by Susan Stoker, Cristin Harber, Cora Seton, Lynn Raye Harris, Kaylea Cross, Katie Reus, Tessa Layne
Taylor.
Just thinking about him made Wyatt’s throat thicken and his heart pound. He’d grown up with Taylor, gone to school with him, played varsity football with him in high school. They’d enlisted together, gone to boot camp at Parris Island together. Then they were deployed together on that last tour in Afghanistan.
Taylor wasn’t blood but Wyatt had considered him a brother nonetheless, every bit as much a brother to him as Brody and Easton were. And Wyatt had gotten him killed.
He swallowed hard, clenched his fingers around the steering wheel. The worst part was knowing he’d screwed up. Out on patrol during that early morning op, he’d missed the signals of a buried IED that had taken out the entire squad, including Wyatt’s beloved and brave military dog, Raider.
His gaze strayed to the camo-patterned training collar hanging from the rearview mirror. God, he missed his canine partner and fellow Marines. He pulled in a deep breath, tried to shake the memories away, but couldn’t. It was his fault. He’d screwed up, and everyone had died but him.
Surviving was his punishment. And every goddamn day, he had to deal with that.
When old Mrs. Miller had passed away over a year ago, he’d vowed to himself he would buy the house and fix it up, do something to honor her and Taylor’s memory. Maybe turn it into a home for disabled veterans.
Now that chance was gone.
Stopping for a red light in the middle of Sugar Hollow’s “downtown”, he saw Piper’s red car on the right at the intersection. She stuck her hand out her window and waved him down frantically.
The light turned green. He raised a hand in acknowledgment and kept driving. She swung her car around and he knew she was going to follow him all the way back to his place.
He wasn’t in the mood for company at the moment, but he did want to know what the hell had happened so maybe it was best they talked now. He didn’t want an audience for what would likely be a heated conversation, so if she wanted to talk, they’d have to do it at his place.
He drove down Main Street, past tidy and brightly-painted Victorian shops, restaurants and B&Bs, the architecture so like the Miller place that the sight twisted the knife currently buried under his ribs. Two miles outside of town he turned left and headed out toward the fertile farmland in the heart of the Shenandoah Valley. Normally the rolling green hills and pastureland and the sight of his family home coming into view filled him with peace.
Today, it made him feel like a five-hundred-pound boulder was sitting on his chest.
Initially, after the amputation and being released from the long term rehab facility, he’d moved back here and into the cabin to get himself back on his feet—har har—and then stayed on after his father had suffered the stroke.
As the eldest, he saw it as his job to help his dad out, lend a hand to maintain the large property and take care of the horses along with their hired help. He’d told his siblings from day one that he wanted that responsibility, and he didn’t regret it.
All four of them were involved with their father’s care to some extent, but Wyatt bore the brunt of it and he wanted to shoulder that weight. It had given him a purpose while he struggled to adapt to his new reality as an amputee, and his siblings were all able-bodied and busy with their own careers. His father had raised horses and built homes since Wyatt was in his teens. The stroke had left him unable to work, so Wyatt had stepped in to keep the contracting business running, although on a smaller scale on the side.
While juggling all of that, he’d been saving up to buy the Miller place, taking on reno jobs with the crew of fellow wounded vets he’d put together from here in the Valley and surrounding area. He’d promised them full time work for at least six months when he finally bought the Miller place. Now he’d let them all down too.
The two-story, pale yellow farmhouse glowed in the morning sunlight as he pulled up in front of it. His dad was sitting on the front of the wrap-around porch with Grits and Sarge.
Wyatt loved this house, this land, yet part of him felt suffocated here. Every day he spent here, living in the cabin, reminded him that he was a wounded combat vet, still dependent on his father’s charity. It shamed him.
Using his cane, his father pushed slowly to his feet. “Everything okay?”
“No,” Wyatt answered, a lump in his throat and a hot coal burning beneath his sternum. “It’s a done deal. The Miller house is sold.” And God, he was completely shredded inside.
He’d pinned so much on getting that house when it came up for sale, had refused offers of loans from friends and relatives who knew he wanted it. Ever since the house had become vacant he’d put away whatever money he could so he’d have the down payment ready when the estate decided to sell. All for nothing.
“Ah, damn, I’m sorry to hear that.”
He nodded, pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Piper’s a minute or so behind me, so I’m sure we’ll get the full story from her. I’d rather talk to her alone for a while, if you don’t mind.” It wasn’t a request, even though he phrased it as one.
“Of course. Come on, boys,” he told the dogs. Sarge waddled after him, but Grits stood there watching Wyatt, the end of his tail wagging.
“Go on,” Wyatt said in a firm voice, pointing toward the house.
Grits lowered his head and his tail drooped, but he turned and followed Wyatt’s dad. It made Wyatt feel like a dick but he just couldn’t afford to let the dog into his heart.
Once in the solitude of his cabin Wyatt went directly to the cabinet to pull out the bottle of whiskey he hadn’t touched in months, and a shot glass.
Two seconds later Piper’s little red car parked in front of his porch. She walked up to his screen door wearing a worried expression and her workout clothes, her dark blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Hey,” she said, her tone hesitant as she let herself inside.
“Hey.”
“So, did you meet the owner?”
“Yep.” And she had most definitely not been what he’d expected. At all. He’d had trouble keeping his eyes on her face during that whole exchange.
“And?”
“She’s tall.” Damn near as tall as him, not to mention strong and determined. And her long, toned body had been impossible to ignore, even for him and his black mood.
“That’s it?” Piper asked in exasperation. “She’s tall?”
He shrugged, keeping the rest of his observations to himself. Austen Sloan had smooth, creamy-brown skin, long, dark, spiral-curled hair, and eyes a surprising shade of light gray, almost silver. It annoyed the hell out of him that he’d even noticed how hot her body was. Not that Piper needed to know any of that.
“And, she won’t sell. She says she’s going to fix it up and stay there.” It felt wrong to him on every level, a violation. That place should have been his.
“Well, at least we know she’s not planning to rip it down.”
“So she says. Once she realizes the amount of work and the costs involved, she might change her mind.” His only hope now was that she might either change her mind partway through and sell it to him, or once she was done with it. It made his inner control freak cringe to think about what she might do to the place while she renovated it.
He’d had big plans, specific and respectful plans of how he’d renovate it, to preserve the character and charm, keep the heart of the home beating amongst all the updates. God, he hated the thought of anyone else touching it, let alone someone from outside the area who had no personal attachment to it.
“I heard she’s a firefighter from out of state,” Piper said.
He paused a second. “Really?” She had the build for it, and the thought of what she’d look like wearing her turnout gear was surprisingly hot.
She nodded. “Apparently she’s been looking for a property in the area for a couple weeks now. Just shit luck that her agent called the estate lawyers at the right time.” Piper plopped down in one of the kitchen chairs, rested her folded arms on the table and set her chin on
top of them, looking as dejected as he felt. “I’m so sorry,” she said, watching him with sad hazel-green eyes.
He knew she was, and that this wasn’t her fault. If she could have gotten him the house somehow, she would have. “How the hell did this even happen?”
“I guess the other agent was in talks with the estate’s lawyers over the past week or so. They never officially put in on the market so no one knew about it. Several of the beneficiaries had a meeting and convinced everyone to sell. Ms. Sloan’s agent called them to inquire if they’d be interested in selling, saying she had a buyer who was willing to pay in cash.”
“Cash? She paid for it outright?” It had to have set her back a pretty penny. The land itself was worth a lot because of the size and location, even without the house.
“Yes. They did the whole deal behind the scenes and I only found out about it yesterday.”
This sucked so hard. “I would have paid them more.” But not in cash. Banks liked cash, and no doubt so did the beneficiaries of the estate. “Why didn’t they at least announce it was for sale and then wait to see if more offers came in?”
“Cash, and timing. I’m guessing the beneficiaries just wanted to liquidate the assets to cash them out. They’ve been sitting on the property for several years, I guess they got itchy and finally decided to pull the trigger when a cash sale offer fell in their lap.” She paused, eyeing him with a hard look. “You weren’t an asshole to her, were you?”
“I wasn’t at my most charming,” he admitted.
“Oh, God.”
He rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t that bad.” He picked up the whiskey and poured a shot. The first of several he planned to knock back.
“Don’t.”
At the sharply spoken word he stopped and looked back at Piper. She was rigid in her seat, freckles standing out on her pale face, her expression pinched as she stared at him. “Getting drunk isn’t going to solve anything.”
Silently cursing himself, he sighed and set the bottle down. Damn. “I was just gonna have a shot or two, not drink the rest of the damn bottle,” he said, turning away from it and folding his arms over his chest. It was no secret he’d drowned his problems with alcohol for the first couple months he’d moved home. Since then, he’d barely had anything to drink.
“Just…don’t,” she said, her voice rough, eyes filled with pain.
Hell, he hadn’t even thought about what seeing him pouring shots would trigger for her, due to her piece of shit soon-to-be-ex-husband. He expelled a breath. “Sorry, I didn’t think.” Wyatt wished he’d punched the fucker’s lying, manipulative face when he’d had the chance.
She flushed and glanced away, looking uncomfortable. “It’s okay.”
No, it wasn’t, and he was a jerk for not remembering. He put the bottle and shot glass away. If he still felt the need for a drink later on, he could do it after she left.
An awkward silence settled between them in the still kitchen, but was thankfully filled by the sound of paws scrambling on the front porch. Grits jumped up to put his front paws on the screen door, tongue lolling, tail going like crazy as he stared at Wyatt.
“Hey, little man,” Piper cried, getting out of her chair to open the door and scoop him up. She grinned when he immediately started licking her face. “Such a lover, even after all you’ve been through. How come none of my boyfriends were ever as good a kisser as you, huh?” She shot a teasing glance at Wyatt and he couldn’t help but smirk. He’d been eighteen the last time he’d kissed her, and he was a hell of a lot better at it now than he’d been back then.
Not that he’d kissed or done anything else with a woman since being wounded. Women seemed to fall into two categories now, either pitying him or wanting to mother him. Both were major turnoffs.
He also didn’t relish the thought of a woman seeing his amputation for the first time. No doubt a major turnoff for whoever his prospective bed partner was.
Piper sighed, buried her face in the dog’s soft fur. “As crappy as things get in life, dogs always have a way of making it better, don’t they? They’re the masters of unconditional love.”
They were. Wyatt didn’t answer though, because he knew the question was rhetorical.
Shuffling footsteps crunching over gravel reached him a moment before his father came into view through the screen door. “Knock, knock.”
Piper swung around with a big smile on her face. “Hey, Mr. C.”
“Good to see you,” his dad replied, his gaze cutting back and forth between them. “Tried to keep Grits with me, but he wasn’t having it. He’s pretty attached to you already,” he told Wyatt, and there was a note of reproach there.
“I think he just wanted to see Piper,” Wyatt muttered.
She shot him a glare. “He came here because you’re here, because for whatever reason, he already loves your grumpy ass. I’m just a bonus.” She held the dog out in front of her and gave him a big, open-mouth grin, her voice turning babyish. “Aren’t I, Gritsy? A big, happy bonus.” Grits answered with a series of licks as he wiggled in her hold, his tongue meeting nothing but air as he tried frantically to kiss Piper’s face again.
His father’s gaze shifted to him, unreadable. “Want me to take him back to the house?”
“Nah, it’s fine.” He could use a friend right now, and though Piper was great, he didn’t want human company at the moment. Grits didn’t expect him to talk, didn’t ask questions or judge him. Even if he still hadn’t decided if he would keep the little guy or not, the dog was sweet and easy to have around.
After raising one eyebrow at him in a you’re-not-fooling-anyone gesture, his dad switched his attention to Piper. “So, it’s been a shit day around here so far. How’s yours going?”
Piper set Grits down, her brightness fading. “Okay.”
Wyatt exchanged a loaded look with him, because they both knew damn well her life at the moment was anything but okay, no matter how much she tried to act like it was.
His old man gave Piper a smile, and even lopsided due to the stroke it was still loaded with Colebrook charm. “I was just about to risk lighting the house on fire while I made myself a late breakfast. You care to join me? Give an old cripple a hand?”
Her gaze turned fond. It was no secret she loved his father to pieces, and vice versa. “You’re far from a cripple, but I’d love that, thank you.” She glanced at Wyatt. “You coming?”
“In a bit. Have to take care of my leg first.” With all the chaos he hadn’t had time to check and clean his stump and prosthesis since he got home this morning, and he needed to do it ASAP.
Being an amputee sucked, but being able to wear an artificial was a hell of a lot better than having to use crutches. Inspecting the stump and making sure the skin stayed clean and dry every day was essential to avoid infection that would prohibit him from using his prosthesis.
“Okay, but don’t be too long,” she said over her shoulder as she walked through his front door. “I want to hear more about Austen Sloan and what you plan to do about this.”
What he planned to do about it? What could he do, when she’d already told him flat out she wouldn’t be selling? He remained leaning against the counter, lost in his thoughts as his dad and Piper headed for the main house, arm-in-arm.
Was there a way to fix this? There had to be. Getting that house had been his dream for so long, now that it had been taken away from him he felt…empty. Lost, even.
No, worse than that. He felt like an utter failure at life.
Grits wandered over and sat in front of him, gazing up at him with those huge brown eyes. His gaze wasn’t sharp and intelligent as Raider’s had been, but rather soft and adoring. “What?” Wyatt asked him gruffly.
Unfazed by the tone, Grits swished his feathery white tail back and forth over the planks and tilted his head to one side, ears lifting.
Wyatt frowned at him. The adorably cute routine wasn’t going to work on him. He didn’t want to get attached to another dog. It was too soon,
would feel too much like he was dishonoring Raider’s memory. And for damn sure, he never wanted to feel the pain of losing his best friend ever again.
That’s what Raider had been to him, and he didn’t care if people didn’t understand that. He’d been a dog person ever since he could remember, but once he’d joined the Marines and begun working with his own military working dog, that bond had been on a totally different level to anything he’d ever known.
Raider had slept beside him every night for over two years, had lain across Wyatt’s body to stand guard while Wyatt slept when they were outside the wire, staying on alert for any sign of danger. He’d trusted that dog with his life, and with the lives of his fellow Marines, and Raider had depended on him to protect her. So when Raider had died that day because of Wyatt’s mistake, it had shattered him. He’d never get over it, no matter how long he lived.
Against his will, his gaze strayed to the mantel, where the urn holding Raider’s ashes sat in the center, next to a framed picture of them together and the collar Raider had been wearing that fateful day.
Guilt slashed at him as he looked back down at Grits, who sat watching him with a heartbreakingly hopeful expression. Staring into those warm brown eyes, Wyatt felt his resolve to stay detached soften a fraction.
The dog was too damn adorable. Poor little guy hadn’t deserved the shit life he’d had up until he was rescued. What Wyatt wouldn’t give for five minutes alone with the asshole that had kept him caged and made him skittish of people.
“I’m no good for you. Not right now, anyway,” he told Grits, trying to hold firm.
Grits swished his tail even harder and Wyatt swore he could hear the dog’s thoughts. Please just give me a chance. I want to be your friend.
He couldn’t stand it.
Despite himself, Wyatt bent to scoop him up and held the dog against his chest. Grits’s fur was so damn soft, his solid little body warm, and all he wanted was to be loved.
As if he knew he’d just put a major crack in Wyatt’s defenses, Grits beat his tail in a joyful rhythm against Wyatt’s belt buckle as his little pink tongue licked at the scruff on Wyatt’s face that was well on its way to forming a short beard. Unconditional love, even after the way he’d been treated by humans for the first two years of his life.
