Two Cowboys in Her Crosshairs [Hellfire Ranch] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Jennifer August

  Hellfire Ranch

  Two Cowboys in Her Crosshairs

  Marine sniper Olivia Martinez returned from Afghanistan injured in body and heart. Though she lost her acting sniper status along with her left eye in an ambush, she’s still in the Corps and working for JAG.

  Her heartbreaker, Jake Logan, retired to Freedom, Texas, and the ranch he named for their unit. With his best friend, Hudson Walker, at his side, he’s trying to forget that last mission gone so horribly wrong…and forget Olivia.

  A mysterious package, coupled with the deaths of some of the squad, brings Olivia, Jake, and Hudson under fire.

  There’s fire between them as well, fire that leads to Olivia, in bed between the two men.

  In the end, it’s going to come down to Olivia’s ability to overcome her injuries, both physically and emotionally, to save the three of them. But once a Marine sniper has you in her crosshairs…say your prayers. She’s way more accurate—and sexy—than Cupid.

  Genre: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Western/Cowboys

  Length: 77,345 words

  TWO COWBOYS IN HER CROSSHAIRS

  Hellfire Ranch

  Jennifer August

  MENAGE AMOUR

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

  TWO COWBOYS IN HER CROSSHAIRS

  Copyright © 2013 by Jennifer August

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-777-2

  First E-book Publication: March 2013

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Two Cowboys in Her Crosshairs by Jennifer August from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Jennifer August’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. August’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  This book is for all those who serve or have served our country in times of peace but especially during war. Thank you doesn’t seem to be enough for all you do, but mine is heartfelt and sincere. Thank you for putting your lives on the line to defend my liberties.

  For my dad who fought in Vietnam, for my French grandfather who fought in the French Resistance, and for my great-uncles who fought in WWII. Thank you.

  TWO COWBOYS IN HER CROSSHAIRS

  Hellfire Ranch

  JENNIFER AUGUST

  Copyright © 2013

  Chapter One

  “Jake, we need to talk. Avoiding me isn’t the answer.” Olivia Martinez propped her hands on her hips and gave him a glare so ferocious golden sparks flew from her deep-brown eyes.

  “There isn’t a damn thing to say.” The back of Jake’s neck crawled with sweat in the still heat of the Afghanistan evening. He looked past Olivia toward the makeshift barracks housing the Hellfire Battalion. They’d been stuck in this damned country for seven months. As a marine, he knew all about sacrifice, duty, and what it took to get a job done. The very last thing he needed to do was act on his attraction to this female spitfire, no matter how hard she made his dick.

  She was brash and bold and exciting. Her presence filled the room with an undeniable energy that stole his breath. Couple that with her sloe-eyed beauty, and he was in a perpetual state of want for her.

  But he couldn’t act on his need. It would not be the wise thing to do.

  Olivia’s strong fingers grabbed his arm. Jake looked at her clear fingernails and saw the dust from the Afghanistan landscape coating her hands. He knew those hands were capable of firing an M40 sniper rifle with the precision of a cyborg, but he also knew there was gentleness and passion in them.

  “Nothing to say? That’s bullshit and you know it, Jake. Never took you for a coward.” Olivia glowered then spun on the heel of her dusty combat boot and stormed toward the barracks.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and worked on unclenching his jaw. Two more months and this tour would be done.

  Then what?

  He sure as hell didn’t know. He’d contemplated asking for a duty transfer, but he hated giving in. Or more accurately, running away.

  He also knew Olivia wasn’t going anywhere. Her dedication to the Hellfire Battalion was second only to her duty to the Corps.

  She would never willingly leave.

  He just didn’t know if he had the balls to go first.

  Hell, maybe I am a coward like she says.

  Jake stared into the empty space. This damned attraction was one of the major reasons he was against women in war zones. He’d spouted that more than once since she’d joined their unit on this duty rotation. He didn’t doubt her clinical abilities with her weapon, but he hated the idea of trusting his life and those of his men to her hands. He’d raised the same concerns when Connie Bransom joined them in the field a couple of months ago. Granted Connie’s role as information specialist was nowhere near as pivotal as Olivia’s, but she still didn’t belong in an active hot zone. Hell, he didn’t know how Colonel Reed managed to pull strings to get Olivia in the field as a sniper. Far as he knew, women engaged in active combat were against the law. Maybe Reed doctored her papers or something. The only problem was he couldn’t see the colonel doing something so underhanded. The man was a straight shooter from t
he word go.

  Jake trudged to the barracks and opened the door. The place stank of sweat, dirt, and stale coffee.

  He removed his hat and headed for his bunk. Taggart Cain, Boone Shepherd, Brian Fischer, and Shag Williams sat around a rickety table playing cards. Calhoun Mayers was on his bunk with his head buried in a medical journal as usual. Doc was another oddity in their group. He was a Navy doctor who’d asked to be assigned to the Hellfire Battalion, but he never said why. Jake was glad though. Doc was a damn good man to have in a firefight.

  Gideon Masters had his rifle in parts all over his bed. Jake’s lips twitched as he watched the sniper crack his knuckles then hover his palms over the bed. Next to him stood Lincoln Grace, who was staring at his black combat watch.

  “In five seconds,” Grace said.

  Masters’s fingers twitched.

  “Go!”

  The sniper’s hand flew over the parts on the bed and in less time than it took most people to tie their shoes, he had the entire M40 reassembled and ready to fire.

  Jake looked to Grace for the official time.

  “Forty two seconds.”

  “Damn it,” Masters grumbled. “Three seconds longer than last time.”

  Grace shook his head. “Quit being so damn picky. I doubt anyone else could do something like that.”

  “I can ride a mean old bull for the full eight seconds,” Roark Weston offered. He unfurled his lean and lanky body from his bunk and walked next to Masters. He stared down at the rifle being disassembled again. “I can ride a horse like my ass is superglued to the saddle. I can throw a rope and take down a calf on the run. I can charm the boots off half the women in Texas.” He clapped Masters on the shoulder. “But I sure as hell can’t do that.”

  Grace chuckled. “One of these days I want to get your butt up on a camel and see how you ride that.”

  Weston’s eyes gleamed in the dim light, and he rubbed his hands together. “Hey, I never thought of that.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “Forget it,” he snapped. “No one’s riding any damn camels.”

  Weston looked at him and frowned. “You’re no fun.”

  “Tough shit,” Jake replied. “We’re not here to have fun. We’re here to do a job.”

  The trio glowered at him as one, and Jake glared back. Finally they broke up. Grace and Weston drifted to their own cots as Masters put his M40 together for a final time.

  The barracks door opened, and Quade Aldren walked inside. Jake tensed.

  “Aldren?” He didn’t want to ask the question that burned his brain, but he had to know.

  The man paused at the foot of his cot. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head. “I didn’t do it, Sarge. I can’t leave yet.” Haunting pain flitted in the man’s dark-blue eyes. “I talked to the chaplain like you suggested.”

  “Good.” Relief washed through Jake. He didn’t like any of his men being in pain, but he also knew getting a new body in the unit had the potential to throw them all off.

  He hated how selfish he felt knowing Aldren wasn’t going to leave the marines and their unit in mid-deployment, but his relief overshadowed it.

  “He’s a good man,” Aldren murmured. “He convinced me to wait until we get back to the States.”

  “It’s a good plan,” Jake said. He rose and approached Aldren. “You’re okay, right?” he asked quietly. “I wanted you to talk to him to make sure you can do the job we need you to do.”

  Aldren shrugged. “Yeah, I’m good. I promise. I’m not going to let you down.”

  Jake grasped Aldren’s shoulder. “I believe you.”

  Aldren smiled briefly then slipped away. “Night, Sarge.” He settled onto his cot with his back to the room, which effectively cut off any further conversation.

  Jake let the man rest. Aldren had been through a worse hell than any of them in the last four days after accidentally shooting one of the local kids. The incident happened so fast that no one could have prevented it. The kid had come screaming out of a house with a machine gun aimed straight at Aldren. His marine had done the only thing he could do. He fired at the kid.

  Fortunately his aim had been true, and he’d tagged the boy in the shoulder, which disarmed him and ended the threat. But the incident sent Aldren into a spiral of stress and horror. Jake hoped talking with the chaplain helped Aldren wrap his head around the shooting. He needed him whole for the next two months.

  “Hey, Sarge, come here, would ya?” Colby Briggs and Jason Yu were bent over a small mound of dirt that looked like it wiggled.

  “What is it?”

  Yu pointed to the mound of dirt. A small hole formed at the top, and grains of sand trickled over the sides. All three men stepped back.

  “Some kind of critter,” Briggs said. His thick Alabama drawl wrapped around the words with gentle amusement. “Find me a coat hanger, and I can dig it out.”

  “Leave the hole alone,” Jake said. “Whatever’s in there is smaller than all of us.”

  “Could be twice as deadly though,” Yu fretted.

  Briggs nudged him. “Toughen up, junior. I’ll put my trunk over it if it’ll make you feel better.”

  Jake walked away so his tired smile wouldn’t betray him. Yu’s relief was almost palpable. The kid really did need to develop a skin. He was so raw the other guys alternated between teasing him and shielding him.

  The curtain that separated the men’s sleeping area from the two women in their battalion twitched then shoved to the side.

  Jake’s smile disappeared, and tension reared its head once more, but it was a false alarm. Connie Bransom strode through with a towel in one hand and a shower caddy in the other.

  “Lights out in thirty,” he told her.

  She nodded. “Got it, Sarge.”

  Jake sank onto his bunk and looked around their space. As barracks went, it wasn’t the biggest or the most comfortable, but it was adequate. They slept on half-assed beds instead of dirt. The tan canvas covering kept out the majority of the dust and heat. Sixteen bunks with matching foot lockers marched in perfect symmetrical order along the two walls and ended in a small space near the door that held the sole table and chairs where his men played poker.

  They didn’t have much, but they didn’t need much. They were marines.

  Shag groaned then tossed his cards down and rose from the card table. “I’m tapped out, guys.”

  As soon as he stood, Briggs took his place and tossed down some coins. He rubbed his hands together. “Good, now I can take your money.”

  The others hooted. Briggs’s ineptitude with cards was well known.

  Jake was about to stretch out when Shag caught his eye. The tall man looked nervous. He motioned at Jake to stay.

  He watched Shag head for his footlocker, open it, and withdraw a small, cloth-wrapped bundle. The man shot a twitchy stare over his right shoulder toward the card game, but no one paid him any attention.

  He clutched the object as he approached Jake. “Sarge,” he said in a whisper. “I have something you need to see.” Shag held out the bundle.

  Jake frowned as he took it. The object was heavier than it looked like it should be. “What is it?”

  Shag shook his head. “Hurry up and look at it,” he muttered. “I found it in Briggs’s locker.”

  Jake rose swiftly and shoved the still-wrapped thing at him. “We don’t snoop. Put it back.” Anger vibrated in his voice and carried through the tent. The room grew quiet.

  Shag’s eyes grew wild. “You don’t understand,” he said urgently. “This is important. I think he’s stealing from the locals.”

  Before Jake could stop him, Shag unwrapped the piece and held it up.

  “Everything okay, Sarge?” Boone called.

  “Yeah,” Jake said. “I got it.”

  Boone’s dark-black eyes were as implacable as ever. He wore his Native American ancestry like a shroud no one could penetrate. That, combined with Boone’s natural arrogance, irritated the hell out of Jake.
<
br />   “You sure?”

  “He said he’s got it, Shepherd,” Taggart Cain snapped. “Pay attention or get the hell out of my game.”

  “Your game?”

  Jake sensed a brawl brewing. “Can the crap. Lights out in fifteen. Last hand.”

  “Perfect timing,” Fischer said. “I’m winning.” He brushed lank brown hair from his forehead and squinted around the room. His gaze seemed to linger on Shag’s back for a moment too long and with too much intensity.

  Jake frowned then looked down at the piece in Shag’s hands. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know, but it looks important. It looks old.”

  Jake turned it over several times. The statuette depicted a woman in garb that reminded him of a belly dancer’s clothes. Tiny gold chains fitted at her wrists met in a golden collar around her neck. A ruby winked from her navel. Gold slippers with pointed toes adorned her feet. She stood on top of a crocodile. Or it could be a goat. He wasn’t certain. The statue didn’t hold any machine markings he could find. It did look old. It was weathered from exposure and time. He couldn’t even tell what it was made of but thought maybe some kind of clay. He wasn’t any sort of historian, but he knew enough to realize this piece probably wasn’t found in one of the local markets as a souvenir. He had a feeling it was much more important than that.

  He just didn’t know how. “Give it back to Briggs,” he told Shag. “We’ll sort it out tomorrow.”

  “But, Sarge, he didn’t have it this morning. It wasn’t in his locker. Then he and Fischer went out this afternoon for a recon. Just the two of them. That’s when it appeared.”