The Edge Of Courage

by Elaine Levine

Light fell across her face. Rocco was unprepared for the effect she had on him. Her skin was pale, smooth like cream, freckles sprinkled lightly across her nose. Her cheeks were rosy with the day’s crisp air. Straight gold-red hair the color of copper wire hung in loose streams over her shoulders. Her eyes were large and very green, like emerald cabochons. Her dark lashes were spiky with moisture. Had she been crying?

  Rocco ignored that likelihood, focusing instead on the fact that good old Kit had given him a poor description of his half sister all these years. She wasn’t anything like a redheaded, freckle-faced monster. As she looked at him, those green gemstones narrowed.

  “Can I help you?” she asked in a voice so melodious he shivered.

  “Kit sent me. Said you had a job opening.”

  Mandy took one look at the man standing before her and silently cursed her brother. She’d told Kit she needed a handyman-barely a couple of hours ago-and he sends her him.

  The man was silhouetted against the stormy sky, which deepened the shadows in the hard angles of his face. He had dark-brown hair that curled a little at the edges of his hat brim. His beard, filling in from several days of not shaving, did little to gentle his jaw or obscure the shallow cleft in his chin. His lips were rounded and sensuous, though the lines bracketing his mouth gave him an edgy look. His nose was straight and narrow, flared slightly at the nostrils. His eyes were black. His gaze, obscured somewhat beneath the wide brim of his cowboy hat, was cold. Ancient. Impossible to read.

  Her senses went on high alert. If Kit hadn’t vouched for him, she would send him packing. She should anyway. He was every inch a warrior. She studied his eyes, trying to get a feel for what type of worker he would be, but she couldn’t see past his stony expression. Wolf Valley Therapeutic Riding Center was to be a place of sunshine and healing, not the dark shadow world of a haunted soldier.

  “Oh, no. No. No, Kit.” She shook her head

  The man leaned against the side of the shed and let his grin out, flashing white teeth against his olive complexion. “You’re a fan of his too, huh?”

  “I thought he was going to send a friend over.”

  “I am a friend.”

  “No. You’re a Green Beret.”

  The man’s face hardened. “I’m out of the service. I wasn’t Special Forces.”

  Mandy frowned. “With all that’s going on around here, I don’t need you to take a job you’re not going to keep. It’s hard enough to get anyone to stay as it is, but putting an adrenalin-junky in a low-level handyman’s position won’t fly. Thank you for coming all the way out here. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

  “Well now, sweetheart,” the man drawled, “you didn’t hire me, so you can’t fire me.”

  Mandy squared her shoulders as she met his steely gaze. Adding him to the mix of everything else that was happening was like holding a flame to a Molotov cocktail. A plain bad idea.

  “I want you to leave.”

  “Negative.”

  “Mr-” What had Kit said his name was? “Whoever you are-”

  “Rocco Silas.”

  “You’re trespassing. How about I call the cops?”

  Rocco quirked a brow at her. “How about you do that?” he agreed. Kit’s sister glared at him. He sent her another grin just to see the flush rise on her skin again. Sun broke through the stormy clouds, streaming through the air to brighten a circle about her, igniting the highlights in her hair until it was the color of wheat washed in a red sunset. It fascinated him. It was as changeable and dramatic as the woman herself. Yanking her flaming mane around one side of her neck, she reached into her pocket and withdrew her cell. She hit one number, then lifted the phone to her ear.

  If she was calling the cops, he didn’t like the fact that she had them on speed dial-or rather, that she had a need to have them on speed dial.

  “Your Neanderthal’s here. Call him off, Kit.”

  Rocco took advantage of her preoccupation with the phone call to give her a thorough look-over. Her jaw was a tempting line that ended in a narrow chin. Her neck was slim. Her shoulders looked thin and feminine in her jean jacket. Beneath it, she wore a top that emphasized a nice rack and a sleek ribcage. Her shirt was longer than her jacket, flaring out over her hips. Her legs were long and slim, her jeans tight enough to accentuate the toned muscles of her thighs. He stared at her legs, realizing she stirred something in him that had long been dormant.

  Christ, this was not going to be an easy assignment. He had not expected to be attracted to Kit’s sister. It was a distraction he could do without right now.

  He cut her arguments short as he pulled the phone from her and held it up to his ear. “We’re cool, Kit. I got this.” He shut off the phone and handed it back to her. “Tell me where I can put my gear.”

  Mandy glared at him, sorely tempted to tell him exactly where he could put his things. “Just for the summer, Em. Please? I need to know you’re safe. And there’s no one I trust more than Rocco,” Kit had asked so nicely before he’d been cutoff.

  Silence settled between her and Rocco, broken only by the wind that whined as it curled around the toolshed’s entrance. It caught her hair again, tossing it in front of her face, toward her brother’s friend. She didn’t look away from him as she drew it over one shoulder, didn’t miss the way he tracked the path her hair made across her skin.

  She glared at him, disliking the heat his gaze spread through her. “I need a man who can pull his weight around here.”

  The humor drained from his face. “This ain’t my first choice of gigs, either, sweetheart. Why don’t we try it and see how it goes for a week or two? Besides, I can fix that weed whacker you gutted.”

  “Two weeks. If you can last that long.” She held out her hand. “I’m Mandy Fielding.”

  Rocco looked at her small, long-fingered hand but did not complete the gesture. It was a handshake, for chrissake. A simple handshake. He didn’t touch her. He couldn’t risk it. She dropped her hand almost as quickly as she’d offered it.

  “Tell me you’re not afraid to get your hands dirty?”

  He didn’t answer her. She had no idea how stained his hands were.

  “Right,” she continued, nervously filling the breach his silence caused. She rubbed her palms on the sides of her thighs. “Well, I need some pastures mowed, old barbed wire removed, new fencing put up.” She looked back to the cluttered garage. “And I need someone who can work magic with ancient farm equipment. That sound like something you’re interested in?”

  Rocco pulled a long draw of air. Wolf Valley Therapeutic Riding Center was way the hell off the beaten track. He cast a quick glance around them, seeing all the mindless, physical work that needed to be done-work he looked forward to tackling for the very reason that it was mindless. He glanced at Kit’s sister. “It is.”

  “It pays $300 a week plus room and board.”

  He nodded, making no effort to negotiate. She cocked her head, studying him. He met her look with an unblinking gaze, his features shuttered.

  “You know anything about ranching? You ever worked on a ranch before?”

  “I grew up on a spread over in Albany County. Always thought I’d be one of the hands there one day.”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Army. Afghanistan. Been gone a long time.”

  “When did you get back?”

  “A few months ago. I guess Kit didn’t give you my dossier.” He hoped she would take the bait, hoped it would distract her from drilling into the fact he’d been at Walter Reed until about a week ago.

  It worked.

  She crossed her arms and bit a corner of her mouth as she studied him. “No dossier, but it’s not needed. Kit vouched for you. You’ve got two weeks.”

  Mandy turned and led the way to the older, smaller farmhouse. Four steps led up to a deep porch and a front door that opened into a small kitchen. “You’re the only one staying here, so pick your bunk. The kitchen’s stocked and linens are in the close
t.” She pushed the door open and stood back while he entered.

  He did a quick circuit of the kitchen and living room, then turned down the hallway and looked at both of the bedrooms. Two twin beds were in either room with a bathroom between them that was entered by the hallway. The space was simple, clean. And a long, long way from the beautiful, jagged ranges of the Hindu Kush with its ancient, organic homes and enemies lurking in every shadow.

  “You hiring more hands?” Rocco asked as he came back into the kitchen. A house this size would have slept ten or twenty fighters in Afghanistan, but after the fiasco at the shelter, he didn’t feel like sharing the space.

  “Not for a while. Not until we’re closer to opening. I’m looking for a barn manager, but he’ll eventually have an apartment in the stable.”

  Kit’s sister sent him a measuring glance, and Rocco wondered what those big, green eyes of hers saw. When she backed across the threshold to the open space of the porch, he supposed he had his answer.

  He was what he was and couldn’t be anything else until he finished what waited for him. One more mission, one that was personal. When it was over, he would learn to be a civilian. Regular people everywhere managed to live normal lives. He could, too. He would have to.

  Rocco took out his phone and dialed her number. “Kit gave me your number. Here’s mine.” He nodded at her phone, which had started ringing. “Save it. Don’t hesitate to call me if something seems odd. I’ve got a pair of walkie-talkies in my truck. Keep one with you at all times so that you can get me anywhere on this ranch if phone reception is bad.”

  Kit’s sister saved his number and put her phone away. “Great. When you get settled, come get me.”

  “I’m settled.”

  She smiled slowly, still trying to figure him. He wished her luck.

  “Well, if you can fix the tractor, I need to get those two pastures mowed. Then take down the old barbed wire and posts. I have new fencing being delivered in a couple of weeks. I’m going to be using these pastures as a quarantine area for new horses so that I can work with them before I move them down to the stable to be used in therapy. Several folks have horses to donate, but they’ll need a fair amount of training before I can put a special-needs child or a disabled adult on any of them.”

  Rocco listened to her, feeling apart from her, from himself. Her words became muddled. It was too much talking. He could feel his mind shutting down, insulating him from being pulled out of himself and into her world. He had to stay separate, keep focused on his healing. While he was here, he would keep her safe, and he’d throw himself into the work, but he wouldn’t let himself get caught up in the sweetness of her voice or the beauty of her eyes or the strange, melting sensation that being near her spawned inside him.

  “Show me around your spread,” he blurted before she elaborated further on a future he wouldn’t be here to see. “And give me a run down of the problems Kit said you’ve been experiencing. Then I’ll decide where I start working.”

  Chapter 3

  Mandy stepped off the bunkhouse porch. “I shouldn’t have told Kit,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I wouldn’t have except he caught me at an off moment and wouldn’t let it go. There’s nothing going on. Not really. Every construction project has problems. It’s only that I’m up against a tight deadline, and nothing is falling into place. I wanted to open in August, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. I don’t know when I’ll be able to open. And if I can’t start earning an income, this whole project is in jeopardy.”

  “Talk to me while we walk. I’ll see for myself.”

  Mandy faced him, her hands on her hips. “I don’t need a soldier, Mr. Silas. I need a handyman. Please don’t look for trouble that isn’t there.”

  “My name’s Rocco. You’ve had to call the cops, true? How many times?”

  “Twice. Several tools were taken from the construction site. Another time someone soaked the newly poured foundation in the stable. It froze overnight. Ruined it. Delayed work a week while the old concrete was removed and a fresh foundation was poured.”

  “Are your neighbors complaining of troubles? Burglaries? Vandalism? Stuff like this happening to others around here as well?”

  “No.”

  “Kit said you’ve had a hard time keeping a handyman on staff. What happened with them?”

  “You’re the fourth I’ve hired. One needed extended time off to go help his daughter on her ranch. The next worked for a week, then never came back. The third went on a drinking bender. He kept coming to work either drunk or hungover, so I fired him-just this morning.”

  Rocco looked around the property. He wanted a handle on the trouble Kit was worried about. He would deal with the work piling up once the situation was secured. “Let’s take that tour.”

  Mandy’s property was on the upper slope of a steep ravine overlooking the town of Wolf Creek Bend far to the southeast. The terrain’s natural terraces had been excavated to make the land useable.

  Her home, the upper pastures, and the miscellaneous farm buildings that comprised the private ranch area were on the top level. The wide middle tier held the equestrian center buildings that were under construction. And the lower plateau contained several pastures. Mandy led him down the long driveway from the private residence to the first of two lower steppes.

  The construction site was muddy from recent spring rains. They slogged across a thick road to a temporary construction trailer. Mandy climbed the steps. She stamped then scraped the mud off her boots as best she could. “George?” she called as she opened the trailer door and leaned inside.

  “Right here. What can I do for you?” A slim man in his early fifties stood in the muddy road behind them. Rocco turned, taking a good look at Mandy’s construction manager. His face was lean and gray. Shadows darkened his eyes, making him appear tired and haggard.

  “George, this is Rocco Silas, a friend of my brother’s. Rocco, this is George Bateman, the construction foreman. Rocco’s going to be helping me up top.”

  George held out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Glad to see Mandy’s rounded up some help.”

  Rocco glanced at the foreman’s hand as his turned sweaty in his pocket. Take it, he urged himself. It’s a goddamned handshake. Take it.

  “He doesn’t shake hands. War injury,” Mandy answered for him.

  Fuck. Now he was hiding behind a girl.

  “Ah.” George dropped his hand. “Iraq or Afghanistan?”

  “Afghanistan.”

  “You boys did us proud over there. Thank you. So how can I help you?”

  “Mandy mentioned some problems you’ve been having,” Rocco said. “Mind if I look around, talk to your crew?”

  “Not at all. I did a background check on every single one of my men. Besides a few traffic violations and some spotty credit scores, they had clean records. No drugs. No felonies. Maybe you can find something the cops and I couldn’t.”

  “Credit problems bad enough to make them want to steal?”

  “Nope. Just good men living through some bad times. Hasn’t been as much work as we’d like lately. Some of their wives have been unemployed. Their families have been suffering. This job was a godsend.”

  “Where were the tools taken from?”

  George nodded at a utility trailer. “We lock anything valuable up in the trailer every night. Found it busted wide open one morning when we came to work.”

  “You got some enemies, George? Disgruntled former employees? Angry competitors?”

  A muscle worked at the edge of the foreman’s jaw. “I treat my employees fairly. Pay them top wages. Hell, I’m barely making any profit on this job. I’m paying most of it to the men just so I can keep them. I would hate to get through these lean times and have no workers available for new projects. So, yeah. This job was competed, and I won it ‘cause I bid it low. Maybe that was unfair, but it’s survival.”

  “You didn’t win on price alone, George. You have a stellar reputation and you’re lo
cal,” Mandy added. “Those were important factors.” She looked at Rocco. “The other companies were in different states. I doubt this job would have stirred much of an angry response from the losing bidders.”

  George gave them a tour of the buildings under construction, including an indoor arena, a pole barn, and a long stable with space for an office, a meeting room, and a small apartment at one end. Another crew was working on fencing for three pastures and a couple of smallish, round corrals in the lower terrace. It was an impressive setup.

  When they finished the tour, Rocco asked to see the rest of the property. Mandy led him north toward a deer trail that led up a steep hill. The trail made a couple of switchback turns behind her house. At the top of the ridge, they could see all the way down to the town. To the west, the Snowy Range Mountains rose in jagged peaks of granite, hostile and forbidding like the steep ranges of the Hindu Kush, stirring an unexpected wave of homesickness in Rocco.

  The wind that was merely a breeze below was blistering where they stood, clearing out the heavy clouds. The vista was breathtaking. Rocco filled his lungs with the crisp air. Twice. It smelled of snow and dust and sunshine.

  He looked at Mandy, watched her peer across the view, her expression softening as she gazed at the land that she loved. The wind brought him a whiff of her soft scent. He pulled it into his lungs, secretly savoring it until a wave of guilt hit him. He didn’t deserve to stand here in the warm sun and cold breeze, safe in the heart of America, enjoying the company of a woman. The ache he felt for what he’d left behind wasn’t only skin-deep, it was bone deep. Soul deep, a MRSA infection in his spirit, consuming what was left of him.

  Mandy made a quick braid of her hair so that it wouldn’t blow, but her fiery mane defied restraint. She caught his gaze. He forced himself to look away and was relieved when she started down the other side.

  He was about to follow her when a patch of white in the dirt caught his attention. He stepped over to it. Cigarettes.

  “Mandy, do you smoke?”

  She came to his side and looked at the ground. “No, but my grandfather used to.”