Embracing Hope (Cowboys of Sagebrush Rose #5)

Prologue

Isaac Marcum woke with a start, covered in sweat.

He’d been sound asleep, but something had disturbed him. Perhaps it was another nightmare that jolted him awake. He lifted his head from where it had been awkwardly resting against the headrest and stretched his knotted neck muscles. He massaged the sore spots using his fingers, scraping his nails over the deep scar on his shoulder. Although the wound had long-since healed, the memories of that fateful day remained raw.

Time couldn’t heal the memories.

His last special ops mission hung over him like a malady—some kind of incurable disease that didn’t take his life. Although, at times, he wished he was six feet under. Wished he could trade his life for those that weren’t so lucky that day.

Even now, the image of the flames and the acrid smell of the burning village filled his nostrils. Distant cries of women and children echoed in every brain cell.

Not everyone escaped, although he’d frantically tried to save them.

One shot would have prevented the loss of innocent lives. Just one shot.

But he’d failed. Miserably.

He sat straighter in his seat and adjusted his Stetson, scanning the parking lot of Mav’s Bar in Sagebrush Pine. He’d arrived in the small town two hours earlier and was waiting for the place to open. He needed a bite before checking into his hotel across the street.

His cell phone buzzed from the console, and he checked the screen, refusing to answer his brother’s call. CJ probably wanted to know if Isaac had made it to Sagebrush Pine or if he’d backed out at the last minute and instead taken off for a mountain escape.

The conversation they had last night still thrummed through his brain, about as distasteful as his nightmares.

“It’s time you took a leadership role here at Marcum Livestock,” CJ had told Isaac. “Do your part as a member of this family.”

“I do. I work the land,” he said stoically. Although he and his brother were close, they often clashed after CJ took on the CEO role of the family-owned business two years ago. Isaac never cared much for the decision-making aspect of things. He got more satisfaction working alongside the hands from sunup to sundown.

CJ chuckled and then sarcastically added, “A bigger role.”

That was how Isaac landed in Sagebrush Pine.

CJ wanted Isaac to manage the details of the merger with Sagebrush Rose Ranch, even though he opposed merging Marcum Livestock with the ranch. Why couldn’t his brother recognize that life was so much better when lived simply? Money didn’t make the world turn in Isaac’s opinion.

The Rose family had been in the spotlight a lot lately. They were under scrutiny after a ranch hand was shot dead on the property. Additionally, rumors were swirling that Sam Rose was financially unstable and losing control of his business portfolio. Marcum Livestock didn’t have the resources that Sagebrush Rose Ranch had, but they couldn’t afford to partner with a sinking ship. CJ had his mind made up that this would be the merging of two great companies, and they would be unstoppable titans in the cattle industry.

The last place Isaac wanted to be was Sagebrush Pine. He had made it clear to CJ that Marcum Livestock didn’t need to merge with anyone, not even with the powerful and influential Sam Rose. Yet, when had Isaac’s brother ever listened to him? A few years older, CJ always believed he knew best, which was partly why Isaac preferred working with his hands on the ranch and not pushing a pen. These days, CJ rarely ventured out of his cushy office and saw the nuts and bolts of the land.

Now, here Isaac was, micromanaging the merger of the year and reporting back to CJ like a first-year intern.

Isaac ran his palms down his stubbled face and yawned. A good night’s sleep had become more of a phenomenon than a luxury since he’d given up his rifle and uniform and returned to civilian life.

He attempted to shrug off the nightmare that had haunted his nap, but the memory had become shrapnel embedded into his every muscle, lingering like a black cloud waiting for him to close his eyes to unleash the storm.

Although his nightmares never included the blast on that day, in his waking hours that was all he seemed to think about. The loud explosion was followed by plumes of thick smoke and the scorching scent of the embers of the village where they’d tracked down international terrorist Haz Cortez. He’d left a trail of destruction that needed to end.

The desert sun had felt like a furnace beating down on Isaac in the abandoned building outside Kirkuk. Sweat had drenched his tactical uniform within minutes, and his legs were burning from their crouched position on the crumbled cement. His mouth had been dry, but he didn’t dare reach for his canteen. Any wrong move could alert Cortez that he was being watched by the special ops team tasked with tracking and debriefing terrorists.

Cortez had finally come out of his hole, a shack in the village where he’d been mingling with villagers for six months, and Isaac set the crosshairs of his rifle on the fugitive. The orders were clear that Isaac would take the terrorist dead or alive. A debriefing wouldn’t be wasted on the bastard.

There was no doubt in Isaac’s mind that there would be no taking Cortez alive. He had been behind three of the worst terrorist attacks on American soil, killing hundreds and wounding even more.

Isaac had steadied his finger on the trigger as sweat dripped into his eyes.

He focused his sights on the tall, gangly man in a perahan turban . Although he blended in with the rest of the locals, the snake tattoo wrapped around his neck and curled onto his cheek set him apart.

Years of experience in special ops had taught Isaac the importance of control and patience. Despite being in position for hours, no muscle in his body shook. He remained as calm as the serene waters that cut a path through Marcum farmland, which were so tranquil that the townsfolk believed the water had healing properties.

Isaac had the shot. He hovered his trigger finger at the ready…

But then a boy—around eight or so—ran up to Cortez and Isaac paused. He could shoot a fly two hundred yards away, but he’d never risk harming innocent bystanders, especially a kid. That’s where Isaac drew a line.

There wasn’t much time though.

If Cortez moved, he could be in the wind again, sending Isaac’s team on another wild goose hunt for months, which could result in more people dying.

There had been no other choice but for Isaac to get closer.

He moved in the shadows of the crumbling walls of the building like a specter and positioned himself behind a car that had been stripped of anything that could be sold or bartered.

His throat tightened as he waited.

The kid started to walk away, but then there was a commotion.

Instantly, Isaac realized one of his team had been spotted on a nearby roof.

Cortez swiped up the child, using him as a human shield. Any chance for a clear shot had been blown.

Isaac was transported back to that sweltering day. His muscles were locked, and he could practically feel the weight of his rifle in his hands. The child fought against Cortez’s grip while a woman, who must have been the kid’s mom, stood a few feet away, begging and crying. Her arms were held out as she pleaded with the terrorist to release her son.

In the uproar that ensued, Cortez lost grip of the boy, who dropped to the ground. In that second, Isaac pulled the trigger, but the bullet skimmed Cortez’s cheek, taking off the head of the snake. He started yelling orders at his men who were running out of the building where they’d been holed up with Cortez.

The next few moments were blurred in Isaac’s mind.

Bombs started going off. The explosions rocked the soil underneath Isaac’s boots, shrapnel flying and pinging off the metal of the car where he ducked for cover while trying to get Cortez back in sight.

The fire consumed the village as screams rose above the whistles and sizzles of the blaze.

Isaac abandoned his mission. The crumbling buildings ignited like straw as his team scattered to pull as many villagers as possible from the flames. Cortez and his men had disappeared.

In one building, a mother and her baby were trapped. Isaac scrambled to create an opening in the debris that had formed a wall. He could feel the embers burning through his clothing, singeing his skin, but he remained focused until the woman and child made it to safety.

The last thing Isaac remembered was the loud splintering of wood above him before he felt a painful blow to his body and he was trapped underneath debris. Smoke had filled his lungs, threatening to take his life before the crushing weight of the bricks. He’d heard the muffled calls of his team before everything had gone black.

He woke up in a German hospital, hooked to an IV and his head and torso bandaged.

Most of his scars were internal. He was plagued with guilt. If only he’d taken the shot sooner. He had blood on his hands.

He’d retired then, wanting to hibernate and lick his wounds privately.

Isaac settled back at Marcum Livestockand worked himself into a reverie until he fell asleep each night before his head hit the pillow. Working seemed to be the only therapy that helped.

He stifled a low groan and pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He had a job to do now. Oversee a merger that was bad news on both sides of the equation.

His stomach growled. He needed chow.

While he’d been reminiscing, the neon OPEN sign in the bar’s window blinked and the parking lot had filled up.

Climbing from his truck, he stretched his cramped legs. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the scent of barbecue floating in the air. Living on MREs in some jungle or third-world country for most of his military career, he’d been trained that food was for sustenance, not enjoyment. He usually wolfed down high-protein meals without worrying about the taste.

He pushed through the bar's door and did what he always did, paused long enough to quickly survey the room, inspect the crowd, and determine the best spot to sit so he could see every corner. He was skilled at always being aware of his surroundings, whether on enemy or friendly soil.

Mav’s seemed pretty impressive. A crowd of cowboys and ladies were filing in, and a large group had gathered around the mechanical bull, signing up to ride. The L-shaped bar was three rows deep of people keeping the bartender hustling. A band was set up on stage, testing the mics and instruments.

So this was where the town showed up on Friday nights to unwind?

Isaac understood the need to let off some steam after a hard week. Ranching could be described as blistering, back-breaking work. He had permanently callused hands to prove it.

Once the crowd had acquired their drinks, he found a stool at the end of the bar, and the cute bartender gave him a warm greeting.

“What can I get you, cowboy?” Her dark brown eyes soaked up the flashing neon lighting above their heads.

“Are the wings as good as that sign boasts?” He jutted his chin toward the chalkboard on the wall with a list of the specials.

She rested on her elbows, swiping her gaze left to the right, then leaned in a little closer to tell him in a lowered voice, “The wings are a bit dry, but our triple-decker rodeo cheeseburger with the fixings will have you crying to your mama.”

“Sold. And I’ll also take whatever you have on tap.”

“Coming right up, handsome.” She winked and sashayed off in a flurry of a barely-there red top and booty shorts.

Isaac swiveled on the stool and took a closer look at the crowd. This was where he would be for the next… well, however long it took for them to finalize the merger or pull out of the disaster. He would miss the simple life—working hard, sleeping harder, drinking beer around the fire, and casting a line on Sundays.

Most everyone he saw wore a cowboy hat and boots, along with worn jeans and button-downs, and Isaac fit right in, except for his size. Growing up, he’d always been at least a foot taller than everyone else, and at nineteen, he reached six-foot-five and had finally stopped growing. His school friends had dubbed him the nickname "Giant," which he was known by until he joined the military, where everyone called him "Markie." That name was as much a tribute to his last name as to his excellent shooting skills. He’d quickly made a reputation for himself as consistently hitting his mark.

Unfortunately, not always.

At a table near the stage, two women were standing toe-to-toe in what looked to be a heated confrontation. Isaac couldn’t hear the brunette and blonde yelling at each other over the loud music and chattering from patrons, but their angry gestures at the man who was trying without much success to break up the exchange told a story. The cowboy, who couldn’t be a day older than twenty-five, looked about as useless as tits on a boar.

“Cody got caught cheating again, looks like,” the man sitting on Isaac’s right droned.

“My bet’s on the brunette. She’s a firecracker.” Another cowboy chimed in.

The shorter woman pointed her finger in the brunette’s face, who retaliated by grabbing a fistful of dishwater blonde hair, evoking a squeal from her opponent that rattled the antler horn chandelier above their heads.

“Can these kids ever grow up?” The bartender whipped out from behind the bar and pushed through the crowd gathered to watch events unfold, swiftly taking control of the situation. The blonde and brunette were parted and forced into separate corners of the room. Neither seemed interested in giving the bartender a problem.

Laughter and hoorahs drew Isaac’s attention to the mechanical bull. His gaze locked on the current rider, a stunning blonde with nice tits. Her thick, wavy hair hung down to kiss the waistband of the tight jeans that encased her shapely form. Her long legs seemed to go on for miles to her brown leather boots with a pointed toe. She had one arm high in the air as her curvy body moved effortlessly in the saddle. She now had every eye on her and Issac knew precisely why. Her smile radiated sunshine in the room. If Isaac had to guess, it was the cause of countless broken-hearted men in the small town.

Watching her, he felt a familiar twitch below his belt. Once upon a time, it didn’t take much to gain the attention of that part of his body, but nearing forty, he’d found himself pickier these days. It had become a lonely life, but he found that keeping his circle small meant less drama.

In his twenties, he’d been known to raise the roof at parties and honkytonks. He’d sought the companionship of any woman with curves. It was interesting how maturity and tragedy could make a man rethink his behavior.

He journeyed his gaze back down to the cowgirl’s backside that lifted and rolled with the shimmy of the mechanical bull. She moved in a way that spoke of her skill in the saddle and Isaac’s overactive imagination worked hard. Some things were like train wrecks. Seeing the trouble barreling down but for whatever reason there was no turning away.

The bull whirred to a stop and the pretty blonde slid off, smiling as a group of cowboys whistled and clapped. She gave a flirty bow. One lanky man stepped forward, scooped her into his arms, and swung her around until she laughed. Isaac caught a bit of the melodic sound, or had he imagined it?

Just as Isaac figured, she probably had any man in Sagebrush Pine that she wanted.

Every small town had one.

He had to stay focused on business, not the nagging ache in his groin. He lacked the motivation to get caught up in something that would only lead to a roadblock.

“Order’s up, cowboy.” The bartender set his loaded plate in front of him. After breaking up the catfight, she didn’t have a hair out of place.

“Does that happen often?” He referred to the fight.

“Oh, you know how it is. Where there’s a combination of an urban cowboy, alcohol, and jealousy, there’s bound to be a fight. They’re harmless. Just letting off some steam. Can I get you anything else? Another beer?”

“I’ll take another.” He scanned his plate and everything looked delicious.

Five minutes later, as he was wolfing down the last bite of his juicy burger and minding his own business, the cowgirl from the bull slid up on the stool next to him and sighed. He couldn’t quite remember the warning he’d given himself earlier—something about lack of motivation and staying focused. It was all lost in those amazing blue eyes.

Up close, she was more stunning. A thin white scar along her left cheek made him curious about how she got it. If she had her scars, maybe she wouldn’t be so turned off by his. The story of that itty-bitty scar couldn’t compare to the baggage he carried.

“You’re missing out,” she said in a soft, semi-husky voice that lifted the hairs on his neck.

“Really?” He pushed away the remaining basket of fries and wiped his fingers off a napkin. “What am I missing?” He couldn’t stop staring at her sparkling eyes, reminding him of a clear blue sky on a pretty summer day. She had a scattering of light freckles across her nose and the tops of her cheeks, the same color as the bronzed highlights in her hair. And that smile…no doubt stole some hearts along the way.

He wondered how old she was? Thirty, maybe? Something about how she carried herself gave the impression that she could be older.

“The taste of that burger. It’s meant to be savored,” she said, showing off a row of pearly white teeth against her sun-bronzed skin. “You ate it in record time.”

“Anything that takes longer than ten minutes to eat is called fine dining, a luxury that I wouldn’t know much about.”

She leaned in slightly closer. “A burger and fries are considered fine dining around these parts.”

“Then pardon my bad manners, ma’am. How can I make it up to you? What are you drinking? It’s on me.”

“I’ll take my usual, Jenna,” she said to the bartender.

“You have a usual, so does that mean you hang out here often? Entertaining the crowd with your bull riding skills and dining etiquette tips.”

She looked at him while she tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. “You were watching, huh?”

“Who wasn’t?” He cocked a brow.

“I need to show these boys how bull riding is done.” She picked up her drink and slurped it up through the paper straw. “Sometimes they need a reminder that a woman can do anything a man can do, and most of the time better.” She twirled a long strand of her wavy hair around her finger.

“Oh, that statement does have its limitations, but I’m sure you’re right, mostly. These fellows won’t ever forget that you can ride a bull. I can damn well guarantee that.”

“I like to leave a lasting impression.” She locked her gaze with his.

He liked her confidence.

“Mission complete.”

Yeah, he most certainly wanted to learn more about this intriguing woman.

*****

Hope Rose slurped up the last drops of her drink. “How about I buy the next round?” She protruded her chin at the half-empty beer stein the cowboy was cradling in his large hand.

“Is everyone here in Sagebrush Pine always so generous?”

At first, she thought his eyes were green, but they were brown. When he smiled, they darkened a shade or two, and the creases around his mouth deepened.

“I’d like to think we are,” she said. “We don’t get many new faces around here.” She paused to order another round. “I’m Hannah, by the way.” She winked at Jenna. The cowboy didn’t need to know Hope’s real name.

He hesitated for two heartbeats before he curled his hand around hers, their palms pressing against each other. The callouses inside his knuckles scraped her skin, sending an awareness through her bloodstream. “Isaac.”

If either of them was interested in last names, neither one of them said so.

Hope saw him the moment he walked in. Like a magnet, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Not only was he a stranger, but he exuded a confidence that made her very curious. Seeing the same cowboys day in and day out could make a cowgirl crave new blood. The first opportunity she got, she beelined her way to the bar to strike up a conversation.

After the last few months of dealing with one dramatic event after another at Sagebrush Rose Ranch, Hope had come to Mav’s to release some pent-up energy. Recently, Daddy revealed to Hope and her sisters that he had cancer and had made the decision to refuse treatment. Instead, he’d chosen to relax more and enjoy the time he had left. Not one of his daughters argued. Hope couldn’t remember seeing her daddy sit back and take in the day. No amount of arguing would change Sam Rose’s mind about treatment. Once he decided something, it might as well be written in stone. Just like his decision to demand that his daughters marry or be left out of his will.

Thinking of her daddy as destructible didn’t settle well in her stomach. He’d always been larger than life, full of spice and vinegar, and influential to boot. To imagine that cancer could very well be the enemy that destroyed Sam was a hard pill to swallow.

Time was running out. She needed to find a husband soon, or she would lose her share of the ranch. However, what concerned her the most was making her daddy proud. Although he could be overbearing and stubborn, she understood the reasons behind his actions and demands. His traditional beliefs shaped his desires for his daughters, and now that his time was limited, he had accelerated his expectations.

The cowboy sitting next to her enticed her. Everyone in town knew everyone and everything about everyone, and sometimes, it was refreshing to meet someone new. Someone who didn't have any prior impression of her.

Jenna brought their drinks, and Hope studied the cowboy while enjoying Captain Morgan and Diet Coke. “What brings you to Sagebrush Pine, Isaac?” she said his name in a way that made one brow pop up over his dark eyes, which were so intense that they scorched a trail right into the center of her bones, reminding her she hadn’t slept with anyone since she and Cody Sawyers split last year. Even then, the sex had been mediocre at best, and the only orgasms she experienced were by her “rose.”

"Business," he said with a noticeable drawl.

“Texas?”

“You’re good.” His grin grew.

Lifting her spine and angling her chin, she didn’t remove her gaze from his. “I’ve been told that a time or two.” She crossed her legs. She was curious about what business he referred to. “Are you in the oil or cattle business?”

“Yes.”

“Are you always this vague?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Touché.”

“You looked pretty comfortable on that mechanical bull. You’ve been in the saddle a time or two.” He braced his elbows on the edge of the polished bar top. His rolled-up sleeves climbed his biceps, revealing defined muscles and tattoos. She recognized the fighting knife, symbolizing special forces operatives.

“A time or two.” She shifted, and her knee brushed his thigh. Warmth spread through her like a branding iron.

“Thanks for the beer.” He wrapped his hand around the stein. His fingers were so long that his fingertips touched the other side of the large, frosted glass. A fuzzy sensation scooted through her inner thighs.

“No problem.” All the warning bells went off in her mind. She should have taken her drink and found a safer cowboy to talk to, but her bottom was glued to the stool. Something about the handsome stranger wrangled her curiosity. Not only was he attractive, but he also seemed to have a barely contained storm raging behind his eyes. She found many of the men in town to be…boring. They lacked the zest for life that she wanted in a man. “Where are you staying?” Accommodations were limited in Sagebrush Pine. The two-star motel was across the road, or maybe he was staying with a friend.

“I have a room across the parking lot, which reminds me that I should get checked in. It’s been a long day.” He slid off the stool. The man was nearly a giant. He pulled out his wallet and dropped a few bills with a hefty tip.

Her daddy always said, “A person can tell a lot about a man by the tip he leaves.”

“Nice meeting you, Isaac.” She saluted him with her glass, feeling slightly disappointed that they were parting ways so soon.

“My pleasure, Hannah,” he said her “fake” name in a way that drizzled warm honey through her body.

It was probably best she found her way home before she did something stupid. “Goodnight, and I hope you enjoy your stay.” She gave him a lingering look.