“Good.” He blew out a big sigh to get his emotions under control. Gabe and Shelby would pick the two hired hands up from the airport. Maverick was thankful for that, too. He would probably break down in front of his friends the moment they arrived, and those two old geezers didn’t need to see that.
“They’re going to love the new bunkhouse you built for them.”
He nodded. They’d better. He installed air conditioning, a huge big-screen television and a sauna for Z’s arthritis. Plus, he stocked the fridge with beer, fresh turkey sandwiches for their first meal and enough food to last a month. What’s not to love?
Two oblong stones with similar etchings now graced the front entry of the stately colonial in Shenandoah. Both declared Frend to all who entered. China’s birdbath with the copper stallion stood in a flowerbed of bee balm and rosemary between the stones. Xavier Allbright would be tickled to death to see his artwork displayed. Between him and Kyrie, every stray kitten in the neighborhood would be well snuggled and cared for. Cat Haven at Wild Wolf East was open for business, alive and well.
China wrapped her arms around Maverick’s neck and pulled him into her lips. “Are you ever going to play something on that old guitar for me?”
He nodded. “Sure. What would you like to hear?”
“One of those songs you’ve been working on. I like the one you were just singing. The one for Darrell.”
“You heard me?”
“Of course. You have a strong, deep voice. I’m always listening to you.” She pressed a kiss on his cheek. “You know what I think you need?” she muttered suggestively against his mouth before she nibbled on his lower lip. “S. E. X.”
He nodded. Yes. Sex with China was certainly at the top of his to-do list every day. Spending quiet time with her cured most of his problems. He pulled her tight, content to feel her feminine curves tucked against him, and an entirely different kind of a love song coming to life in the back of his mind. One about walking and Wyoming and falling in love with his reason to live. Yes. It was past time.
The smell of this woman’s shampoo filled his nostrils with a hint of lavender and his heart with peace. A man could get used to this. He took a deep breath of hay and horse and his wife and let the quiet of the barn work its magic.
Kyrie bee-lined to the edge of the foaling stall where a tiny orange kitten had crawled out from a pile of loose hay. She scooped it up and pressed it under her chin. “Daddy! Look what I found!”
That did it. Maverick choked. He was surrounded by pretty girls. His pretty girls.
There was no stopping the tears now.
THE END
Sneak Preview of CASSIDY
Book 10
In the Company of Snipers
She woke. Face down. Palms to the floor. Too weak to lift her head.
With one eye swollen shut and blood in her nose, Junior Agent Cassidy Dancer’s blurry view was limited to a murky stretch of damp, wooden planks. The vibrations beneath her aching body soothed as much as they worried. Her last coherent memory consisted of—stars.
Where am I?
The floor moved, that was why the vibrations. It creaked. It rattled. It smelled.
She groaned. I’m in the back of a truck? Why?
A glimmer of light reflected off something on the floor, blinding her one good eye. Her brain struggled to explain, at last providing the disgusting answer. Her nose twitched to confirm.
Oh, shit. I’m in a horse trailer. In a puddle. It’s not water. Ewww.
She willed her body to roll out of the mess she had been dragged or thrown into. Not going to happen. The command center in her brain no longer controlled her limbs. The well-muscled biceps that could pump quick sets of push-ups on a good day failed her. Even her eyes felt crossed and unfocused, not the sharp vision of a highly trained covert agent at all. Not her finest moment.
Never one to cry or whine, she cursed her agent in charge instead. “Damn you, Rourke.”
Her voice sounded too weak for the tough woman she was. The mission would have to wait. The filthy mess beneath her head galled her last nerve. The thought and feel of animal waste in her hair, on her cheek and seeping up into her ear, the coppery taste of her own blood, the sickening odor—
Argh! Too much! She squeezed her eyes tight and promised, I will not throw up. I will not throw up.
Wrong. She threw up. Now the mess was worse. Summoning every last shred of willpower, she borrowed Rourke’s drill sergeant method of motivation. Damn you, Dancer. Get your ass up and move. Don’t just take it, you wuss. Do something about it.
She couldn’t. Just plain damned could not. Every muscle in her finely toned body had turned to lead. Still, she couldn’t lie there one more minute, either.
Where there’s a will, there’s a way, right?
And Cassidy Dancer was very willful, right?
And everyone on The TEAM knew that, right?
For some deep, dark reason she didn’t understand, cussing always helped during desperate times. “Son of a bitch,” she ground out, her teeth clenched. Summoning every last vestige of her very hard-headed spirit, she...
Flopped over.
Damn. Never had doing so little reaped so much agony. Pain ratcheted down her neck all the way to her toes. A whimper escaped between her clenched jaws. Tears filled her eyes and dripped down the sides of that hard head, but she was out of the puddle. Hers and Mister Ed’s.
What little air she could breathe in through her one open nostril still smelled as bad. Her heart hammered like a run away locomotive, but damn it. Nothing kept Cassidy Dancer down.
Something nearby shifted with the change in direction of the truck. First, to the left. Then, to the right. Not her. She kept her palms to the floor. For the moment, she had the mobility of concrete and intended to keep it that way.
Calming her wretched nausea took precedence until the trailer jerked to an abrupt stop. Its rear gate clanked, screeched, and fell to the ground, filling her box of a world with blinding sunlight. The floor moved as someone climbed aboard. Heavy footsteps shuffled toward her, stopping within inches of her nose. She kept her wits and feigned the smarts of a corpse.
“She alive?” a man asked.
Another male voice from the rear of the trailer grunted in reply.
Two men. Easy. I can take ’em.
“Git her outta here,” the shuffler ordered. The grunter grunted again. Hands gripped her ankles, dragging her across the floor. Her resolved faltered. Damn. Maybe, I can’t take ’em. Yet.
“Let’s git her inside ’fore Jerusha and the kids see her,” Shuffler muttered.
One pair of hard hands under her armpits and another pair at her ankles made the transfer. They didn’t lift her high enough, though. They dragged her, as if she were too heavy. Her butt bumped along on the ground. Odd.
Out of the light and into the dark she went. The barn door banged shut. She expected to be dropped and discarded, but Shuffler and Grunter dragged her farther into the dark. When they finally stopped, they took extra care that her boots were side by side. Things went from really bad to a thousand times worse.
“Make ’em tight. He likes the belts extra snug,” Shuffler ordered.
Her heartbeat kicked into overdrive. Belts?
Cracking her one good eyelid, she spared a quick look at her predicament. Lines of sunshine streaked between the wooden planks of the barn walls. A shadow danced across the light. Dust hung in the air. She had been laid on a slab of rough sawn timber, a board Shuffler and Grunter were crouched over her while they fastened a series of belts around her ankles, thighs, hips. Plain leather belts like the kind Dr. Frankenstein used when he created his monster. The kind a victim couldn’t wiggle out of while...
Oh, shit. Her thousand-times-worse scenario had just nose-dived to damned scary. She gulped as another very real scenario emerged in the recesses of this very dark place where no one could hear her argue, cuss, or scream. Torture.
Thunder erupted in her chest.
/> “That oughta do it.” Shuffler lifted to his feet. “She won’t be going anywhere.”
She closed her eye. The sound of Shuffler’s and Grunter’s footsteps receding brought instant relief. At least they didn’t intend to torture her right away. She still had time. Cassidy blinked both eyes open, despite resistance from the swollen one. She needed all of her faculties, every last one of them.
Escape! Get up. Move!
Her mental commands had no effect.
Okay, I get it. Rest first. Breathe. Strategize. Then escape the hell out of here.
The fragrance of freshly baled alfalfa settled over her as the morning’s miscalculation came back to mind. She had thought she was so smart, even smarter than Senior Agent Rourke O’Neill. He’d told her to stay put, but did she? No, she saw an opportunity and she took it.
Her hard-charging mindset usually paid off in dividends. Covert surveillance rewarded risk takers and fast thinkers. Not this time. The shovel she had been hit with brought enlightenment she’d literally not seen coming.
But really? How could she have known two Melissas belonged to this deranged cult? How bizarre that both Melissas were recently widowed and independently wealthy? How freaking coincidental they were both blond, that they looked alike?
Rourke’s previous warning filled her mind. One of these days, your bullheaded ways are going to get you in trouble, Butch. How many times had she heard that before? Like a gazillion? The smart ass. Butch Cassidy, Rourke’s nickname for the outlaw he claimed she was, the rebel who thought she knew everything.
Cassidy tried to recall her smart remark back at him, no doubt her usual, ‘Yeah, whatever.’ But damn. Here she was bloodied, strapped to a board, and lucky the wrong Melissa used on her hadn’t knocked her head off. Rourke might have been right.
She stretched her index finger, beckoning the door. Neither had a chance in hell of meeting. At this rate, neither did she nor her senior agent. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Cassidy sent a mental order to the only one in the world who could rescue her sorry butt.
Get me the hell outta here, Rourke!
About the Author
Irish Winters is an award-winning author who dabbles in poetry, grandchildren, and rarely (as in extremely rarely) the kitchen. More prone to be outdoors than in, she grew up the quintessential tomboy on a farm in rural Wisconsin, spent her teenage years in the Pacific Northwest, but calls the Wasatch Mountains of Northern Utah home. For now.
The wife of one handsome husband and mother of three perfect sons, Irish divides her time between writing at home, and travelling the country with her man while – writing. (Seriously, what else?)
She believes in making every day count for something, and follows the wise admonition of her mother to, “Look out the window and see something!”
To learn more about Irish and her books, please visit www.IrishWinters.com.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost I thank God for the supreme gift of being born in America, the land of the free because of the brave. He has blessed me with talent and inspiration, but the spirit of America is the true wind beneath my wings.
I thank God every day for our military, quietly and honorably serving. May God bless us to be wise enough to seek out their true-life stories; to understand their sacrifice and the supreme sacrifice made by their families. These are the real leaders of our country.
An author’s obsession can be a solitary road full of discouragement and hard work. It’s important to have the right people in your corner. I do. My sincerest appreciation to my round one beta-readers, Nancy Richardson and Lynn Hill, who keep me believing in my dream. To CJ Thomas and Darby Briar, my ass-the-chair partners in crime who never fail to make me laugh. To Bob Houston, the formatting expert who makes me look good. To Kelli Ann Morgan, the genius cover artist who makes my heroes look sexy. To Lauren McKellar, the delightful copy editor who keeps me on the straight and narrow. To Katie Johnson, the final editor who polishes my heroes until they shine.
To my fans and friends the world over, I wouldn’t be where I am today without you. You’ve touched me with your patriotism and dedication to my country. You are my greatest source of inspiration.
As always, I end with my husband, Bill. You will always be my first hero.
Because of you, The TEAM lives.
Ready to meet the rest of
The TEAM?
ALEX
MARK
ZACK
HARLEY
CONNOR
RORY
TAYLOR
GABE
Coming soon
Cassidy (2016)
Adam (2016)
Lee (2016)
Hunter (2017)
Eric (2017)
Jake (2017)
Ky (2018)
Tate (2018)
Follow Irish Winters on
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BLOG
GOODREADS
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sneak Preview of CASSIDY
About the Author
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Ready to meet the rest of the TEAM
Follow Irish Winters
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