A Hero’s Haven

by Tessa Layne

  She laid a hand on his arm. “Tell me your name?” she asked in that sweet husky lilt.

  His name rose to his tongue, followed by a vision of Ace glowering. Was this a test? He wouldn’t put it past Ace to test him, see if he’d slip. Brushing aside a wave of annoyance, he gazed into her eyes. “Deuce. The name’s Deuce.”

  “Deuce,” she said slowly, adding two syllables to the name as she drew it out. “Y’all like your card names, don’tcha? Y’all play five-card stud when you’re off duty?” He swallowed, mouth going dry at the way she lingered over the word stud. What in the hell was happening to him?

  She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Well, Deuce in the fancy suit, I wanted to thank you.”

  In spite of the glitter, he felt himself getting pulled under by her big green eyes. “What for?”

  “If it hadn’t been for you, a lot of little girls and their mommas would be really upset. You went above and beyond, and I appreciate it.”

  Her praise went straight to his belly like a shot of whiskey. “Let’s go,” he answered gruffly. What else could he say? She was a client, and he’d move onto the next assignment as soon as her stalker was caught. But that knowledge didn’t stop him from appreciating her gorgeous ass as she sashayed down the hall in front of him.

  CHAPTER 6

  Another painful yank on his beard brought Cash crashing back to the present and the very pissed-off woman underneath him. Heart still hammering he scrambled to his feet, pulling her up alongside him. “Are you okay?” he spoke harshly, adrenaline still calling the shots, because Jesus, did she recognize him? “What are you doing here?” He slid his hands down her arms, checking for injuries, she tore herself away, stumbling back, but regaining purchase as he stepped out to catch her. The look in her eyes kept him rooted to the spot.

  “I was working,” she squawked hoarsely, voice not sounding anything like he remembered.

  The twang was there, but where was the soft musical lilt? The gentleness?

  She squatted, reaching for a notebook next to a thermos, and scratched something bold on the paper. Standing, she ripped out the paper, and thrust it toward him, giving it a shake. Her beautiful deep green eyes flashed with pain and suspicion.

  Cash’s stomach dropped through the floor. Did she recognize him?

  He took the paper. What in the hell was going on here? Angry black words spoke volumes. KATE. Sorry. I can’t talk.

  His head snapped up as relief washed through him. The last thing he wanted to do was explain himself to her. Not now, not when he was only just getting his shit together. He scrutinized her, looking for any signs of recognition.

  None.

  He’d never been so grateful for a thick beard in all his life.

  He’d knocked her hat off when he’d tackled her, exposing dark glossy hair, not the sunny blonde from last summer. And it was shorter. Still long, but he remembered her hair falling nearly to her waist. He liked the shorter length. And the sturdy, plain work clothes. And her face without makeup. If a pair of terrified green eyes hadn’t been burned into his memory, haunting his nightmares, he might not have recognized her. But what in the hell was Kaycee Starr doing at Resolution Ranch?

  Out of a fog, his training kicked in. Shit. What was he doing, standing here wasting precious seconds when he needed to be securing the perimeter? “Stay here,” he barked. “Don’t move.” He spun on his heel not bothering to wait for her assent, starting by verifying each stall only held horses, or was empty, then checking the tack room. Once outside, he circled the barn, looking for signs of forced entry in the fading light, of footprints, anything out of the ordinary. Nothing. What had he heard? With a sigh of defeat, he re-entered the barn.

  She was waiting for him at the entrance, face set. She thrust another piece of paper at him.

  The noise was a truck backfiring.

  No way. It couldn’t have been. It sounded just like a Kalashnikov. The same span of time between shots. He dropped his hand, shaking his head, dread pooling in his belly. It had been a Kalashnikov.

  The sympathy in her expression confirmed he’d misheard.

  And that he’d lost his fucking shit again.

  He scrubbed a hand over his beard, nausea roiling through him. “I… I’m sorry,” he choked out. His chest burned. He thought he’d come so far, and he hadn’t even made it off square one. He stared at a piece of straw on the floor. How could he look at her ever again? “I reacted,” he said, hearing Bones’ voice. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispered.

  He should go tell Travis. Let him know what happened. For all the good it would do, because Travis would tell him what he already knew. That all the events that had led him to this point could be a part of his story, or be the story. And it was up to him to decide.

  Kaycee tugged on his coat, and he dragged his gaze to hers. Wallowing in an existential crisis in front of her wouldn’t change a thing. He needed to man up and take her pity or her anger, or whatever she was going to throw at him, even if it burned a hole in his stomach to do it. But he only saw empathy, and softness. His chest pulled tight. He deserved worse. He’d freaked out, for chrissakes. Tackled her.

  “I’m okay,” she mouthed and turned, taking the curry comb out of the bucket hanging next to the tack room door.

  He remained rooted to the spot, stunned, until it registered what she was doing. No one cared for Samson. No one. He followed her and laid a hand over hers. “No one takes care of Samson but me,” he growled softly.

  She answered by rolling her eyes and continuing to brush Samson’s coat.

  “I don’t care if it’s your job. He’s my horse, and I’ll be taking care of him.”

  The look she gave him dripped with indignation, but she handed him the brush. Forcefully. Then she spun on her heel and rushed out of the barn. He laid his head on Samson’s shoulder, desperately trying to bring calm to his body. But even breathing with Samson didn’t calm his jumbled thoughts. Not one iota.

  Was Kaycee in trouble? Did she think he was a freak? Why the fake name? He wracked his brain, trying to remember anything he might have seen in the press. But he’d pretty much tuned out everything about Kaycee after her stalker had been captured, no thanks to him. Would it help or hurt her safety to let Travis know? A tremor ran down his arm. He squeezed shut his eyes, willing his hand to stop shaking.

  A noise at the door pulled his focus. She was back, and the look she gave him dared him to stop her as she led Travis’s horse, Flipper, to another station by the tack room. Cash restarted his ministrations but watched her discretely. Her movements with the horse were smooth, confident. If he remembered correctly, there’d been a stable on her grounds in Nashville, but it surprised him given what he remembered about her dossier, that she behaved as if she’d been around horses her whole life. As if stable chores weren’t beneath her.

  She worked faster than he did, and they finished at roughly the same time. Somewhere in the process of leading the horses to their stalls, then working silently side by side to feed and water them, Cash realized his hands had stopped shaking. Calm had returned to his body. When the horses were settled, he walked down the aisle, hands full of tools to return to their rightful place, hearing her footfalls behind him. But when he stepped out of the tack room an offer to safely see Kaycee/Kate to her trailer on his lips, he was alone.

  CHAPTER 7

  As soon as the man ducked into the tack room, Kate picked up her pace and darted outside, stumbling and catching herself on the fence. Slowly, she counted back from twenty as her racing heart slowed to normal.

  Who was that man?

  Kate’s heart started pounding again as she revisited the scene. He’d looked at her like he’d known her. But he couldn’t possibly know her. She didn’t know any real cowboys. She certainly didn’t know anyone with a military or ranching background. And she’d never even heard of Prairie, Kansas before New Year’s Day. Maybe she’d met him overseas when she was touring with the USO? But how many nameless face
s had she met over the last decade? Countless. He could be anyone.

  Silly. If he’d recognized you, he’d have told you right off. Elaine hadn’t recognized her. Neither had anyone in town the few times she’d been brave enough to venture in for groceries. She never thought she’d feel grateful for the hundreds of photoshopped pictures of her that made her look skinnier and prettier than she really was.

  Kate headed for her trailer, following the fence line by moonlight and its reflected brilliance on the snow. She had the property memorized now, and pride surged through her knowing she could walk it without a flashlight. Moonlight provided an equalizing anonymity she craved. And during the months she’d been sequestered inside, she’d longed for fresh air and starlight. Her most inspired words came to her by moonlight. Gifted to her by a winged muse cloaked in stardust whispering to her heart. Breathing in the crisp night air, she let her mind wander, but instead of words entering her head, she kept seeing the man’s brown eyes.

  Something in his eyes when he tumbled her to the ground had pierced her to her core, and tightened her chest as she recalled it. She’d seen the same wild-eyed fear followed by soul-crushing hope in a shelter dog she’d adopted years ago. Buzz the mangy mutt had instantly melted her heart. Once the surprise of being tackled by a giant had subsided, was that the feeling that had rattled through her heart? Or had it been more? A little soul-spark of recognition like she’d written about in one of her hits?

  I didn’t know it then, but you had my heart the first time, the very first time…

  Your soul sang to mine underneath the stars, a healing balm to my scarred heart… my scarred heart

  She’d been unable to resist the pull of Buzz’s sweet eyes, so he’d come home with her. The man was hurting. He wore his pain like a badge, and her heart went out to him. But you couldn’t have magic like that with a perfect stranger, even if she’d written about it in a song. Nobody could. Not even her. Certainly not her. Not when the only person they saw was Kaycee Starr, larger than life in sparkles and fake eyelashes.

  Kate paused at the bottom of the rise, tempted to turn back and seek out the man. Pepper him with a thousand paper questions. When was the last time she’d had a deep conversation with anyone besides Cheyenne? Cheyenne was the sister of her heart, but she longed for a soulmate. She tilted her face to the stars, searching the sky. Where was her one and only? Her love song? Was she doomed to give the world the words of love but never experience it for herself? Her eyes grew wet. How many letters had she received with wedding pictures, and notes of thanks that her songs had facilitated proposals, or been the sweetest wedding dance? She dragged a knuckle underneath her eye.

  Superstardom sucked.

  Loneliness sucked worse.

  Pain pushed against her ribs, slicing through her with the ferocity of a starving mutt grabbing hold of a bone. She nearly buckled from the force of it. Would someone ever see her? Kate?

  For a moment, the stranger looked at her like he was worried about her. Was that what she was glomming onto? Was she so desperate for something real, something tangible, that she was grasping at straws and ephemeral sensations?

  Get a grip, Kate. The guy tackled you. At least this time the gunshots weren’t real.

  Kate shook herself sternly. The man would have taken cover even if she hadn’t been there. He’d just been reacting to the noise. But still… that look in his eye. She hadn’t been imagining that. She hadn’t. With a sigh, she made her feet turn toward her trailer, sitting lonely and cold in the dark. For the first time since she’d arrived at Resolution Ranch, a wave of homesickness shot through her. Too bad repurposed FEMA trailers didn’t come with fireplaces. Fires staved off the loneliness, offered companionship and hope when feelings of despair threatened to overwhelm her.

  She hopped up the steps and pushed open the door, heart sinking at the reality of no fire. The door clicked shut behind her, but she didn’t reach for the light. Tonight, she couldn’t bear the harsh light of reality. At least enveloped in darkness she could imagine a different life. A Kate life.

  Taking the two steps to the table, she reached for the matches next to the cluster of votives. They might not be a fire, but candlelight soothed her when she was wound up and brooding. After she brushed her teeth, she returned to the tiny circle of golden light, letting herself get lost in the flickering and dancing flames. She slid a glance over to the couch. The black leather case holding her prized possession called to her. Her breath caught somewhere in the back of her throat. She hadn’t played it since before her surgery. Would her fingers remember the notes? Her palms itched.

  “Fuck it,” she whispered to the darkness. If she was moving on, cutting her losses, there was no better time than the present. She reached for the handle, gently placing the case on the floor. The snick of the latches releasing bounced off the walls. Hands trembling, she flipped the lid, heart tripping as the scent of wood and polish hit her nose. She lifted the guitar from its case reverently, greeting her old friend, her confidante. She’d poured all her teenage angst and then some into the ’57 Martin given to her by her late grandmother the night before she stepped foot on the Grand Ole Opry stage for the very first time.

  It had hurt too much to play it after her surgery. Had only made her cry during the months of enforced vocal rest. She’d taught herself the mandolin while she healed. Something new to keep her mind out of the panic room. It had helped, and it turned out she was a decent enough player. She smiled wryly. If she asked, Cheyenne could help her get gigs playing back-up in a band. Oh, the irony.

  She perched on a chair and settled the guitar across her lap. She only flinched once when the G-chord broke the silence and echoed through the room. But then she settled into the sound like she was donning her favorite sweater, and a small part of her soul returned home.

  * * *

  Insistent rapping on the door startled her awake. Kate sat bolt up, clutching her robe. She remembered lying down on the couch to think, sometime in the wee hours. She must have drifted off. The rapping started again. She opened her mouth to call out, but caught herself just in time. Yelling was seriously out of the question. A quick glance at the clock on the stove confirmed it was still early, she hadn’t overslept. Had something happened? Did Elaine need emergency help with her son?

  She scrambled up and stepped to the door, jerking it open. The air whooshed out of her lungs as she took in the giant of a man on her steps. Something hooked in her belly and pulled tight as she studied him. His freshly showered hair glistened in the early morning light, and she caught the scent of clean, piney soap. Her favorite. He offered her a sheepish grin, white teeth flashing underneath his dark bushy beard. His eyes were soft. Curious. Deep brown, like unsweetened cocoa flecked with gold. The kind of eyes a girl could lose herself in if she weren’t very careful.

  This time when he spoke, there was no harsh edge. “I wanted to apologize again for last night. I was startled and reacted badly. I’m working on it, and I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Her heart thudded somewhere in the vicinity of her throat.

  He glanced down, rubbing a hand over his head, then back up. “I lay awake most of the night thinking about it.”

  Him too, huh?

  “Sometime after midnight, I realized I’d never even introduced myself.” He stuck out his bear paw of a hand. “I’m… Cash.”

  Her mystery next-door neighbor. Elaine had mentioned that she’d be living next door to Cash. So he must have returned home from the trek yesterday with the rest of the crew. Kate couldn’t stop the smile she returned, nor did she want to. She slipped her hand into his, marveling at the way his warm, calloused hand encased hers. But it was the zip of electricity that shot up her arm and settled at her sternum that startled her. Her pulse raced as awareness hit every nerve ending simultaneously. Her nipples pebbled and a delicious ache sprang to life at the heart of her. Goosebumps scurried up her flesh. She couldn’t have spoken even if she’d wanted to.

  How long
they stood simply holding hands, she had no idea. But the cold finally permeated her awareness, and she motioned him in. She turned on the coffee, pulling down a second cup from the cupboard. He completely dwarfed her surroundings. He must be six-five at least, and as wide as a linebacker. She couldn’t see his muscles underneath his coat, but she bet he had them in spades. Was his chest as furry as his beard? Her heart kicked extra hard as the imagined his chest. Whoa, girl. What was happening to her? Had his tackle the night before knocked something loose in her brain?

  He spotted the guitar, lying inside the open case and looked back at her, studying her intently. She stilled. Why was he looking at her like that? Like he could see right into her soul? “Nice guitar,” he said after a long moment.

  Best play it cool for now. She shrugged and gave a half-nod, turning back to the sink to vigorously wash out a cup that didn’t need it in an effort to hide her flaming cheeks. She couldn’t breathe, the air was too thick between them. Too full of all the things she’d say if she could talk.

  The coffee pot burbled to a stop, and she pulled it out, pouring and offering Cash a steaming cup. She poured herself a matching cup and leaned a hip against the counter, studying him. He held the cup gently, as if he were afraid it would break in his hands.

  Kate smacked her forehead. Where were her manners? Her mother would tan her hide if she discovered she hadn’t invited her guest to sit. Flashing him a guilty smile, she motioned to the table. He eyed it dubiously. “How about the couch? I don’t think I can squeeze into that tiny space.”

  It was tiny. And the vision of Cash’s enormous frame squashed in the corner of the banquette made her grin. She nodded and joined him on the couch, angling her body to face him. Her knee brushed his as she sat, setting her heart racing. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she studied her coffee. Maybe Cash’s eyes were closer to coffee than unsweetened cocoa.