Chapter 4
There wasa knock on the door as Buck reached for his shirt on the bed, wincing as his side sent waves of pain across his torso, down into his waist. “Enter,” he said through clenched teeth as he took a moment to absorb the discomfort. He’d only managed to do a quick wash in the basin.
To his surprise, his sister Helen was the one who walked through the door. The greeting she was going to utter froze on her lips as she took in the injury to his side, how the skin from his armpit down to his waist was different hues of black and blue. It looked a little swollen.
“You should see the other guy,” he ground out.
She huffed out a small laugh and closed the door. “Considering the other guy was a helicopter, I’m sure it broke your fall.” She was much thinner than when he’d seen her last. There were dark circles under her wide hazel eyes, and there was a pinched look around her full mouth. But even in blue jeans, a light blue sweater, and cowboy boots, she still had that down-to-earth air about her. And the same inner warmth. Her job was demanding and stressful and he had to note that she was home unexpectedly. He wondered what happened.
“It looks worse than it feels,” he said, wincing again as he attempted to slide his arm into his shirt.
“Sure, it is,” she said wryly, no doubt armed with the medical knowledge she had at her disposal. “Let me take care of this. It will make you more comfortable, as I’m sure you waved off help from Mom so she wouldn’t see the damage.”
“You don’t know everything,” he growled.
Setting her hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes. “Oh, yes, I do. I know tough, alpha cowboys.” She put the shirt down and looked around. “Didn’t they supply you with an ace bandage?” Her tone sounded way too much like the nurses at the hospital, but then he had to acknowledge his sister was a registered nurse, and on top of that, she had been working all over the world doing the kinds of services that garnered respect and admiration. She’d organized mass vaccination initiatives for measles, triaged displaced people fleeing conflict, assisted in numerous operations, and she was fluent in French and Arabic. Her energy was always steady and limitless. It was amusing to see her in this role, as when she’d been young, her nickname had been hellion. His sister had been wild, probably still was given that she went to places that most people would fear to go.
He gritted his teeth, torn between gratitude and frustration that he couldn’t do this himself. “It’s in the bathroom.”
She immediately left him and came back in a couple of seconds. “We’re going to bandage this for now.” Her tone was maternally scolding. “At least until the swelling goes down. Once that happens, we can stop using it.” She faced him and started to wrap. “What did the doctor say?”
“I bruised my bones. Two months of recovery.”
He made a grunting noise as she pulled the bandage snugly against his ribs. “Not too bad, considering. I’m assuming they iced it at the hospital.” When he nodded, she wrapped some more. “I think you could benefit from icing it. We’ll do that after dinner,” she said, securing it at his waist. “How are your teammates?”
“All pretty much in the same boat as me, except for my LT. His side was punctured with shrapnel. He almost bled out.”
“You guys have been through the ringer, but I’m sure you’ll all bounce back.”
“Like basketballs,” he said, slipping his arm into the sleeve of the shirt she held out.
Her voice got tentative as she walked around him for the second sleeve. “Your teammate, D-Day.”
“What about him?”
She started doing up his buttons, keeping her head down. “Ah…I kinda saw him naked.” He couldn’t help but notice that her voice was a tad breathless when she spoke. She finally looked up at him, and he detected a flash of amusement.
Buck stiffened and gave her a look that would have made most men quail. “You what?”
“Well, half-naked,” she amended, her eyes telling him she wished it had been all the way. He sighed heavily. “It wasn’t his fault. He was in my bedroom, and I wasn’t aware we had a guest, so don’t browbeat him.”
“I wasn’t going to browbeat him,” Buck growled.
She raised her brows and smirked. “Yeah, right.”
He stared at her for a moment, then said, his tone quiet. “Don’t go messing with him, hellion.”
Her face carefully arranged into a non-expression, she said with deceptively innocent eyes. “I wouldn’t do that.”
There was a hint of a smile around his mouth. “You could never really lie well, baby sister.” He paused, then said, “Or act. I saw you in Gone with the Wind, remember. He’s a teammate and he’s a good guy, so leave him be.”
Her chin lifted and her gaze riveted on his face, then she looked down, her movements jerky. “That’s a mite mean,” she said, her tone just a little snippy. “You never said he was so good-looking and built. But then I should have guessed he would be, being a SEAL and all.”
He considered her a moment, and he could almost feel her squirm. “I don’t usually go around girl-gossiping about my teammates, Helen. He’s a fine SEAL and a good man.”
“I get that. I was just making a comment.”
He studied her and asked, “Why are you home early?”
Caught off guard by the change of subject, she turned away from him, and said, “We better get downstairs for dinner.”
“Helen.”
She turned back to him and lifted her shoulder in a small, defeated shrug. “The government kicked us out of South Sudan. We had no choice.”
“That’s where you were? That’s a dangerous place, Helen.”
“I know, but there are so many people who need help, Sam. So many and I’m not just talking about war casualties.” She closed her eyes for a brief moment. “I often ask myself: How do I hold onto my pledge in that kind of situation? We’re impeded and exposed to dangers ourselves. That question haunts me.”
“If you hadn’t been asked to leave?” he asked roughly, his affection for his sister both filling his chest and tightening his throat. The fear for her safety made him realize what their family members went through regarding him. But he respected her for what she did just as she respected him.
“I’d still be there.”
He nodded. “I get it. I do, but sometimes determination isn’t enough.”
She smiled softly. “Sometimes that’s all I have, big brother.”
He knew that all too well.
* * *
Once D-Day laideyes on Helen Buckard, there was no going back.
Regardless of the complications—they both had unpredictable and dangerous jobs, he had an excruciating shyness around women, especially one he was attracted to, a result of his painful past, and the worst of them all was that she was Buck’s sister.
It didn’t stop his body from reacting to her, or even the thought of her. He’d had a perpetual hard-on from the moment he’d turned around and saw her after his shower. He knew why his gut was in knots. He felt like he was a hair away from disaster.
For the past week, he’d worked as hard as the Buckard family, staying out with them, and doing the never-ending chores that were required of a big, working spread. Buck was in some terrible pain as he recovered, mostly resting on the leather couch in the expansive living room.
When he wasn’t on the range, he was with Buck. He felt it was safer that way. The man had opened his home to him, and D-Day absolutely loved it here.
He felt some guilt for opting to come to Wyoming instead of going home. But his hometown was constricting to him, where Buck’s family ranch was nothing short of…freedom. He felt it down to his bones. Yet his family’s World War II history with Bedford, Virginia where he’d been born was part of his legacy. There wasn’t just the history to live up to, but the incident that had scarred him in high school, one he hadn’t quite reconciled, his trust so thoroughly broken, it was hard to think about opening up to anyone of the opposite sex. But he found himself leaning into conversations with Helen. She was easy to talk to, warm and caring, and he liked her sass. Of all the women he had ever met who made him feel somewhat at ease, it would have to be Buck’s sister.
“Hey, cowpoke, I’ve got a chore for you after breakfast,” Buck’s father Bram said.
D-Day smiled at him and nodded. “You bet, sir. Just point me in the right direction.” It was early, but he’d gotten his PT in before the sun had come up. Old habits die hard, and even with the physical labor here, he wanted to make sure he didn’t lose his aerobic edge. It had saved them when they had to outrun those cartel bastards in Costa Rica.
“Head down to the barn where Cole will have some horses saddled and ready for the arena. Could you take them over there for warming up and training?”
“Will do. How many are we talking?”
“A passel.” Wyatt grinned and his father chuckled.
D-Day figured he would find out when he got to the barn what exactly a passel was.
He fleetingly wondered where Helen was. She was also an early riser, but even though he had an almost uncontrollable desire to see her, he was relieved she wasn’t here. He finished eating and headed over to the barn.
Cole was saddling the last mount, and D-Day counted six animals altogether. That was manageable. He grabbed up three lead ropes in each hand and started out of the barn to cross over to the big red arena. Someone had already opened the big doors and when he entered, he had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior, the fiberglass panels along the arch of the roof letting in a faint tinted light.
A couple of men came over and took some of the lead ropes off his hands, walking the horses to some box stalls that had been built along one side of the wall, with a concrete alleyway between them to separate them from the arena. He followed with the horse he still had control of to the far box stall.
Once he’d settled the big gelding inside, he secured the latch and turned around. There were a couple of riders working a small herd of cows inside the four-foot-high plank wall. Realizing he wasn’t all that visible in the dim light, he rested his arms on the wall and watched a bay gelding perform, the horse’s movements quick, sharp, and highly tuned as he prevented the wheeling, running steer from returning to the herd. Bram said that a good cutting horse was fluid in turns and movement, and it seemed to D-Day that horse and rider were as in tune as man and animal could get.
Light flashed on the rider’s face, and he realized that it wasn’t a man. It was Helen. His pulse climbed as he appreciated her stillness, her grace, her oneness with the mount. This was just another side to Helen that turned him on. She was like an extension of the gelding, her hands motionless, the hard, fast, twisting action of the horse barely shifting her in her seat. And she looked like a million bucks doing it.
By the time she was finished, he had another hard-on and decided it was time to get away. She had dismounted, ready for one of the horses he’d brought over that had just been warmed up.
Fuck but she looked so damn good.
She had on blue jeans tucked into worn brown boots and brown suede shotgun chaps, and he could see the tip of her white insulating underwear, a red woolly, well-worn sweater, and a brown oilskin quilted vest. Her deerskin gloves were darkened with age and use, and she had her hair stuffed under a black cowboy hat with a decorative band. She should have looked like hell, but instead, she looked like she was ready for a spread in a fashion magazine. Everything about her, especially those long legs in tight chaps, were enough to make a man forget his good intentions.
When he stepped out of the shadows, she saw him and froze, a whole host of expressions crossing her face, but when he saw her close her eyes and drag in a deep breath, he increased his steps. What he wanted was mirrored on her face, but vaulting the wall and giving into those desires would be wrong, stupid, and ill-advised.
He breathed deep of the cold, refreshing air when he got out of the arena, feeling those hazel eyes following him. He spent the next eight hours riding fence and checking the herd with Cole, his ass numbed in the saddle. A fresh fall of snow covered the landscape, the stalks of dead-range grass breaking through the blanket of whiteness. Hoarfrost glistened and sparkled in the bright sunlight, the long, thick crystals coating the bare branches of the shrubs and trees and sparkling on the wire fences, the Rockies in the distance like silent sentinels. The sun was closing in on the horizon when they reached the barn, setting the bunched clouds on fire.
A breeze strengthened, and D-Day could detect the sharp scent of snow. They were going to have more of the white stuff come morning. Swinging down from the saddle, D-Day pulled the reins from the horse’s neck, then led his mount toward the darkened barn, unbuckling his borrowed chaps as he went. He paused briefly outside, patting Cash’s neck as the horse took a long noisy drink from the watering trough. He tossed his head when he was done, and D-Day led him through the wide barn door. Cole had already turned on the lights as he’d passed.
Light shone down on the long alleyway between the box stalls, casting the cavernous structure in soft illumination. Cash’s shod hooves made a hollow clip-clopping sound on the thick plank flooring, the sound echoing in the stillness of the barn. When he reached the big gelding’s stall, he pulled open the door, looping the reins in a metal ring beside the stall. He stripped the tack off him, noting that he needed a quick wash after he’d gotten his legs muddy from going after a stray calf.
Cash responded easily to D-Day’s cues as he used the warmed water from the hose to clean off the mud. He wiped him down, dried the excess water, then led him back to his stall. There was fresh hay and a measure of oats ready for him. Removing the lead, he smacked the horse on the rump, and closed the heavy door, shooting the bolt as he hung the lead shank on a hook by the door.
Cole’s horse, Domino, a gorgeous black and white paint, had already finished his munching by the time D-Day passed his stall, and as far as he was concerned, the big barn was empty.
He looked up at the welcoming sights of the big house anticipating dinner, and his nightly aching for Helen, when he heard a soft noise. Frowning, he turned back the way he’d come. The noise intensified as he passed the tack room, then stopped in front of the small room where the vet could rest when horses were foaling, or a hand could catch a nap.
Someone was weeping hard inside. He knocked, but there was no answer, and for the life of him he couldn’t leave whoever was inside alone in grief. He knew what that felt like to be so goddamned alone, crying and dying inside.
He tried the handle, and it gave, the door opening soundlessly. He recognized the gloves and hat from the arena, thrown onto the bed along with a cell phone.
“Helen?”
There was a soft, muffled sound, and his heart jammed up in his chest, then started to pound with a different rhythm. She was wedged into a corner, her frame nearly obscured by heavy shadows, her arms locked around her knees and her head down. He didn’t think she heard him. Something twisted even harder in his chest.
Crouching down in front of her, he brushed back her hair. “Hey, there?” he whispered, his tone uneven.
She went still, and he saw her wipe her face against the sleeves of her sweater. Then she drew a deep shuddering breath, and D-Day knew he couldn’t leave her all alone like that. He caught her by her upper arms, pulling her with him as he stood. Before he could utter another word, she clamped her arms around his neck and held on tight.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he whispered. Pressing her head to his shoulder, his hand tangling in her hair, he gathered her against him, the rush of sensation so intense, he had to grit his teeth. Fuck, even working all day she smelled damn good to him.
She moved, sending a shock wave of heat through him, and he tightened his hold on her, his heart hammering, his breathing constricted. Releasing a shaky sigh, he adjusted his hold on her, drawing her deeper into his embrace, his nerve endings stripped raw.
“It’s too much,” she murmured. “Just too much. Someone I know along with a whole medical team of doctors, nurses, and patients were killed,” she said in a rush, coming apart again as if there was so much pain inside her that she finally had to get it all out.
The thought of her sitting out here all alone, going through something like this all by herself, sobered him, and he was suddenly very grateful for his team.
He simply held her, the fullness in his chest expanding. She was so vulnerable, and he wanted to be careful with her, but he was so close to the edge that it wouldn’t take a whole lot to push him over. He didn’t think of the consequences when he got that close to her as he widened his stance a little, to keep them balanced, and she pressed against his hard ridge of flesh. Unwilling to let her go an inch in her grief, he turned his face against her neck and clenched his teeth.
She went still in his arms, then she made a low, desperate sound and twisted her head, her mouth suddenly hot and urgent against his. The bolt of pure raw sensation knocked the wind right out of him. It had been so long since he was with a woman, let alone one he was so lost in. D-Day shuddered and widened his mouth against hers, feeding on the desperation inside him, and all that need pouring out of her. He almost lost it completely, but the taste of her tears cut through his senses, and he dragged his mouth away from hers, his heart pounding hard.
This was about comfort. And it was dangerous. There was too much attraction between them. So easy to give in.
Trying to regain some control, he fought for every breath. This would be so good but wrong for so many reasons.
Inhaling raggedly, he nestled her head closer, turning his face against hers. “It’s okay, Helen. I’ve got you.”
An anguished sob strangled in her throat, and she clutched him. There was so much desperation in that one small sound, so much fire, it was like a knife to his chest. Her arms locked around him, she choked out his name, then she moved against him, silently pleading with him, pleading with her body—and any connection he had with reason shattered and dissolved.
He grabbed her hips, welding her to him, his face contorting from a surge of desire. God, he wanted her. His mouth reached her ear, and he was breathing hard and fast. “You’ll have to make this happen, Helen,” he whispered raggedly, as if she was something he’d never be able to have. Not in the way that mattered the most. “I can’t?—”
“Drew, please. Please don’t stop.” Helen made another low sound, then she inhaled raggedly and pulled herself up against his dick, her voice breaking on a low sob of relief.She moved against him again, and D-Day tightened his hold, unable to stop as he involuntarily responded.
Making incoherent sounds against his mouth, Helen twisted free, and a violent shudder coursed through D-Day when he felt her hands fumble with the snap, then the zipper, on his jeans. The instant she touched his hard, throbbing flesh, he groaned out her name and let go of her, desperate to rid them both of the barrier of clothing.
But she was already stripping off his jacket and the layers beneath, shoving down his jeans, then she stripped her clothes from her. Her breathing hitching, her eyes traveled over him, her hands running over his chest, stroking down to his taut abs, fluttering over his huge, rock-hard erection.
His entire body shuddered, and he cupped her full breast in his hand and lowered his head to take that tight nipple into his mouth. Her head went back and her back arched. She slipped her hand over his erection as he ravaged her nipple, groaning when she worked him over, tormenting him with the slide of her fisted hand around him. He gasped and made a growling sound as she skimmed her thumb up over the tip of his dick.
Jerking her hand away, he hauled her up against him. On the verge of release, he dragged her legs around him, backed her against the wall. Wedging his arm between her and the roughened wood, he clenched his eyes shut and thrust into her, unable to hold back one second longer. With a low, rumbling growl that hummed in his chest, he sank into her, withdrew, and surged back again, his strokes lengthening, his pumping gaining momentum. Gone were any attempts to hold back.
Helen sobbed out his name and locked her legs around him, her movements urging him on, and D-Day crushed her against him, white-hot desire rolling over him. Angling his arm across her back, he drove into her again and again. His thrusts grew urgent and demanding, and wholly primal. Friction, pressure, and heat fused together in a tangle of sensation, until his entire body focused on the connection of their bodies and the impatient, restless need swelling inside him.
A low guttural sound was torn from him, and his release came in a blinding rush that went on and on, so powerful he felt as if he was being turned inside out. He wanted to let it roll over him, to take him under, but he forced himself to keep moving in her, knowing she was on the very edge. She cried out and clutched at his back, then went rigid in his arms, and she finally convulsed around him, the gripping spasms wringing him dry.