His Reckless Heart
The Montgomery Boys 1
Jessica Mills
BrixBaxter Publishing
Contents
Find Jessica Mills
Description
Dedication
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
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Copyright
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Description
He was the one that got away. Or rather, ran away.
One of seven brothers, all of them hot enough to need a cold shower and a blast of AC.
We were supposed to get married, but he ran away without a goodbye. Something about needing to join the military and serve.
Good luck, buddy. Hope it is all you wanted it to be.
And here he is back again in Green Valley. A wounded warrior.
Every cell in my body woke up the moment I saw him again.
But I don’t trust him as far as I can throw up.
I ain’t interested in building a future in my head that could get yanked away again.
Unfortunately, it isn’t my mind that gets to make the decision on where things go with this second chance at my first love.
It’s my reckless heart.
Dedication
To everyone who loves a good country or rancher love story. There’s just something about good old boys with wranglers and rough hands. To my new and old readers who feel the same way.
Jessica
Introduction
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Chapter 1
Jesse
It was a day I’d been waiting to come for a long time.
It wasn’t easy to tell I was really excited about it or if I was dreading it. Both feelings came and went, clashing with each other and sometimes going in reverse to define each other. There were times when I thought about the date looming on the calendar and felt a heavy rock sitting in the bottom of my stomach.
I knew when that date came it meant facing reality, coming to terms with everything that happened, and having no choice but to force myself forward. But then there were other moments when I couldn’t wait. I wanted it to be there, to finally have it all behind me.
The only thing I really knew was that I’d been waiting for months and it was finally here.
I stood in the bustling Kabul, Afghanistan airport watching everything rushing by around me. Few people even seemed to notice me standing there, but I noticed all of them. I couldn’t stop the rush of my brain or the tension of my thoughts and my muscles. My senses felt too sharp, waiting for something to happen and trying to anticipate it.
I tried to stop it, to turn it off. That wasn’t my life anymore. It didn’t have to be. I didn’t have to be on full alert every second and try to etch every face, smell, sound, and word I perceived into my memory so I could bring it forward if I needed the details later.
That was what today was about. Soon, I would board a passenger plane that would bring me out of Afghanistan and all the way to Washington DC. From there, a connecting flight would take me back to Montana. Just the thought of it all had me exhausted, and I was only at the beginning of my journey home.
Home.
I didn’t let that go through my head very much. A lot of the guys got themselves through the long days by thinking and talking about nothing but their homes. It got to the point where I could perfectly describe their houses, dogs, and girlfriends.
Everything they left behind became the stories they told to push through hard days and dark nights. Those stories helped them cling to those moments and feel like there was still something to claw their way through every day for. It was like they believed if they talked about it enough, they would make it more real and be able to hang onto it. They wouldn’t lose themselves in everything they were seeing and experiencing every day.
None of them knew how many times I’d felt the opposite. I never talked about what I called home or what might or might not be waiting for me there. There was a house but no perky dog ready to jump on me and greet me with a face full of licks and no girl to wrap me up in her arms and make me forget everything else.
Sometimes, I told myself if I didn’t talk about it, I wouldn’t have to remember everything I left behind there. So much of me had already been lost. Talking about a past I would have to censor wasn’t going to make that any better.
The announcement came for me to board the plane and I tossed my duffel bag over my shoulder. A hint of nerves made my stomach flutter as I showed my boarding pass and walked down the ramp into the plane. As I made my way to my seat, those nerves turned into full-blown anxiety.
There was a time in my life when the idea of flying didn’t bother me at all. I didn’t do it much growing up, but there was a sense of excitement and adventure in the idea of getting onto a plane and soaring off somewhere. Not anymore.
For the last few years, I haven’t liked flying. Too many things about it brought up memories I’d rather not ever think about again. Loud noises were hell and could trigger a dark, terrifying episode I didn’t want to experience and, even less, didn’t want anyone else to see.
That meant having a random seat wasn’t an option for me. I had to choose my seat to ensure I was in a place close to the front of the plane and in front of the wings. Those were the seats kept most buffered away from the roar of the jets so I wouldn’t have to struggle against them through the whole flight.
There was another reason I was glad to be sitting in the front of the plane. It might not be the most logical thought, but I dwelled on the nose of the plane lifting off the ground first.
When I boarded the flight that brought me to my first tour of duty, I had a seat in the very back of the plane, and I looked ahead of me at all the people on the rows close to the front. When the plane took off, those were the first people to lift up off the ground. They were the first to really leave. It was only a matter of seconds, but I resented those seconds. They meant I was still being held back. I wanted to be gone too.
The next time I got on a plane, I was in the front and felt the satisfaction of shaving those seconds off. I was on my way even before the people in the back h
ad left the ground. It was the same now. Only this time I wasn’t on my way into the fray but leaving it behind.
Once I was at my seat, I stuffed my duffel bag into the overhead compartment, pulling out the smaller bag I wanted to keep in the seat with me. I sat down and checked again to make sure my dog tags were tucked under the collar of my shirt.
A moment later, a young woman barged her way onto the plane. She was one of those people who didn’t take up a lot of space in terms of her size but made up for it in sheer presence. Nobody already on the plane could miss her. She managed to hit every seat she walked past with the backpack on her back and the rolling bag she dragged behind her. She walked past my row of seats, paused in the middle of the aisle, and walked backward to me.
“This is me,” she said to no one in particular and scooted sideways into the row.
The sound of her slamming the handle of her suitcase down into the hard case made my heart jump and my hand clench briefly, but I forced myself to take a breath and calm down. She stood on her toes to try to shove the case into the overhead compartment but wasn’t tall enough to quite get it in. Once her somewhat flailing attempt got it on the edge of the compartment, her small stature didn’t give her the leverage to actually push it into place. I stood up and reached for the case.
“Let me help you,” I said.
She looked relieved and gave me a wide, friendly grin. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem.”
Her suitcase in place, I closed the now-full compartment and took my seat again. The woman plopped down beside me and let out a breath as she turned her head toward me.
“I’m Mandy,” she introduced.
“Jesse.”
“I am ready for this to be over with,” Mandy commented. “I don’t particularly like flying.”
“Then why are you on a plane?” I asked.
The question came out with more of a gruff edge than I intended, but if she noticed, she didn’t say anything about it. Instead, she tilted her head slightly.
“Because they haven’t built a bridge between Virginia and Afghanistan, and even if they did, I don’t think even my little Toyota has the gas mileage to get me over it,” she said as if the explanation made perfect sense.
I guessed it made just as much sense as me asking the question in the first place. “Fair enough,” I said.
Other passengers came on board and distributed throughout the cabin. Soon, the seats were almost all filled, and I heard the tell-tale sound of the plane doors closing. Suddenly, it felt like there was less air and I drew in a sharp breath.
Mandy reached down for the backpack she’d put at her feet and searched around in it. She pulled out a tablet and started swiping through screens. I didn’t want to seem like I was intruding by looking, but the way she turned it subtly toward me was like she was inviting me to. A selection of movies came up and she made a few contemplating sounds as people around us were taking their seats and locking their seatbelts into place.
Mandy didn’t take her eyes off her tablet but balanced it on her thighs as she secured her seatbelt and tugged it tightly over her. I followed her lead and ensured my belt was in place. A flight attendant took his place in the aisle and the crackle of the announcement system officially started the takeoff sequence. As the plane started rolling backward away from the airport, I felt the anxiety rising.
Mandy looked over at me. “Where are you headed, Jesse?”
“Montana,” I told her. “Green Valley.”
“Yeah? I’ve never been to Montana. I’ve actually never been to the mid-west. It’s funny, I’ve traveled all over the world, but I’ve barely even seen the United States. I’ve been to more countries than I have states.”
“Really? Why?”
“I’m a journalist,” she told me. “That’s why I was in Kabul. I’m working on a piece about American military involvement in the region and the toll it’s taking on the locals.”
“That sounds interesting,” I commented, my hands tightening on the arms of the chair as I braced for takeoff.
“I thought so,” she said with a nod. “Everything you see is always about how the military is handling being away from home and what it’s like to try to get comfortable over here when you’re still thinking about home. There’s a lot of showing how the men and women adapt and bring little bits of the comforts of home to their time in service. Even how being around the locals and the different culture impacts them. But you don’t see anything about how the military being around influences the locals who aren’t involved in combat. I want to highlight them and what it’s like to live their normal daily lives when there’s really nothing normal about it.”
“That’s pretty impressive,” I told her.
I didn’t say anything about being one of those American military forces or what it was like for me, and Mandy didn’t ask. I didn’t know if that was because she didn’t care or because she could already tell and didn’t want to say anything about it. Either way, I appreciated it. That was the last thing I wanted to talk about right then.
“What is it that you do in Green Valley, Jesse?” she asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”
That inspired half a laugh, even though I’d closed my eyes and pressed my head back against the seat.
“Not many people have,” I told her. “It’s not exactly a bustling tourist spot. It’s just a small town surrounded by cattle ranches.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to see the ranch from the air?” she asked.
I lifted my head to look at her. “What?”
Mandy nodded toward the window and I glanced over to see the ground disappearing beneath us. She’d talked me through takeoff, so I barely even noticed the plane leaving the tarmac.
Giving me a smile, she turned on her tablet again and chose a movie. She offered me an extra pair of headphones and I watched the comedy with her while we continued to rise higher in the sky. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, but I didn’t mind. Pulling out the earbuds, I got the attention of the flight attendant coming our way down the aisle and ordered a stiff drink.
Letting the burn of the alcohol slide down my throat, I stared out the window and contemplated what awaited me at home.
Nothing. Just cows and grass.
Chapter 2
Shannon
It never ceased to amaze me what people expected out of a mechanic. It was like they thought we were some sort of miracle workers endowed with an inhuman ability to raise cars from the dead. It was either a tremendous amount of hope or an utter lack of understanding of how vehicles worked, but it never stopped.
Every day when I got to work at Dailey’s Auto, I knew what was going to be waiting for me. There would be the basic, easy projects. Oil changes for the people who were too busy or lazy to do it themselves. System flushes. Brake repairs. Tune-ups. All things that kept cars going and made their lives last longer. Then there were the other ones.
It didn’t happen every day, thank God, but at least once every couple of weeks, we would end up hunkering over heaps of metal better put out of their misery. I didn’t know what people did to their cars, but some of them showed up at the auto shop looking like they were used as props in a junkyard obstacle course.
Parts missing. Vital mechanical structures malfunctioning. Scratched up multicolored bodies banged all to hell. And yet, the owners truly believed we would be able to bring them into the garage and miraculously transform them into purring perfection, the vehicular version of calling up a zombie.
Sometimes, I was fully convinced my father planted a few of them just to mess with me. It was his shop, after all, and he’d spent my entire life grooming me to not only work in it but eventually take it over. Not that I was exactly the vision of what a third-generation mechanic should be. At least, not anywhere else.
In Green Valley, people didn’t mind so much not seeing my father raising up a gaggle of sons to take on his legacy. They knew what I could do and respected me for it. Which was good,
considering I needed to do anything I could to help my family make ends meet. That meant following right along in the footsteps of my father and his father before him.
From the time I was big enough to pick up a wrench, I was mechanically inclined, and since he put me to work, I’d been known around town as the girl who could fix anything.
Except this damn pickup it seemed like.
The beat-up old hunk of junk had been taking up space in the parking lot of the mechanic shop for the better part of a week, but nothing was convincing it to come alive again. Every day, I worked on it, kind of finding time in between other jobs and even staying late to try to tinker it back into usefulness.
It had gone from a job to a vendetta. I was either going to get it to work or get a crowbar and smash it into as many pieces as I could before I got caught.
That morning, I was still doing my best to stick to the plan of fixing it but was teetering ever closer to the crowbar plan. I stood then leaned over at the front of the truck, most of me tucked under the hood as I tried with every bit of my skill and experience to figure out what in blue hell I could do to make the thing run again. Something sparked in my mind and I reached for a wrench. I dug deep into the engine, loosened a piece, and tightened another, tested it and… nothing.
His Reckless Heart (The Montgomery Boys Book 1) Page 1