by Vicki Tharp
She nodded, and Hank stepped toward the pile of logs stacked between two trees.
“I got it,” Santos told Hank. With a look to Bryan and Sidney, Santos said, “Talk, amigos.”
“It…it…” Sidney sucked in a deep breath and tried to find a way to articulate what they’d endured. The gut-twisting fear of being discovered, the sheer agony of submersing their bodies in the freezing water, the terror of watching Eli fight for his freedom.
If Eli was an ass and didn’t let anyone ride him, would they keep him? Or put a bullet in his head? Her stomach dropped, along with any confidence she’d see her horse again.
“It was fucked up.” Bryan finished for her as he dropped back to the ground. He snagged a beer out of the cooler, then held up a beer and a water to Sidney and she pointed to the water. He tossed it to her and opened his beer with an enticing fizz. “Drink,” he told her.
Between gulps of beer, Bryan told the whole story, in a precise and cuss-filled account that sounded more like a military debriefing than a conversation. Conveniently, he left out the whole almost-naked-and-humping-like-bunnies part, but judging by the way his heated gaze flicked toward her over the wispy smoke of Santos’s growing fire, he hadn’t forgotten one touch, one kiss, one moan, one moment.
She glanced away as her stomach clenched and a heaviness settled between her legs. But when he tabbed open his third beer in about as many minutes, the action reminded her of why it was important she stay away.
Like the Titanic, Bryan was slowly sinking from a hole ripped in his armored plating—his soul—pint by pint, gallon by gallon, this disaster wrought on by booze instead of sea water.
If she held on, he’d sink her too.
As much as she liked him, she must cut him free to save herself.
“So let me get this straight.” Mac focused on Bryan as she reached an arm across her body and rubbed at her left shoulder. She grimaced. Hank batted her hand away and worked the muscles along her left shoulder. “You rode out of here, no rifle, no pistol, no radio, no leg…” Mac’s voice climbed the ladder from calm, cool, collected, up to about-to-lose-her-shit.
“Mackenzie,” Hank warned.
Mac pulled away and stepped toward Bryan, her face harsh in the glow of the fire. “What in the hell were you thinking?”
Sidney opened her mouth to defend him. Bryan had only been trying to cheer her up. But he cut her a look that made her swallow her words.
Bryan met Mac’s accusing gaze and said, “I wasn’t.”
Mac flicked her eyes to Sidney and back again. Hard, hazardous.
Sidney’s insides squeezed together, forming some kind of vacuum that made her feel a half-size smaller. “It was—”
“Entirely my fault,” Bryan said.
* * * *
The campfire burned hotter, brighter, making it easier to see everyone’s faces. Mac and Hank remained standing and Santos sat on the log on the other side of Sidney. Boomer didn’t know what the hell was keeping Alby away.
“Bry—” Sidney started.
Boomer raised a hand to shut her up, but didn’t take his eyes off his old sergeant. This was between him and Mac, but if he was going to get his ass chewed in front of God and everyone, deserved as it may be, he sure as hell wasn’t going to take it sitting down.
He boosted himself off the ground. His quad quivered with the strain and it took every tired, sore, complaining muscle in his core to keep his balance and not look like a toddler on a two-day bender. He wanted his prosthetic, needed to pace and purge some of his stress, but he’d left his leg up at the barn.
Mac stepped in front of him. An inch or two closer and they would be toe to toe. He was starting to feel like a recruit in basic training. And, like his former drill instructor, Mac wasn’t the kind to take any shit. He looked down to meet her hard gaze, but that didn’t mean he didn’t look up to her.
“How much had you had to drink?” Like Sidney, Mac also wasn’t one to pull her punches.
He tossed his empty can. It landed with the other two he’d killed. “I was off the clock.”
“How. Much.”
“Alcohol had nothing to do with it.”
“Then how did three drifters get the drop on one of the United States’ finest?”
He clenched his jaws, refusing to spew excuses.
“What about pills?”
He narrowed his eyes, but he kept his trap shut. Arguing with Mac wouldn’t solve anything. He hadn’t had more than half a flask and the pills…fuck…the pills. He shoved down the defensiveness and stomped a boot on its ugly neck.
Had the pills been needed?
Or wanted?
How much of the snafu was due to the fact he’d wanted Sidney? Alone.
He’d rather take his chances in a war zone than be banished to the friend zone.
Mac tapped on the center of his chest with her index finger like she was drilling into the earth’s core. If it had been anyone else, anyone, they’d have lost that finger.
“You’re better than that, Boom.” She tapped again, just as hard, just as forceful. “Much better.” Her voice dropped and he strained to hear her over the crackling of the fire.
He let out a breath. “I’m going to get the horses back.”
“It’s not the horses I’m worried about.”
His stomach dropped and rolled. He was the guy no one wanted on their team, the guy no one wanted watching their back, the guy everyone knew was going to get them all killed.
* * * *
It was late and the others had gone to bed, leaving Boomer and Sidney out by the fire. They’d demolished all the water and beer she’d packed into his cooler, and he desperately needed a bed and a piss. Not necessarily in that order.
He pulled a double layer of stockings over his stump and slipped his leg into his prosthetic, which Santos had brought down from the barn. The muscles in his shoulders complained and grumbled with the effort, and he gave them a mental slap down.
The plan for the morning was to hit the trail early to search for the stolen horses. Another strenuous day. He didn’t have the time or the mental bandwidth to wallow in his aches and pains. He’d have plenty of time for that once the horses were recovered.
His priority was getting Sidney back to her room. She was sitting on the ground with her back to the log, her arms around her legs, her forehead resting on her knees. It had been a while since she’d talked or even moved. She hadn’t said anything when the others left for the night.
Standing, he put his full weight on his prosthetic, feeling some pressure at the end of his stump that shouldn’t be there. He’d lost a little weight since he’d been back on the ranch, and the socket wasn’t fitting like it should—good luck finding a prosthetist this far out in the boonies—but it was still a vast improvement over hopping.
“Wake up, Irish. Time for bed.”
When she didn’t respond, he reached down to gently squeeze her shoulder. She was trembling. Not violently, but a low-level vibration that shook him to the core. Even though her skin was cool to the touch, somehow, he knew this had absolutely nothing to do with the cold that had descended with the sun.
“Hey, hey, hey.” He squatted in front of her. “Look at me.”
The trembling became more pronounced. Then she raised her face, and Boomer sucked in a deep breath, because suddenly there wasn’t enough oxygen for the both of them. Even the dying light from the fire couldn’t hide her puffy eyes, the tear-streaked dirt on her face, and the splotchy complexion beneath.
Her heart was broken.
Because of him.
He plopped on his ass, his breath short as the weight of his choices, his poor decisions, sat heavy on his chest like an armored Humvee.
He pulled her onto his lap and tucked her against his chest. The coals still burned blue, scorching his shirt and back. H
e shifted a little farther from the fire. The harder he held her, the harder she sobbed. When your world shattered, there were no words that could comfort, so he didn’t offer any.
He let her cry it out. Let her take the time that she needed. How long they sat there was anyone’s guess. Long enough for his ass to go numb and his cock to come to life. Which made him feel even more like a bastard. Even if he couldn’t help it.
Finally, she lifted her head and dried her face with her hands. “Sorry,” she said, her voice thick and tight.
He cupped her face and kissed the side of her head. She smelled like smoke and despair, but that made him want her more. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to the barn. Ride out is gonna come early.”
She stood and gave him a hand up, but neither one of them let go. He took a couple steps toward the barn. Lagging behind, her hand slipped from his. He turned back.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Her eyes fell to the ground and he waited her out.
Then she nodded to herself, as if she’d given herself a little pep talk, and looked him square in the eye. “I don’t want to go back to the barn. I want to stay with you.”
His jeans immediately got tighter, his brain vapor locked, and the most intelligent thing that came to mind was, “Ah…”
This wasn’t a come-on.
This was a very bad idea.
He understood why she didn’t want to be alone, but he wasn’t certain he could spend the night with her without laying a hand on her. He wanted more, but the truth was Sidney was no different than his ex-wife. Neither woman could live with the booze and the pills, and he didn’t want to live without them.
Even so, telling her no would make him feel more like a jerk. The blood drained from his face. If he said yes, it might be the longest, hardest night of his life. But right now, she could ask him to stand in front of a firing squad and he’d do it if it would make her feel better.
She waved a hand in the air. “No, wait, scratch that. I’m good.” She nodded her head as if convincing herself. “Yeah, I’m good,” she said, not really to him at all.
As she stepped by him, he grabbed her arm, turned her back to him, and said the word he knew he shouldn’t say: “Stay.”
She looked up but wouldn’t meet his gaze, so he stepped in closer and tipped her chin up. “I want you to stay.”
Her eyes searched his face, for conformation? For sincerity? She must have seen whatever it was she was looking for, because she fell into step beside him.
Inside the cabin, they took turns showering off. He gave her his last pair of clean sweats and a T-shirt to change into. She wasn’t shy about using his toothbrush and he liked that intimacy more than he should have.
He tugged on a pair of shorts, doffed his leg, and crawled under the covers ahead of her. The bed was a long twin, and considering some of the places he’d slept, he considered it luxurious, but he was a big man, and fitting both of them in the bed would be a challenge.
He lay on his side and held the covers open for her.
She slid in beside to him, her back to his chest, and settled her head on his pillow. “You good?”
His back was to the wall, her ass was against his crotch, and he tried real hard not to think about how good he was. “Fine,” he said, though the word came out strangled.
He draped his arm over her side because there wasn’t anywhere else to put it. She threaded her fingers through his and tucked their joined hands under her chin. It wasn’t long before her breathing evened out, and he figured she’d crashed.
She’d towel-dried her short hair, and it stuck out at odd angles. Tufts tickled his cheeks, but instead of pulling back, he moved in closer and inhaled a deep whiff of his shampoo in her hair. His cock twitched as the combination hit him like an aphrodisiac speedball. He tried to ease back, but with the wall behind him there was nowhere to go. He was lucky she was holding his hand, because all he wanted to do was encircle her waist and snug her tighter against him and forget all the reasons she was the last person he should go to bed with.
“Did you just sniff me?” Sidney’s voice was sleepy, but he detected a hint of humor.
He groaned, thought about apologizing, but he wasn’t sorry. “Too pervy?”
She chuckled and rolled over. He’d left the light on in the bathroom and it spilled enough light into the room for him to make out her features, but little more. “No, I think it’s sweet.”
A smile he couldn’t help slid across his face.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Never been accused of being sweet.”
“What about this afternoon? You claimed all the responsibility. It wasn’t all yours to take.”
“My fault. My resp—”
She touched her lips to his, which shut him the hell up. He guessed that was her intention. The kiss was soft and gentle, and he ached to roll on top of her and take it deeper, to bury himself deep inside her.
But that wasn’t why she was there, and he’d accepted that going in. He wouldn’t betray that trust by clubbing her on the head and dragging her into his lair.
He ended the kiss and immediately wished the hell he hadn’t. He wanted her lips on his. On his skin, his body, his co—Stop! Just. Stop. He closed his eyes and counted to ten in Spanish. When that didn’t suffice, he did it in Farsi, then Arabic.
When he opened his eyes, she stared back at him, her gaze intense, like if she looked hard enough she’d know his thoughts, his heart. That wasn’t a burden he’d wish on his enemy, much less someone he considered more than a friend.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The thud of a boot on the front porch of Boomer’s cabin woke him seconds before someone pounded their fist on the door.
“Hey, Boomer, you want to go for a ride?” said a female voice from the other side.
“Jenna?” Boomer leaped over Sidney and balanced on one foot in the darkness of the room as he reached over and grabbed blindly for his crutch resting near the foot of the bed.
The door latch turned, but the chair he’d jammed under the door handle the night before held. He really needed to put a deadbolt on that door. Sidney scrambled out of the bed behind him, her fiery locks sticking up at all angles.
Making his way to the door, Jenna pounded again.
“The door’s stuck. I can’t get in.”
Boomer glanced behind him. Sidney sat at the table and waved at him to open the door. He flicked on the lights and squinted at the sudden brightness.
Jenna knocked again. “Boom. I know you’re not asleep. You never sleep this late.”
The sun hadn’t even come up yet, but that didn’t make Jenna wrong. He’d been awake, and normally he’d have been out of bed already, but he’d had one warm, sexy reason to stay put.
Boomer removed the chair and opened the door. Jenna swept in, her energy wafting off her in waves.
She turned to him, “Dude, what’s with the ch—”
Jenna glanced around the room, her eyes landing on Sidney first, then his unmade bed and the made bed across the room. Then she turned and smiled at him, big and bright and completely off base.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Boomer muttered.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I have a pretty good imagination. But hey, no judgment here.”
Heat crept up the back of Boomer’s neck. This was not the conversation he wanted to have with Hank’s nineteen-year-old daughter. Even if there wasn’t anything to talk about.
Sidney ran her hands through her hair to tame her bedhead, but the effort was wasted. “I should leave.”
“Stay,” he told her. To Jenna he said, “This is our new horse trainer, Sidney. Sidney, Hank’s daughter, Jenna.”
They shook hands.
“Nice to meet you,” Sidney said, without the expected awkwardness.
“What are you doing here?” Boomer hopped back over to the bed and started the process of putting on his leg.
“Quinn’s driving up and dropping his motorcycle off for Mac to keep while he’s deployed. He leaves next week, and this was the only way I could get to see him before he left.”
“Already?”
“It’s almost been two years,” Jenna said. “Time flies.”
Boomer shook his head in disbelief. Quinn had done so much in those couple years: become a Marine, gone through flight training, helicopter training. What had he done? Ended his marriage…and somehow managed to not pickle his liver. Yet.
“Anyway, he’s not due until this evening, so I thought you and I could ride for the day, air Angel out for ten or twenty miles.”
“Er…Jenna…”
“Sidney is welcome to come too.” Jenna waggled her brows at him and gave him a cheeky smile. She wore a pair of jeans, her boots, an old USMC T-shirt of Mac’s, and a black cowboy hat that was dirt-stained and felt-worn, with her brown hair tied back in a low ponytail.
“It’s not that,” he said. “Jenna…”
When he waffled, the smile dropped from her lips. “What is it, Boom.”
“You haven’t talked to your dad, have you?”
“I drove through the night. He and Mac didn’t even know I was coming.”
Jenna glanced from Boomer to Sidney and back again, picking up on his tension. “What is it?”
“Look…” He couldn’t figure out a good way to tell her that her champion barrel racer was stolen. Christ, he didn’t want to be the one to have to tell her, but it wasn’t anyone else’s responsibility to do his dirty work. “Angel’s gone.”
She laughed, and her eyes sparkled with incredulity. Then her face fell. “Wait, you’re serious.”
He nodded. Sidney came over and sat beside him on the bed, placing a hand on his shoulder for support, he supposed. He appreciated the thought, but telling Jenna was going to hurt worse than digging shrapnel out without morphine. He cursed the bastards for taking his flask along with the horses. He could have used a stiff drink about now.
Mentally, he bit down on a strap of leather and said, “Sidney and I were out for a ride yesterday afternoon. We came across some men and…and Angel and Sidney’s horse, Eli, were taken.”