by Kaki Warner
Billy’s head exploding in a red mist that coated his face, his throat, his mind.
He shook the image away. “It was war. Terrible things happened all the time. The worst was watching my buddies get hurt or die around me.”
Faces flashing through his mind. Squandered lives. Hope dying in a scream.
“Mostly I remember blood, chaos, the constant noise of explosions and gunfire. Even now, when I think about that time, all I hear is a roar in my head.”
Mangled limbs, headless torsos, agonized faces of men he loved.
He pushed through the horror, needing to say it all so maybe he wouldn’t have to speak of it ever again. “I’d go days with almost no sleep, figuring the next mortar round would have my name on it. Then there would be a lull. We’d sit around waiting for orders, talking about home and women and what we were going to do when we got back to the States, all the while pretending death wasn’t waiting outside the gate. Then it would start all over again. Mostly, it was ugly and dehumanizing. Pointless.”
He didn’t know he had clenched his fist against his thigh until she reached over and laid her hand on top of his. Odd, how that simple contact eased the tight band of tension around his chest. He took a deep breath, let it out, and twined his fingers through hers. Maybe this was helping. Maybe after talking about it, he could lock it away forever and she’d be happy again.
They sat in silence until he had to let go of her hand to make the left onto 265, a narrow, dusty ranch road. His time with Raney was almost up, but he wasn’t sure they’d accomplished anything with all this talk.
“Why did you sign on for two more years after your enlistment was over?”
Guilt. Redemption.
“Because by then I’d learned to hate,” he said, which was true, too. “I wanted payback. A reason why I’d survived and others hadn’t. I wanted to get bin Laden.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t. And after a while I realized it didn’t matter. Nothing would ever change and the killing would never stop. So, I mustered out as soon as I could.”
Yet the ghosts of his buddies followed him home. He couldn’t seem to outrun them and he was so tired of trying. Even now, on the bad nights, they called out his name. But how could he explain that to someone who’d never seen war?
“Do you still hate?” she asked.
“Not much. It was a necessary tool in combat, but not now. I don’t even like thinking about Iraq anymore, much less talking about it.”
She brushed a hand along his arm. “I’m sorry. I made you go through that again. But I needed to know.”
He slowed for the turn onto 193, which would take them to the Whitcomb Four Star main gate. Time had run out. Yet he felt farther from her than ever. “Did it help? Hearing all that?” He didn’t see how. Now she’d have those pictures in her head, too, and what good could come of that?
“Definitely. Knowing what you went through, how it affected you, and how hard you’ve worked to get past that horrible time is actually a comfort to me.”
A comfort? Was she insane?
“I know now that you’re capable of violence,” she went on. “But you don’t like using it. I know you won’t go looking to hurt anyone. But when pushed, like you were at the Roadhouse, you’ll stand your ground. And that tells me you’ll protect me if need be, but you’ll never use your strength against me.”
He looked away, humbled and a little disturbed to be analyzed so thoroughly.
A moment later, they turned through the gate, bounced over the cattle guard, and headed down the drive toward the house. “So we’re okay?” he asked.
Her smile was as open and honest as any she’d ever given him. “We’re okay.”
“Good.” He pulled into the parking area behind the house, shifted into park, set the brake, and punched the ignition button. Then he sat back and said, “Because now I have a question for you.”
CHAPTER 14
“Tell me about Trip,” Dalton said. “Joss already told me what he did. Now I want to hear it from you.”
He was sitting sideways, his back to the driver’s door, one muscular arm resting across the steering wheel, the other on the console between the bucket seats. His gaze had an intensity that made the narrow space between them seem heated. Or maybe it only seemed that way because the air-conditioning was off.
Raney laughed. She couldn’t help it. Dalton was such a guy. Forget about her favorite color, which movie was the all-time best, or which authors she loved. Go straight to the men in her past. Guys could be so predictable.
And easily offended, she thought, when she saw his frown.
He’d answered her questions. It was only fair that she answered his. “Trip is a nobody. A total douche. A Texas good ole boy in the worst possible way.”
“Yet you loved him.”
“I thought I did. But even as I accepted his proposal, I had doubts.” She thought back, tried to capture the moment in her mind. A candlelit dinner at an expensive restaurant. Flowers. A beautiful ring. A handsome, successful man sitting across from her. Any woman would have been delighted with such a proposal. Yet, thinking back, all she could remember was how relieved she’d felt. Not happy, or ecstatic. Just glad it was over.
What was over? The courtship? The pretense?
The pressure.
It seemed that everyone—her family, the grocer, Bertie, and even the old lady at the dry cleaner’s—had been anxiously awaiting the big news that Raney Whitcomb was finally getting married.
“You look upset. What are you thinking about?”
She looked over to find him watching her, that frowning brow shadowing his beautiful green eyes. “I’m thinking it’s hot as hell in here. And I also just realized again how close I came to making a catastrophic mistake.”
“By marrying the douche?”
“Exactly. Maybe we should turn the AC back on.”
“But if you didn’t love him, why did you accept his proposal?”
“Because I loved the idea of him. The idea of having someone to help me run the ranch. Of not being single anymore. Of not being thought of as unnatural because I wasn’t married. Once I was married, I could just be me and go on with my life without all that bullshit weighing me down. Does that make sense?”
“None whatsoever. But I’m glad you didn’t marry him. It was disappointing to think that you’d settle for a douche.”
“But I didn’t, did I? Nor will I. Next time there’s any proposing to be done, I’ll be the one doing it. When I’m ready, and when I’m convinced it’s right.” She tried to moderate her tone. It wasn’t Dalton’s fault that Trip was an asshole. “All Trip cared about was my money and my connections. He was just another narcissistic good ole boy looking for someone to parade around on his arm and be hostess to his good ole boy pals and raise his future good ole boy sons.” She was starting to rant, and reminded herself it was Trip she was mad at, not Dalton. “It was a mistake. I realized that and ended it. Any more questions? I’m starting to suffocate.”
“I’m guessing you don’t much like good ole boys.”
“They’re anachronisms. Holdovers from a time when men were men and women were sweet lil thangs who only knew how to look pretty and do what they were told. It’s time we had more good ole gals calling the shots.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“Get used to it.” She sounded bitter and angry again. She was talking too fast, feeling cornered, but didn’t know why. Maybe she really was suffocating.
“And now you’re worried you’re making another mistake. With me. Is that it?”
She stared at him, unable to answer.
“Raney . . . I’m not Trip.”
“I know that.”
“But you’re still worried. I can see it. Why?”
She could feel the shutters come down. She di
dn’t want to talk about this anymore. She had to get some air.
But when she reached for the door handle, he put his hand on her arm. “Don’t shut me out, Raney.”
Now he was angry, too.
“At least hear what I have to say.”
She wanted to. But she had come to care for Dalton so much. What if she was wrong this time, too? How could she bear that? And why was it so hard to breathe?
He leaned close, hemming her in, one arm on the dashboard, the other on the back of her seat. His eyes were fierce, his lips drawn tight against his teeth. “I don’t give a rat fuck about your money, Raney. I never have and I never will. Give it away. Burn it. I don’t care. It’s you I want.”
She could see he believed that. She wanted to believe it, too. But money changed people. Eroded trust and hope. Maybe not with Dalton. But that last niggling doubt kept eating away. “It’s too hot. I need to get out.”
He drew back. “Just give us a chance. That’s all I ask.”
“Okay.” She threw open the door and almost fell out of the Expedition, her lungs sucking in hot, dusty air. Immediately that feeling of suffocation passed. What was wrong with her? This was Dalton. The only man she trusted other than Daddy.
When he appeared at her side, a new kind of desperation seized her. Reaching out, she grabbed his hand in both of hers, needing the contact. He was her lifeline. Her anchor.
“I’m sorry, Dalton,” she said in a rush. “I know you’re nothing like Trip. But seeing him the other night, then talking about him . . . it brought it all up again. The betrayal. The humiliation. It’s not your fault. I just . . . I just need . . .”
“Oh, baby.” He pulled her close, his big body wrapping around her. Protective. Asking nothing, giving everything. Making her feel safe and cherished and connected in a way she hadn’t since Daddy died. After a few moments, his voice rumbled through his chest. “I’m sorry he hurt you.”
“He didn’t. Not really. It was doubting myself that hurt more.”
“Maybe I should go punch him.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t.” She gave a shaky laugh and pulled back. Dalton always knew what to say to make her feel better. “But thanks for the offer.”
Hands clasped, they walked through the gate into the backyard. “I hear he’s not doing well. After we split, Mama suggested he move to another company. Which he did. Since then, he’s been spending more than he makes and living like a rich man. Probably looking for a new cash cow to pay for it all.”
“That seems harsh. I sure never thought of you as a cow.”
She let go of his hand to poke him in the side. “I was going to fix you lunch, but after that remark, I don’t think I will.”
“That’s okay. Maria will do it. She likes me.”
“Don’t we all.”
When they went up the veranda steps, Raney saw Joss stretched out on a chaise, a half-finished plate of Dalton’s favorite cookies perched on her baby bump. “What were y’all doing in the car all this time—as if I can’t tell, as sweaty as you are. But never mind. Who likes Dalton?”
“Maria,” he said. “Are those my cookies, Buttercup?”
“They’re for the baby, Mr. Fancy Pants.”
“Then why are you eating them? And why this sudden interest in my pants?”
Joss ignored him and said to Raney, “It seems Mama likes Dalton, too.”
Raney didn’t trust that sly look. “Why do you say that?”
Plucking a cookie off the plate, Joss took a bite and chewed thoughtfully, dragging it out for all it was worth. She finally swallowed and said, “She thinks we need protection. She’s decided he should stay in the house while she’s gone. In the downstairs guest room,” she added, with a meaningful glance at Dalton.
He grinned back. “Sounds like a plan.” He reached for a cookie.
Joss batted his hand away.
“She didn’t say anything to me,” Raney argued, sensing a trap but not sure who had set it. Having Dalton under the same roof would be troublesome. And tempting. And she didn’t think either of them was ready for that next step. Yet.
“She texted me right before her plane took off. She also wants Dalton to promise he won’t go upstairs unless he hears gunshots. And there’s to be no . . . what were the words she used? Oh, yeah. Hanky-panky. I don’t know what panky means, do you? Seems hanky-spanky would make more sense.”
“I hear gunfire, I’m sure as hell not going up. I’ve seen your sister shoot.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Raney burst out. “We’ve got a half-dozen guys within shouting distance and I have a Glock next to my bed. Does she think with her gone, there’ll be a stampede of rapists breaking down the door?”
Joss shuddered. “Lord, I hope not. I’m pregnant.”
“Your mom’s right,” Dalton said to Raney, his green eyes alight with laughter. “I think it would be best if I stayed here at the house. For protection.”
“And in the downstairs bedroom,” Joss added.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
“Great. I’ll go get my stuff while Maria fixes lunch.”
* * *
* * *
Later that afternoon, Raney saw Press Amala’s truck and horse trailer go past the office window. Anxious to see this new addition to their growing stable of outstanding quarter horses, she set aside her paperwork and hurried to the barn.
By the time she arrived, Dalton was unloading the mare. She was a beauty. A flaxen chestnut with three white stockings and a white blaze that stretched from the middle of her forehead to her pink nose. Her confirmation was as square as it gets, deep in the chest and muscular in the haunches. Her demeanor seemed calm but attentive, her eyes bright with curiosity. She would definitely be an asset to Four Star, whether she could ever be shown again or not.
“She’s beautiful, Press.” Raney extended her palm for the mare to sniff. “I can’t wait to try her out.”
“Just be careful the first few times you take her into the pasture,” the old man warned. “She had great training back when. She sees a cow, she might zig while you zag. Happened to me a time or two.”
“I’ll put her in the arena for now,” Dalton said. “Let her get used to the place.”
Raney watched him lead her away, liking how the horse moved and the way her blond tail swayed side to side with every stride. Dalton moved nice, too—that swagger again. It was a joy to watch both of them. “I can see why she’s named Sassy,” she told Press.
“She’s a good horse.” He secured the trailer door and walked with Raney to the front of the truck. “I’m glad you took her. You’ll treat her right.”
“You can count on it. You’ll stay for supper?”
“Can’t. My daughter’s helping me pack. The new owners come next week.”
“So soon?”
“It’s time.” He grinned, showing gaps where teeth used to be. “And time I got to know my grandkids better. What a pair of hellions. Reminds me of you and your older sister back in the day.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“Don’t. I’ll still be around. But you can tell your mama good-bye for me.” A faraway look came into his faded gray eyes. “A real chingona, your mama. We had us some good times, damned if we didn’t. And Charlie, too, of course.”
Raney could imagine. Daddy often said Mama was broke to saddle, but had never accepted the bit. Raney didn’t understand what he meant until years later, and it was several years more before she stopped getting the heebie-jeebies whenever she thought of it.
Press opened the truck door, then stood beside it for a moment, watching Dalton and the mare. “That’s a good man you got there, Raney. Break him in slow and give him his head now and then and he’ll never let you down.”
Not sure how to respond, Raney just smiled. “You’re always welcome at Four Star, Press. Com
e anytime.”
“I’ll do that.”
But Raney knew he wouldn’t. And as she watched him drive away, it was like watching the past fade into dust. There would never be another Press Amala, world-class roping champion and unequaled horse trainer. A real icon in the horse business. And another old friend leaving her behind.
“Ready to try out the new mare?” Dalton asked when Raney walked into the barn a few minutes later.
“Sure.”
She leaned against a stall door while he went to the arena to get the mare, thinking about all the changes going on around her: Four Star getting out of the cattle business and into the breeding business, Mama leaving, Joss having a baby, Dalton stampeding into her life, and Press hanging up his spurs. Good changes for the most part. But scary. And she wasn’t always comfortable with changes. Especially the scary ones. Like earlier, in the car, when she’d felt so suffocated and afraid. She still wasn’t sure what that was about. But Dalton had known what she’d needed and had helped her find her balance again. A remarkable man.
A few minutes later, he returned with the mare, tied her to a ring in the wall, and began to brush her down. He shot her a look. “Why so glum? Not thinking about the douche, I hope.”
“Press sold his barn.”
“I heard.”
“I’ll miss him.”
“Me, too. But, hey, little lady,” he went on in an exaggerated Texas twang as he ran the brush over Sassy’s back. “You got me and this here mare. What more do you want?”
She studied him as he bent to brush the mare’s legs. He was so beautiful. Inside and out. How could she bear it if things didn’t work out between them? “I want you to kiss me.”
He straightened, smile fading. A change came over his face. Hunger. Want. Dropping the brush into a bucket, he walked toward her, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “I can do that.”
And he did.
Strangely, the heart-pounding, knee-weakening, mind-boggling, nerve-tingling changes he awakened in her body weren’t that scary at all. If they hadn’t heard footsteps at the back of the barn, she might have dragged him into one of the stalls. As it was, she barely peeled herself off his strong, sturdy, utterly delicious body before Chuey came in with a wheelbarrow of hay for Rosco. Mumbling something about hunting up a saddle for Sassy, she stepped around the befuddled man she’d just been dallying with and went down to the tack room.
