by Jami Alden
"Yeah, well there was plenty to worry about," he said, his voice turning grim.
He flicked on the TV and tuned it to CNN. Sadie ignored the talking head, focused on Dylan, the tight set to his jaw, the tension in his shoulders.
Though his gaze was locked on the screen, she didn't think he was paying any more attention to the news than she was.
"I remember when you were wounded, we were all really worried." It had happened earlier this year, before her father's heart attack. Sadie had still been living in San Francisco. She'd gotten the call from Molly while she was enjoying happy hour with her co-workers at some hipster spot in the South Beach neighborhood. She remembered vividly how the handful of nuts and the half mojito she'd consumed had turned to acid in her stomach.
Someone had noticed her distress. When Sadie had explained what happened, the murmurs of sympathy quickly digressed into a conversation about how the war was pointless and how the United States had no business over there anyway.
Sadie had stayed mute, thinking all the while that she didn't give a shit about the politics. All she cared was that Dylan, handsome, strong, so full of life, was lying badly wounded in a hospital half a world away.
"It wasn't so bad," he grunted, but she didn't miss the way he unconsciously reached down to rub his right hip.
"Molly told me your mom was worried you would said you would lose your leg."
He turned to face her. "My mom can be overly dramatic. It was never a big risk."
Sadie bit her lip. "It still bothers you." Though he tried to hide it, she saw how stiff he got towards the end of a long day of work. "And you've been on medical leave for a long time."
"But now I'm almost fully recovered, and pretty soon I'll be able to get back to doing what I want to do."
"Which is?"
For a split second, there was a flash of something dark and turbulent in his eyes. It disappeared as quickly as it came, covered up by a wry smile. "You don't want to hear the details, trust me."
She wanted to ask him more, sensing something unsettled underneath his usually easygoing exterior.
He picked up the remote and jacked up the volume on the TV, signaling the conversation was over.
###
Dylan felt a twinge of guilt when Sadie said good night soon after. It wasn't her fault that even the most innocent comments about his injury and the months since sent a whole mess of emotions churning through him.
After she left, he grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and tried to focus on the news. But he couldn't keep his mind from seething with the images, the day he was injured replaying like a movie reel through his head. There was that uncomfortable, squeezing sensation in his chest, like a big fist wrapping itself around his heart, followed by a rapid thudthudthudding against his ribcage.
He took slow, steady breaths, willing the sensation away, demanding his body calm down.
Finally, unable to deal with the sensation any longer, he switched off the TV and grabbed his laptop from its bag resting by the front door. He set it on the small table where he and Sadie had shared dinner and flipped it open.
Lakota warriors went into battle with the cry "Today is a good day to die."
Though I never said it out loud, that same cry was always running through my head when we went out on an op.
I never thought much about what it meant. Just something to psych me up, to somehow manage the fear of death that might otherwise paralyze me. Fear that would take my mind off the mission. Fear that would lead to mistakes.
I never thought about it until months after, when my leg no longer looked like raw hamburger, when all of the shrapnel that could be removed was gone. When I was working to make all of the atrophied muscles learn how to work around all the scar tissue.
It occurred to me then, long after the attack, no one ever says, "It's a good day to survive."
I wasn't ready to die that day, but I didn't realize how hard it would be to live.
I don't remember anything after the flash of red, like the whole world was washed in blood. I didn't learn until I woke up in the hospital that the bomb meant for the ledge had missed its mark. Instead of hitting the ledge where the enemy forces gathered, it hit the cliff face several meters below. As the two thousand pound bomb had blown half the ledge away and a dozen or so of the enemy with it, the shrapnel had sprayed out at our team at speeds of over five hundred miles per hour.
One ten inch piece embedded itself in my hip as dozens more tore into my thigh.
But I was in better shape than Cheese, who took a piece in his head after the force of the blast knocked off his helmet. He died on impact.
Mac, Skip, and Slick suffered only minor injuries and were able to deliver Al Abdul to the CIA agents charged with getting him to spill his secrets.
At the end of the day, Operation Hydra was a success.
Cold comfort as I lay there wracked in pain, haunted by the memory of Cheese lying so still next to me, half of his skull ripped away.
I knew it wouldn't do any good to rail against God and the unfairness of it all—a hero like Cheese dying to protect a piece of trash like Al Abdul.
I had to channel all that anger, all that grief, into pulling my body back together. I didn't care how much it hurt, how hard I had to work. My leg would fucking heal. And I was going to come back stronger than ever.
Though I had lived and Cheese had not, I knew I would not fully get my life back until I was able to once again fight beside my teammates.
Failure was not an option.
###
"You realize these horses are athletes, they need an experienced rider."
Sadie felt her shoulders bunch up at her father's tone.
"You can't just come and go as you please," Jim continued. "They need consistency."
Way to woo a potential customer, Dad, Sadie thought. From the moment Tucker Madsen had stepped out of his brand new Yukon, Jim had been unable to hide his disdain.
"He's some computer guy," he'd said when Sadie had insisted that her father take a meeting after Madsen had called inquiring about buying a couple of geldings to keep at the cattle ranch he'd recently purchased outside of Livingston. "He has no business running that operation. And Elmer Lewis had no business selling it to some yahoo from California." He said the state's name as though it was the foulest of curse words.
Sadie didn't bother pointing out that Tucker Madsen was far from a mere "computer guy." He was in fact the founder of a software company that he'd recently sold to Google for a whopping half billion dollars. And if Elmer Lewis wanted to sell his operation and retire on the generous price Tucker was willing to pay for his spread, that was his business.
Though Sadie had heard of Tucker—he'd been the it boy of the technology scene well before she left the Bay Area—she'd never met him in person. According to her friends back in San Francisco, the recently divorced, now fabulously wealthy Tucker was one of Silicon Valley's most eligible bachelors.
She could see why. At thirty-eight, Tucker was lean and handsome in a clean cut kind of way. Though dressed in the local uniform of jeans, a pearl snap front shirt, and boots, those were no thirty dollar wranglers from the feed store skimming his long legs. His dirty blond hair was a little shaggy, brushing his collar, and his blue eyes were friendly behind his trendy frames.
Overall, a very appealing package.
And based on the way he flashed Sadie a conspiratorial smile as he said, "Don't worry Mr. Thornton. I've been riding since I was a kid," he found her appealing as well.
Sadie returned the smile. Maybe she could use the attraction to offset her father's curmudgeonliness.
"Prancing around an arena? Jumping over fake fences? That's not what these horses are for," Jim said, gesturing to Thunder, a two year-old paint who was high stepping and head tossing his way across the corral.
"My family went to a dude ranch in Wyoming every summer."
"Riding some burnt out old cow horse is a damn sight different—"
"Tucker"—Sadie cut her father off—"why don't you come in for a cup of coffee while Dad gets Thunder back into the barn."
"Sorry, about Dad," she said once they were out of earshot. "He's got this thing about so-called outsiders." She opened the door and gestured him inside and led him into the kitchen.
"I've been getting a lot of that," he said with a grin that made his eyes crinkle. "Another evil Californian, driving up all the land prices."
Sadie rolled her eyes as she poured the coffee. "I don't think he'll ever forgive me for moving out there."
"Really? Where?"
"I moved to San Francisco right after college, and lived there until this past December."
"You were in tech?"
"I still am—at least when I'm not feeding horses or mucking out stables," she said, warming under his attentive smile. "I develop apps and create web sites for clients in the fashion industry-"
She broke off at sound of a cell phone chime. Her hand went instinctively to her pocket before she realized it had come from Tucker's.
"Sorry to cut this short," he said and set his barely consumed cup of coffee on the counter. "I forgot I have a conference call in ten minutes."
"No problem," she said as she escorted him to the door. "You'll let us know about Thunder?" she asked as they stepped out onto the front porch.
"If you're dad's willing, I want him."
"Consider him yours then." She'd convince her father one way or another.
Tucker started down the steps, then stopped, turning. "I'd really like to continue our conversation," he said, his hands nervously toying with a belt loop. "Would you have dinner with me tonight?"
It was on the tip of her tongue to say no. To claim she was too busy, which she was, and too tired after working all day to be good company.
Just then she heard the rumble of the tractor coming up the drive. Dylan, coming in from the fields. He parked it in front of the barn and she watched as he climbed out.
She drank him in as he walked over, muscles rippling under his t-shirt, his thick dark hair covered by a sweat-stained ball cap.
"Sadie?" Tucker said.
"Yes," she said abruptly. "Yes I would love to have dinner with you." So Tucker didn't make her stomach go wild with butterflies or make her skin sizzle with a single glance.
He was cute. He was interesting. And more important, he was interested. In her.
Unlike a certain too charming burly Army Ranger sauntering up to the house.
"Great! I'll pick you up at seven?"
"How about we meet in town? I know a great place."
Dylan reached the steps a few seconds later, and Sadie made a quick introduction. "Tucker Madsen, this is Dylan Decker." They shook hands, obviously sizing each other up. "Tucker's going to buy Thunder," she explained.
"Good horse," Dylan said and withdrew his hand.
"I certainly think so," Tucker said with a smile. Then he turned to Sadie. "See you soon."
Sadie smiled and gave him a little wave as he walked to his car.
"Let me guess, California," Dylan said as Tucker drove off.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"But I'm right?"
She gave a little laugh. "He's the guy who bought the Lewis place."
"The software gazillionaire?"
"Technically it was a cloud computing company, and I think he's only a multimillionaire."
"Only," Dylan muttered under his breath.
"You're back early," she said. He'd finished the mowing the day before. Now came the monotonous job of getting all the cut hay baled up and ready to transfer. With just Dylan and Pete working over one hundred, it would take several full days to finish.
Dylan took off his hat and scrubbed his fingers through his sweat dampened hair. "The mower seized up and I had to come back for some wd40."
"I'll leave you to it then." She turned and started back into the house. "I need to call Molly and see if she's managed to untangle the books." So far her friend had discovered that several recent payments had gone into the wrong bank account, the one reserved for her Dad's personal expenses rather than the ranch operations, but it still didn't explain why the balance was too low to cover the mortgage payments.
"I'll see you this evening then," he said. "I picked up some steaks and a good red wine in town yesterday for our second supper," he added with at grin.
"Actually," Sadie said slowly, telling herself there was no reason for the guilt twisting in her stomach, "I have plans for dinner. A date," she clarified.
"A date?" His head jerked back a little. "With who?"
"Tucker."
He stood there for a few seconds, his dark brows knit above his nose.
"That's okay, right?"
"Why wouldn't it be?" he snapped and stalked toward his cabin.
The tension bunching the muscles of his back and shoulders told a very different story.
"I don't know," Sadie said as she followed, "you look annoyed."
He stopped and turned toward her so quickly she nearly ran into him. "Why would I be annoyed?" he replied, his jaw clenched so tight she could see the muscles bunching on either side of it. "Why should I give a a damn who you go out with?"
Sadie felt her own anger flare in response. It was obvious he didn't like the idea of her going on a date with Tucker. And if that was the case, why the hell didn't he make a move himself?
"Good, I'm glad we cleared that up," she said brightly. Then, unable to resist twisting the knife ever so slightly, she added, "I would hate think that my date with one of the country's most eligible bachelors would cause you any distress."
Chapter 9
Dylan could hear the sound of Sadie's car pulling away later that evening. He'd forgone dinner with June, Pete, and Jim in favor of soloing it at his place.
However, as he stood in front of his open refrigerator, he found he had no appetite for the steaks and vegetables he'd planned to grill on the small propane unit he'd picked up in town.
The meal he planned to share with Sadie.
He grabbed a beer and slammed the door shut, calling himself all kinds of stupid, reminding himself he had no claim on Sadie. No right to feel the jealousy twisting in his gut at the thought of her, smiling across the table at another man.
He should be happy for her. Tucker was exactly the kind of guy for Sadie. Smart, decent looking, obviously successful. Dependable.
Not a battle hardened soldier who would only be in her life for a few more weeks before he was sent off to parts unknown.
He had plenty of friends in town, he reminded himself. Plenty of people to keep him company. Earlier today Damon had called him, wanting him to come to Adele's for dinner, wondering why the hell he hadn't seen him in nearly a week.
Yeah—not going to happen, especially when it was almost a given that Sadie was at that moment at Adele's, cozied up at a table for two.
But even if hanging out with his brother didn't mean watching Sadie and Tucker make eyes and small talk all evening, Dylan wasn't in any mood for company.
Staying in by himself, digging out a bottle of single malt he saved for particularly good or bad occasions, yeah, that sounded about right for tonight.
He drained the beer and served himself a generous pour of the scotch. He took a sip, felt the burn all the way down to his toes. It did little to take the edge off.
He picked up the book he'd been reading, and put it down after he realized he'd been staring at the same page for ten minutes.
He flipped on the TV to drown out the silence that seemed suddenly oppressive, and spent several minutes scrolling through the channels in a vain attempt to find something that would hold his interest.
Something that would keep him from thinking about Sadie. What she was doing right now. What she was going to do later, after dinner.
Would she come straight home, or—
He shoved the thought from his head. If Sadie wanted to go back to Tucker's place and fuck his ever-living bra
ins out, it was none of Dylan's business.
So what if the thought made the scotch boil like acid in the pit of his stomach? He drained his glass, got up to refill it, and plopped himself down in front of his computer.
With the TV providing background noise, he flipped open his laptop. For the first time since he'd started writing years ago, his journal entry had nothing to do with his time in the Army or the friends he'd lost.
If anyone had told seventee-year-old Dylan Decker that one night he'd find himself stewing in jealousy over Sadie Thornton, he would have called that person crazy.
But here I am, going quietly insane over approximately one hundred thirty pounds of long legs and a killer smile.
If I keep my hands to myself another week, it will be a miracle.
###
"He's cute!" Molly mouthed over Tucker's shoulder as she retreated, having just served their drinks.
Sadie stifled a grin and an eye roll for her friend, but inwardly gave herself a little thumbs up. Not that she needed her best friend's approval on who to date, but one of the perks of coming to Adele's meant she got Molly's take on Tucker.
So far, so good.
"Sounds like you were doing really well," Tucker said as he took a sip of his wine. "And you're obviously very talented."
After they'd been seated Sadie had filled Tucker in on her previous life with her former company, and he wanted to see some of the apps she created.
"Thanks," she said, feeling her cheeks warm at the praise. It wasn't every day a tech mogul admired her work, and it was fun to talk shop with someone who actually understood the unique challenges she faced when developing a new concept.
"So what made you go out on your own."
"My dad," she said and took a sip of her own drink. She quickly filled him in on her father's health issues and why she'd moved back home. "What about you? What made you want to buy a spread in the boonies when you could be living the high life in San Francisco?"
He chuckled. "I don't know that working fourteen hours straight and never seeing the sun could be considered living the high life."
