Navy SEAL's Deadly Secret (Runaway Ranch Book 1)

by Cindy Dees

  If only he could remember exactly what happened. But the ambush was a blank in his mind. The shrinks said it was obscured by battle stress. That maybe someday he would remember it all. Or not.

  Everyone hoped that coming home would relax him enough to cut the memory loose. A military board of inquiry was waiting for his testimony—but they wouldn’t wait forever to hear his side of the story. Eventually, they would run out of patience and charge him with dereliction of duty.

  He realized he was jerking the steering wheel roughly, barreling along the main road toward town. He took his foot off the accelerator and slowed to a saner pace. It was harder to force his fists to ease up their death grip on the steering wheel.

  “Where would you like to eat?” he managed to grind out past his clenched teeth.

  “Not Sunny Creek,” she blurted. “There’s a new Italian place in Hillsdale. Want to try that?”

  “Sure.” Not Sunny Creek, huh? Was she afraid to be seen with him? Not that he was complaining. Lord knew he wasn’t interested in feeding the local gossip mill.

  “What brought you back home to Montana?” he asked curiously.

  “I have no idea what I was thinking when I came back here.”

  Despair laced her voice, reminding him sharply of that moment in the diner when she’d seemed to long for death. Obviously, she and Eddie had split up. He would have to ask his mother for details. She knew everything about everybody in town.

  Anna was silent, pensive even, for most of the drive to Hillsdale. But as he ushered her into a blessedly dark little dive of a restaurant, she smiled bravely at him across the candle in the middle of the table.

  “You okay?” he asked quietly.

  She blinked like she was startled. “I am, actually. You?”

  He considered. “I guess I am.” Color him surprised. Since when had he gotten comfortable with her? Maybe when it had dawned on him that she didn’t want a darned thing from him.

  The food was average, but given that he didn’t have to cook it, clean up after it and, furthermore, it was the first chicken parmesan he’d had in years, he enjoyed the meal far more than he’d expected to. He and Anna chatted about harmless topics—movies he’d missed in the past few years of being deployed, how bad he thought the coming winter would be this year, where kids they went to high school with had ended up. She conspicuously avoided discussing the fate of her husband.

  Something odd happened somewhere along the way. He relaxed a little.

  He caught himself just looking at her. The curve of her cheek, the lines of her nose and jaw, the way her eyes glowed in the soft candlelight—she was the stuff of paintings by the great masters. As he refilled her wineglass a few times, she relaxed as well, and her eyes lost that pinched, scared look they usually had.

  She wasn’t exactly ready to throw herself at him, but she finally seemed like she wasn’t on the verge of bolting from him at a moment’s notice. It was a definite improvement.

  He risked saying, “Tell me about California.”

  Her entire being went still. Crap. Too soon.

  But then she surprised him by saying, “Eddie wanted to be a movie star, and he convinced me to run away to Hollywood with him.”

  “Did you want to be an actress, too?” Brett asked curiously.

  “That was the plan. But as it turned out, someone had to pay the bills and put food on the table. Eddie needed acting classes and fitness training and tanning salons. And there was always an audition to go to. So I ended up getting a job and giving up on my dreams.”

  Something sad bubbled up in his gut. Nobody should have to give up on their dreams for someone else.

  “And Eddie?” He asked the question mostly to keep her talking. He wasn’t prepared for the ravaged look that entered her eyes.

  “Eddie never broke into the business. He got a few jobs here and there. Finally resorted to making porn films.” She added tonelessly, “He started drinking. Doing drugs. Lost his looks. And it was over for him.”

  “Is that when you split up?”

  She looked down into her lap and mumbled, “No.”

  Good Lord. A wealth of pain was contained in that single syllable. No. She hadn’t left when Eddie self-destructed. What the hell happened to her in the mean time?

  If he was the least bit social with any of his old friends, he would probably know this story already. But as it was, he’d stayed away from everyone who might have shared the local gossip with him since he’d come home.

  “Enough about me,” Anna murmured. “Tell me more about you. Where were you stationed in the Army?”

  “All over. I spent most of my career overseas.”

  “War zones?” she asked soberly.

  “Yup.”

  She, too, seemed to sense that he was leaving a great deal unspoken. She shifted topics slightly. “Are you glad to be home?”

  Huh. He hadn’t really stopped to think of it in those terms. He wasn’t exactly glad he’d made it home. There would have been more honor in dying with his teammates. He answered bitterly, “If I have to recuperate, I suppose here’s as good a place as any to do it.”

  “Recuperate from what? Were you wounded?”

  His jaw tightened. Not all wounds were visible. Besides, he wasn’t as much wounded as he was broken.

  Thankfully, their waitress came over just then to ask them if they’d saved room for dessert. He sipped a cup of coffee while Anna worked her way through a giant piece of chocolate cake. She looked like a kid in a candy shop, savoring every bite, and licking the frosting off every tine of her fork.

  Watching the tip of her tongue stroke down the length of the fork made his man parts stir alarmingly.

  “Wanna try some?” she asked him.

  Hell, yeah, he wanted to taste that pink little tongue and have it stroke him, doing all kinds of clever things to his flesh—

  “Uh. Sure,” he mumbled. She pushed the plate his way, and he took a bite. As chocolate, rich and dark, exploded on his tongue, guilt exploded in his gut. Here he was, out with a pretty girl, having a nice dinner and enjoying chocolate cake, while his guys were dead and buried.

  The drive back to the ranch was silent. Snowflakes splatted against the windshield and the wipers thunked back and forth clearing their wet corpses.

  They were almost back to his place when Anna asked quietly, “Were they bad? The war zones?”

  He turned into the driveway, passing under the big iron arch announcing that this was the Runaway Ranch. The name fit him, all right. He was running away from everything and everyone.

  He answered grimly, “Most of the time it was boring and exhausting. But yeah. It was bad sometimes.” Which was as close as he’d come to talking about his experience with anyone besides a shrink since he’d gotten back to the States. And those shrinks had the official files and already knew what had happened to his unit.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He glanced over at her. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t send me over there.”

  “I’m an American citizen. You fought for all of us.”

  He shrugged. “I volunteered.”

  “Why did you really join the Army?”

  He scowled at the main house glowing like a great shining pile of false welcome and steered his truck around it. “It was the fastest way to get as far as possible from this place.”

  “What’s so bad about it?” she asked, sounding surprised. “It’s a beautiful place. The land is gorgeous, and the mountains are amazing.”

  “A place doesn’t make a home. The people in it do that.”

  He felt her staring at him, but he kept his gaze locked on the dirt road passing through his headlights.

  “Your family wasn’t...happy?” she asked in a small voice.

  “In our own way, I suppose we were.”

  �
��My parents divorced when I was little. I don’t remember much about their marriage except a lot of shouting.”

  “My parents’ battles are epic,” he volunteered.

  “Really? I mean, I’ve met your dad. I could see him being a little, uh...”

  “Pigheaded is the word you’re looking for,” Brett supplied.

  He felt her smile as much as caught sight of it in his peripheral vision.

  “Have you ever met my mother?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “She’s a force of nature. Only a woman of her fortitude could stand my old man for any length of time. In spite of all his bluster, Miranda actually rules the roost in the Morgan clan.”

  “Wow. She must be a strong woman to corral you and all your brothers.”

  “Have you met the twins? They’re the biggest terrors of all.”

  “Your sisters were a few years behind me in school,” Anna replied. “I didn’t really know them.”

  He shook his head ruefully. “They’re trouble. And together, they’re hell on wheels.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Kristin’s in New York. Owns a tattoo studio. Emmaline’s in Charleston, South Carolina. Interior designer. Two human beings couldn’t be more different from each other.”

  “Wow. I guess. What about your brothers?”

  “They’ve scattered. Wes is burning a fast track through the Pentagon. Caleb’s still flying jets in the Air Force, and Jackson’s playing doctor somewhere in Africa.”

  “Africa?” she exclaimed.

  “He always was the family hippie. He’s working for some charity. I imagine he’s giving babies immunizations and singing folk songs with the villagers.”

  “Your mom must miss all of you.”

  He made a sound of disbelief. “She loves this ranch more than she ever loved any of us.”

  “It’s not entirely bad to love your home and put down deep roots,” Anna said reasonably.

  “Then why did you take off for the West Coast the second you could?” he shot back.

  He parked the truck in front of his house and turned in his seat to wait for her answer.

  “I was young. I wanted...more.”

  “Did you find it?” he asked soberly.

  Her gaze faltered and fell away. She stared unseeingly out the front window at the snow, falling in a ghostly blanket. She found something in California, all right. Something that put a haunted look in her eyes and stole away her ability to speak.

  “Thanks again for helping me pick up and install my windows,” she murmured.

  Not going to talk about her private nightmares, was she? He could respect that. He had plenty he didn’t want to talk about, too.

  She mumbled a hasty good-night and climbed out of the truck before he could get out and make his way around to her door. He watched, bemused, from the seat of his truck as she practically ran to her own car and leaped inside. What had he done to scare her like that? Hell, he hadn’t even tried to hold her hand, let alone put a move on her.

  Not that he wouldn’t be happy to lay a seduction on her if he thought it would work. She was a fine-looking woman. Better than fine. Hot. Sweat inducing.

  He climbed out of his truck thoughtfully. Maybe if he was lucky he would dream about her tonight instead of explosions and blood and death.

  Chapter 6

  Life at the diner was almost back to normal by Friday, and Anna was glad for it. If she had to tell the story one more time of being rescued by Brett Morgan, she was going to scream. Not that she wasn’t grateful to him, but she hated being the center of attention.

  Pitty was pushing a plate of flapjacks across the short-order delivery counter when the older woman whistled under her breath and muttered, “Well, look at that. Her Majesty has come down from on high to grace us with her presence.”

  Anna picked up the plate and turned to see what had provoked that remark. Ohmigosh. Miranda Morgan. The regal, five-foot-ten frame and snow-white hair were unmistakable. As were the vivid blue Morgan eyes.

  Patricia rushed over to make nice with Miranda and show her to a booth, but Miranda more or less ignored the woman and headed straight for Anna with a determined look on her face. Oh crap.

  “Miss Larkin?” Miranda asked.

  “Um, yes. That’s me. Can I, um, show you to a booth?”

  “I’m not here to eat. I’m here to invite you to a party. A barbecue at Runaway Ranch tomorrow. It’ll be casual. Family and friends. You’ll come, yes?”

  “Uh—”

  “I insist.”

  Sheesh. Talk about getting run over by a freight train. “Tomorrow?” she echoed, feeling a little slow on the uptake.

  “Yes, tomorrow. Meat will come out of the smoker at about four o’clock. Can I count on you to be there? People will start arriving around noon to watch football games.”

  Anna frowned, searching for a delicate way to ask a question. She couldn’t find a way and ended up blurting out, “Why me?”

  After all, she barely knew any of the Morgans, and goodness knew she didn’t run in the same social circles they did. She didn’t run in any social circle, truth be told. She knew as well as anybody that she was a pariah to Eddie’s friends and family, who were plentiful in this town.

  “I’m inviting you because you are the only human being my son Brett has voluntarily had any contact with since he came home from the Army.”

  The only one? Really? What did that mean? She realized Miranda was staring at her expectantly. “Oh. Um. It’s kind of you to think of me.”

  Miranda’s patrician features crumpled momentarily. Her voice low, the older woman said, “Please come. I’m losing my baby.”

  Shock slammed into Anna. What was wrong with Brett? Sure, he’d seemed a little withdrawn, maybe a little antisocial even, but he’d been nothing but kind and considerate to her. What was going on with him that could terrify this terrifying woman?

  A surge of sympathy for Brett’s mother had her reaching for the woman’s hands and murmuring, “Of course I’ll be there. Can I get you a cup of tea?”

  Miranda’s spine stiffened proudly. But she murmured, “I would like that.”

  Anna led her to a booth and practically ran to get Miranda a pot of hot water and the good jasmine tea from Patricia’s desk in the office. She carried the lot to the booth, desperately careful not to spill the boiling water on Brett’s mother.

  “Sit with me,” Miranda ordered.

  Anna glanced around the diner. Both of her customers had full cups of coffee and were digging into plates of food. She had a minute to spare. She slid into the booth across from Miranda, vividly aware of the woman’s expensive silk blouse and perfect makeup. Not a hair was out of place in the elegant waves of snowy white on the woman’s head.

  “Tell me about yourself,” Miranda said firmly.

  Trepidation made Anna’s voice wobblier than she would have liked. “I’m originally from Sunny Creek but left after high school to pursue other opportunities. I’ve recently returned and am renovating a house.”

  “Are you back to stay?”

  “I don’t know. I guess so. I don’t have any immediate plans to leave.”

  “Good,” Miranda replied. “I gather you’re single?”

  Anna restrained an urge to hide her left hand, bare of a wedding ring, under the table. “Correct.”

  “I need you to know a few things about my son if you’re going to be spending time with him.”

  Anna blinked, shocked. Her spend time with Brett Morgan? Like, dating him? That seemed like a bit of a reach. They’d installed some windows and had one thank-you dinner. That did not a relationship make. In fact, he hadn’t called her all week. She hadn’t even had a text out of him since their date, which wasn’t really a date at all.

  His complete radio silence since then had
sent the message loud and clear that he wasn’t interested in her romantically. At all. She opened her mouth to say so to Miranda, but the woman talked over her.

  “His mental state is fragile right now. But he’s a strong man. He’s had a terrible shock, but he’ll get over it. If he’ll talk to you, by all means, spend as much time with him as you can. He has completely cut himself off from the human race, and anything you can do to bring him back to it will be deeply appreciated. Deeply.” The woman paused significantly. “We Morgans take care of our own.”

  Anna chose her words carefully. “Your son is a fine man. He rescued me from a robber and was kind and thoughtful afterward.”

  Miranda reached across the table and squeezed Anna’s hand briefly. If Anna wasn’t mistaken, that was gratitude shining in the older woman’s cobalt gaze. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  Miranda stood up quickly, tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the table and swept out of the diner, while Anna stared at her retreating back.

  What on earth did one wear to a casual barbecue at a magnificent mansion? What constituted casual in the world of the wealthy, powerful Morgans?

  * * *

  She was still pondering that question the next day, standing in front of her closet in dismay. She couldn’t afford to go out and buy a new outfit. Although she wouldn’t have bought new clothes anyway. She was who she was. Simple Anna Larkin, waitress at Pittypat’s. And she wasn’t about to start putting on airs for anyone.

  She settled on jeans and a pastel plaid blouse over a pink tank top. It was probably some etiquette faux pas to wear Easter colors as Thanksgiving approached, but she liked the shirt and the way it complemented her fair complexion. Miranda said it was casual, so casual the woman would get. If she was completely underdressed, she could always make her excuses and duck out early.