“I’m sorry about Sloan. I just…” She broke away from him. “Tate, you really don’t want me. I’m…I’m so selfish—”
“What?” He caught up to her. Spun her to face him. “What are you talking about?”
She met his eyes, hers hard, despite the burn in them. “I hurt you deliberately. Deliberately.”
He wore pain in his eyes but didn’t move. “I know.”
She stared at him a moment, then shook her head. “Then I’m not sure why you’re still here. I’m not a good person—”
“Glo—”
She pulled away from him. Held up her hands. “Really. Trust me on this—”
He was advancing on her, but she put a hand to his chest. “Listen. I’ll prove it. I was born a twin—a fraternal twin to my sister, Joy—”
“I know.”
“But what you don’t know is that Joy was born with spastic diplegia cerebral palsy. It’s a less traumatic CP but affects the muscles of the legs. My sister could walk on her toes, with a sort of scissor gait, but it was…frightening. She’d fall a lot, so in school she used a wheelchair. And she had seizures, which eventually led to her kidney failure.”
He was just listening, frowning.
“It was my job to take care of her. I wheeled her to class. When the other kids went out for recess, we stayed inside. If my sister went to the doctor, I went too. We never did anything apart.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t get me wrong—I loved my sister. My mother says we were born holding hands, and maybe we were. She was…she was pure light. I had the healthy body, but she had the healthy spirit. Nothing ever got her down. It was easy to see why my mother loved her best.”
Tate opened his mouth, as if to argue, but she shook her head. “It’s okay. I had a healthy body, I could do anything, everything my sister couldn’t. I couldn’t begrudge her the attention she got from my mother. And it wasn’t like Mother ignored me—she came in every night and read to Joy—read to both of us.”
She resumed walking. The sun had dropped into the horizon, casting shadows across the meadow, a purpling hue clouding the mountains to the west. “Joy’s first kidney failed when she was eleven. By the time she was thirteen, the other was dying. She went on dialysis at fifteen, and after waiting for a perfect match for a year, they finally decided to give her one of mine. It had nearly all the markers, and it was a 98 percent match.”
She reached a bench, and for a moment, the place jogged the memory of being here over a month ago, hiding from the stalker who had shot her. Kelsey had pushed her into the ground, kept her silent. Her adrenaline had numbed the pain long enough for the Marshalls to find them.
For Tate to pull her into his arms.
For her to believe that maybe she even belonged there. It had given her a strength she didn’t know she possessed.
“Right before she went into surgery, they gave us a moment together, and she looked at me and took my hand and…” She drew in a breath. “She said that the angels were coming for her. That she would be gone in an hour.” Her throat thickened. “I told her not to be morbid and that we’d be fine and made her promise that she’d live. I was so angry at her. I don’t know why, but here I was giving her a kidney and she was planning on dying on me—” She ran her hand across her chin.
“I went into surgery thinking she was ungrateful and selfish and…” She glanced at Tate, who watched her, his eyes soft. “And she never woke up again.”
He didn’t move. Just his chest, rising and falling.
“The last thing I said to her was that if she died on me, I’d never forgive her.” She shook her head. “Nice. Real nice.”
“Glo—” He reached out for her, but she stepped away.
“No, Tate. Listen. She’s not the only one I was angry with. I know that Kelsey told you about David, about the boy I dated in high school. What you missed was that I begged him not to enlist. I gave him an ultimatum—if he loved me, he would stay. He enlisted anyway, and I was so angry with him, I didn’t write to him.” She closed her eyes. “He went to war and never…” She whisked her hand across her wettened cheek. “He never heard from me again. And he died, thinking I was angry with him.”
He drew in a breath.
She covered her face with her hands. “See, Tate? I’m not the person you think I am. I’m selfish and angry—”
“And hurt, Glo. You’re grieving. And anger is a huge part of grief.” He stepped up to her and put his arms around her, turning her. “You gotta give yourself some grace.”
She didn’t have the strength to push him away, but instead curled into him. He was warm and solid and simply held her, the cottony, freshly showered smell of him seeping into her skin.
Oh, this man could turn her weak, as if she didn’t have bones in her body. But, “I hurt you because I was angry at you, Tate. And truthfully, I’m still angry. If you get killed—”
He held her at arm’s length, his blue eyes in hers. “Stop. Listen. I’m not going to get killed—”
“You can’t say that—”
“When I was six years old, I got bucked off a horse and broke my arm. My brothers Reuben and Knox thought it was hilarious.”
“What—why?”
“Because the horse only bucked because I screamed. It reared up and I tumbled right off, onto the ground. I lay there in the dirt crying, and my dad came and picked me up and told me I’d be okay. To stop making such a fuss. To shake it off.”
“You broke your arm.”
“Yeah, well, people get hurt all the time on a ranch. It took two days for my mother to bring me in to the doctor. They both felt pretty bad when they discovered I’d broken my arm—but by then, I’d decided that I wasn’t going to let fear land me in the dirt again. And if it did, I was going to get back up, without crying. I hated horses after that—hated ranch life, actually, but I still learned to ride, still ran cattle, still rode fence. I’m not the guy who stays in the dirt, Glo. I get back up. And if I say I’m going to do something, I do it.” He took her face in his hands. “And I promise you right now—I’m not going to let anything happen to you…or me.”
Oh, she wanted to believe him. And maybe her doubt showed in her eyes because, as if to reassure her, he leaned down and kissed her.
And it wasn’t the kiss of possession back in Nashville or even the tentative wonder they’d shared in Vegas, but one of surety. One that said, you are safe.
You are wanted.
He held her face in his big hands and he slowed down the kiss, tasting her, drawing her close.
And something that had been simmering between them for over a month simply blew open and found her soul.
She didn’t know why Tate liked her, but when she was around him, when his gaze turned to her, she felt whole. As if she didn’t have to do anything but smile in his direction and he’d want her.
And even that smile was optional.
Because she’d done her dead-level best to push him away and he’d still followed her across the country, dragged her back to his home, and chased after her to…to…
She broke away, searching his face. “Did you bring me here because you wanted to get me away from my mother and your ‘deal’?”
His smile was slow, like the sunrise, something lighting in his eyes. “What happens in Montana stays in Montana, Glo.” Then he winked.
No, she hadn’t a clue why this man wanted her.
But for today, she wasn’t going to argue with him.
The perfect night, the perfect place, the perfect moment and Tate never wanted it to end.
He sat on the ground, his back against a wooden bench that faced the flickering campfire. Glo sat beside him on a blanket he’d spread out, prying a gooey marshmallow from a skewer, the mess twining around her fingers as she listened to a story Reuben was telling about his smokejumping team, something that had happened this past summer in Alaska.
“Then the fire curled around the lake, right for this homestead, and appar
ently, Riley’s girlfriend was trapped there. So the man jumped into a plane and dropped right in on top of her—”
“Even with his broken shoulder?” Kelsey asked. She sat on the ground in front of Knox, her back to his chest. She broke off a piece of chocolate and handed it to him.
“I remember Riley from rookie camp a few years ago. The kid had crazy eyes,” Kate said. “I’m not surprised.”
“He found her just in time but had to deploy his shelter.”
Kate made a face as if she’d been there, done that. Sometimes Tate forgot how dangerous wildland firefighting was. Probably it was a good thing Reuben was hanging up his chain saw and joining Knox on the ranch.
Actually, replacing Knox, who’d decided to take the job as Director of Livestock for NBR-X, a professional bull riding show. The same show that had hired the Yankee Belles for a six-month gig.
Glo hadn’t mentioned the Belles getting back together, but the minute she did, he’d quit working for the senator and beg Carter, the Belles’ manager, to take him back.
He’d even become a groupie if it meant having Glo in his life, in his arms.
Without guilt.
Because despite his best moves, he kept hearing his promise to Senator Jackson in his head, her challenge, and his own stupid words in reply. I promise to keep my distance from Glo. As long as I get to make sure she’s safe.
You can do that? Stand on the sidelines, watching her back as she attends parties, speeches, and events?
Ma’am, I can do anything if it means keeping Glo safe.
Apparently, he was the King of Liars because if he searched his heart, he had no intention of staying away from Glo.
And yes, it had decimated him to see her with Sloan.
But he’d given his word, and once upon a time, that had meant something.
Still he wasn’t so disgusted with himself that he wasn’t going to pull Glo against him as the firelight crackled into the Montana darkness, pine scented the air, and the stars spilled out in brilliance overhead.
“I can’t believe you’re giving up jumping out of planes, Rube.” Ford sat next to their mother, poking the fire with his empty skewer. “It’s one of my favorite parts about being a SEAL.” He turned to Tate. “You jumped out of planes when you were a Ranger, right?”
Tate didn’t have to disguise his surprise at seeing Ford when his little brother had pulled up in his F-150 this afternoon. The kid had turned into a man, built to serve his country, with a calm demeanor that reminded Tate a little of Knox or even Reuben, a quiet steadiness that had bypassed Tate and Wyatt, their hockey star who’d called in with a no-go on this weekend’s events. They hadn’t heard from Ruby Jane.
Ford wore his hair short but had let his whiskers grow into a dark shag and bore the wizened expression of a man who’d seen things that most people shouldn’t. One that Tate reluctantly recognized.
Tate nodded. “It was fun. Although really, it was only at Elgin that we conducted any airborne training.”
“I had a friend who was a Ranger,” said the petite brunette whom Ford had brought with him. Scarlett. Quiet, but watchful, she wore a rare smile and seemed a little buttoned up. She’d helped Ford clean up the grill mess today and later had made a taco salad for a quick dinner save, freeing Gerri to help with the casual rehearsal.
Gilly’s father was marrying them, but he and his family were staying at a hotel in nearby Geraldine. Tate was thinking about taking Glo in for dancing at the Bulldog Saloon later.
Maybe write a different ending to their last date, one that finished with him nearly punching Knox. Although later that night, he had cornered Glo in the pantry and right then, he realized that the woman had gotten under his skin.
It had only gotten worse, especially the way she snuggled against him, tucked under his arm, her body warm and smelling like sunshine and wildflowers and—
“Actually, he was an interagency trainer. He did training on the reliability of local intel.” She looked at Ford. “Remember that? He told us a story about the ambush of an entire Ranger squad in Afghanistan?”
Ford just looked at her, nothing on his face, and Tate drew in a breath—
Stop—
“It was a horrible story about this team leader who followed a bad tip from a local contact and led his team into an ambush. Five troops died—”
“Four. Two got out,” Tate said quietly.
She looked over at him. “Oh, so you know the story?”
The family had gone quiet, and Ford looked up at him, a little pain in his eyes.
Tate swallowed, looked into the fire. Listened to it crackle.
He’d never told them—not even his father—the entire story. And if he had, maybe they’d stop looking at him like he was some kind of tragedy, some victim.
See the truth.
“It happened in the Paktia Province, in eastern Afghanistan. After the Taliban lost control of the area, it fell into chaos, and rival militias were fighting for control. There were also rumors that it was a safe haven for militants from one of the Taliban subgroups. One militant in particular—a leader—was hiding in a tiny village about twenty clicks into the mountains. The Rangers were going off the intel of a twelve-year-old boy who’d proven reliable in the past.”
He leaned away from Glo, picked up his skewer, and forced it into the flames of the fire, watching the tip glow. “He was a good kid. Played soccer with some of the younger troops, spoke English like a champ, and wanted to move to America someday. We trusted him.”
He felt the gazes on him but didn’t look away from the flames.
“There were a lot of skirmishes in the region, and then a local governor was killed by a Taliban suicide bomber, and HQ said we needed to root out the militants. We had acted off similar intel before—sparked by this kid and confirmed by other sources. This night…”
The flames had found the skewer, burning it to a fiery red. His voice had dropped, quiet, and he saw Jammas’s big brown eyes, nothing of guile in them.
“At first, I didn’t think Jammas knew it was a setup. And it certainly didn’t look that way—we had outside intel confirming the location of our target and had reconned the area for hours beforehand. Had seen a number of Taliban operators enter the mosque in question. So we felt secure in our assessment, and I gave the order to proceed.”
No one spoke.
“It was a classic ambush—I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming. Worse, Jammas was right at the front. He ran into the mosque, and after a few minutes, poked his head back out, as if giving us the all clear. I figured out later that it was the signal not to us, but to the militants who were waiting for us to get into the open. Jammas was a good kid, but he didn’t have the strength to stand up to his family or whatever factions controlled his life. We weren’t five feet away when an RPG exploded the wall in front of us, and suddenly we were taking fire. We took cover in the mosque—which was not only empty but destroyed. Two of our guys were already wounded, and the militants were raking the building with fire. My radio man had been hit, and I was trying to get to him to call in support, but they shot in two 120mm mortar rounds and the building practically came down on top of us.”
He was right there, smelling the smoke, tasting the dirt in his mouth.
His voice turned whisper thin. “Then everything went quiet. I was hurt and stunned, and all I could hear was Jammas yelling at me to get up. He was trying to get me to run—they were raking us with gunfire.”
He looked away. “Jammas was shot. He died right there in my arms. And that’s when I realized that only Specialist Jordan, my radio guy, and I were alive.”
He felt Glo’s hand on his arm but didn’t move.
“I’d been shot too—my knee a complete wreck—but I knew we had to get moving if we wanted to live. I’m not sure why, but it took the Taliban a while to check on us. The walls had come down on top of us, so my men—and I—were buried. When I heard them coming, I put Jammas’s body over mine and pulled the debris aro
und me.”
He just let the words land, not caring about the judgment. “I don’t know how, but they didn’t find me.”
“Thank God,” whispered his mother.
No. Maybe. He hadn’t thought so for a long, long time.
He didn’t look at her as he continued. “Somehow, Specialist Jordan was also overlooked. He was in bad shape—he had a gut wound, and his leg was broken. That night, I crawled out of the village with Jordan on my back. I hid him in the mountains and dragged my way back to base. I was found by a forward operator two days later. They saved Jordan, but he lost his leg to his hip. Gangrene.”
He looked at Scarlett. “For that, they gave me a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart. I wanted to give both of them back.”
She met his gaze, unflinching.
“So, yeah, it’s a great lesson in knowing when you’re being played. How not to trust anyone.” He pulled his red-hot skewer from the flames, shoved it into the dirt, and got up. “Excuse me, I need a drink.”
No one said anything as he walked into the house. He stood at the kitchen sink, ran cold water, dipped both hands in, and sloshed water over his face.
He could smell the flesh burning, hear the groans of his men, dying. Taste the rubble on his lips, feel Jammas’s blood seeping into his camo.
“Tate?”
He stiffened. Not the voice he’d expected, really. Because knowing Glo, she would have wanted to run in after him, help heal his wounds.
But big brother Reuben wasn’t the coddling type.
“Tate—”
Tate grabbed a towel and turned, holding up his hand. “Save it, bro. I don’t need your pity.”
“None here. Trust me—I’ve been there enough to know what’s going on in your gut. I nearly got Gilly killed, twice.”
“Yeah, but she’s here, marrying you tomorrow, so you must have done something right.” He ran the towel over his face.
Reuben walked over to the cupboard and grabbed a glass. “The only thing I did right was give myself permission to have a second chance.”
Tate gave a sad shake of his head. “Yeah, well, I tried that. And managed to get a girl killed.”
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