Fearless Hearts (Black Heart Security #9)

Chapter One

Crew Diaz did not mean to drop exactly ninety-two crisp white envelopes on the ground. Or for them to scatter across the grass when the wind took them.

But it meant he was bent over picking them up when a shout brought his head up.

“Crew, look out! Hellhorn is on the loose!”

That name—Hellhorn—inspired fear in any person who heard it. But to a man bending over with his “goods” in a vulnerable position, it incited terror.

Snagging a letter off the grass, Crew whipped upright and twisted just in time to see the biggest, meanest, most evil goat on the Black Heart Ranch bearing down on him.

He did not mean to let out a scream like a little girl, or expect the woman looking on to burst out laughing, but she did.

With the envelopes gripped in a hand that was much sweatier than it had been a minute ago, he noted the angle Hellhorn lowered his head and the glint of red in his eyes.

“Quick, Crew! Over the fence!” Willow Malone Jansen‘s voice was a mixture of fear and amusement as she churned her arm like a windmill for him to run or risk the same injury that a lot of cowboys on the ranch had sustained.

Being head-butted by a giant goat was not on Crew’s list today.

He sprinted to the fence, planted his free hand on the top rail and vaulted over it like he medaled in men’s gymnastics.

He landed on the other side, breathing hard, and leaned against the rail for support he would never admit to needing.

The woman laughing her ass off at him was also the most skilled at distracting the goat and managed to urge Hellhorn into the nearest corral.

“You okay?” She tossed a look over her shoulder at Crew, making her long braid swish across her spine.

“Haven’t felt my blood pump that fast since last time Hellhorn came after me.”

She didn’t bother to hold back her laughter with him or any other man. Willow grew up with six brothers and didn’t care about male pride, which was one of the things that made her so likable to all the veterans in the Black Heart therapy program.

Crew looked down at the packet of letters slightly crumpled in his grip and shook his head. He crossed the small corral to the gate and let himself out.

Willow already had the goat locked up and strode across the grass to pick up more letters he’d dropped. He joined her, collecting the last of the envelopes on his way.

She drifted over to him, holding out the bundle. When their gazes met, her eyes danced with amusement.

“Thanks.” He took them. “I was just headed to the office to get more letters from Gray.”

The letters were addressed to the families of Navy officers who lost their lives in a tragic sinking of an aircraft carrier. It wasn’t Crew’s own trauma, but close enough, and for that reason he lent a hand in writing words of condolence.

“At least you won’t be bleeding when you walk in there.” She giggled again and pressed her fist to her mouth. “Sorry. It’s just that the look on your face…” She issued another giggle, and he joined in with a chuckle, imagining how he must have appeared.

“I’ll walk with you. And don’t worry—I won’t tell the guys you screamed like a little girl.”

“Gee, thanks.” Together, they set off toward the office. The Black Heart Security agency headquarters was located in the new addition to the family’s ranch house. When they walked in, the place was bustling with activity.

Crew felt his body respond to the noise, pulse shooting up a few extra beats.

As a veteran in the therapy program, he had learned methods to calm himself down.

But the noise and activity weren’t the only things making him edgy.

Getting the letters from Gray meant he would be dropping them off at the post office, which meant possibly getting mail in return.

Sometimes the families wrote replies, and those weren’t always easy to read.

The instant Willow walked in, her brother Denver looked up. “Just in time. I was about to come looking for you.”

“What’s going on?”

“There’s a rescue horse coming in an hour.”

“Crap. Then I need to move some horses around to make room for it.”

Denver gave her a hard nod. “If you need help, grab one of the vets.”

“I will.” She swung around to walk out again, touching Crew’s shoulder as she passed. It wasn’t much, but it was Willow’s way of saying she was on his side, even if it meant keeping the secret that he almost lost his back-door virginity to a set of goat horns.

The office buzzed with phone calls and barked orders. Carson Malone held a phone away from his ear. “We’ve got a situation in Colorado. I have the pilot and flight crew gearing up the private jet. Denver, you’re going.”

Across the room, the other Malone brother shook his head, a crease between his brows. “Can’t. A new veteran’s arriving today.”

Must be an important person if Denver was going to welcome him. Oaks had spearheaded the therapy program and was involved in everything from intake to going-away parties for the men who were ready to take on the world again.

Carson swept a look around the room and landed on another brother. “Colt. You’re going to Colorado.”

“On it. Let me kiss my girl goodbye first.” He pushed away from the table and walked out, nodding to Crew as he did.

Crew crossed the room to where Gray sat behind an open laptop. “I’m here for the weekly handoff.”

Gray gave him a quick nod. “Sorry, I would have walked them over to you but we’re swamped.” He picked up the stack of letters he’d written himself, a neat bundle held together by a thick rubber band.

Crew accepted the packet and added them to his own more crumpled, possibly grass-stained stack. “You need anything in Willowbrook while I’m there?”

“If you don’t mind running to the hardware store for a few boxes of fence staples, it would save me a trip.”

“No problem.” Crew gave Gray a jaw-lift in farewell and headed out again, arrowing toward the ranch trucks parked in a line in front of the big garage.

He chose an older model he always drove on these errands. As he climbed behind the wheel, he felt a little lighter at the prospect of a drive through mountain country.

As soon as he reached the post office, he lost any calm he might have gained from the striking scenery. When he entered the tiny establishment, his shoulders were already getting tense.

He helped Gray write letters to the list of five thousand people as a way to work through his own loss.

But the angry letters he got in return were addressed to Crew—from the family of his late copilot, Conner Dickenson. And he was overdue for another.

The first, he received on Conner’s birthday, written by Conner’s brother. The words were thick with anger that their family couldn’t celebrate his birthday. The next time he wrote, it was Christmas. And finally, Mother’s Day.

The wad of letters in his hand felt like they weighed much more than a few ounces. Each week, he helped Gray write the letters. At first, it was cathartic. Now…he was feeling a little stuck. And restless.

Luckily, the line at the post office wasn’t long today. Willowbrook’s post office had a single window with one employee, who thought it was her public duty to chat with every person who came in.

Right now, she was talking with a woman wearing worn carpenter pants, a shapeless top and a pair of rubber gardening shoes.

He’d never seen her before—he would remember her shiny auburn hair. As he waited, it was impossible not to overhear their conversation—or the fact that the postal worker handed her…a dead plant?

Here he was worrying about receiving hate mail from the family of his late copilot, and this poor woman had been sent a pot with a few dry sticks poking out of the top. Both were depressing.

“I saw this and thought of you.” The postal worker beamed.

The woman sucked in a gasp. “Really? How sweet of you!” She rotated the pot to read the label. “Oh, it’s a Zamioculcas! Thank you.”

She turned from the window, eyes fixed on the plant like it was a new puppy. Crew stepped aside before she distractedly walked into him.

For a brief beat, their gazes met.

Green. Her eyes were green—something that plant was decidedly not.

As he stepped up to the window and passed the sheaf of letters across the counter, the bell on the door tinkled with the woman’s exit.

“Wow, that’s a big stack today, Crew.”

He didn’t want to discuss the labor of love he and Gray were dedicated to.

“Looks like more letters than usual,” she continued.

“We’ve been busy.” Tension hummed in his muscles.

“You have a few pieces of mail too.” She slid a couple envelopes toward him.

“Thanks.” Without another word, he turned for the exit. In the truck, he glanced at the mail. Two junk. One letter from his sister.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Either Conner’s brother only told him off on special occasions or he’d moved on, which meant Crew had escaped Hellhorn and angry mail today. He’d take it as a win.

Next, a stop at the hardware store. The vets in the program helped out on the ranch if they were able, performing everything from mucking out barn stalls to repairing tractors and endless miles of fence.

He quickly entered the country hardware store and made a beeline for the staples. He located what he needed, grabbed two boxes, and strode to the checkout.

The older gentleman behind the counter greeted him in the same gruff manner as always. “This on the Black Heart account?”

“Yup.”

A low thump sounded behind him, and Crew turned to see the woman from the post office behind him, her arms loaded with dead plants. One lay on the floor at her feet.

Their gazes met as a second pot hit the floor, and he stepped forward as the third one tipped.

* * * * *

Fern didn’t believe the man standing in front of her thought she was crazy—she read it in his eyes.

As the second houseplant she was juggling landed by his cowboy boots, he started to pick it up at the same time another pot near her elbow toppled.

“Oh!” She shifted her arms, hoping to keep all seven of the precious little dears from falling.