Not a Hero

by Cherise Sinclair

  Seven years ago, Gabe and his three brothers had talked the sarge into leaving this area and moving near Rescue where he had an old war buddy. Together, they bought a huge, isolated chunk of land and built five cabins, despite the fact that only Mako had lived there permanently.

  Jesus, Gabe’d visited as often as he could wrangle time off—they all had—but he hadn’t been there when Mako really needed him. When he’d died last fall.

  God. The swamping guilt and grief hollowed a place around his heart. October. It’d been a dark, ugly month. First, the ambush down in South America. His men shouting, screaming, falling, dying. He hadn’t known them long, but they’d been his, and he’d failed them. He should never have trusted the intel provided…or the company.

  After surgery to repair the damage from the bullets, he’d been flown back to the States to finish his recovery. He’d wakened after the long flight, smelling the astringent odors of a hospital, hearing people in a hallway. Feeling the searing pain in his shoulder and hip.

  When he’d opened his eyes, Caz and Bull were there. They’d looked devastated.

  And they’d told him about Mako’s death.

  Gabe swallowed against the thickness in his throat. Why did he still feel as if he’d lost a part of himself? The sarge had died in a car accident months ago.

  Car accident, my ass. He’d killed himself. Said so plainly in the note he’d left.

  * * *

  - - - -

  If you’re reading this, I’m dead. Soon now, I figure on taking a quick right off a high cliff—although it’s a waste of a good vehicle. Got a diagnosis a while back. Cancer. No surprise after that crap they sprayed on us in ’Nam. The docs say they can’t do shit, and I always said I’d check out when life lost its flavor—that time is now.

  The nightmares are getting worse again, too. The PTSD—Jesus, who the fuck thought of such a stupid name—got better when I got you four. Raising you all gave me a mission. Staved it off—mostly. I’m sorry for the times it got the better of me and I scared you.

  - - - -

  * * *

  Gabe shook his head. Yeah, Mako had scared the crap out of them off and on. The sarge’d been a Vietnam vet, and some triggers made him crazy. The sound of a chopper, the unexpected smell of diesel. Fireworks with staccato, sharp noises sent him diving for cover, or worse, running into the forest. Days later, he’d return haggard and silent.

  But if he didn’t run and was fighting off a flashback, his temper would erupt.

  Drill sergeants had cruel tongues.

  Being clueless kids, they hadn’t understood, not at first, but Cazador, the smartest with people, had eventually figured out the sarge had PTSD from a war that had occurred before they were even born. Slowly, they’d discovered how to avoid the triggers…and what to do when shit happened anyway.

  Gabe rubbed his face and the rough beard he hadn’t bothered to trim. He had his own nightmares of war and death now and a hell of a lot of respect for how well Mako had managed.

  The sarge would be the first to understand why Gabe had holed up in the cabin…and would be the first to kick his ass out of it.

  But Gabe hadn’t found any reason to leave.

  Leaning against a porch post, he inhaled. The crisp green scent of spring smelled like anticipation. It was…annoying.

  With his free hand, he massaged his throbbing shoulder. It didn’t hurt too much, considering the amount of work he’d done this week. The injuries were pretty much healed.

  His mind, though? Not so much. Like Grayson, the sarge’s psychologist friend, had warned, the isolation had made it worse.

  The land was thawing under the spring sun; he wasn’t sure he ever would.

  But he’d found some peace, too, out here in Mako’s old cabin. Seemed like he could feel the sarge here now and then. Mako’d loved this place where dense spruce, birch, and cottonwood forest surrounded the cabin on three sides. A slope filled with alders led to the river where the sun sparkled off the last remaining ice along the riverbank. A few chunks still bobbed in the swift-running, turquoise water.

  As he watched the water, the birds went silent. He heard the approaching noise of one—no, two—four-wheelers coming down the nearly impassible dirt road to the cabin.

  Stepping inside, he pulled his old Mossberg shotgun off the rack and returned to the porch.

  Just inside the clearing, two men dismounted from their ATVs and approached the cabin. One bear-sized man. One shorter, more slender guy who moved with the deadly grace of a lynx.

  Jesus. Fuck.

  Shoving back his hood, Caz eyed the shotgun. “Buenos días, ’mano. Are you shooting visitors now?”

  Bull snorted. “He always did take after the sarge.”

  Gabe’s brothers sauntered up to the porch.

  With a grunt of irritation, Gabe went inside to put the shotgun back in the rack as the two pulled off their boots and coats in the entry. “What the hell do you two want?”

  “Wanted to make sure you were alive.” Bull walked into the main cabin.

  “I’m alive.” Gabe motioned toward the door in a not-so-subtle hint.

  They didn’t leave.

  “Nice try. Won’t work.” Bull pulled him into a one-armed hug.

  Gabe froze. It’d been a long winter without people. But okay, okay, he loved his brothers. With a sigh, he hugged back. “Hey, bro.”

  “I’ve missed you, viejo.” His other brother grabbed a hug too. A medic first, then a nurse practitioner, Caz had the biggest heart of them all and the hottest temper. “It’s been too long.”

  Yeah, from fall until… “What month is it anyway?”

  Caz shook his head. “May. Happy Cinco de Mayo in two days.”

  May? It had been awhile. He snorted. “I’m surprised Zachary Grayson didn’t show up. Last fall, he said that if I didn’t leave after break-up, he’d come and dig me out.”

  Bull grinned. “He called me last week, actually, to ask if you were out. His wife just gave birth, so he couldn’t leave right away but said you’ll be getting a visit in a few weeks, if you’re still holed up here.”

  “Damned psychologist.” Yet it felt…good…in a way, to know that Grayson had worried about him even with a new baby in the house.

  Wait. New baby? He counted backward on his fingers. “Jesus, she must’ve been pregnant last fall.” Back when Grayson’s stalker had almost shot her. The thought shook him to the core, and he pulled in a harsh breath.

  At ease, MacNair. Baby was born. Everyone was good. He looked at Bull. “So you’re here to answer his questions on how I am?”

  “Nope. We want to talk to you about a problem we’re having.” Bull walked over to the kitchen area.

  The two extra people made the cabin feel much smaller. “I don’t do problems. Not anymore.”

  Still, guilt trickled through his glacier-cold numbness, because problems were what he did. Or used to do. He was used to taking the lead…in foster homes, with his brothers, in the military and law enforcement, with the merc company. He pulled people together and fixed what was broken.

  Trouble was…he was what was broken now.

  “Then listen and tell us what you think we should do.” Bull poured himself a cup of coffee, then ran his palm over the new kitchen chair. “Nice work.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Coffee mug in hand, Bull dropped down onto the old brown couch and put his feet up on the ottoman.

  Gabe scowled. Dammit. Once settled in, his brother couldn’t be moved. Not that Gabe would care to try, because Bull’s childhood wish to be a big man had come to pass in spades. Thankfully, he didn’t have the irritable personality of a male moose. He didn’t have to. He’d simply flatten whatever annoyed him.

  With a resigned sigh, Gabe got his own coffee and took a seat.

  Caz filled a cup and glanced at the open shelves in the kitchen corner. “You’re low on food.”

  “End of winter. Of course I am.”

  Choosing his fav
orite armchair, Cazador opened his backpack, took out a package, and tossed it in Gabe’s lap. “Eat those while we talk.”

  Gabe looked down. Oreo cookies. Double-stuffed. His favorite junk food. Caz understood people—and he never forgot anything.

  Gabe’s mouth started to water. He’d run out of sugar and sweets well over a month ago.

  He had to clear his throat. “Thanks.” The first bite was a symphony of taste and texture, like having sex after a long drought. “Good bribe.”

  Which meant he’d have to listen to what his brothers had to say. Maybe they weren’t related by birth or even adoption, since Mako’d never bothered with the paperwork, but they were brothers, nonetheless. Their ties had grown strong from facing off against Phillip, growing up together, shared experiences, deaths, spilled blood and terror, and from practical jokes and late-night whispers.

  The sarge had originally said they were a team. Later, he just called them brothers.

  Gabe picked up another cookie and shot Bull a look. “What’s this so-called problem?”

  “You should have gone into town to pick up your mail.”

  “Too much work.”

  “Too barn sour, more like.”

  Gabe scowled. He wasn’t a horse unwilling to leave the stable, dammit.

  After a glance at the coffee in his cup, Bull frowned, took a careful sip…and grimaced.

  “Coffee not to your liking?” Gabe’s lips twitched up. He’d made the pot hours ago.

  Bull was a fussy bastard about food and drink. After leaving the SEAL Teams, he’d opened a brewery in Anchorage, then a restaurant that’d grown so popular he’d launched another on the peninsula.

  Gabe motioned with his cup. “Drink it. It’ll put hair on your chest.”

  “I’m Polynesian. We don’t do that hair-on-the-chest bullshit.”

  The trickle of amusement was unexpected and brought back memories. They used to tease Bull about his smooth skin…back when Gabe, Caz, and Hawk had counted each newly sprouted hair on their skinny chests. Gabe raised an eyebrow. “Just out of curiosity, did you happen to notice your skull is also bare as a baby’s butt?”

  “No, really?” Bull ran his hand over his shaved scalp and looked appalled.

  Caz laughed and glanced at Gabe. “Shocked me, too.”

  “He accused me of having a midlife crisis.” Obviously unconcerned, Bull grinned and stroked his trim goatee.

  Gabe noticed the black beard had speckles of gray. Gray hair—already. In the hospital, Gabe had noticed a few streaks in his own hair. Then again, he’d hit the thirty mark a couple years past.

  But thirty wasn’t that old. “Midlife, my ass. So what’s this about my mail?”

  “Here, old man.” Smirking, Caz passed over a few letters along with a manila envelope. “We stopped by the PO box on the way here.”

  After glancing through the junk mail, Gabe opened the big envelope and withdrew a sheaf of papers. The signature on the first page gave him a jolt. “From Mako?”

  “His lawyer had orders to mail these last month,” Bull said. “It’s about Rescue.”

  Mako’d chosen the tiny town because he had an old Vietnam War buddy there. Although having a friend nearby had helped his PTSD, the sarge’d never stopped bitching about living close to people. He’d been a survivalist to the bone, a prepper before the word was ever coined.

  Gabe swallowed his grief and read the short handwritten letter.

  * * *

  My boys,

  The greatest pride I have in my life is you four, and if I did nothing else worthwhile in my life, getting you out of LA and into Alaska was worth everything.

  * * *

  Gabe blinked as his eyes burned.

  * * *

  I learned the hard way that, after leaving the military, a man can get lost. That he needs to either fight for something or build something. My inheritance to you is this—a new mission. Welcome to Rescue. Guess what, men. You now own half of the town.

  Death has been part of your lives. Time to create something instead. Bring this town back to life.

  That’s an order.

  * * *

  What the hell? They owned part of Rescue?

  Unsettled, Gabe read the letter again.

  Located a couple of hours from Anchorage, the mountain town had started life as a roadhouse and general store for the 1890s gold rush miners. Rescue grew again when the McNally Ski Resort opened mid-twentieth century. But, a decade ago, the resort closed, leaving Rescue to die.

  “How exactly did the sarge figure we could revive the town?” Gabe looked up.

  “Read the lawyer’s letter.” Caz motioned to the packet. “It seems a consortium dumped a ton of money into upgrading the old resort. The place re-opened this spring.”

  Bull nodded. “There’s a fancy hotel, ski lifts, hot springs. Proposed golf course. Summer recreational shit.”

  In the papers, Gabe found a map of Rescue. When visiting Mako, he’d rarely gone into the town itself. The town was a branch off the big Sterling Highway that went to Homer—and the road through town continued up to the mountain resort.

  There was no other way to reach McNally.

  “Interesting. There’ll be a ton of tourists, including skiers, looking for cheap lodging.” But, if he remembered right, the town didn’t have much more than a few businesses. Hardware. Post office. Mako’s old war buddy, Dante, owned the grocery.

  “Resort employees, too,” Bull commented.

  An influx of tourists into an unprepared town? “It’s going to be a mess. Damn first sergeant and his missions.”

  Gabe leafed through the rest of the papers. A note from the lawyer. Copies of titles to land and buildings all over town. In addition to their homes, they now owned a restaurant, gardening center, hotel, and quite a few stores. All had closed down some time in the past.

  Mako’s expectations were clear.

  Gabe’s balls shrank at the thought of disappointing the sarge. They’d learned early on that giving less than 110 percent of effort earned a scathing dressing-down. Even Navy SEALs’ Hell Week had been easy compared to his first year with the retired Green Beret.

  He glowered at the letter. “I miss that crazy bastard, but Jesus, nobody can manipulate a person like an old drill sergeant.”

  “I bet he’s laughing his ass off right about now.” Caz grinned. “He probably figured it was suitable revenge for the way we coerced him into moving to town.”

  “Of course he did.” Bull’s deep laughter was like a foghorn.

  “I can’t believe he took the money we sent him and bought property,” Gabe muttered. They’d all sent a portion of every paycheck to Mako. “It was to help support him, not…this.”

  “It’s not like he ever spent money on anything—except maybe military surplus, bomb shelters, and MREs.” Bull glanced over. “Speaking of military, we haven’t heard from Hawk since last December. The company says he’s out of the country.”

  Private military companies weren’t particularly good at reassuring families. And this company had turned into a shit operation. “Hawk will check in when he returns to the States. He’ll get the packet then.”

  “Guess that’s all we can hope for,” Bull said. “So, about the town. Caz and I have been in Rescue a month now. I’m remodeling the old roadhouse there.”

  “What about your restaurants in Anchorage and Homer?”

  Bull put his hands behind his head. “That’s why God created managers.”

  Yeah, that was Bull, the most easy-going guy on the planet. Gabe glanced at Caz. “And you?”

  “They had a health clinic there, once upon a time. I’m going to re-open it.”

  “Sounds like you have it covered. Why are you here?” Gabe leaned back in his chair. The pleasure of seeing his brothers was fading. He needed to be alone, isolated, surrounded by forest.

  Trees didn’t talk. Trees didn’t need him.

  Caz studied him over the rim of his coffee cup. “We wanted you to
know about Mako’s request.”

  Bull snorted. “Request, my ass. Those are orders.”

  “And, as it happens, we’re having problems in town,” Caz said.

  Gabe stiffened. “And that applies to me…how?”

  “The remodeling of the roadhouse is being sabotaged.” Bull scowled. “Equipment and materials have been stolen. Two days ago, someone busted all the new windows.”

  Caz nodded. “Same with the health clinic.”

  Concern sparked inside Gabe as quickly as he stamped it out. “What did the police do?”

  “Rescue doesn’t have a police force.” Caz shrugged. “The state troopers are the only law enforcement available, but they’re not exactly on site. Or very interested. Since Rescue is still incorporated, we’re supposed to have our own police.”

  Hell. “Is anyone else having trouble or just you two?”

  Bull ran his fingers over his goatee. “I haven’t talked much with the locals. Been too busy. And my construction crew is from Soldotna since Rescue doesn’t have a general contractor.”

  Caz shook his head. “I don’t know either. I’m buried in paperwork. And trying to get moved.”

  “You figure someone is singling out the sarge’s kids?” Gabe asked. Fuck knew Mako wouldn’t have been polite if he took a dislike to someone.

  “Doubtful,” Caz said. “Aside from Dante and a couple of others, no one in town even met Mako and no one besides them knows us.”

  Gabe considered. Old sleepy town. Resort opens. Tourists. Bull and Caz opening businesses. “Could be that someone isn’t pleased with the changes happening. Maybe a back-to-the-land type.” Right now, Gabe was feeling more sympathy than not toward someone who wanted to avoid a bunch of noisy tourists. “You might…”

  Gabe’s voice trailed off as he saw his brothers’ expectant looks. Yeah, they’d sucked him in. The assholes.

  “We need someone to enforce the law in Rescue. We need you, viejo,” Caz said softly.