by Heather Long
“High heat? Or just looking for a long slow bake?”
“That’s the question, I’d prefer a high heat, burn and dump but we may be sitting on this a while. Lots of action—then nothing.” Oddjob rubbed the back of his neck. The tension cording the muscles threatened to give him a headache. He’d been walking a lot, but what he needed was a few rounds with a punching bag—if her harassers didn’t show up soon he might need to borrow one to burn off some of the frustration.
“Any chance their lack of success scared off the would be attackers?” The best part of working with others for years, they learned to trust his judgment and asked about the situation—not the way he read it.
“No way to be certain, but my gut isn’t sitting right with any of this. You don’t go to that much trouble, then back off unless you got what you wanted or…”
“…you’re planning something bigger.” Jacko got him. “Give me a location, and I’ll run some deep background. I’m assuming you think they want this person off the land.”
“I can’t see anything else she has that someone would want to use terror tactics to take.”
“Unless they just want her dead.” The blasé delivery didn’t gentle the sucker punch Oddjob took to the gut. “What’s the lovely lady’s name?”
“Shayna Morgan.” Rage began to burn in his blood, like phosphorus ready to burn it all to ash.
“Dude…wasn’t there a Marine named…”
“Yes there was.” He cut him off. “Same lady and I owe her.” More he liked her. She was damn good people. Circling away from that memory, he gave Jacko the address and GPS coordinates for Celebrate.
“Fuck. All right. I’m on this. My hands are kind of full at the moment, I can send a couple of the guys your way—Flint might be up for it, though he won’t thank us if we keep him away from Trudi for too long. Dude is so hung up he can’t see straight.” Always a good thing. “Angel’s up there already running a job with Patterson’s group so if he’s busy, it looks like Cannon and Mickey are available. Brick’s on the road or I’d send him back up that way—but he’s somewhere in Kentucky or Illinois.”
Flint was like a bulldozer, Mickey had a bit more finesse, and Cannon liked to blow shit up. “Whoever can come, just tell Cannon we already had one blown building—we don’t want anymore.”
“You got it. Soon as I have something I’ll get back to you.”
“Hey…” Oddjob said before Jacko could hang up. “You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m covered man. Just a lot of irons in the fire. Catch you later.” Then Jacko was off the phone. Irons in the fire? The man was a genius with a computer and information scraper. His ability to locate a single thread and use it to unravel the whole thing was a gift, and it had made him an excellent sniper and overwatch. Oddjob was more of a breacher, he took the doors with Flint while Cannon handled their ordinance. Time spent on their team had been one of his best experiences on the teams—though they hadn’t been his first assignment, they’d been his last one. One by one, they’d all begun to roll out.
The guys had all landed on their feet, except Jacko’s last mission had cost him. Still, he’d healed up and it surprised Oddjob that one of the alphabets hadn’t snapped him up—then again maybe they had. Either way, he had backup coming in. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he scratched at his beard. What he needed was a hot shower, a shave, and some rack time—not necessarily in that order.
The group had vanished into the house. Shayna was likely showing them the bedrooms, hopefully she didn’t overdo it going up and down the stairs. She’d been damn pleased when she showed him the various rooms—each with its own bathroom. The bathrooms were stocked with a laundry basket, three full sets of standard towels, basic toiletries and grooming supplies.
Two of the shops in town had gathered together donated clothing, all gently used, in a variety of sizes, extra coats, and more. A computer room had been set up, and the kitchen full stocked with utensils, pans, and plates. According to Shayna’s plans, a garden would be next on her list—a place for growing vegetables. When he recommended a green house, her eyes had lit up and he could practically see the wheels turning.
Everything she’d committed to was the mission she’d undertaken for herself. The only thing she didn’t answer was what she was doing for her. They’d all lived for the mission at one point, but if his time in Texas training with Mateo and his wife had taught him anything, it was that life had to be comprised of more than the just the job in front of you.
Opening a text message, he fired off one before he could think on it too long:
Dinner tonight? You and me? Somewhere we have to dress up?
Maybe he should have waited until she was done showing off the progress so far. He added a second message.
Think about it and let me know when you’re done.
Dragging himself away from the window, he strode toward the bathroom. The shower and shave first, if that didn’t wake him up, he’d grab an hour of racktime. Hank and the others wouldn’t leave without letting him know. Fifteen minutes later, he’d just finished shaving when his phone pinged.
The message was short and sweet.
Sure.
Then she added:
I’m buying.
No, no she wasn’t. Pressing a hot towel to his cheeks, he stared at himself in the mirror. “She can pay if she wants to pay.” Yeah, even saying the words aloud didn’t work for him.
My invite. My treat.
Her response wasn’t immediately forthcoming, so he dressed in a pair of jeans in and returned to the window overlooking the house. The crew were outside and she was motioning toward the side where they’d discussed putting in the garden or greenhouse. It would take her time to get back to him.
Crossing his arms, he considered the area outside of the barn—and the story she’d told him about Jacob Dalton. This had been his place before it was donated for her project. What if the issues weren’t due to her at all? What if they tied back to Dalton? Maybe their saboteur had been after him and when word got out about her, they stopped…
No. No sooner did the thought settle than he discarded it. Eagle Rock wasn’t a big town, and even though he’d only been there a short time, people already greeted him by name or at least recognized the fact he was new. The ranch donation would have hit the gossip mill, particularly with the interest Hank and his crew took in her.
Leaving the window, he threw himself down on the sofa. This was why he didn’t like doing investigative work. Personally, give him a target and let him take the fight to them. Instead, they had to dig in and wait. If it were just him, fine. But the wait was exacting a toll on Shayna.
They’d figure it out. Jacko was digging, the Brotherhood was on it, and he was here. More, Shayna was paying attention and not fighting the routines they were all employing. The whole thing aggravated the hell out of him because she was at the heart of it. The whole point of coming to Montana was to track her down, and see her again. He wanted to spent time with her, thank her and now that he was here?
He wanted to keep her safe more than anything, get to know her and maybe, just maybe, save her dream the way she’d saved him.
Stop. Running like a hamster on a wheel wouldn’t solve anything. He needed rest. Rest and then to figure out what the hell was going on before it closed in on her again.
One arm over his eyes, he told his mental clock sixty minutes. Not one minute more.
An hour before he planned to head over to the house, he caught sight of her limping toward the barn. Grabbing his keys, he jogged down the steps to meet her. The lines of strain on her face worried him more than the fact she hadn’t changed clothes. “Hey…”
“Sorry,” she said, and her voice thick with fatigue. “Today took a lot more out of me than I expected.”
He offered his arm, and tried to ignore the thrill skating through him when she accepted his support. “Let’s get you back to the house. I can cook dinner for you.”
“I do
n’t want MREs.” The weak joke was still funny, and he slid an arm around her waist so she could lean on him more effectively. If she pulled away even an inch, he’d release her.
She didn’t. Fuck, she had to be really hurting. Measuring his steps, he slowed his pace. “C’mon, you know you want some basic stew and heavy gravy. It will be a masterpiece.”
Shayna didn’t disguise her vague gagging noises, then she chuckled. “Beggers can’t be choosers. Maybe we can swindle someone into delivering food. I’d offer to cook, but not sure I’m up for it.”
That admission alone had to have cost her. “How about we set you up to relax, and you let me be your hands?”
At the steps to her verandah, he let her take the steps at her speed, and only moved up one at a time along with her. “That’s a lot to ask when I wanted to buy you dinner.”
“As I recall, I’m the one who asked you out.” In the distance, the evening birdsong kicked in. Farther away, a familiar rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker. Had to be a big one, to sound so loud. It was the hawk’s cry climbing over all of it for a moment which captured his attention. A part of him wanted to twist to look for the bird of prey, but he kept his eye on the prize.
He had to admit, Montana was pretty damn gorgeous in the summer. Warm weather, beautiful trees, stunning landscape really—and Shayna, she’d probably make any area awesome.
“You did, but I said I was going to buy you dinner. You’re working for me, remember?” At the door now, he opened it to let her in. Her halting gait worried him.
“We can arm wrestle for it later.” The minute the words slipped out, he winced. “Fuck…”
She surprised him with another laugh, even as she pulled away to hobble over to a chair. Once she sank into it, relief crept across her face. “Don’t apologize, whatever you do. The fact you were helping me in here and popped off with a comment like that—tells me you don’t see me as a cripple. That’s something.”
Pivoting, he faced her and pinned her with a stare. “Understand something right now, Marine. You may want to adjust to your new normal and not be reminded of where you came from—fine. I’m good with that. But I do know where you came from and I know how you got here. I don’t see a cripple, I see a veteran. I see someone who is still paying a cost for saving lives and serving their country.”
Not answering him immediately, she swiped her tongue over her lower lip. The action drew his attention to the glistening fullness of it before he focused back on the business of laying the respect between them bare and not imagining baring her skin for more pleasurable pursuits. She was so much more than just some body to find relief in, and his body better damn well remember it.
“Duly noted,” she said finally. “It’s easier for me to talk smack about how I see myself than to try and fake that it doesn’t bother me.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he wrestled his temper back into a box. Yelling at her for talking down to herself was a dick move. “You do what you need to do—I just want it clear how I see you.”
A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You realize you’re a walking advertisement for not all heroes wear capes, right?”
Oddjob considered the statement, then struck a pose. “I could handle doing Superman. I think I’ve got the jawline for it.”
“You shaved.”
The response wasn’t what he was going for, and he paused to rub a hand against his chin. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s fine…you’re a little shaggy around the ears though—and I kind of miss the scruffiness.”
“I’ll see what I can do for you.” Not shaving was something he got used to when they were on the go 24/7, and old habits repeated when he had a lot on his mind. “Now, let’s dive into dinner.” He rubbed his hands together. “Standing by for orders, ma’am.”
“Do you really want to make dinner? There’s some microwavable meals…”
“I can do a TV dinner with the best of them, or I can fix you something real. Just tell me what to do. You have my full attention.”
Hell, he knew how to follow orders and what was cooking but following instructions?
“All right,” she said, leaning forward even as she flexed her right hand. The stiffness was back. “I think there’s some hamburger meat that’s defrosted. How do you feel about french fries and hamburgers?”
“I’m feeling like washing and cutting potatoes is a little to on the nose reminiscent of KP duty, but I can handle it.” He glanced at the kitchen, then at her. “Do you need anything before I get started?”
“I’m good. Took my meds before I came looking.”
“Excellent. Want to tell me about your tour? How it went?” He located the potatoes and carried them over to the sink. Then located a skillet.
“Do you really want to hear about it?”
“I want to hear about everything where you’re concerned.”
Everything.
Chapter 5
Shayna enjoyed watching Oddjob prepare and cook far more than she expected. Despite his earlier claims that he didn’t know how, he washed, skinned and chopped the potatoes with efficient, brisk motions.
“I think you’ve been pulling my leg,” she told him. She’d lifted the footrest on the chair, engaging in the recliner function.
“Never said I couldn’t cook.” The glib remark had her smile widening. “Plus, my parents run a restaurant. I can do just about anything with potatoes—including shredding them for the most perfect hash browns you’ve ever eaten.”
Her stomach rumbled. “Now you’re teasing me.”
“Could be. So c’mon, tell me about the tour.” He made short work of the potatoes then got oil heating on the stove.
“It went great, everyone was happy with the progress, and they like the rooms. Swede suggested we add on a gym of some kind. I like that idea, maybe add an indoor pool to go with the greenhouse.” The meds were working, she was reaching that humming state where yes, she still hurt but no she didn’t care as much. The doctors told her it would take time, and she had to be patient and do her therapy. Avoiding stress had also been mentioned, but unless she was dead stress was a fundamental part of life.
“Huh, that’ll take more investment I’m betting.” He washed his hands before he got the hamburger meat out and began shaping the patties.
“Definitely more than what we have in the budget. I have some ideas for fundraising though.” A side aspect of the project she hadn’t considered before diving in. Managing the property would take more than just her willingness to share her experiences with others. “Not a skill I’ve honed, but I thought I’d start with reaching out to some of the various veteran organizations that have already pledged funds over the next year and describe what I think are the benefits.”
“Let me know if I can help—I’m a mean typist.” He waggled his hamburger coated fingers at her. “I could be your Guy Friday.”
Chuckling, she shook her head. “First, I have to research the costs, and put together projections. Then build a presentation. I’m thinking a video with me gimping around the area I want to transform, then using my own medical records to demonstrate why gardening, swimming, and regular exercise could improve my self-reliance, self-image which would then drive my independence.” Stretching her bad arm, she added, “All of which are one hundred percent true.”
“You’re going to open a vein for this place, aren’t you?” Admiration tangling with concern clouded the question.
“If I want it to work…yes.” She liked Oddjob more than she cared to admit, or maybe more than she believed possible. The man was just comfortable to be around. He treated her like a person, a capable one and he never overstepped. Never rushed to do something for her unless she asked for help. Did he have any idea how amazing he was? “It’s easy to forget that you’re a person when your condition is so much a part of your life. It’s easy to forget your own strength, and perseverance when it takes every ounce of your willpower to do something like make a meal or take a
shower.”
There was power in saying it all aloud. Power in owning her frailties and the confusion of emotions which went with them.
“It’s harder still when you have to admit you can’t do it all, that the skill you spent so much time honing isn’t available to you anymore.” Like protecting the place she wanted to build. “Before you give me the team lecture, I get it—here.” She tapped the side of her head, then lowered her hand to press over her chest. “Here though? Here it gets messed up with being less than who I am.”
The sizzling of the burgers he added to a pan joined the crackling of oil cooking the potatoes. Damn she was starving.
“I get that—mostly.” Oddjob admitted. “There’s a Marine, retired, I worked with down in Texas. He and his fiancée train therapy horses. He just had a surgery to help correct some of the nerve issues he has and he was able to ride again. It’s a work in progress, or so he says.”
If a surgery could fix her, she’d do it in a heartbeat. “I’m not there yet. I can ride as long as I go slow. The damage wasn’t just from the bullet—though I did take one. It’s more because the body armor failed.” The sound of bullets slicing through the night air. The hum of them whizzing passed. The curious little thunk they made when they impacted against the armor. The slam driving all the air out of her lungs, and the tumble. Then the godawful cracking noise, and white hot pain shattering the night. She blew out a shaky breath.
Oddjob flipped the burgers, but his gaze locked on hers. “You survived.”
Perspiration beaded her forehead and her pulse fluttered faster. “Easier said than done.”
“Yeah, but you did it. Every day you get up. Every day you don’t give in. Every day you keep building. You survived.” Absolute certainty and faith reflected in his gaze.
“Has anyone ever told you that being perfect is intimidating?” Tears gathered in her eyes and she blinked them back.
“You don’t intimidate me, lady,” he said with a slow grin, and a wink. “You just challenge me to be better.”