by Desiree Holt
Slade and the other team members had met her, at a dinner where he’d proudly showed her off. None of the team members, including Slade, had been too enthusiastic about her, but that hadn’t bothered Marc.
“You’re just jealous,” he’d ground out.
Then the roof had fallen in and his life had come apart. The scene he’d walked in on had been bad enough. He’d managed to control his rage to not kill the guy when he’d tossed them out into the street. But when he’d realized she’d been high on drugs rather than alcohol, he’d done a thorough search of the house, including her personal belongings, and found baggies filled with multicolored pills.
He’d called Slade, because he’d been out of his mind. Insane. Especially when he’d learned she’d been doing that for a long time, both the drugs and screwing anything with a dick. He’d been torn between wanting to kill her and kill himself. Slade had talked him down off the ledge and waited while he’d packed his things—not too many, he traveled light—and had walked him out of the apartment and out of her life. He’d found him an attorney who had told Marc to do whatever was needed to get a divorce fast.
He’d asked Slade not to ever bring it up again and had spent the rest of his leave holed up in a motel room, trying not to drink himself to death.
Slade wasn’t an emotional person, but his heart ached for Marc, so damaged by a selfish, insane woman. He often wondered if Marc would ever get back to the point where he wanted to rejoin the living.
Now Slade cleared his throat. “Heavy thoughts there, Eagle. Admiring the great view?”
Marc turned, his mouth stretched in an imitation of a smile. “Just giving my brain a rest. Give me five and I’ll be right along.”
“I’ll hold you to it. Beer’s cold, so come on down.”
Swallowing a sigh, he left the room and headed downstairs. He could already hear the others on the back porch where he’d left them. Maybe, just maybe ten days at the ranch would be the first step toward Marc regaining his sanity and equilibrium.
* * * *
Slade watched Marc snag a beer from the cooler, pop the cap and move to the far side of the porch. As usual, close to the group but still separate. Man. The guy was going to implode if they didn’t figure out how to get him some help pretty soon. Slade thought about telling him to move closer to the others but decided to keep his mouth shut. This was supposed to be a vacation. Downtime. If he wanted Marc to heal, he wouldn’t accomplish it by giving him orders.
“You know”—Trey leaned back in the lounger he’d appropriated, staring off toward the horizon—“I can see why you like this place.”
“Yeah?” Slade raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not sure I could take the peace and quiet in large doses,” Trey added, “or too frequently. But right now? I have to say it’s great.”
“I actually think I might agree with him, shocking as that is.” Beau took a long swallow of his beer and let his gaze travel lazily over the view that stretched from the house. “I can see why you love it here, Slade.”
Some of the horses were in the corral, their coats glowing in the sunlight. Beside the first bar, two of the hands worked on the hay baler and from the far pasture, two hands who’d been riding fences trotted their horses back to the barn. It always reminded him of a painting he’d seen in a gallery in San Antonio that specialized in Western landscapes.
“Best tranquilizer in the world,” he told the other men.
“So what’s on the agenda now, Shadow? Riding horses or riding women?”
Slade considered each of them—lean, tan, hardened men, men he felt privileged to have on his team. They’d forged a bond that was unheard of in normal circumstances. He wouldn’t trade it for anything.
“I’m thinking we should just hang out here tonight, try to get back to what passes for normal for us. Kick back. Drink some beer. Grill some steaks. Tomorrow night is the party I told you about.”
“Is this the party your friend is giving?” Beau grinned. “And how clean do we have to get?”
“Clean enough to pass muster. Yes, this is the one. So pretty damn clean.” He took his own swallow of beer.
“I know he’s JAG now,” Beau asked, “but was he ever Delta?”
Slade shook his head, irritated at the question. “No, we went in different directions. He loved the law and the fact he could be Army and still practice it. He had his law degree, applied for Judge Advocate Group and he’s been with them ever since. Dumb luck for him he got assigned to Lackland here in San Antonio and he’s been here ever since.” Slade looked hard at each of them. “And he’s done a damn fine job. He puts his ass on the line every day in a different way.”
“Okay, okay.” Beau held up his hands. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Any friend of yours and all that.”
Trey took a sip of his cold beer. “Is this party for something special?”
“No. They just like to entertain. When he found out I’d be home for it, he insisted I come.”
Beau lifted an eyebrow. “And us too?”
“Hard as it is to believe anyone would want your company,” Slade teased. “But yes, he said to bring all you assholes.”
Marc, who hadn’t said a word up until now, shook his head. “I think I’ll pass.”
Slade leaned forward. “That’s not an option, Marc. Even if you sit in the corner all night and glower at everyone, I’m getting your ass there, so just accept it.” He unwound his tall body from the lounge chair. “Meanwhile, I think we could all use a shower. Then I’ll throw those steaks on the grill. I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve been waiting a long time for a decent meal. See you in an hour.”
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About the Author
A multi-published, award winning, Amazon and USA Today best-selling author, Desiree Holt has produced more than 200 titles and won many awards. She has received an EPIC E-Book Award, the Holt Medallion and many others including Author After Dark’s Author of the Year. She has been featured on CBS Sunday Morning and in The Village Voice, The Daily Beast, USA Today, The Wall Street Journal, The London Daily Mail. She lives in Florida with her cats who insist they help her write her books, and is addicted to football.
Email: [email protected]
Desiree loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.
Also by Desiree Holt
Crude Oil
Beg Me
Down and Dirty
Interlude
Intermission
Four Play
Game On
Swingtime
Party of Three
All Jacked Up
Top or Bottom
Strike Force: Unconditional Surrender
The Sentinels: The Edge of Morning
The Sentinels: Night Moves
The Sentinels: Dark Stranger
The Sentinels: Animal Instinct
The Sentinels: Mated
The Sentinels: Silent Hunters
Cat’s Eyes: Pretty Kitty
Cat’s Eyes: On the Prowl
Night of the Senses: Carnal Caresses
Christmas Goes Camo: Melting the Ice
Treble: Trouble at the Treble T
Subspace: Head Games
Bound to the Billionaire: Made for Him
Heatwave: Summer Spice
Feral: Black Cat Fever
Clandestine Classics: Northanger Abbey