"Just a feeling."
He took a long look at her, his gaze sweeping from head to toe. Despite the thoroughness of the assessment, she didn't feel threatened. It wasn't like he was checking her out, but rather making a list of her strengths and weaknesses. Whatever he decided, she seemed to pass some test.
"You're not either." When he crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles of his biceps flexed, drawing her attention once again to his impressive physique.
"Actually, I am. I grew up here."
"Here?"
"Yes, here." She shouldn't give out personal information, but she couldn't help the words spewing from her mouth. "Just on the other side of the mountains."
"Bear Creek?"
"You're familiar with it?"
"In fact, I am. But you don't live there." His eyes pinched together. "I'm guessing college kid? Coming home on break?"
She didn't know why her mouth kept working, because she had nothing to prove to this man.
"I'm not a kid."
This time, the sweep of his gaze lingered on her breasts and dipped lower to stare at the juncture of her legs.
"I'm well aware of that, but you still have a problem."
"What's that?”
He pointed to the flat.
"Look, we can talk all day, but this is my day off, and I'd rather not spend it on the side of the road. I promised Dynamo a run on the trails."
She noticed how he didn't say hike, but rather run. Looking at him, she imagined he could run miles on the mountain trails. His dog had been sniffing out the bushes leading into the trees, but his ears perked up at the mention of his name. Dynamo trotted over to the stranger, sniffed the man's hand, and licked his fingers before heading back to investigate the bushes again.
He pointed to the tire. "If you put away your weapon, I'll lend a hand."
He kept calling her gun a weapon.
"Are you military?"
"Not anymore."
Well, that answered that question.
"How did you know I had a gun?"
"Lucky guess, but you're awfully twitchy, telegraphing your every thought. You should work on that. Do you even know how to shoot that thing?" His brow arched and her temper flared at the insinuation she didn't know how to shoot.
"I know how to shoot."
"Knowing how to shoot and actually hitting something are two different things."
"You think because I'm a woman I can't hit anything?”
He held up his hands. "I didn't say shit about you being a woman. You brought that into this. Not me."
She didn't believe him. All men thought women couldn't shoot. She was a damn good shot, but she still didn't know how he knew she had a gun. It hadn't been a guess, either.
He knew.
Much to her chagrin, the man got better looking the more she stared at him. She really shouldn't stare, except there was simply too much of him to admire.
He ran his hand through his hair again.
"Look, I can go..." He pivoted toward his truck.
"No," she said, blurting the word out.
As much as she hated asking for help when she should be able to take care of things, the simple truth was that she needed it.
"You sure?" A cocky grin filled his face. The bastard was having fun with her. "I wouldn't want to assume a woman can't change a simple tire."
His eyes would be her undoing. They were deep and catastrophic, the kind of eyes a girl could get lost in. A vivid baby blue they melted her resolve to not give in to his devilishly handsome good looks.
"I'm sure."
He held his hands out. "Secure that weapon and I'll reconsider helping you."
"What do you mean reconsider? You wouldn't leave me here?"
"A strong, independent woman like you? Sure as shit I'd leave your ass."
"You're a real bastard, you know that?"
"I'm also strong enough to loosen those lug nuts, and its rude to insult a stranger.”
"Fine." She secured the gun, locking it in place, and stepped away from the Jeep. "Thank you for stopping."
"My pleasure." He flashed her a grin and closed the distance.
Up close, she was overcome by the overwhelming maleness of him, raw and potent, she didn't like the way her heart raced or her blood pounded in her veins.
He bent to a knee and loosened the lug nuts with barely any effort. Then he stood and handed her the tire iron.
"I assume you know how to jack up your Jeep, change the wheel, and tighten everything down again?”
She lifted her chin. "Yes. Of course I do.“
"Well, good luck then." He started to walk away.
"Aren't you going to finish changing the tire?"
Damn if he didn't have dimples, too. Although, the scar hid the one on the left side of his face.
"And deprive you of your independence? Hell no. Have a nice day, and be wary of strangers. You never know who you can trust."
Now, why did he say that?
She balled her hands into fists when he gave a whistle to the dog. Dynamo bounded over the grass and into the truck. The man climbed in and shut the door. A second later, the engine cranked over and he drove away.
"What the ever-loving hell just happened?"
Half an hour later, she tightened the last of the lug nuts. She would've been done much sooner, except she had problems getting the jack to work. Elbow grease spent, two bruised knuckles later, and she got it to work. If that man had stayed, she wouldn't have broken a nail.
And damn if she didn't know his name.
Chapter 5
Dax
Except for the mountains, it was hard for Dax not to feel like he was home.
Down from Bear Creek, rolling plains extended as far as the eye could see. Cattle grazed much of the land, but there was still a good portion used for crops. Oil and natural gas operations made up the rest, but not nearly on the scale as that of Texas.
But then, Texas always did things bigger than everyone else.
Rich, untapped oil reserves sat below much of Montana land. Once the cost of bringing that oil to the surface became profitable, the area would experience boom growth similar to what Texas had seen. For now, rolling pastureland extended out from the base of the mountains relatively untouched by oil rigs and fracking operations.
He knew about both.
His family's land had rich oil deposits, and while their business was primarily that of cattle, a good chunk of their profits came from the oil and natural gas found beneath Kingston Ranch land.
Despite the difficulties he had with his father, Dax couldn't say Seth Kingston neglected his son growing up. From the day Dax learned to ride, his father kept him by his side, teaching him everything about cattle, ranching, and drilling for oil.
A conservationist, his father taught about the fine balance that needed to be maintained so as not to ruin the land. A tough bastard, his father made sure Dax knew everything about the family business. He could step in at any time and take over.
Not that he wanted to.
Perhaps that was why his decision to enlist in the military came as such a shock, and met with intense resistance and downright hostility, by his father. Seth Kingston thought his son was wasting his time screwing around in the military and put his life at risk for no reason. As the only son to inherit, this figured prominently on his father’s mind.
Dax had long ago agreed to disagree with his father about that.
Dynamo licked the passenger side window and Dax shook his head. He'd given up keeping the glass clean by their third day together.
"You think this is a good place to pull over?" He scanned the small scenic overlook and stopped the truck without waiting on Dynamo's approval.
Spending the day by the side of the highway had not been the plan.
His first day off since starting work on Old Man Studer's ranch, he’d promised Dynamo a long, overland run through the mountains. He missed the intense burn a long cross country run brought. Hell, he m
issed much about his previous life, morning PT being only one of many things.
Studer had him up and in the saddle from five in the morning until well past sunset. It took less than a day to figure out Studer's operation, and from the nod he’d given, Dax figured Studer thought it should've taken much longer.
Dax kept his replies curt when Studer asked how he knew as much as he did about cattle, saying only that he'd grown up working on a ranch. Everything else was immaterial and he wasn't looking to bond with the man. This was a short-lived gig, and in a few weeks, Dax would move on. He hadn't really decided what to do next.
“We may not get in that hike, ‘Mo, if that girl doesn’t hurry up and change her damn tire.” He turned to the dog who went to town licking his dick. “Dude!” He turned away and looked back the way they’d come.
The girl had been cagey and nervous, palming a small pistol when he stopped to help. Then she'd done the unthinkable. She knocked him off his game.
His reaction made no sense, because it wasn't like him to leave a woman stranded who needed help.
Although, he hadn’t really left her stranded. Those lug nuts were loose enough for her to remove, and she’d been pretty snarky about her ability to change a tire. Regardless, he left her on the side of the road with the job unfinished. But he waited here to make sure she finished the job.
That made him half a hero.
That was bad enough. But he’d gone and done the unthinkable. He left her intentionally, if only because he wanted to see what she would do.
That made him a full-on asshole.
He snickered at that.
Full of spitfire and something he couldn't describe, the flare of her temper had his blood racing and his body taking notice. He’d been hard from the first moment he saw her.
"You think I should've finished the job?" He glanced over at Dynamo looking for absolution.
Dynamo gave him a look, then went back to licking his dick.
His mother would have a fit if she knew her son left a woman on the side of the road, but damn if he couldn't help himself. He had every intention of changing out the tire, but that girl pushed his buttons in the strangest way.
Girl?
Woman?
She was a few years younger than him, early twenties maybe? Most definitely not a girl.
Whatever.
It didn’t matter.
It was enough that he couldn't ignore the difference in their ages. In his early thirties, she was still a kid to him, but damn what a figure she cut with her perky tits, narrow waist, tight ass and toned thighs. Every man's wet dream, his fantasies would be full of her through the long nights ahead.
“Probably a good thing we didn't exchange names. Right ‘Mo?”
Dynamo kicked his rear foot up and scratched behind his ear.
Barely legal, it was best if Dax stayed far away from the girl.
He still didn't know what to think about the pounding in his veins, the hitch of his breath, or the way her doe-brown eyes made his gut twist in knots. He most certainly wasn't going to acknowledge what happened to his dick. The bastard had taken one look at the girl and stood up in stiff salute.
The thoughts churning in his head kept his dick hard, thoughts which would rightfully earn him a shot from that gun of hers. Which meant, he needed to leave her to her business and drive away.
Tapping his thumb on the steering wheel, he considered doing just that for about half a second. The truth was, he needed another look at her, and if she didn’t drive around that curve soon, he would turn back around and make sure everything was okay.
What if someone else stopped to help her? What if someone with unsavory intentions saw the girl as easy prey?
He hated to think of any woman having to worry about her safety when stranded on the side of the road. The sad truth was not everyone was like him. At least he'd had the good sense to walk away when his body said to do exactly the opposite.
So Others Might Live might be the motto of a Para Jumper, and while he believed every word, he also believed another more profound saying.
Protect and Serve.
Dynamo gave a tiny whine and pawed at the door latch. The damn dog was too smart. If he could, Dax believed Dynamo would open the door and get a head start on that run he'd been promised.
"Just a little longer." He reached out and scratched between Dynamo's ears. "We'll give her time."
He would've had the tire changed in less than five minutes; another reason to have finished the job. He cringed again, thinking about leaving her to do it by herself.
With nothing but time to kill while he waited for her Jeep to appear around the bend, his thoughts drifted to the town of Bear Creek and its sister town Peace Springs.
He’d learned a few things about some of the more colorful characters in town. Between Marge and Tom Studer, he knew far more than he wanted.
An older man ran the llama ranch. He sold the wool, which made sense, but it was the use of the llamas as therapy animals which caught Dax's interest. Not that he needed a therapy animal.
Dynamo did just fine in that category, and as long as he stayed away from the larger towns, that itchy anxiety stayed away. But he thought it was cool the way Bert helped autistic children and others with special needs with his llamas. He might mention it to his father, a sort of public service Kingston's Ranch could provide.
Studer gave him a run down on the other ranches in the area. There were two operations he wanted to check out, if only because of the men who ran them. The special ops community wasn't that big. To find not one but two men within a day’s drive who worked in the same circles intrigued him. One was an ex-Green Beret, the other a Marine and former Delta Operative whom Dax knew from the few missions they'd run together.
It wasn't uncommon for the Air Force PJs to be assigned to their sister services. He worked with the SEALs several times, but it was the missions with Delta Force that had been the most fun. He never worked with the Green Berets and considered that a loss.
Intense rivalry existed within the special ops teams. SEALS got all the press, and women tended to lose their ever-loving minds if they thought they had a chance at bagging a SEAL.
The Green Berets teased that SEAL stood for Sleep Eat and Lift, an insult of the worst kind, but given because that’s all SEALs did while training for their short, micro missions. The Green Berets, on the other hand, embedded for months at a time with zero support. And they didn’t get all the hero-worship lavished on the SEALs.
He tended to stay out of the whole rivalry thing.
Once things settled down on Crowbar ranch, he'd take a minute to check in on Caleb Caswell. Until then, his days were busy. Mid-spring, calving season was still a week away which gave him a couple days to get comfortable with Studer's operation.
He surveyed the small herd with the old man, pointing out the cows closest to dropping their calves. Called heavies, they needed to be separated from the main herd and moved to a smaller pasture nearest the barn.
The first few days had been a test of Dax's capabilities. He must have passed, or impressed his new boss, because Studer didn't accompany him on the last two days, trusting Dax's ability to identify appropriate heavies to separate.
During calving season, they would repeat the process several times, as mothers less far along in gestation came closer to their time of delivery. Not that everything made sense to Dax. He'd asked about the timing of the season as it was several weeks later than what they did on Kingston's Ranch.
Spring in Texas brought rain, heat, and humidity, and their cows calved in late January rather than mid-spring. People thought breeding was random and unpredictable, but exactly the opposite was true. An astute rancher could limit calving to within a month's period of time by properly managing his bulls and their access to the herd.
Dax finally understood the reason behind the later calving season when the first cold snap arrived three days after he came to town.
His first day in Bear Creek it ha
d been in the mid-fifties. He didn't think much of it and looked forward to hard work without a blazing sun scorching the earth and searing his skin. The next two days, the temperatures dropped to the teens and three inches of snow fell. That kind of shit didn't happen in Texas.
Studer said it could get much worse. Snow seemed to love Montana.
And it kind of made sense to delay calving until the threat of blizzards passed. Studer told him it wasn't unusual to have a blizzard in May. Just a few years back, two feet of snow had dropped over a span of six hours.
That wasn't good for newly born calves, wet with amniotic fluid, who struggled to stand, let alone nurse at their mother’s teats.
In Texas, they split their calving season in two, early spring and late summer. It made sense on a ranch managing tens of thousands of head of cattle. Calving took non-stop work until the last cow dropped her calf. Also, it spread out the other end of that burden when they took yearlings to market for slaughter.
Deep in his thoughts, the low drone of a vehicle had him snapping up straight. He wasn't one to let his guard down. That should bother him, but he found himself relaxing instead when he saw who had turned the corner.
It was the girl in her Jeep.
He watched as she drove around the bend and tipped his hat when she looked over at his truck. An old beat up monstrosity, it was nothing to look at but hadn't failed him yet. The urge to follow her had his hand on the keys before he realized what he was doing.
There was no way he should follow the girl, but his gut told him he needed to make sure she made it to her destination safely. A man following a girl after helping her beside the road was creepy as shit, but he turned the key. Tires spitting gravel, he pulled onto the road.
He reached across the seat and tugged on Dynamo's collar.
“Sorry, boy. No run today."
Wounded. Battle-scarred. His life had been irreparably altered in service to his country.
But he wouldn't regret it. He couldn't believe his father might have been right.
The stabbing pain in his chest when the girl looked at him had been something ferocious, a deep-seated ache he didn’t understand. When her expression hadn’t turned to revulsion at the scar on his face, he knew he was more than a wounded vet who had been used up.
Dax: Military Heroes (The One I Want Series Book 4) Page 4