are not getting the John Deere tractor,” he heard her say. She’d disappeared between some shelves and he followed the sound. He spotted her as she made her way down an aisle filled with sprays and ointments and shampoos for animals and at the end of which lay a section of toys.

  “But, Mom—”

  “Don’t ‘but, Mom’ me. You have more toys than you know what to do with.”

  Her son had her green eyes. He could tell because he’d stopped in front of a shelf of toys and now faced his direction. “But I don’t have this toy.”

  Her ponytail swayed from side to side as she shook her head and reached for his hand. “They all look the same to me.” She tugged him toward her. “Come on. I need to talk to Mr. Thomson about that shipment.”

  And then she faced him and froze. He did, too. Her son smacked into the back of her legs.

  “Mo-om.”

  And it happened again. That same shock of electricity that had hit him the first time he’d seen her, out there on the tarmac, the last place he’d expected to see such a beautiful woman, one with so much sadness in her eyes.

  “Hello, Claire.”

  * * *

  SHE HAD TO be mistaken. It couldn’t be—

  “Dr. McCall?”

  He smiled and she knew it really was. A more casually dressed Ethan in jeans and a black T-shirt and a black cowboy hat, but still the man with the green eyes that jolted her to the core. Even now she had to look away and when she did...

  Scars.

  Her gaze snagged on them like a hangnail. They ran up his arms. Angry red wheals crisscrossed his flesh. He had a tattoo, too, she noticed now, some type of tribal thing that circled the top of his upper left arm. They were recent, those scars, and for the first time she realized he hadn’t just known the soldier who’d died, he’d been in combat with him.

  “I thought I’d surprise you.”

  Their gazes connected again and her stomach gave that familiar lurch, the one that made her feel dizzy and uncertain and maybe even a little scared. What was it about this man? Why did being in his presence elicit such a mix of emotions?

  “You surprised me, all right.”

  She hadn’t meant her words to come out sounding so strained, but she could tell he’d picked up on the tension she felt.

  “If this is a bad time—”

  “No, no.” Her eyes caught on Adam, who stared up at the man curiously. Her son might have recently turned six, but he had the mind of an adult, and she couldn’t help but notice the curiosity in his gaze.

  “Adam, this is Ethan McCall, the veterinarian I was telling you about.”

  “Were you in combat?”

  Leave it to her son to blurt out the first thing that came to mind. He hadn’t le
arned to filter his thoughts, but she could tell Ethan wasn’t offended.

  “I was.” His smile was soft and easy and it made her stomach twirl for a whole different reason. “Now I’m just a civilian.”

  A civilian who could help her with Thor. She shouldn’t forget that. She should be grateful he’d driven all this way—and she was—she just hated the way his mere presence made her feel so out of sorts. He had that effect on her.

  “My mom didn’t tell me you were a real soldier.”

  He had wrinkles near the corners of his eyes, the kind that were so deep the skin was lighter where the cracks fanned out. Those lines disappeared as he smiled, as he did now. “Whoa there, partner. Everyone in the armed services is a real soldier.”

  “I know.” Her son glanced up at her as if seeking reassurance. “My dad was in the Army.”

  “So was I.”

  Adam’s eyes widened, and he probably would have gone on about Marcus if Claire hadn’t touched his head as a way to silence him.

  “So what brings you to town?” She asked the question even though she knew. Her phone call. She’d dialed his number without thinking. He hadn’t called her back. Honestly, a part of her had been relieved.

  When he met her gaze she spotted discomfort in his eyes, maybe even uncertainty, something she would never expect to see in a man like Ethan.

  “I was thinking I could look in on that dog for you, the one that’s giving you trouble. And Janus, if you still have him.”

  She didn’t say anything. It took her a moment to realize he awaited a response. “Sure,” she forced herself to say. “Absolutely.” Come on, Claire, inject a little more enthusiasm. “That’d be great,” she said with a big smile. At least she hoped it was big. And not too fake. And that it projected at least a little bit of gratitude because she really was grateful to him for making the trek all the way to her hometown.

  She just wished he’d called first.

  “You’re going to help us with Thor?” They both glanced down at the little boy. “Man, you’re brave. He almost bit my mom’s hand.”

  Those green eyes shot to hers. “Is it that bad?”

  She shifted from one foot to the other, something close to shame causing her to lick her lips in chagrin. “He’s been—” she searched for the word “—a challenge.”

  “Then I should probably look at him sooner rather than later.”

  Yes, he probably should, and that was the problem because now that he stood in front of her she wondered what had possessed her to invite him to the ranch.

  “You should come out today.”

  “Adam.” Claire had to physically restrain herself from tapping her son with her toe. “I doubt Dr. McCall has time to see Thor today.”

  He glanced toward the door. “But I do.”

  “See,” Adam said, taking her hand. “Let’s go right now. Thor needs help.”

  She pulled her fingers from her son’s grasp. “But I have to check on that order.”

  “I’ll wait,” he said.

  She straightened. Of course he would wait. He had nothing better to do. Recently out of the Army, on his own, nobody to report to. She, on the other hand, had a million things to do, starting with her errands here in town.

  She glanced down at her son, spotted the excitement in his eyes and recognized the reason for insistence. Adam felt sorry for Thor, as so many people felt sorry for her son, something she’d explained to him when he’d been given toys for no reason at all. He’d been the one to goad her into calling Dr. McCall. And here stood the good doctor, and she was grateful, she really was.

  “Then I guess I’ll be right back,” she said, resigned to her fate. She’d just have to catch up on life another day—if she ever caught up.

  Chapter Three

  What was he doing?

  Ethan turned down a Y in the road, following behind Claire’s silver pickup, the wheels of his own truck making a sticking sound as they drove on what looked to be new pavement.

  You’re checking up on an old friend’s dog.

  They were out in the middle of nowhere, mountains ringing a picturesque valley carpeted by grass. In the distance, at the base of the hills, trees stained the bottoms a darker shade of green, but the peacefulness around him did nothing to lessen the beating of his heart. That staccato rhythm was the same type he’d felt before jumping out of a plane for the first time, or heading overseas, or facing enemy fire, and damned if he knew why he was feeling it now.

  Just check in on Janus, take a look at Thor and then leave.

  And go where? That was the question. That was always the question.

  They’d traveled the road for at least a half mile, when at last Ethan spotted in the distance a small, square home that sat at the base of a low hill beneath giant oaks. A cute picket fence matched the white house. As they drew nearer, he could see a fence made of rust-colored barbed wire along the back of the property, beneath the line of trees a hundred or so yards away, the fence posts that held it in place stained gray with age. To the left of the house sat a line of kennels, at least a half dozen of them, more than one Belgian Malinois pacing inside, all of them barking up a storm. Well, all except one. He suspected that was Thor, but for now he had eyes only for Janus.

  His hands gripped the steering wheel. It’d been tough saying goodbye. Tougher still to see him again. He missed Trev more than he would have thought possible given the short time they’d known each other. Then again, combat will do that to a person: make brothers out of near strangers.

  “Welcome,” Claire said as she stepped out of her truck.

  He’d parked next to her, along the left side of her house, almost in front of the kennels. He got out and stood by the side of the truck, the smell of dirt and oak trees and fresh-cut grass so predominant that for a moment all he did was inhale.

  He caught her staring at him curiously. “Nice place.”

  She had her hand on her son’s head again, bending down to say something.

  “But I want to watch him with Thor,” her son said.

  “In a minute,” he heard her murmur.

  The boy’s head bowed. His shoulders slumped. He did everything but kick at a rock, but he did as she asked, muttering something under his breath, something about Hawkman.

  His gaze must have reflected his puzzlement because she smiled. “His immune system still isn’t up to par.” Her smile faded a bit. “He thinks I’m stupid for wanting him to go inside and wash his hands after we’ve been out and about.”

  “So he’s threatening to have Hawkman come after you?”

  The smile turned back on. “He’s a friend of the family.”

  “You have a superhero for a friend?” For the first time since his arrival, he felt like smiling, too. “Wow. I’m impressed.”

  Something low and soft that he recognized as a laugh filled the air. “Not really. We’re friends with Rand Jefferson.” She shook her head. “The actor that plays the superhero in the movies. It’s a long story.”

  “Maybe you can tell it to me after I say hello to an old friend.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Her smile seemed to have a short in it because it fizzled. “He’s over there.”

  “I know.”

  Janus had spotted him. He could tell by the way the dog’s eyes had fixated on him, his whole body having gone still, as if he silently tried to telepathically commune with his old friend. He knew what he would say.

  Where have you been? What are you doing here? Where’s Trevor?

  He didn’t have an answer for the dog.

  “Platz,” he ordered sternly as dog after dog jumped up on the fence of their loafing sheds. Janus just stood there, as if he tried to reassure himself through sight and smell that it really was his master’s old friend. Then he shifted his gaze past Ethan, a
s if hoping to spot Trev.

  He nearly stumbled.

  I keep looking for him, too.

  You deployed with someone. You see them day in and day out. You drink beers with them, you shoot pool with them, you even go on leave together once or twice. And then—bam—just not there. He still couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t imagine how Janus felt.

  “How are you?” he asked the dog, flipping up the latch that kept the front gate closed. “Good to see you again, buddy.”

  The familiar words set the dog’s tail in motion. He still glanced behind Ethan again, then he sat down in front of him.

  Ethan smiled. This, too, was familiar. When Trevor would bring Janus in for a post-op exam, the dog would walk right up to him and sit down, as if silently saying, “Go on. Get it over with.”

  “Nah,” he said softly, squatting down in front of him. “I don’t need to check you for bullet wounds. Not here. Not today.”

  Not ever again.

  His hands had started to shake again. He covered the tremors by burying them in Janus’s fur. It wouldn’t hurt to check the condition of his injuries, he told himself, parting the fur, finding a diagonal slice that started at the top of his right shoulder blade and ended between his two front legs. A piece of mortar had nearly taken his leg off, but it was healing nicely.

  “How does he look?”

  Ethan didn’t turn, just went on exploring Janus’s body as he said, “Good.”

  He dragged his hand along the dog’s side where he found a half-dollar-sized bump. Sniper round. Went clean through. Miracle Janus had lived. Another scar on his other side—this was from an old bomb blast. So many untold stories. So many near misses. Until...

  He stood quickly. Janus scooted closer to him, his head tipped back, dark eyes unblinking. He opened his mouth and started to pant, something close to a canine smile lifting the corners of his mouth as their gazes locked.

  I missed you, too, he silently telegraphed.

  But it was also damn difficult. It brought it all back. The trip home. The funeral afterward. The look on Trevor’s wife’s face as she’d been handed the flag. She tried to be so strong for her kids, but her hands had trembled as she reached for the talisman, and he’d watched as the weight of her sorrow brought down the roof of her control.