by Elle James
Praying Levi would be all right, Trace headed for the extraction point outside the village.
By the time he reached the edge of the stone, mud and stick buildings, he was breathing hard and his shoulders ached with the weight of his teammate’s inert body. But he couldn’t stop. Not yet. He had to get to the helicopter.
Five Delta Force operators ran toward him. One split off and came to help Trace.
“Don’t worry about us,” Trace grunted. “I’ll get Irish to the chopper. Help Levi. He’s knee-deep in bad guys.”
The five men ran past him. Moments later, gunfire lit up the night.
Trace remained focused on getting his friend to the chopper. The others would follow, once they had the situation contained.
His legs shaking, his lungs burning, Trace staggered up to the helicopter. The copilot jumped down to help the medic take Irish from Trace and lay him out on the floor of the Black Hawk.
“Give me a weapon,” Trace shouted.
The medic tossed him his M4A1 rifle and went back to work on Irish.
Trace turned and ran back toward the little town and the continued sharp report of gunfire. Before he reached the village walls, three members of his team who had passed him minutes before came running from the village.
“Where’s Levi?” Trace shouted.
“Beck and Jimmy are covering for him.” Sergeant Parker Shaw slowed to a stop beside Trace. “We’ve called in an airstrike. They told us to get out.”
“Not without Levi, Beck and Jimmy.”
“They were the ones who told us to get out,” Parker said. “Levi nearly took a shot at me.”
“Not leaving without them,” Trace said and ran toward the village.
Parker fell in step beside him.
More gunfire sounded as they neared the village.
Then the night erupted in a fiery explosion, knocking Trace backward. He staggered but regained his footing and resumed his forward movement.
Parker rolled to his feet and kept pace beside Trace.
“I see movement ahead,” Trace said.
What looked like a clump of moving parts emerged from the village into the open.
Trace could make out two men holding up a third between them, running while twisting around to fire rounds to their rear. Several bogeys popped up over the tops of the walls.
“They need help.” Within two hundred yards of the compound, Trace dropped to his knee, aimed his rifle and fired at one of the men perched at the top of a wall. The man slumped and fell from the wall to the ground.
Another explosion rocked the landscape as a round from an unmanned aerial vehicle, driven by a young air force lieutenant back at a base in Nevada, slammed into the village.
The three Delta Force soldiers running toward him staggered but remained upright, pushing forward to their destination.
Parker dropped down beside Trace.
Soon, the other two Delta Force members set up a line of fire to either side of Trace and Parker.
Jimmy, Beck and Levi made it past them and onto the helicopter waiting to extract them.
Another round smacked into the wall of the village. The enemy element who’d been firing at them lay dead or had scattered.
“I’ll cover,” Trace said. “The rest of you get to the chopper.”
“Not going without you,” Parker said. “The rest of you...move!”
“We’ll go together, or not at all,” Jimmy’s voice rang in Trace’s ears.
Overruled by his team, Trace rose and ran backward toward the waiting Black Hawk. The last man to climb aboard, he hovered close to the door, his weapon aimed at the village and any possible bad guys who might decide to take a shot at the chopper as it lifted off the ground.
The helicopter rose into the air, but not nearly fast enough for Trace. Not until they were well away from the village did Trace let go of the breath he’d been holding and turn toward his friends.
The medic worked over Irish. He had Parker applying pressure to a wound while he established an IV of fluids.
As soon as he had Irish stabilized, he turned toward Levi.
“Don’t worry about me,” Levi said. “Just a flesh wound.”
Beck was wrapping Levi’s leg in gauze. “Yeah. Right. The man bleeds like a stuck pig.”
“I’ll live,” Levi said. “Thanks to you guys.” He winced as Beck tied a knot over the wound.
The medic had the pilot call ahead to have the medical staff ready to receive the wounded.
They were met by a military ambulance, and Levi and Irish were loaded into the back.
“I want to go with them,” Trace said to the driver.
“Not enough room,” the driver said, closing the back of the van.
Trace looked around for transportation to get him to the hospital. A captain dressed in a clean uniform hurried toward him. “Are you Master Sergeant Wade Travis?”
With a frown, Trace nodded. “I am.”
“I’m Captain Williamson. Your CO heard you would be here and wanted me to personally contact you.”
“Should I know you?”
“No, sir. I’m a chaplain.”
Trace stiffened. “Our guys are going to be okay. The medics are taking care of them.”
“I’m not here about your teammates,” Captain Williamson said.
He might not have been there about Levi and Irish, but the rest of Trace’s team gathered around him. When a chaplain singled you out, it was never good news.
Parker, Beck, Jimmy and the others stood beside him.
“Could we talk in private?” the chaplain asked.
Trace’s heart squeezed hard in his chest. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “You can say anything in front of my team.”
The chaplain stared from Trace to the men surrounding him. “Are you sure?”
With a nod, Trace braced himself. “What’s on your mind, Captain Williamson?”
Glancing down at a paper in his hand, the chaplain took a deep breath and faced Trace. “Your father was murdered two days ago. You’ve been recalled home.”
Chapter Two
“There’s a truck coming up the drive.” Lily entered through the back door of the ranch house into the kitchen.
Rosalynn Travis worked over the stove, tossing ingredients for a beef stew into a stockpot. “Cross your fingers this applicant knows which is the business end of a cow.” She turned off the stove, wiped her hands on a dish towel and hurried toward the front of the house.
Lily grabbed the shotgun from the corner of the kitchen and followed her boss.
The older woman was out the door before Lily could catch up.
A man with scraggly, oily hair and dirty jeans dropped down out of a beat-up pickup and walked toward the porch.
Lily pushed through the screen door and called out, “That’s far enough.”
The man ambled to a stop.
Rosalynn crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s your purpose?”
“I’m Randy Sweeney, and I’m here about the job I saw advertised at the feed store,” the man said and smiled through crooked, blackened teeth. “This is the Whiskey Gulch Ranch, isn’t it? And you are advertising for a ranch hand, aren’t you?”
Rosalynn nodded.
He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and rocked back on his heels. “I’m here to apply for the job.”
Rosalynn shot a quick glance toward Lily, before returning her attention to their applicant.
“When was the last time you worked on a ranch?”
“Well, now, ma’am, I ain’t actually worked on a ranch, but how hard can it be? You poke cows, ride horses and get fed by pretty girls.” His gaze slid to Lily, who’d moved up to stand beside Rosalynn.
Rosalynn shook her head. “Sorry, mister. The advertisement
specifically asked for experienced ranch hands. We don’t have time or the inclination to train anyone.”
Instead of turning to leave, Randy took a step forward. “I understand you ladies need a man around the ranch. I’m pretty handy in a fight.”
“We’re not planning on having a fight,” Lily said.
“Ain’t you Brandy Jean and Marcus Davidson’s little girl?” The man’s smile turned into a sinister smirk.
“I am.” Lily’s jaw firmed, and her hands tightened on the shotgun. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Heard you’d come to work for the Travises.” The stranger scratched his chin. “Didn’t expect you’d still be working here after old man Travis’s death.” His gaze slid from Lily back to Rosalynn. “Thought for sure his old lady would have sent you packing by now.”
Lily raised the shotgun in her arms, her eyes narrowing.
Rosalynn snorted. “I’m not old, and Lily isn’t leaving. She’s been more help to me than any of the worthless ranch hands who’ve deserted us since my husband’s death.”
“You’d better leave now before I put a load of buckshot into you.” Lily raised the shotgun up to her shoulder and aimed it at the man on the ground in front of her.
Randy shook his head. “You ain’t gonna pull the trigger on a gun that’ll knock you back on your pretty little bottom.”
Lily aimed the shotgun a little to the man’s left and pulled the trigger. The blast jerked her shoulder back, but she remained standing. “As you can see, I can pull the trigger and still remain upright. What’s more important... I will pull the trigger.” She aimed the gun at Randy. “Leave...now.”
His brows dipped low. “Just because you have a gun doesn’t make you all that.”
“No?” She raised an eyebrow. “And just because you’re a man and I’m a woman, you think you’re smarter and stronger than I am?”
Randy snorted. “You’re not like your mama, are you?”
“Not in the least,” Lily responded.
“Damn shame.” Randy hitched up his jeans. “Two women... Alone on a ranch... You’re asking for trouble.”
“We aren’t asking for anything but a ranch hand who knows ranching. Whether male or female. And you’re not the one.” Lily jerked her head to the side. “I’ll give you three seconds to get in your truck.”
Randy took another step forward. “Or what?”
Lily fired off another round, pulled shells out of her pocket and reloaded in seconds. “The next one will be aimed at your body.” She raised the shotgun to her shoulder and pointed it at his midsection, then lowered it slightly. “Want to test me? Think I won’t do it?”
Randy stood his ground for a moment, his eyes narrowing even more. “You’ll regret this.”
“I regret that I’ve wasted two shells,” Lily said. “I won’t waste another.”
“I’ll leave, but you’re setting yourselves up as targets. Two women running a ranch as big as Whiskey Gulch won’t cut it. You’ll fail.”
“At least we’ll fail at what we know how to do, without supporting someone who knows nothing about ranching,” Rosalynn said. “Go home, Mr. Sweeney. We’re looking for experienced help.”
He snorted and turned toward his truck.
Another truck headed toward them, kicking up a tail of dirt on the road leading up to the ranch house.
“Great,” Lily muttered. “Another loser come to apply for the job.”
Randy hesitated with his hand on the door handle of his pickup.
“My finger’s getting itchy,” Lily said.
“I’m going.” Randy yanked open the door and stepped behind it without getting in. His gaze followed the truck headed toward him.
Lily would rather have had Randy off the property before she had to deal with another applicant, but the man wasn’t making a move to leave and now had the truck door between him and her buckshot.
A shiny black pickup pulled to a stop beside the beat-up one. The sun glinted on the windshield, keeping Lily from seeing the face of the driver.
“Whoever it is will get one warning.” Lily held the rifle against her shoulder and aimed at the newcomer.
The driver stepped out of the truck and rounded the door, his dark hair and blue eyes instantly recognizable.
All of the air left Lily’s lungs and her heart stopped beating for a full three seconds. Then it slammed against her ribs and raced, pushing blood and adrenaline through her veins.
The last person she’d expected and the one she least wanted to see strode toward the ranch house. “That’s a helluva homecoming for a man who’s been away for more than a year.”
“Lily,” Rosalynn said. “Put down the gun. My boy is home.” The older woman ran down the stairs and enveloped her only son in a hug so tight, it had to be cutting off the air to his lungs.
Meanwhile, Lily had forgotten how to breathe and that she was aiming a shotgun at the man and his mother.
“What’s she doing here?” Trace asked, his chin lifting toward Lily.
His mother glanced back, tears trickling down her face. “Lily works for me.”
“Since when?”
The sound of his voice brought back a flood of memories and emotions as Lily lowered the shotgun. “Since the last time you were here, over a year ago,” Lily said, finding her voice, infusing judgment into her words. Since then, things had changed.
“She started as my housekeeper,” his mother said, “and now she’s my one and only ranch hand.”
“What happened to the rest of them?” he asked, his gaze shifting from his mother to Lily, his eyes narrowing.
“The men spooked when your father was murdered.” Lily snorted, her lip curling back. “They left, thinking the murderer would be after them next.”
“Bastards,” Trace said. He tilted his head toward the man standing by the old truck. “Who’s he?”
“Nobody.” Lily glared at the man in question. “He was just leaving.”
Randy pushed away from the door of his pickup. “Did I hear right? Are you James Travis’s son?”
Trace nodded. “I am.”
The man stepped forward, his arm outstretched. “Randy Sweeney. I’m here answering an ad for help. Maybe you’re the one I need to talk to.”
Trace ignored the man’s hand. “The ranch belongs to my mother. What she says goes.”
Randy dropped his hand to his side.
“She said to go,” Lily said between clenched teeth, her hand tightening on the shotgun.
Randy raised a finger. “Not really.” Then he pointed the finger at Lily. “You told me to leave.”
“Is that what’s holding you back?” Rosalynn Travis gave Randy a tight smile. “Then let me make myself clear... You are trespassing on private property. Leave now, or I’ll call the sheriff.”
The man looked from Rosalynn to Trace as if he didn’t quite trust her word.
“You heard my mother,” Trace said. “Leave—and don’t come back. The Travis family doesn’t suffer fools.”
Randy bristled. “You calling me a fool?”
“If the shoe fits...” Trace left the statement open.
When Randy refused to move, Trace took a step forward, his fists clenched.
Randy backed away. “Some say Mr. Travis was killed by someone he knew.” He shot a glance at Rosalynn. “Most violent crimes are committed by people close to the victims. Usually family members.”
“Not in this case,” Lily said through clenched teeth. “We’ll find whoever murdered Mr. Travis.” She lowered her voice and stared at Randy with narrowed eyes. “And make him pay.”
Randy raised his hands. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t do it. I was just looking for a job. Those can be hard to come by in these parts.”
“Not for folks who know how to work hard,” Rosalynn said.
>
“You sayin’ I don’t know how to work hard?” Randy asked, his lip curling on one corner.
“She’s saying get off her property,” Trace said. “Now, get in your truck, or I’ll help you get there.” He took a step toward the other man.
“I’m going.” Randy hopped into the driver’s seat of his old pickup, slammed his door and revved the engine. A moment later, he’d reversed, spun around and headed down the gravel road, spitting up a cloud of dust in his wake.
Lily relaxed her hold on the shotgun but retained the tension in her body as she faced the man she’d loved from the day they’d met in grade school. The one man she couldn’t have. The man she’d lied to in order to get him to leave.
By the look on that beloved familiar face, he hadn’t forgotten what she’d done to him all those years ago.
She squared her shoulders. Trace needed to hate her. What they had ignored as children and teens couldn’t be ignored as adults. They didn’t come from the same backgrounds. No amount of wishing could change that. She would never fit into his world. Not with her parents’ criminal backgrounds.
Not that he’d ever want her back in his life.
Lily sighed and turned toward the ranch house. “I’ll pack my bags.”
“The heck you will.” Rosalynn moved to stand in front of her, blocking her way into the house where she’d taken up residence since she’d come to work for the Travis family. “I can’t afford to lose you, Lily. Please, stay.” The older woman turned her attention to Trace. “And you.” She poked a finger at her son. “This young woman has been a godsend to us over the past year. I don’t know what I would have done without her.”
Trace held up his hands. “I’m not telling her to leave. She’s a grown woman, she can make up her own mind. Although, I don’t know why she’s living here when she has a husband to go home to.”
Lily stiffened.
Before she could say anything, Rosalynn jumped in. “Husband? What husband?” Rosalynn turned a crooked smile toward Lily. “Does he know something I don’t?”
Lily shook her head. She’d always been straightforward with Trace’s mother, never wanting to hurt the mother of the man she loved. But she hadn’t told her the lies she’d used to drive Trace away from Whiskey Gulch Ranch. “I don’t know what he’s talking about. I’m not married. Never have been.” She met his gaze dead-on, daring him to repeat the lies she’d told him all those years ago.
