Chapter 1
Slade Whitaker
Present Day
Startled awake, I blinked my eyes open, listening to the lack of sound around me.
My brows crinkled together. The overabundance of peaceful silence was weird.
Recognition took longer than it should to remember this comfortable mattress was my own.
I reached for my cell phone on the nightstand to check the time.
Damn, I’d slept a dozen or so hours. More sleep than I’d gotten over the previous week combined.
Interestingly enough, seven o’clock in the morning didn’t feel quite so early when sleeping in the dead center of several hundred acres close to the Texas’s Hill Country. I’d grown up within sixty miles of here and purchased several hundred acres at Austin Grainger’s insistence.
Best advice I’d ever followed.
The tension I carried like a protective shield was actively seeping from my taut muscles.
Anything I’d tried to do with the actual land had failed.
Outside of the quiet relaxation, the property was a complete loss.
Therefore it had become a much needed continual tax write-off and the place I escaped to every summer when the series I starred in broke from filming.
I had roughly two months before returning to the studio to begin the relentless pace again.
For now, I’d hide on my parcel of land within reasonable driving distance of Austin’s home, regrouping before returning to the rat race once again.
With a few strategic changes to my appearance—shaving my required facial hair and cutting my mophead in a close-cropped military style—no one ever suspected who I was.
Well, that, and wearing clothes. My starring role as Poseidon, ancient god of the sea, kept my clothing to a minimum.
Since daylight was ticking and my guests were due to arrive within the hour, I tossed back the bedspread to place both feet on the cold hardwood floor.
Air conditioning was everything right in this part of Texas.
I padded to the closet. Last night, I’d managed a quick shower and shave before crawling into bed butt naked.
The clothes my assistant sent were hanging neatly in their place.
I grabbed underwear, a pair of blue jeans, a retro gray Texas Rangers T-shirt, and a well-worn Rangers ball cap, that I kept there year-round.
After pulling on my jeans, I shrugged the T-shirt on and headed to the bathroom to make quick work of brushing my teeth.
A splash of cold water over my face jarringly removed any fatigue that lingered.
With a hand towel, I dried what I’d just made wet as I stared at myself in the mirror. I didn’t even recognize my own face.
Enough of that. Coffee and watching the sun rise were my most immediate goals.
I loved this home. The first I’d ever built from the bottom up. This five-bedroom log cabin with its high-vaulted ceilings, and multi-level rustic yet modern design spoke to my soul. The uncovered windows allowed the natural sunlight inside. Solar panels fueled the home.
The strong scent of my preferred Columbian blend, rich with caramel and a nutty undertone, hovered in the air, drawing me to the coffee maker.
I took a deep breath and grinned a natural smile.
The pre-programmed coffee maker was something my high-strung, think-of-every-possible-angle micro-manager of an assistant, Tommy, would have scheduled.
It only took opening three cabinet doors to remember where the coffee mugs were stored.
I filled the cup to the brim then tugged the Rangers ball cap on before going to the front door.
Just like every year when I first arrived, I marveled at the calming stillness.
To the east, the sun shone brightly, the day fully awake.
The birds chirped. A gentle breeze blew across the land.
The clean air was such a shock to my system, it was truly remarkable that my lungs hadn’t seized in my chest.
Admittedly, the last twelve years had turned me into a different person.
The hustle and bustle of New York City to Los Angeles had taken hold, entrenching me in the fast-paced glitzy lifestyle.
The entire Hollywood scene drove me to accomplish great things in my chosen career.
But the lifestyle eventually took its toll, leaving behind a cynical, take-charge, run-over-them-before-they-run-over-you attitude.
My youthful exuberance had become tainted, tarnished, and jaded.
Huh. Those descriptions weren’t quite right. What word described the level above an asshole?
Outside, I grabbed the arm of a rocking chair and dragged it close to the edge of the railing.
As my butt hit the seat, I lifted my feet to the top of the rail, crossing my ankles.
The mountains—nothing more than large hills, really—were in the distance, teasing my soul with mystery.
The lean of the rocker was perfect. I took a sip of the hot brew, losing myself to my thoughts.
Over the last year, I couldn’t remember having a hint of compassion for anyone or anything. My forceful reputation had begun to precede me, causing every one of my business dealings to be met with an unrelenting battle. I bulldozed my way through life.
Yet now, twelve hours into being back in Texas, the divots and rough cracks in my being were filling with peace and joy.
The ruthless man ebbed away, leaving a foreign sense of contentment in its place.
My only regret was I wouldn’t get more time to myself before my buddies arrived for our annual campout.
By the time I’d finished my first cup of coffee, my palm lifted to my clean-shaven cheek. The simple effort of shaving changed the entire shape of my jawline.
As I rose for a second cup, I heard the distant sounds of a diesel engine. Moments later, I spotted the first of the two arrivals of the day. Where my house sat compared to the land’s terrain, I had a couple of minutes before their arrival, so I headed inside for that second cup.
As if I had perfect timing, I was back through the front door, taking the porch steps down, and gingerly walking barefooted over the small rocks of the circular driveway as they pulled up.
If I remembered correctly, Wyatt and Scout would arrive first. Grayson and Bryce planned to show up later in the day.
Remarkably, my best four childhood friends had managed to stay connected through the years.
The group of guys couldn’t have turned out more differently, but they shared a common bond even as life spread them all over the world.
This annual vacation was the one thing they’d committed to years ago that put them in the same place, at the same time.
As the loud dually engine pulled forward, I pointed Wyatt and Scout toward the end of the driveway, closer to the attached garage. I moved my tender feet over the rocks to greet them, mentally berating myself for not taking the minute to shove my feet into my slide-ons.
“Hey, man,” Wyatt called, jumping out of the driver’s seat. He was the only one of them to retain the deep Texas accent, and the only one to stay in our hometown to follow his family’s farming legacy. He managed a hundred thousand acres of land.
“Hey. Like the ride,” I said, stopping at the hood of my Jeep Wrangler, nodding toward the truck. Wyatt paused at the rear of the truck’s bed, clasping a leather duffle bag.
“I got you,” Wyatt said. The leather bag was dropped at Wyatt’s feet, he rifled through it to pull out a pair of sliders, tossing them to me. I didn’t hesitate to put them on.
“Thanks. I was beating myself up for not grabbing mine before meeting y’all out here.”
Wyatt was the charming one with his genuine cowboy charisma. He wore jeans with rips at the knee, no doubt made by hard work, not manufactured. His ever-present baseball cap was pushed back off his forehead, showing his youth. The youngest of them.
“Been there, buddy. Except I had to make it through a sticker patch with no shoes.” Wyatt reached me about the time I got the second shoe on.
Strong, muscular arms wrapped tightly around me, drawing me close, making me quickly adjust my coffee cup as the liquid splashed from the sides. “Good to be here.”
“Yeah, I needed this too,” I murmured, grinning at Scout over Wyatt’s shoulder. “Hey, man.”
Scout grinned, which was always a little jarring that his hard, stoic features could stretch that way.
He was confident, assured of who he was as a person.
His slightly bowlegged strut worked its way through his entire body, making his movements appear fluid and purposeful.
He was the hunter. Which technically wasn’t that far from the truth.
His tendency toward quietness grew more pronounced with each year he stayed enlisted in the armed forces.
When Scout got within reach, I grasped his outstretched hand before he drew me in for a more relaxed hug. It was a shoulder bump, but it meant the same thing.
“Good to see you,” I said. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it this year.”
“Yup,” Scout answered as a complete nonanswer. “You look more Hollywood every time I see you.”
“What? I think I blend pretty well here,” I shot out, waving my hands, indicating all of our clothing was the same, T-shirts and jeans. “How was the drive?”
“Picked Scout up at DFW airport and drove straight through about five hours,” Wyatt said as he went to the back of his truck again, unceremoniously pulling out three bags, tossing two to Scout.
“You guys tired?” I asked.
“Nah, not too bad. We took turns sleepin’,” Wyatt explained, starting for the front porch. “You agree?”
“Yup,” Scout said easily, trailing behind. They were all close to each other, but Wyatt and Scout were as close as brothers. They were comfortable together, no matter how different they were as people.