Montana Rescue (Sleeper SEALs) (Volume 6)

by Elle James

  When he’d died, something inside her had died with him. The ability to love someone else. Why bother falling in love, when something as random as a freak hunting accident, an automobile wreck or illness could take that person away. One day he could be there, the next day gone. Forever.

  Jolie sat on the top step of the porch, wrapped her arms around her bare legs and let the tears fall. She hadn’t bothered to slip the jacket over her shoulders and didn’t notice the cold, at first.

  Sobs pushed up from her lungs, but she swallowed them, trying not to make enough noise to wake the man in the barn. CIA assassins didn’t cry. But she needed this. Needed the release and needed it to be without witnesses.

  At first, she allowed the tears to flow unheeded, dripping down on her knees drawn up under her T-shirt and pressed up against her chest. When her shirt became damp, it absorbed the cold and made her shiver.

  Jolie rubbed her hands down her face in an attempt to slow the flow of tears. Her body shook as cold sank through her skin and into her bones.

  She blindly reached for her jacket, and it magically dropped down over her shoulders, at first cool, then warming.

  An arm slipped around her and pulled her against a warm, solid body.

  Jolie glanced up, too buried in her grief to be alarmed when she looked into Mad Dog’s face, bathed in starlight. She stiffened against him and ducked her head. “I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to see this.” When she tried halfheartedly to pull away, he tightened his arm around her.

  “It’s okay. I won’t tell a soul.”

  “It’s just…” She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat refusing to allow the words to escape.

  “You don’t have to explain yourself. Just let me keep you warm for now,” he said. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

  She hadn’t realized when she’d started to tremble or why, but he was right. The temperature had to have dropped into the forties, and she’d barely worn anything worthy of warding off the chill night air.

  Mad Dog reached backward, pulled a sleeping bag over their shoulders and wrapped it around them.

  Jolie knew she should resist, but she couldn’t. Not when she was shaking so hard and Mad Dog’s body was so hot. “How d-did you s-sneak up on m-me s-so easily?” she asked, between chattering teeth.

  “I bedded down in the corner of the porch.”

  “B-but it’s so cold out. You could have frozen to death.”

  “I had the sleeping bag. You can still feel how warm it was. Besides, it’s not much warmer in the barn.”

  She nodded and snuggled closer, absorbing the man’s body heat. “Thank you.”

  His arm tightened around her, but she didn’t say anything.

  Jolie was glad he didn’t. They sat in a long silence. She stared at the stars, not seeing them, but thinking about the man holding her close. How had she come to this? From telling him to leave, to leaning into him as if her life depended on it? She should push him away and send him packing. But she couldn’t.

  “Missing your father?” Mad Dog asked.

  She nodded and wiped the moisture off her cheek. “I thought I could waltz back in here, get the place in order, catch my terrorist and turn around and sell the ranch. No problem.” She snorted. “I was wrong,” Jolie whispered. “The place isn’t the same as when my father was here.”

  “Was your father good to you?”

  She nodded. “The best father a girl could ever hope to have.” She smiled, the tears still ready, but holding off for the moment. “Oh, he didn’t do my hair or sew my clothes, but he taught me things I’d need to know as an adult.”

  “Like?”

  “That I can do things myself. I don’t need anyone else to build something, fix something or replace parts on an engine. I could do anything I set my mind to.”

  “Did he teach you to shoot?”

  She nodded. “When other girls were getting curling irons and dresses for Christmas, my father got me a rifle. I learned how to shoot using that, and my father’s rifle and his shotgun. He taught me how to fire the pistol he carried sometimes to shoot rattlesnakes.”

  “Sounds like he wanted you to be able to take care of yourself.”

  Jolie tightened her arms around her legs. “It’s like he somehow knew he wouldn’t be there for me someday.”

  “You’re lucky,” Mad Dog said.

  Jolie shot a glance his way, frowning. “Lucky? He was shot while out hunting. He died far too early in his life. He’s not here to be there for me when I need someone. He won’t walk me down the aisle if I ever get married, which is highly unlikely. After losing him, I can’t see investing my heart in anyone else. Why bother, when they could up and die on me?” She sighed. “He’ll never know grandchildren, and if I do have a kid someday, my kid will never know what a great man his grandfather was.”

  As she’d talked, Mad Dog stiffened against her. “You’re lucky you had a good father for as long as you did. You’re lucky your memories are happy. No one can take those away from you. You’re lucky he cared enough to teach you anything.” Mad Dog’s voice wasn’t necessarily harsh, but it was tightly controlled and distant.

  She sighed. “You’re right. I need to think about what I had, not about what I lost. Most women never have the kind of close relationship I had with my father. If not for him, I wouldn’t be the person I am today.” For a long moment, she sat in silence, letting the good memories flow over her. Riding horseback alongside her father, mending fences, worming cattle, lying out on a hill under the stars, talking about the constellations or saying nothing at all. “What about you, Caleb? What was your family like?”

  “Not like yours,” he said, his words clipped, his tone stony.

  She gave him a moment or two of silence, but her curiosity got the better of her. She wanted to know more about this man who’d come to be her partner for this mission. “You know where I grew up,” she said softly. “Where did you grow up?”

  “Houston.”

  “Do you have brothers and sisters?” she asked.

  “No.” He shifted, his arm loosening around her.

  “Like me. An only child.”

  He shook his head. “Nothing like you. Your father gave a damn about you.”

  “And yours didn’t?”

  “He only cared how about fast I could bring him his next beer.” Mad Dog’s words came out between tight lips. “Although, I have to say, he taught me a few important life lessons.”

  “What were they?”

  “Don’t rely on anyone else for your own food and shelter. Be prepared to work for it.”

  Holy hell. Had his father not provided for him? She had no words to respond to his revelation.

  Mad Dog’s voice lowered to little more than a whisper. “And don’t give anyone the power to break your heart, because you can’t ever rely on the people who are supposed to love you.”

  * * *

  As soon as the words left his mouth, Mad Dog wished he hadn’t said them. He’d never opened up to anyone about how shitty his life had been growing up. Now, here he was spilling his guts to his new partner. What an idiot. If he wasn’t keeping her warm, he’d get up and walk away. She probably thought of him as weak and pathetic.

  He waited, cringing inwardly. When she finally spoke, it wasn’t what he’d thought she’d say.

  She snorted softly. “Okay, well, then we both have commitment issues. It’s a good thing we’re not falling in love, or we’d be up a crappy creek without life preservers.” She pushed the blanket off her shoulders and stood, tugging at the T-shirt to cover as much bare skin as possible. “Since you’re already here at the house, and it’s getting really cold,” she shivered as if to emphasize her point, “you might as well sleep on the couch in the living room.”

  “You trust me?” he asked rising to his feet.

  “I guess I have to. You saved me from a fate worse than death by removing the raccoon from my bedroom. Besides, I sleep with my handgun.” Her eyes narrowed. “Try a
nything, and I’ll shoot you.”

  He raised his hands. “I promise not to try anything…” His lips twisted. “Unless you want me to.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry about that. Remember my commitment issues?”

  “Sex doesn’t have to be about commitment,” he reminded her.

  “Yeah,” she said, her tone flat. “I’ve learned that in the eight years I’ve been away. I also learned fraternizing with your partner is never a good idea.”

  Mad Dog grinned. “Glad to see you’re learning to accept it.”

  She frowned. “Accept what?”

  “That we’re partners.”

  She stared at him in the starlight, her eyes narrowing to slits. Finally, she nodded. “Yeah, about that...”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Ma’am?”

  “I have a terrorist to bring down. You can hang around and pretend to protect me, but don’t get in my way, or I’ll shoot you to get to him.”

  Mad Dog pressed a hand to his chest. “Ouch. I see where I rank. But don’t worry. I’m here to help, not to hinder.”

  “Good. Keep thinking like that and we might just get along.” A cold breeze lifted the hair off the back of her neck. The illumination from the stars cast her in indigo-blue, softening the contours of her face.

  Mad Dog’s breath hitched in his chest. Jolie didn’t realize just how attractive she was. Any man would be lucky to have her. Lucky that she was strong and competent in her skills. If she entered a relationship, she’d be there as an equal. Not because she needed a man’s protection, but because she wanted his love.

  Jolie wrapped her jacket around herself and stared up at the stars.

  Mad Dog followed her glance to the blanket of twinkling lights filling the heavens. “Something about a clear night sky makes me calm. When my father would come home drunk and yell and break things, I’d leave the trailer and sleep out in the open.” His lips stretched into a rueful smile. “I pretended I was an intergalactic traveler, exploring worlds very different from ours. Even when I was at war in the Middle East, the stars seemed to talk to me, to let me know they would always be there.”

  Jolie’s lips turned up on the corners. “My father loved the night sky. I think he would’ve liked being an astronaut, if he hadn’t had this ranch his family left to him.”

  They stood for another long moment.

  Jolie shivered, her body shaking violently.

  “You need to get inside before you catch a cold or a bullet from a terrorist.”

  Jolie didn’t argue. She opened the screen door and stepped into the house.

  Mad Dog scooped up the sleeping bag and followed.

  “Sorry. The couch is all I can offer. I haven’t had time to clean any of the other bedrooms.” She switched on the light in the living room. “Do you need blankets?”

  “No. The sleeping bag will do.”

  “Good. Because I need to inventory the linens and see if any are worth saving. If one raccoon was in the house, I can imagine mice have been making their homes here as well.”

  “Again, I’m here to help. No task is too hard or menial.”

  She chuckled. “Good, the floor needs mopping tomorrow before we head to town.”

  “Town?”

  “I need supplies.”

  “Shouldn’t you be digging in? Watching for Nadir?”

  Jolie glanced over her shoulder. “Yes. But I can’t just sit and wait.”

  “That’s what I did when I was assigned as a sniper.”

  “If I were anywhere else, I would do just that. But I’m not. I grew up working this ranch. Sitting around wasn’t an option. I have to keep moving or the grief will consume me.” She didn’t wait for a response, but simply turned and walked down the hallway to her bedroom.

  Mad Dog stood rooted to the floor until he heard the sound of her door closing. Then he took the sleeping bag and draped it across the brown leather couch.

  The more he thought about Jolie’s words, the tighter his chest grew. He’d talked about not loving anyone because of how his parents had treated him. In actuality, he’d learned to care for his teammates and depend on them to have his six.

  Then, because he’d been injured, his SEAL family had been taken away from him. His time in the mountains of Colorado had been his time to grieve for his loss and reinforce his belief that investing his heart again would only lead to more pain.

  Perhaps, he’d wallowed too long, but now he had purpose. A job to do that had meaning and purpose. The country was under attack by radicalized homegrown terrorists. Jolie was a target because she’d removed one of the terrorists. If he wanted to do the job right, he had to keep his head on straight and not get emotionally involved with his partner.

  That should be easy, considering she’d made it clear any advances on his part would be unwanted and shut down in a heartbeat. Or shot down…

  Mad Dog chuckled, though he knew he shouldn’t. The woman was serious. She’d shoot him if he tried any sexual advances toward her.

  His groin tightened like it had while he’d held her in the circle of his arms beneath the sleeping bag. Her curves had pressed against his side, making him more than aware of her as a woman, not just a CIA agent.

  That she’d been crying made her even more human and vulnerable, emotionally, if not physically. He was sure she would have taken him down if he’d been the terrorist.

  If she’d been fully aware of the danger... He hadn’t pointed out her carelessness. At the time, she’d been pretty wrapped in her grief. But had he not been there and Nadir had been lurking in the shadows…Jolie would have been dead.

  Setting herself up as a target and luring her predator to her own stomping grounds had been a good idea. But Jolie had some unresolved issues to work through regarding her old home.

  Mad Dog hoped she resolved them quickly. If she planned on living through this assignment, she needed to have her head in the game.

  Thankfully, he was there to have her back. Lambert had been right to send someone to make sure the terrorist was eliminated. Hopefully, Mad Dog could do that before Nadir had a chance to take out his vengeance on Jolie.

  Too wound up to lie down, Mad Dog did another search of the house to make sure the windows and doors remained locked. He paused in front of Jolie’s bedroom door, imagining her with her hand beneath her pillow, resting on her pistol. No way he’d open that door, unless she invited him in. And he’d only enter on the condition she set the gun aside.

  His lips curled. Would he take her up on an invitation to join her in her bedroom for other than raccoon removal?

  Oh, hell, yeah. The woman was built for making love—strong, powerful and with curves in all the right places.

  Mad Dog switched off the light in the living room and lay on his back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, illuminated by the starlight peeking through the window.

  Yesterday, he’d been alone on a mountain, contemplating throwing himself off a cliff. Today, he was very glad he hadn’t.

  Despite her arguments to the contrary, Jolie needed him. He hoped, with his bum leg and all, that he he’d be able to help when the time came.

  6

  The rapid report of gunfire jerked Mad Dog awake. He blinked his eyes open, wondering if he’d been dreaming.

  Sunlight streamed through the curtains into the living room. After lying awake for most of the night, he must have fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning.

  Had he been asleep, reliving the last firefight in that village in Afghanistan? Or had he really heard gunfire?

  Mad Dog sat up, dragged on his boots and leaped to his feet. His heart racing, he ran down the hallway to Jolie’s bedroom. The door stood open, the room empty and the bed made.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  This time he was wide-awake and the sound was definitely that of gunfire. He hurried through the kitchen and out the back door into the chilly morning air.

  His first instinct was to survey the area, searching for bad guys. H
e scanned the bushes, shadows and corners of the barn. As far as he could tell, no one stood by ready to take out the woman alone in the barnyard.

  Jolie stood in the morning sunshine, wearing jeans, cowboy boots and a dark bomber jacket and facing one of the pasture fences. Her strawberry-blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the base of her neck, and she wore no makeup, the freckles across her nose standing out in sharp contrast to her pale skin. She held a pistol in her right hand with her left hand braced beneath it.

  On a fence rail several yards away stood a line of five soda cans.

  Jolie stood steady, her arms parallel to the ground and fired.

  For each shot, a can jumped into the air and fell to the ground.

  When she’d finished, she slid back the bolt on her weapon, checked for any unexpended rounds and allowed the bolt to ride forward when she’d determined it was empty. Then she glanced toward the house.

  Mad Dog descended the steps off the back porch and crossed the yard toward her.

  “Sorry, did I wake you?” she asked, her lip turned up in a smirk.

  “I should have been awake already.” Mad Dog ran a hand through his hair. “Do you always start your day with target practice?”

  “Only when I’m here on the ranch, and I can’t sleep.” Her lips twisted. “Care to give it a shot?” She handed him her pistol and a box of bullets from her jacket pocket. “While you reload, I’ll set up the cans.”

  He took the offering, dropped the magazine into his palm and loaded it. “Is this some kind of test?”

  “Maybe,” she said without turning around. One by one, she set up six empty soda cans. When she was done, she rejoined him. “Why? Are you too sleepy to handle it?”

  The sound of gunfire had jerked him from dead sleep to fully awake. “I can handle it,” he said. Though he preferred to use weapons he was familiar with, he was confident he could manage at close range.

  He aimed the handgun at the soda can, breathed in and out then caressed the trigger.

  The can flew into the air.

  “Lucky shot,” Jolie commented beside him. “Can you do it again?”