Chapter 1
“Moe, are you sure you don’t need anyone to fly with you tonight?” Hank Patterson sat across the table at the Tumbleweed Tavern in Bozeman, Montana.
Morris “Moe” Cleveland shook his head. “I don’t need a wingman. I have over a thousand hours. I’ve flown solo from Florida to Alaska and so many other places. A short hop to Denver is nothing.”
“Yeah, but it’s getting late,” Hank insisted. “All I have to do is call Sadie, and I can go with you.”
“Members of our team in West Yellowstone volunteered to come along for the ride, and I turned them down.” Moe smiled. “I appreciate the offer. But, seriously, it’s not necessary. I’m waiting for a call from the hospital.”
“What you’re doing is so important to the people on the receiving end,” Hank said. “Losing a loved one is horribly painful, but the life that person’s organs can sustain is a miracle. Life out of death.” He shook his head. “We’re lucky to have you as one of our Brotherhood Protectors.”
Moe nodded. “Thank you for coming to our rescue in Afghanistan and giving us purpose in the civilian world.”
“So, what’s your plan?” Hank asked.
“As soon as they have the organs ready, I’ll pick them up and head to the airport,” Moe said.
“The flight will take less than three hours. An ambulance will meet me at the airport to collect the ice chest. Then, I’ll stay the night in Denver and head back tomorrow.
Unless Stone has some work for me, I’m not in any hurry to return.
So, you see, if I go by myself, I won’t hold up anyone else from what they might need to do, and I won’t have to hurry back tomorrow. ”
Hank grinned. “Okay. You’ve convinced me. I’m headed home. Sadie will be happy to have help getting Emma and McClain to bed.” He motioned for the waitress. “If you need anything, let me know. Hopefully, you’ll get to leave soon. There’s a storm heading our way.”
Moe nodded. “I have my eye on the forecast. It’s not supposed to reach here or Denver until sometime after three in the morning. I should be in a hotel by then after delivering my cargo.”
The red-haired waitress who’d introduced herself as Bea and had served them all evening approached. “Want another round?” she asked with a smile lighting up her pretty green eyes.
“Not for me,” Hank said. “My friend might want another soda. I’d like to settle the bill so I can get on the road home to Eagle Rock.”
She cocked an eyebrow in Moe’s direction. “Want another? Or something stronger?”
Moe nodded. “Coffee. Black. No cream or sugar.”
She chuckled, the throaty sound registering in Moe’s gut. “I guess that’s stronger,” she said. “I was thinking more along the lines of alcohol.”
Hank pushed to his feet and tossed several twenties on the table. He grabbed his cowboy hat and clapped a hand on Moe’s back while shooting a grin toward Bea. “Our friend is flying. No alcohol for him.”
Bea’s eyebrows rose into the coppery swath of hair hanging over one side of her forehead. “Does it make you airsick?”
Moe shook his head. “No, but as the pilot, I can’t drink and fly.”
Her smile spilled across her face, making the room seem so much brighter. “Oh. That makes more sense.” She gathered the twenties. “I’ll be right back with the coffee and your change.”
Hank held up a hand. “No change.”
“Thank you, but that’s too much.” Bea held out one of the twenties. “Would you like a coffee to take with you?”
Hank curled his hand around hers and the twenty. “Please. You’ve been very attentive and kind. I insist.” He released her hand. “No, thank you for the coffee. It keeps me awake when I should sleep. With a baby in the house, you sleep when you can.”
Moe grinned. “Sounds like when we were on missions in the military. I can remember catching a catnap in the mountains of Afghanistan while waiting for dark and our cue to move out on an extraction.”
Hank laughed. “Babies and children are like maneuvering through a minefield in enemy territory.”
“When you put it like that, I’m surprised anyone would want to have kids.” Moe shook his head.
“No kidding,” Bea said. “Children are a huge responsibility, and so many variables are out of your control.”
“Like their sleeping schedules,” Hank said.
“Or when they get sick,” Moe added.
“Or die,” Bea murmured. “I’ll be right back with your coffee.” She turned away, the smile she’d shared with them gone. Her lips thinned, and the light her smile had generated was snuffed out.
A frown settled over Hank’s face as he watched the waitress leave.
Moe pushed to his feet. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me while I’m in Bozeman.” He held out his hand.
Hank gripped it in a firm handshake. “I’m glad you let me know you’d be here.
It’s good to catch up with you. Since I had business in town anyway, it worked out.
” He released Moe’s hand. “I need to get down to West Yellowstone more often. I’m glad to hear things are going well for our Yellowstone branch of Brotherhood Protectors. ”
“We’re glad for the work and that you and your team came to our rescue when our government pulled out of Afghanistan.” Moe shook his head.
“You’d have done the same for us,” Hank said. “And you’re doing us a favor. We have more work than we can handle. It’s men like you, Stone, Carter and the others who have the skills needed to handle the missions that come our way.”
Bea returned, carrying a mug and a carafe of steaming coffee.
Hank settled his cowboy hat on his head. “I’ll leave you to your coffee. My wife will be happy I’m home tonight to help her with the little ones.” Hank tipped his hat toward Bea and strode through the tavern toward the exit.
Moe sank into his seat, his gaze on the former Navy SEAL.
Bea’s gaze followed Moe’s for a moment and then returned to him. “Are you and your friend in the military?”
Moe shook his head, his attention shifting to the waitress. “We were. Not anymore.”
“Thank you for your service.” Bea set the mug on the table and poured the rich, steaming liquid.
The scent filled the air. Moe inhaled deeply.
When Bea straightened, her smile was in place, if a little more reserved. “Is there anything else you’d like? My shift ends soon, and I don’t want to leave you hanging.”
Moe glanced around the tavern, noting the many empty tables. “Is it normally this slow?”
She shrugged. “On weeknights, the rush starts around five o’clock and ends near seven-thirty. People stop for a bite to eat and head home. Weekends are crazy with customers here until we close at two in the morning.”
“That makes for a long night,” Moe said.
Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “I’m not complaining. The tips are good, and the people are usually friendly.”
“Do you work here full-time?” Moe asked, purposely delaying her. He wanted to see her smile like she had the first time when she’d lit the room.
“I normally only work the weekends. I’m filling in for one of the girls who called in sick.”
“Do you work somewhere else during the week?” he asked, curious about this petite red-haired woman with the moss-green eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose.
Bea glanced away. “I have a day job during the week.”
“Let me guess…” He tipped his head to the side and studied her. “You’re a real estate agent, finding the perfect homes for your clients.”
Bea lifted her chin. “If I was, would you hire me to find the home of your dreams?”
“Absolutely.” He grinned. “If I lived in Bozeman.”
Her brow puckered. “You’re not from Bozeman?”
“No, I’m from San Antonio, Texas, where I joined the Air Force and let that fine establishment ship me all over the world. Sadly, I’m not from Beautiful Bozeman. I’m just here for the evening.”
“Oh,” she said. “That’s too bad. I don’t know many people here, and well…it would’ve been nice to make a new friend.” She started to turn away with the carafe of coffee. “I’m not a real estate agent. Although I might give that a try if waiting tables doesn’t work out.”
“Wait.” He touched her arm. “You have to give me at least two more chances to get it right.”
Bea chuckled and turned back to him. “If you must. Go ahead.”
“You’re a private investigator, chasing after men cheating on their wives.”
She snorted and pointed to her shoulder-length, red hair swaying around her chin. “They’d spot me in a second with this mop of red hair.”
Moe’s eyes narrowed. “You’re right. It is sexy and unique. I suppose a PI would have to blend into the background.”
“Red hair is never sexy.” She held up a finger. “Last chance.”
“You’re wrong. Your red hair is off-the-scale-sexy. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s not.” He tapped a finger to his chin. “The pressure is on. I have to get it right this time or lose you forever.”
“You can’t lose what you don’t have.” She tipped her chin. “You don’t have me.”
“No.” He grinned. “But I have your attention.”
“Not for long.”
“One more guess,” he begged, “and I’ll leave you alone.”
Bea drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. One more.”
He thought hard. What would a sassy, petite, gorgeous redhead do for a day job? The wattage of her genuine smile lit the room. When she’d spoken of a child dying, the shadows beneath her eyes and that haunted look had pulled at Moe’s heart. She’d experienced loss. Of a child?
“You’re kind, caring and help people in need.” He slapped his hand on the table. “That’s it. You’re a saint or a nun.”
Bea choked on a laugh. “You’re so far off. But that one was worth the chuckle.”
“You’re not a nun?” Moe wiped his hand across his forehead. “Whew. Thank goodness, because I was having very unsaintly thoughts about your sexy red hair.”
She shook her head slowly. “Does this technique ever work for you?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Technique?”
Her lips pressed together. “This pickup line of ‘guess your occupation?’”
“You tell me,” he said with a wink.
“Sorry. You’d have been better off just asking me out.”
“Alas, I’m only here for an undisclosed amount of time that could end at any minute.”
“Sounds very clandestine.” Bea shook her head. “I have some cleaning to do before I leave. It was nice talking to you. Too bad you’re not in town for longer. I could have used a friend.”
“So, you’re not from Bozeman either?”
She shook her head. “I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks.”
“Where are you from?”
Her lips tightened.
“Bea!” a deep, male voice called out from the swinging door to the kitchen.
“Coming,” Bea responded. “Gotta go. Nice talking to you. Have a happy life.” She spun and hurried toward the man wearing a white apron and holding a mop in one hand.
Bea paused on the way past the bar to set the pot of coffee on a heating element. Then she hurried toward the man in the apron, grabbed the mop handle and darted around the big guy into the kitchen.
A stab of guilt gnawed at Moe’s gut. He’d kept her talking when she was supposed to be working. He hoped he hadn’t gotten her into too much trouble.
He sipped the coffee, liking how it warmed his throat and insides.
He’d need the caffeine for the flight to Denver.
Thankfully, it wasn’t a very long flight.
He glanced at his watch. It was getting late.
At any moment, he expected the call telling him to go to the hospital to collect his biological cargo.
He downed another swallow of the hot coffee, scorching his tongue and throat. Moe set the cup aside, his thoughts on Bea.
Without her stimulating presence, the tavern had lost its appeal. He might as well head to the hospital and be there when they were finally ready.
He pushed back from the table, rose and glanced toward the swinging kitchen door, willing Bea to emerge.
When she didn’t, he sighed and headed for the exit. There was only one table left with two customers finishing their meals. The tavern would close soon.
Moe stepped outside, turned his face to the nearly full moon, drew a deep breath of clear, cool air and let it out slowly.
He hadn’t intended his discussion with Bea as a pickup line. Thinking back over what he’d said, he realized it had been pretty cheesy. Had he insulted her? He glanced at his watch.
If he hurried, he might catch her before she left and apologize for holding her up with a less-than-stellar attempt at conversation.
Moe turned around in time to see the last couple leaving the tavern and the man in the white apron following behind them to lock the door. He flipped the sign in the window from OPEN to CLOSED. He turned and started stacking chairs upside down on the tables.
Moe’s heart sank. So much for going back inside to catch her and apologize. Then he realized Bea hadn’t come out the front door. More likely, she’d leave through a rear entrance.
If he hurried, he might catch her. Moe turned to his right, strode toward the corner of the rustic tavern and slipped into an alley between the tavern and the art gallery to the east.
The sound of a motor vehicle engine revving made Moe move faster. He wasn’t sure why he felt so compelled to see the waitress once more. He’d never been that attracted to redheads.
Bea was different. She was a diminutive, fiery figure with compassion and chutzpah. Yeah, he’d catch her, apologize and ask her out. He didn’t live in Bozeman, but he had the plane and could fly back when he wanted.
It wouldn’t happen if he didn’t catch her before she left.