by April Hunt
“And you’ve done this sort of thing before?”
“I have. Trust me, sir. I’m not letting anything happen to your granddaughter.”
“I’d like to believe that, son, but she’s already been taken once by these people. In Alaska. Who’s to say it won’t happen again?”
Isa opened her mouth to intervene, but Roman cut her off. “I do.”
Isa counted to ten until her grandfather finally looked somewhat appeased. “That’s what I hoped to hear.”
“Mr. Santiago. Sorry to interrupt, sir.” One of the ranch hands stepped up to the porch. “Henry arrived with the dance floor. Do you want me to have him put it alongside the grain feeder until the boys are finished prepping the barn?”
“Sounds like a plan, Ben. I’ll be down in a half hour or so to see how things are coming along.” Carlos dismissed the young cowboy with a nod.
Henry Walton. Dance floor. Barn.
All those words slowly reformed in Isa’s brain until it came out with one vividly clear memory that involved all of them. “Grandpa, what weekend is this?”
His smile moved his bushy mustache. “It’s Founder’s Week…and tomorrow’s the barn dance right here at Mari’s Sanctuary.”
His knowing gaze landed directly on Isa, and her stomach dropped to her knees.
This was the price she paid for staying away. In twenty-four hours, people she hadn’t seen in years, some since Olly’s funeral, would be at the ranch.
“Excuse me for a second. I just need some…air.” She stood from the table, taking her uneaten plate inside.
Before the screen door closed at her back she heard Tank’s response: “Don’t people usually stay outside to get fresh air?”
The oof and muttered curse immediately following indicated that Jaz brought an end to the conversation.
Leaning against the kitchen counter, she took a series of deep breaths and hoped one of them settled her rolling stomach. As much as Mari’s Sanctuary and the entire town of Golden Plains fueled some of her best childhood memories, it also held some of her worst.
* * *
By the time Roman finished the last-minute tweaks on Carlos Santiago’s existing security system, the farmhouse was dark and everyone was already fast asleep. It was just as well. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind for small talk, or any conversation that went beyond things that go boom.
After dinner, Isa had locked herself away in her room and, according to Jaz, teleworked with Maddy and Tony back in DC. One thing he’d come to know about Isabel Santiago was that like him, she used work as an escape from the real world.
You couldn’t see shit flying at you from all directions if you had your head buried in the sand, and at the mention of this Founder’s Week dance, she’d practically shoved her head in the hole up to her shoulders. He’d only barely stopped himself from following her into the house, not realizing until that moment how much he’d gotten used to their talks—the serious, the funny, and yeah, the naked ones.
Even now, his first instinct wasn’t to go to his room upstairs.
It was to go to hers.
He found himself standing in front of the fireplace mantel, where a small army of pictures was lined up from one end to the other. Most included Isabel, and in all of them she wore a bright, happy smile that made Roman’s chest ache all the more.
“That’s some pretty deep thinking you’re doing.” Carlos Santiago stepped into the living room.
“That’s why I get paid the big bucks,” Roman joked. “And speaking of money, I didn’t think ranches—especially equine rehabs—usually had top-of-the-line security tech. Cameras. Motion sensors along the perimeter. It’s impressive.”
“They usually don’t, but before we became a rehab, we bred thoroughbreds. High-end animals require high-tech precautions. I complained about it to my wife when we had it all installed years ago, but I find myself being thankful for it now.”
Roman didn’t know what to say, so he kept quiet.
Carlos plucked a picture off the fireplace, his face softening as he stared at a picture of Isa and someone he guessed was her grandmother. “I don’t think there was a person Isabel idolized more than her grandmother, and really, they were like the same person. The same strength. The same stubbornness and need to help others…to make others happy. Isabel took it really hard when her grandmother got sick. I think it’s actually the reason she wanted to become a doctor.”
Roman couldn’t help but listen raptly, and although the depth of her caring didn’t surprise him, the fact that her grandfather was sharing it with him did. “Isabel’s still looking after people.”
Carlos smiled wistfully. “She is…and I think that’s why she’s held on to Oliver for so long.”
At the mention of Isa’s fiancé, Roman stiffened. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to tell me something, Mr. Santiago?”
Carlos sighed. “Because I am…and I’m trying to do so without breaking any trust, or stepping on any toes, because I know you care for my granddaughter. I see it plain as the nose on my face. Olly cared for her, too—deeply—and while he may have seemed like the perfect man, I don’t think he was the perfect one for her.”
“Isabel must have thought otherwise. She was going to marry him, right?”
“Oliver proposed, and Isabel accepted only a few days before my sweet wife joined her family in heaven.” Carlos smiled sadly, replacing the picture on the mantel before turning his eyes on Roman. “I know Isa loved Olly. They grew up together. They were damn near inseparable. But I think—between you and me—that her acceptance of his proposal had more to do with making my wife’s finals days happy than they were about the rest of her own life. Oliver’s unfortunate passing just won’t let her see that for herself.”
Yawning, Carlos stretched his arms and headed toward the stairs.
“Sir?” Roman called out, and the older man stopped. “Why did you tell me all of that?”
A mischievous grin came onto his face. “Because when my Isabel’s right guy does come around, I want him to be prepared and have the right ammunition to fight for her.”
Inspected. Scrutinized. Studied. None of those words quite explained how Roman felt watching Carlos Santiago climb the stairs. Somehow the older man read his thoughts in a way even his brothers couldn’t.
With Isa’s grandfather’s words still rumbling in his head, Roman headed upstairs. A faint light coming from under Isabel’s room illuminated the hall. Knowing he should drop face-first into his own bed and leave her alone didn’t stop him pausing at her door.
“Asking for trouble, Steele,” Roman murmured. He turned to leave when he heard a faint, undecipherable mumble followed by a slightly louder cry. Screw it.
“Doc?” He knocked softly. “You okay in there?”
Something dropped to the floor, and Isa cursed. “Yeah. Come…come in.”
Isabel sat at a desk that had definitely been picked for a teen girl. White with painted pink and blue flowers, the only thing sitting on top of it was a laptop…and Isa’s head.
Her eyes opened as he stepped in the room. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself. You know that flat surface over there is a bed, right?” Roman teased.
Isa yawned and sat up. “Maddy and I made some headway on those viral samples, and I didn’t want to stop. By the time we did, I was too tired to get up.”
“You made progress?”
“Yep.” Isa stood, stretching her arms above her head. Her taut stomach peeked out from beneath the hem of her shirt. “There’s something in the way Abby’s blood responded to the virus that’s unlike anything we’ve seen in any samples ever.”
“You think you can duplicate the reaction? Make a vaccine from it? That’s what they do with the flu vaccines, right?”
“That’s a tall order with one sample. But if I can spend more time monitoring the way her immune system fought off the virus, we can try to duplicate the effects with the right combination of antiviral medications. That’s
what I’m hoping at least.”
Roman was impressed. “That’s good.”
“It will be if we can figure out the biologics of it. Thank God Maddy knows as much about FC-5 as I do. I don’t trust anyone to run all these tests more than her.”
“That’s good.” Roman stood awkwardly in the middle of Isabel’s bedroom and shoved his hands into his pockets.
Holy shit. Did he not know any word beside good? Feeling this off-kilter around a woman threw him off his game and left him unsure what to do next. And the way Isabel fidgeted with the bottom hem of her shirt didn’t help.
They’d barely said a few sentences to each other since leaving Alaska, and a large part of that had been on him. He regretted it now, and he was physically aching to reach out and touch her.
“It’s obvious you love it here and that you love your grandfather. Why haven’t you been here in so long?” Roman heard himself ask. “Why go MIA? What about this Founder’s Week made you get up in the middle of dinner and run into hiding?”
Isa turned her back and yanked the covers down on the bed. “Maddy and I will be up early and working on the samples again for most of the day, so I’m calling it a night.”
“You’re not answering my question,” Roman said.
“Nope. I’m taking a page out of the Roman Steele handbook and avoiding subjects that leave me uneasy.” She tossed a glare over her shoulder, lifting one delicately arced eyebrow. “Unless you suddenly want to talk about why you’ve been acting as though I’m persona non grata?” At his silence, she scoffed and turned back to fixing her bed covers. “Didn’t think so. Good night, Roman.”
His feet didn’t move.
Did he want to tell her? Surprisingly, he did. But the second he came out with his concerns about not being able to keep her safe, she’d call him out on his bullshit. Hell, she’d have him reversing his mind with the snap of her delicate fingers, and he’d be in that bed with her—naked or fully clothed. It didn’t matter which, because holding a fully clothed Isabel Santiago was just as dangerous as making love to a naked one.
The only way to make sure that he didn’t screw them both over was to stay on course and walk away.
Which was exactly what he did.
“That’s it?” Isa asked as he reached the door. She sat upright in bed, the covers over her lap. Anger and hurt were evident in her dark eyes. “You’re just going to go?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Control was Roman’s middle name, yet he couldn’t let go of the door handle. The second he did, he’d be across that room and next to her bed. “Like you said, you have an early start in the morning…and then there’s a party to prepare for. Good night, Doc. Sleep well.”
Because he sure as hell wouldn’t—and didn’t. His time in Burundi leaked out of his memory vault and played in his dreams like a movie reel. Except this time, it wasn’t a duo of innocent children he’d purposefully stepped on that active IED to save.
It was Isabel.
Chapter
Eighteen
After working remotely with Maddy the entire morning, it was time for Isa to perform her granddaughter duties. No backing out. Nowhere to hide. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and was transported to the past, because the lacy yellow and white sundress she’d plucked from the back of her closet was one she’d worn a million Founder’s Weeks ago…the last one she’d shared with Olly.
She’d be the only one to remember that, but that was the only thing that would be forgotten. Small towns were a lot like young children—long memories and no filters. People who didn’t look at her with pity over her loss would shoot her glares from a distance at her noticeable absence from Golden Plains. A brazen handful would no doubt make their displeasure known face-to-face.
By now the feed barn had been cleaned out, and the temporary dance floor laid down. White lights had been strung from the wooden rafters, and if they weren’t already here, Old Man Eddie’s band would soon be set up in the small gazebo off to the right of the pond.
Isa couldn’t hide in her room much longer before her grandfather came looking for her.
A frantic knock pounded on her door. “Isa, you got to help me. Pronto!”
Isa opened the door an inch, and Jaz pushed the rest of the way through, in obvious freak-out mode. Wearing a halter-style kerchief dress, her shoulders were left bare. The bodice hugged her breasts and slender waist before flaring out and stopping about mid-thigh.
She looked gorgeous.
“Wow, Jaz. You look…”
“Ridiculous? Half-naked? Like a girl playing dress-up?” Jaz grimaced and glanced to her cowboy-booted feet. “These are not the kind of boots I’m used to wearing. This isn’t the kind of anything I’m used to wearing.”
“You mean camo and T-shirts?” Isa struggled not to laugh.
“And sports bras.” Jaz looked down, cupping her boobs. “I can’t even wear a bra in this thing, Isa, because it has no back. Please tell me you have something else in your closet. Anything else.”
This time, Isa couldn’t contain her laughter. “Sorry, but that dress is the only thing that wouldn’t swim on you. I think you’re stuck with it…or with a horse blanket. We have more than a few of those in the tack barn.”
Jaz’s eyes looked hopeful. “You think that will work?”
“No.” Isa steered the operative in front of the full-length mirror. “I think you look beautiful. Look at you.”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes!”
Jaz’s twisted look of pain slowly melted away the longer she looked at her mirror image. Twisting her hips, the full skirt swayed around her toned legs. “I guess I don’t look too bad.”
“That’s the underestimation of the year, my friend. Not that you’re not stunningly beautiful in Steele Ops fatigues, but wow. He’ll swallow his tongue.”
“Good. Maybe he’ll choke on it.” Jaz froze, catching her slipup. “I didn’t mean Tank. I meant a metaphorical someone. Some rando guy. A cowboy. Oh, freaking hell.”
Isa pulled Jaz into a side hug. “Your secret’s safe with me. But I hate to remind you that even if you do have any interested suitors out there—and I’m sure there will be many—your dance card is already filled by your fiancé.”
Everyone had agreed—even her grandfather, surprisingly enough—that it would be best to keep up the charade for the people around town. They were a well-meaning bunch, for the most part, but nosy as hell. If anyone got wind about bodyguards floating around Mari’s Sanctuary, the rumor mill would explode in a scale large enough to be seen from space.
“Dance?” Jaz’s face paled. “Oh no, no, no. I can’t dance. Not with Tank. Not with anyone. Like seriously, Isa. Shoot a target from a million yards away? I’ll get it done. Grapple with a man double my size? He isn’t getting up anytime soon. And I can make mouth-watering pancit while blindfolded, but I do not dance.”
“If you can do all those things, I know you can dance.”
“I’ll look like I’m having a seizure while standing upright,” Jaz complained.
Isabel laughed. “The good thing about the Founder’s Week dance is there will be a lot of out-of-towners mixed in with the locals. They won’t know what they’re doing, either. You’ll blend right in.”
A few minutes later and Isa’s prediction for a crowded dance was proven right. Cars and trucks, each one more beat-up than the next, filled the far field and almost spilled into the next. Any car sporting less than an inch of Texas dust no doubt belonged to a tourist.
People roamed the grounds of Mari’s Sanctuary, the men decked out in Western shirts adorned with bolo ties and women in light, airy sundresses designed to show off their year-long tans. The sun, barely hanging above the horizon, illuminated the near-cloudless sky in pretty patches of dark blue and peach, and when paired with the clear white lights decorating the barn, turned the ranch into a magical realm.
Jaz’s mouth fell agape as she was taken in by the beauty, too. “Wow. You do
n’t get these kind of views in DC. Tell me again why you’re living in a Foggy Bottom apartment when you could live here?”
Jaz hadn’t meant it as a dig, but it didn’t stop the reality of the answer from hurting less. Once upon a time, that had been her plan. That had been her and Olly’s plan. In the Army, she’d build up her clinical skills enough to open up her own small practice in Golden Plains. While he served his country, she’d prepare their home for when he hung his uniform up for good…and then they’d start the next phase of their lives.
Together. Like they’d done everything else while growing up.
After he’d died and she’d switched gears from practicing medicine to research, that plan had no longer felt right…including coming home to Golden Plains.
People’s heads turned as Isa and Jaz closed in on the barn. The locals were easy to spot. Gazes that at first slid right over them snapped back. A few gave polite nods of recognition, and a steady trickle stopped them for hellos and small talk. Seeing fictional grandbabies, Betty Hanson from the diner had not-so-subtly snatched her single son and dragged him over for an introduction to Jaz, and for the first time, the operative proudly flashed her fake engagement ring. Twenty minutes later the poor woman still looked crestfallen.
“You okay?” Jaz watched her carefully as they stepped into the barn.
“I’m fine. Why?”
Jaz flashed her a look of disbelief before glancing down to where Isa’s arm had hers in a death grip.
“Crap. I’m sorry.” Isa released her grip and chuckled. “Guess I’m more nervous than I thought. The last time I’ve laid eyes on most of these people was at Olly’s funeral…which played out a little bit like a daytime drama.”
“Don’t worry about what they think. Anyone who judges you for stupid crap like that has a special place in hell dedicated just for them.”
“Spoken like someone who’s had to deal with it.”
Jaz half-shrugged. “The second I decided to become a female sniper in the Corps, I painted a target on my back. People accused me of earning my high rank in accuracy by sleeping my way up the chain of command…because how could a woman handle a sniper scope better than a man?”
