Cliff's Edge

by LAURA HARNER

  “Carry on.”

  Ryan made it to the door, before turning to ask, “Are you taking any others with you, Skipper?”

  “I might be considering one or two others. It generally has to be someone within the transfer window. You have me curious, Senior Chief. Is there someone in particular you have in mind?”

  “Master Chief Snyder. I know he hasn’t been at BUDs that long, but I can give you my unqualified recommendation. He’s someone you want on your team.”

  Captain Ross looked at him for such a long time Ryan began to feel uncomfortable. Did the old man know Snides was gay? Would it really make a difference? Because if so, that was complete bullshit. Gay or straight didn’t matter anymore than black or white when it came to someone having your back on an op. The time came in every career when you needed to consider whether you were willing to do what it took to move up or if you needed to move on…and if the skipper felt that way about a man like Cliff, he could kiss Ryan’s ass. He was just about to tell the captain exactly that when the old man heaved a sigh.

  “I take it you haven’t talk to Snyder since you’ve been back?”

  “No, sir,” Ryan answered as the meatball sub he’d had for lunch threatened to make an appearance. He’d been trying to reach Cliff for over forty-eight hours, ever since he’d reach civilization and had his phone back. The asshole wasn’t answering his cell or his callback code—which never happened unless he was dark. “Is everything okay?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss the situation, Senior Chief. Leave it to say the master chief used poor judgment. As much as SEALs look after each other, this isn’t something any of us can fix. I suggest you step back and let things run their course. Your leave has officially started. I’ll expect to hear from you next Friday. Dismissed.”

  Chapter Three

  Cliff dragged a hand over his hair, not sure he cared for the way it lay smooth across his head instead of brushing flat across the top. Thanks to missions and deployment, he didn’t always get to wear his favorite high and tight, but for the better part of twenty-two years—two in the Marines, twenty in the Navy—his cut of choice was shorter than this. With a shrug, he jammed on an old straw hat he’d found last week hanging in the back of the barn and headed out into the pre-dawn morning.

  Even at this early hour of the day, his boot heels kicked up dust with every stride. Men spilled from the bunkhouse, making him feel vaguely guilty about taking one of the nicer casitas, but Ty had insisted—and god knew—he was in no position to piss Ty off. The man had provided shelter from the storm, no questions asked.

  Despite the circumstances of his being here, there was a bounce in his step as he headed to the barn. As soon as he opened the big door and flipped on the overhead lights, the six or so horses in the barn nickered a greeting from their stalls. “Morning, boys and girls, and uh…” Well, fuck. How exactly did you greet a neutered animal? “Eunuchs…” he finished lamely, then laughed at himself.

  First things first. He strolled past each of the horses and scratched a head, rubbed a nose, or tickled an ear, and received several soft horsey snorts of thanks in return. Then for the next little while he busied himself with the routine of the morning. He grabbed the thick hose from the hook on the wall and a feed bucket. Dragging the hose to the first stall, he dropped the pail, opened the latch, and stepped inside. The roan gelding with a white blaze on his nose took a step backward, shaking his head with a snort.

  “Morning, Killian.” Cliff spent a minute rubbing the horse between his ears then shoved the hose nozzle into the water bucket and turned it on. When it was filled, he turned off the water, stepped out, and latched the stall. “I'll be back with your breakfast in just a minute.” The horse nickered as if he understood and Cliff chuckled.

  After he repeated the process for all seven stalls on the starboard side of the barn, Cliff went to the feed locker and filled up the bucket. He'd done this job all week. This was a life so different than anything he’d ever known before, and it gave him a small thrill of accomplishment spending an hour with the horses each morning before the other men came in. He’d spent the last two decades either training to kill someone, planning to kill someone, or…well, killing someone. As corny as it sounded…horses didn’t judge.

  Once Cliff finished doling out all the feed and supplements, he went to the hayloft and threw down a couple bales. Scrambling down the ladder, he cut the twine then stopped to scratch a scruffy black barn cat that head-bumped against his leg. The cat licked his hand then flopped onto the ground and rolled on his back, purring loudly as Cliff scratched his belly.

  Straightening, Cliff grabbed up several flakes of hay, the rich alfalfa filling his nostrils and tickling his nose. He looked back through the double-wide door, almost feeling as if someone was watching him—probably because most days the ranch hands would have started to wander in by now, fresh from breakfast and the morning-assignment meeting with Ty’s partner, Cass. Apparently, today they were going to be running a little later—probably some new project to plan.

  The last time Cliff had visited the Willow Springs Ranch, they’d been in the middle of throwing one heck of a party for some kids with serious illnesses. The way the ranch rallied to give these teens a day to remember had been inspiring. Even a famous country music star, Brody Kent, had shown up. In a roundabout way, it was thanks to Brody that Cliff was out here right now. If Whit had still been working at the WSR instead of building his own place with Brody, Cliff couldn’t have taken over some of the other man’s duties. Not that he was anywhere close to qualified to be a ranch hand, but dammit, look how far he’d come in just a week.

  Making another round through the stalls to give each horse a share of the alfalfa, he also checked out the floor conditions and decided they could wait to be cleaned until after the horses and their late-for-work riders headed out for the morning. Time enough for him to go for a ride. He led Killian to the crosstie area and fastened his harness before going to the tack room. Grabbing the bridle and hefting the saddle onto his shoulder, he returned to Killian and balanced the saddle on the sawhorse. The big gelding stood patiently, and hopefully not remembering how slow and awkward Cliff had been the first few times he’d saddled him up. Walking to the horse’s head, he murmured a few words as he got the bridle situated in his hand. He pinched Killian’s upper lip to slide the bit gently between his teeth. After it was positioned, he pulled the straps up over the horse's cheeks and ears, then patted the side of his face.

  “Hey, we’re getting better at this every day, huh?”

  “It sure looked to me like you knew what you were doing.”

  Ryan.

  Cliff closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Killian’s neck. He’d known this day was inevitable…but dayum. Did it have to come so soon? He turned and looked up to where the voice had come from.

  Grabbing the edge of the platform with both hands, Ryan swung over and dropped in one easy motion, landing on the dirt with a thud. The horses in the stalls on either side of him shuffled back, and one huffed a snort in his direction.

  “Ty?” Cliff finally forced himself to ask. He reached for the saddle blanket and spread it across the horse’s back, smoothing and adjusting each wrinkle away.

  “Yeah…took me a while though. Don’t ever go dark on me again—”

  Cliff turned away and Ryan broke off. He didn’t have to look to know that his friend’s lips would be pressed together in a tight line. It was the look he always got when people pissed him off.

  Well, that was too bad. Cliff wasn’t exactly a happy camper either. He’d probably have to kick Ty’s ass over this. Goddamn. What really pissed him off was how easy it had been for Ry to get a drop on him. He’d known that platform was there, had even looked on top of it on his first trip to the WSR—but this morning? He’d been up and down the ladder to the hayloft more than a dozen times this past week, and had only looked at the platform on the first trip. After that? It had become invisible—nothing to wor
ry about. Apparently not even when his subconscious tried to warn him he was being watched. That was the kind of lazy shit that could get you killed when you were a SEAL. Except he wasn’t anymore, was he?

  Ryan stayed behind him without speaking, so Cliff continued saddling Killian. He folded the leather stirrups over the top of the saddle and lifted the whole thing onto the horse’s back, raising and lowering it, then twisting and sliding until the saddle and blanket aligned smoothly, exactly where he wanted it. He gave it a few hard thunks with his fists, then reached under the horse’s belly, his fingers moving confidently over the buckles and cinches.

  “You look like you’re going somewhere,” Ryan finally said. “How come I didn’t know you could ride a horse? You look like a goddamn cowboy.”

  “Killian is expecting a ride, and I plan to give him one.” Cliff finally straightened, then turned and looked directly at Ryan. A couple of inches shorter and twenty-five pounds lighter, people seeing them together might think that Cliff was the more dangerous of the two—but looks could be deceiving. Ryan’s hazel eyes were muddy today, underscored with dark smudges, deep as bruises. His face was thin, his dark blond hair shaggy, his muscles tense, hard—all familiar post-mission—but usually shit that eased itself off during the ten-day decompression duty. “You look like shit, Rhino. Everything okay? When did you get back?”

  Ryan frowned. “What day is this?”

  “Sunday.”

  Ryan nodded. “Okay…that makes sense, I think. I got CONUS on Thursday, saw the old man Friday. Called Ty yesterday. Here I am.”

  Cliff narrowed his eyes. “Where’s the rest of your team, Rhino?”

  He shrugged. “Pearl. I’m bored with Hawaii—had some shit to do. No worries, I’m on leave for the next two weeks. Same as…”

  Cliff knew Ryan meant taking leave was the same as the decompression with his team, but it wasn’t. Not really. Sometimes though, you just needed some downtime away from those who thought they knew you best.

  “I don’t suppose if I told you I was okay, you’d go away and leave me the fuck alone?”

  Ryan stared for half a second, then turned on his heel. For a fleeting instant, Cliff thought he might have dodged the bullet that was his best friend’s wrath. Then Ryan flipped him the bird as he stalked toward the barn doors. “I’m grabbing some food and then a few hours of shut-eye. You better be fucking prepared to talk when I wake up.”

  Cliff rolled his eyes at the dramatic exit. He put his foot into the stirrup, stepped up, and swung his leg over the saddle. With a squeeze of his knees, he urged Killian outside and headed east. As he passed the main house, he caught sight of Ty, arms folded across his chest as he leaned in the doorway wearing his favorite uniform: a white apron over a white T-shirt and worn blue jeans. The former Navy SEAL scowled at him. Raising his hand to the brim of his hat, he inclined his head in Ty’s direction. Then he followed Rhino’s example, lowered his index finger and flipped him off before kicking Killian into a canter. It was going to be a long fucking day.

  ****

  Ryan had watched Cliff from his perch in the top of the barn for as long as he’d dared, but once it looked as if Cliff planned to go for a ride, he’d made himself known and dropped to the floor for a rather anticlimactic reunion. He’d arrived an hour earlier and, just as Ty suggested, he’d used the ladder to the loft, then swung from the beams like a kid on the monkey bars until reaching the center of the barn. Some time in the distant past, a kind soul had layered plywood over a twenty-foot section of crossbeams to create a sturdy platform, probably for storage. Whatever the original intention, the dust-covered surface had been ideal for remaining out of sight while watching Cliff do what Ty had referred to as his morning chores.

  Cliff had looked tired, but the tightness around his eyes and the creases etched around his mouth told him this was more than a physical exhaustion. Something big was eating at his friend. Well—welcome to the club, Ryan thought, watching as Cliff saluted Ty, then kicked the horse into a run. Damn…he does look like a cowboy—from the tight Wranglers to the dusty boots and a beat up straw hat on his head. What the fuck?

  “You going to stand there watching all day or come in and get something to eat?” Ty asked. The man had moved closer than he should have been able to without Ryan noticing. Damn, he was tired.

  “Gotta place for me to crash?”

  “Yep…soon as you eat. Follow me, and let’s get these ranch hands outta here, Cass has held ‘em up long enough.”

  “You’re a goddamn mother hen,” Ryan groused, but the smell of coffee and bacon could overcome any reluctance.

  “Cluck, cluck,” Ty said. “You get a free pass on the boots-off-at-the-door policy on your first visit. Now sit.” He pointed to a stool pulled up to a stainless steel workstation in the large kitchen. Ty poured a mug of coffee and put it in Ryan’s hand, then piled bacon, eggs, and hash browns on a plate. He set the food and some toast in front of Ryan, but for the next several minutes, conversation was impossible. A stream of men wandered through the kitchen, rinsing their plates and loading them directly into the dishwasher. They alternately gave Ty shit or praised the last meal…or the next. Finally, a long, tall drink of cowboy sauntered through the arched doorway that opened into the dining room. He carried a serving platter that was empty, save the tongs.

  “Sorry, honey. I tried to save you a sausage,” the man said, his brows raised high, giving him a picture of innocence that Ryan didn’t buy.

  Ty frowned and studied the other man for a long moment. “Huh. Guess I’ll top tonight then.”

  Laughing, the man, who must be Ty’s partner, Cass, placed the platter in the sink, then stepped close to cup Ty’s face in his hands. “Gotta run. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” He lowered his mouth and took a long kiss.

  Ryan wasn’t a complete stranger to guy-on-guy PDA, but it wasn’t something he was used to seeing so up close and personal. He looked down at his empty plate, telling himself it was to cede them some privacy. After a moment though, his gaze was drawn upward. There was something comfortable about the way they fit together. Both men were big. Ty was broad, his shoulders and arms bulky in the tight T-shirt. Cass was taller, lean and lanky, but his forearms were heavily corded, no doubt from years of ranch work. The two men pressed close, hips aligned, chest-to-chest, tongues clearly engaged as the kiss spun out…and damn if Ryan’s dick didn’t twitch. Amazing what six months of abstinence could do for you…just about anything looked good.

  Cass stepped back, and they smiled at each other before he turned toward the back door. Two steps later, he spun around.

  “Shit, where’re my manners?” He strode toward Ryan, his hand extended. “I’m Cass Cartwright. Welcome to the Willow Springs Ranch.”

  “Thanks, appreciate it. I’m Ryan Matthews. Nice to meet you.”

  They shook hands, then Cass stepped toward the door once more.

  “Sorry, I really do need to get out there, but I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to talk later.” He stuck a tan felt cowboy hat on his head and shot a grin at Ty. “Be good.” He turned his smile on Ryan, who found himself grinning back.

  “You might as well go ahead and do whatever it is Ty has in mind. He won’t give up until you do.” Cass’s laughter followed him out the door.

  “Huh. You have plans for me?”

  “No doubt. But first, how the hell are you? You just came off mission but no R and R with your platoon?”

  Ryan shrugged. “I’m rotating off the team. Wanted to come back to talk about orders, maybe look at a few options.”

  “You here to give Cliff shit about what happened?”

  Ryan did a slow blink, wishing he had a least one fucking piece of the puzzle. “Probably—only I don’t know what happened.”

  It was Ty’s turn to blink. “Then why were you looking for him?”

  “Uh…hello? Cliff’s been my best friend for twenty years,” Ryan said. Frustration welled up and threatened to spill over. He gestured
at Ty. “We might not know each other well, but don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re the only friend Cliff has. Now I’ve been in CONUS less than a hundred hours, and I’m trying to find out what the fuck is going on.”

  Ty looked at him a long time, and Ryan hid a sigh. The man across the counter from him was a certified hero, and even if they never served on the same SEAL team together, he was a former teammate of Cliff’s—someone he’d trusted enough to help him go dark. And someone who knew enough about their friendship that when Ryan had called—Ty’d told him how to find Cliff. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “I’ve been in Afghanistan for the last six months. We got add-on orders on our way home. The mission took a platoon of us to Southeast Asia. We had a debrief”—he tried to count back the days but gave up and went for general information—“earlier this week. The rest of the guys remained in Pearl for decompression, but I came home, like I said. I arrived sometime in the middle of the night on…Thursday?” He nodded to himself. “I talked to the CO on Friday about some new orders. When I mentioned something about taking Snides along, he warned me off—said the master chief used poor judgment and to leave it alone.

  “Now, by that time, my ass was more than dragging, but I called Cliff’s contact phone—and got nothing back. I called a mutual friend at BUDs, and he said Cliff was on emergency leave—he thought his mother was having surgery. It was like playing connect the dots. Of course when I called Steve—Cliff’s dad—to ask about Carly, he said she was fine and they hadn’t heard from Cliff for a couple of weeks.

  “Ty—I am tired, but I’m not stupid. Rather than raising an alarm that Cliff might not appreciate by calling more contacts in the Coronado area, I tried to think who he’d reach out to outside the active duty community.”

  Ty nodded. “Which led to me—”

  “Well, especially since he’d been out here not too long ago.”

  Standing suddenly, Ty stretched out a hand and pulled Ryan to his feet. “Okay, that works for me. Since I gather from Snide’s reaction, he’s not overly pleased with either of us at the moment…” His lips twitched as if he was fighting a smile. “Go catch some zees. The casita’s unlocked, just pull your Jeep around.”