Seeing the simmering anger in Morgan’s aura, Mallory winced. Wyatt was going to have some fence-mending to do when he got back.
“I’d be a fool to turn you down,” Sawyer told Morgan. “When you’re ready, we’ll talk prices and contracts.”
“You got it.”
As Morgan turned back to shooting, Sawyer returned. “Good job, nymph. You shoot well, even if it has been a while.”
She set the revolver down beside him. “Take a turn, Captain. You know you want to.”
He hesitated, then grinned and loaded it. After hefting the weapon for a second as if to check the weight, he aimed and put all six shots in the head of the most distant pistol target.
Wow. She knew he’d be good, but…wow.
He reloaded, and clang after clang came as he worked on the more distant rifle targets. Almost reluctantly he set the Peacemaker down. “Back to work for you.” He bent to give her a sweet kiss. “Thank you.”
After finishing off a box of cartridges, Mallory was through. Her wrists hurt, her arms were tired, and her accuracy was steadily decreasing.
Taking her revolver, she settled at another log “table” to clean it again…and watch the boys and their toys.
After his military service, Logan had suffered from PTSD, and gunfire used to bother him. In the last couple of years, he’d gotten better. And he certainly did all right when he was hands-on.
Sawyer was obviously enjoying himself, completely at home in the company of the other two.
Although Morgan and Logan were both rough and dangerous outdoorsmen, Morgan made an effort to be approachable. Logan didn’t—and a lot of people found him daunting.
Sawyer fit well with them both.
“You Hunts going to be here for Thanksgiving?” Morgan asked Logan.
“Nope. After our last vacationer at the Lodge checks out, we’re leaving for Oregon until Friday.” Logan added for Sawyer, “It’s my parents’ turn to host us for the holidays. Back when, they’d whine if Jake and I didn’t visit. With Ansel, their demands to see us have gone off the scale.”
Mallory completely understood. Everybody loved the little toddler. “How about the Mastersons? Are you all staying home?”
“Nope,” Morgan said. “Summer’s parents put in a demand to see their daughter, so she and Virg are flying to Iowa tomorrow to spend Thanksgiving there.”
“Are Kallie and Jake going to Oregon, too?” At Logan’s nod, Mallory frowned at Morgan. “You’ll be alone here.” Alone for Thanksgiving?
He shrugged. “Not a big deal.”
Yes, it was. Especially with Wyatt in Africa. “You’ll be at our place, then—say around noon. Atticus and Gin are coming, and dinner is at one.”
Morgan stared at her. “Mallory, you don’t have—”
“Forget it, Masterson.” Sawyer shot her an approving grin. “You don’t argue with a woman about shit like this. A guy might win a battle about firearms. Holidays? Not a chance.”
“I stand corrected.” Morgan turned to her with a grateful smile. “And thank you. I’ll be there. Uh…”
“Relax, I’ve tasted your cooking. You bring the alcohol.” Smothering a laugh at his relief, Mallory turned back to cleaning her revolver.
Chapter Twenty-Six
‡
The aroma of roasting turkey had filled the house for hours. And the wait had been worth it.
Replete, Sawyer surveyed the remains of the Thanksgiving feast. “You make a damn good turkey, nymph.” He wasn’t lying, either. If she wanted, the general contractor could hang up her hammer and cook for a living.
“We made a good turkey,” she said, smiling at him and Morgan.
He grinned. Much like the way she ran her construction site, she’d drafted him and Morgan into chopping and boiling and peeling. The woman could create order from any amount of chaos.
A chorus of agreement came from the guests around the table—his brother, Gin, and Morgan.
With his muzzle on Sawyer’s boot, Achilles shifted and grumbled at the noise. The pup had “assisted” in the kitchen, cleaning up any spills, and despite Sawyer’s standing orders, was treated to far too many tidbits.
Aslan hadn’t been neglected and had retired to the back of the couch to clean his greasy whiskers.
Leaning back with a sigh, Sawyer eyed the pumpkin and apple pies Gin had brought. “If I sit for a while, I’ll manage to free up a corner for dessert.”
The counselor gave him a laughing look. “It’s good to see your optimism has returned.”
“Some of us know how to pace ourselves. I have room for pie,” Morgan said with a smug smile. “And if I didn’t say this before, thank you for the invite, Mal.”
“I’m glad you could come.” With Sawyer’s hand in hers, she smiled at Morgan. “We’ll have to do this more often. We can call it the Kestrel Mountain Gathering or something.”
That sounded good. Sawyer could almost feel his roots extending into the soil. Family and friends. Neighbors. Their mountain. He couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be right now.
Mallory rose to fill everyone’s wine glasses. “I’m sorry Hector had other plans; I was looking forward to meeting your brother.”
“You’ll like him,” Att said. “But after working his ass off to sell the ranch and transport stock to the new one, he was due a sunny vacation.”
“Can’t get more tropical than the Caribbean. Who’s tending his horses?” Morgan asked.
“A couple of the hands stayed on. They’ll babysit the place while Hector chases women,” Atticus said. “With the way he downsized, they’re not working too hard.”
“It’s good to have time to kick back a bit.” Morgan glanced at Mallory. “Who’s babysitting our Town Watch today? Or are you hoping the gang won’t be out and about?”
“If anything, this would be the time they cause trouble,” Mallory said. “The neighborhood watches are covering their own streets. Gustaf volunteered for the downtown. He thought his college-age kid would get a kick out of patrolling with him. Three of the single guys are taking turns watching the gang house. They’ll call in for help if there is any action.”
“Sweet.” Morgan lifted his wine to Mallory in a token salute.
“I still don’t like it,” Atticus protested—which he’d been doing since he heard about the Town Watch. “The neighborhood watch makes good sense, Mallory; however, having civilians monitor the gang house doesn’t. It’s too dangerous.”
“Just living in this town is dangerous.” Mallory lifted her chin. “Our people have been assaulted and mugged. Houses and businesses have been robbed and damaged. There’s graffiti everywhere. Our children are being pressured to join the gang and sell drugs. And our police are exhausted. You guys can’t do it all.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Att growled. “That’s our job.”
“It’s also ours. This is our town, Atticus, and it’s right for us all to defend it.” She smiled slightly. “As for your ‘civilians’, do you know how many veterans live here? They come for the mountains—and the peace. Men like Logan Hunt.”
Sawyer’d tried arguing with her—and lost.
Atticus wasn’t quitting. “Not all of them are veterans.”
Across the table, Masterson straightened, and his brows drew together. “No, not all of us are veterans, Ware. Nonetheless, maybe we’ve picked up a few minor skills. I grew up in this wilderness. Trapping and hunting. Surviving.” As his sense of humor returned, Morgan grinned. “Even occasionally helping the cops catch bad guys.”
Sawyer snorted. The tale of how the Masterson brothers helped Att rescue Gin and her colleague was already a town legend.
Morgan had a point. This was his town. And Mallory’s.
And mine. Somewhere along the line, he’d come to care for the people on this mountain—and in this little town. This was his place and his people, whether some of them ever accepted him or not. “I think you lost this battle, Att.”
“Oh, he did.” Gin giggled
and ran her hand down Att’s arm. “Morgan got you by the short ‘n’ curlies, Atticus.”
“Yeah, I know.” After a grumpy second, Att grinned, then shook his head. “Still… Having people actually watching the Aryan Hammers…”
Mallory interrupted. “Although the Town Watch uses almost anyone who volunteers, only certain people watch the gangsters themselves—mountain men like Morgan, ranchers, loggers, hunters, or veterans.” Mallory’s gaze was steady. “We’re doing our best to make sure no one gets hurt.”
“All right.” Surrendering, Att sat back and put his arm around Gin’s shoulders. “In some ways, I agree with your plan. If the bastards can’t recruit or make money, they’ll probably move away. But there might be a backlash. If the Hammers hope to join one of the big L.A. gangs, they won’t want to look like losers when they go back. Tell your crew to be prepared.”
“I will.” When Mallory took Sawyer’s hand under the table, her fingers were icy cold. She talked a good talk…during the day. During the nights, she’d confessed how frightened she was that one of the watchers would get hurt.
He had the same concerns. Before, he’d worried for her, Gin, and Att. Now his fears had grown to include the entire town.
My town.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‡
Well after midnight on the Saturday night after Thanksgiving, the ClaimJumper crowd had thinned out considerably. Mallory smiled at the people remaining at her table. There were her Thanksgiving guests—Sawyer, Morgan, Atticus, and Gin—as well as Jake and Kallie. A few minutes ago, Logan and Becca had left, since they didn’t want to impose on Sunny and Virgil, who were babysitting Ansel.
Becca had told about Virgil getting down on the floor with Ansel and letting the toddler bounce on his stomach. Mallory grinned at the image. Virgil would make an awesome father.
So would Sawyer.
Sipping her beer, Mallory watched her man. He was laughing at something his brother had said, his aura so brilliant she couldn’t believe others didn’t see it. Although traces of grief from losing his SEAL team and his best friend remained, most of the darkness was gone.
Atticus and Gin’s auras mixed beautifully, and she loved how they unconsciously turned toward each other. Jake and Kallie did the same.
When Mallory and Sawyer had arrived at the tavern, Morgan had been with a couple of women—as usual. The Masterson brothers never lacked female company. Although Wyatt might be more outgoing, just as many women were drawn to Morgan’s quiet confidence. The ladies had certainly been unhappy when the muscular wilderness guide abandoned them to join Mallory’s group.
“So what are your plans for the winter, Sawyer?” Morgan asked, tipping his hat back. “You heading for the tropics like your brother?”
“Nope, I’ll be here or at Hector’s new ranch.” Sawyer eyed him. “I take it you, Kallie, and Virgil read over the contract for the horses?”
“Great. First Mal reads auras, and now you read minds?” Morgan scowled. “Yeah. We talked—and signed. We’ll keep our personal mounts, and you’ll buy the rest. They’ll be happier wintering somewhere not buried under waist-high snow.”
Sawyer smiled and held out his hand to Morgan, then Kallie. “It’ll be good doing business with you.”
After the handshaking was concluded, Kallie asked, “How are you doing with the other guide services?”
“Three are on the fence. One is in. Another one is adding horses to their services and will lease from me, but they’re starting small.” Sawyer shrugged. “I’d hoped for better; still, considering my background and newness to the area, it’s not surprising.”
“Takes time,” Atticus agreed. He glanced at his watch. “We probably should head home.”
Gin leaned into him. “Can we dance first?”
The big detective smiled. “Absolutely.”
Before he could rise, his cell rang with the ringtone that Mallory knew was for the police station. A hand on Gin’s shoulder, he pulled it out. “Ware.”
Mallory recognized the loud, frantic voice of a young patrol officer. “Thank fuck I got you. A Town Watch guy called. He says the Aryan Hammers set fire to Simmons’s house—and is still there. The family’s trapped inside.”
“Fuck.” Atticus glanced at Sawyer. “Get the women home.”
“Aye.”
Atticus kissed Gin hard. Barking orders into the phone, he ran out the door.
After a second of stunned silence, Morgan rose and turned toward Sawyer. “The bastards will be armed, and we don’t have many cops on this weekend. The rest aren’t close enough to get here fast.”
He was right. Mallory felt the blood drain from her face. She turned to Sawyer. “The fire department has only a few volunteers. What if the gang shoots at them?”
Sawyer’s jaw turned tight. “Bet that’s their plan. The Hammers want the cops to show up.”
Gin gasped. “What?”
“It’s a fucking trap. With people in danger, the cops have to respond.”
Mallory’s hands clenched. Sawyer would feel he had no choice either. He could get hurt. Killed. Her skin went cold. “Sawyer.”
He was already rising to his feet and slinging on his denim jacket.
She took his hand, held him back. “Don’t go alone, my Captain. Let the town help. Tell us what to do.”
He stared at her.
“She’s right, Ware,” Morgan stated. “I got your back, but we’re still outnumbered.”
She could see Sawyer’s conflict, his fear that civilians would get hurt. Would die.
“You can’t do it alone, Sawyer.” The push he needed was obvious. “Simmons has a teenaged daughter and a seven-year-old. Take the help you need to get them out.”
“Fuck.” Her man tugged absently on his hat brim, then, no longer in doubt, stepped up onto a chair. In a voice that had commanded men in war, he yelled, “Listen up!”
My turn. Mallory stepped up onto her own chair and amped her volume to band saw strength. “The Town Watch is called to action.”
Someone yanked the plug from the jukebox.
People stood to see what was going on.
Sawyer continued. “Your Town Watch called the police. The Aryan Hammers set fire to Simmons’s house.”
“Son of a bitch!” Men started moving toward the door in a rush.
“Stop!” Sawyer’s voice could have cut steel.
The crowd stopped.
“The bastards are out for blood. Anyone with weapons, get over here. If you don’t have a firearm, hang back until we clear the way.” Sawyer jumped down and swung Mallory down, too.
A surprising number of people flowed toward the table. Then again, with the rise in crime, more locals had been going armed.
“You can’t give us orders, Ware.” An ex-corrections officer named Romero rose with a scowl. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
Mallory glared. “Sawyer is—”
Morgan’s loud voice drowned her out. “Who the hell do you think has been the vigilante in this town? Who kept the bastards from ripping off the vet clinic? Stopped drug deals? I know it wasn’t you, big mouth.” Morgan gave Romero a dismissive look. “Our vigilante is the Navy SEAL. A captain.”
“A SEAL? Well, damn.” The owner of the convenience store, Mark Greaves, gave Sawyer a respectful nod.
More stunned murmurs came from the surrounding crowd.
“Ha!” Terry Breton from the feed store grinned at Sawyer. “I figured you were the one fucking them gangsters up. What are your orders, Cap?”
Sawyer nodded to Terry, and the colors in his aura took on a deeper hue as he assumed the responsibilities of command.
He glanced at Morgan. “What’s Simmons’s place look like?”
“It’s on Riffle Avenue, which dead-ends to the north. Roger’s is the last house—a two-story on the left.” Morgan stroked his mustache and considered. “Front yard is grass. There are two houses across the street, both heavily wooded. Roger’s backyard is forest al
l the way to Gold Dust, the next street over. There’s lots of cover, except in the front yard.”
Sawyer scowled. “We’ll get slaughtered if we drive up Riffle, which the cops and firefighters will do. So, Gold Dust is to the west? Pay Dirt Avenue parallels it to the east?”
“Affirmative, Cap. Closest cross street is Argonaut.” Terry yanked out a pen and showed Simmons’s house at the end of Riffle with the nearest two parallel streets.
“We can land a team on Gold Dust.” Sawyer pointed to where Simmons’s backyard would meet the street. “And here on Pay Dirt. If we cut through the backyards, we’ll have cover.”
Terry nodded. “That’ll work. No time for anything more elaborate.”
“If the gang got their revenge and ran, we’re golden. If not”—Sawyer motioned to the people on his right and held up the napkin—“You’re going to drive down Gold Dust without lights, park at the end, make your way through Simmons’s backyard and to each side of his house. Use the cover of the trees. If the police are pinned down—and I’m betting they will be—we’ll have to open fire on the gang. The goal is to drive them away so the firefighters can get the family out.”
Sawyer’s jaw tightened. “People, be sure of your target and what’s behind it. We don’t want good guys killed by friendly fire, yeah?”
When he studied the feed store owner, Mallory remembered Terry had been a Green Beret.
Sawyer said to Terry, “In the dark, our best bet is a pincer movement with an overwhelming assault. Otherwise, the gangbangers could target individual shooters by the muzzle flashes. So wait for my order and make sure your team fires together.”
Terry saluted casually. “You got it, sir.”
The Aryan Hammers would be shooting at…everyone. At Sawyer. Mallory swallowed hard.
Sawyer pointed to Terry and told the group of people on his right, “You are the Gold Dust Team, and here’s your leader. He is in charge, am I clear?”
A chorus of agreement sounded: Aye-aye, sir; Affirmative; Yes, sir; and a couple of Oorahs from the Marines.
Master of Solitude (Mountain Masters & Dark Haven Book 8) Page 27
