Chapter 1 #2
“I’m not interested in mercenary work,” Drake had said. “Been there…done that.”
“It’s not mercenary work,” Hank had said. “It’s bodyguard, rescue and protective services for real people who need specialized help. We aren’t working for big corporations.”
Drake had been insistent. “Not interested. Got anything else?”
Hank chuckled. “As a matter of fact, I know someone who needs carpenters for a lodge restoration project. It’s good physical work, and the lodge is worth restoring.”
“Sounds more my speed,” Drake said.
“Come out to Montana. See what we have here and make your decision,” Hank had urged.
Drake had remained firm. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Okay. I get it. But I want you to meet the guys who work with me and get their take on what we do.”
“Fair enough,” Drake said. “I’d still rather pound nails. It beats slinging bullets.”
“I’ll put you in touch with Molly McKinnon and Parker Bailey. They are leading the effort to restore the lodge. I’ve sent several spec ops guys their way already. You probably know some of them or know of them.”
“I’m down for some renovation work with a team full of former spec ops guys, as long as they aren’t going to try to talk me into working for your Brotherhood Protectors.” He thought he might have insulted Hank. “No offense.”
Hank laughed. “None taken. Whichever way you lean in the job front, you’ll love Montana and the little town of Eagle Rock.”
Anything would be better than the close-minded, stone-faced inhabitants of the small East Texas town he’d worked in for the past six months.
“How soon can you get here?” Hank asked. “The other four SEALs are due to start on Monday morning.”
“I’ll be there,” Drake had assured him.
“Great. See you then,” Hank ended the call.
Drake had immediately given the diner his resignation, packed up his few personal items in his furnished apartment and left Texas. He’d driven for two days, stopping only long enough to catch a couple of hours of sleep at a rest area along the way.
When he rolled to a stop in the parking lot in front of the Lucky Lady Lodge, with the Crazy Mountains as a backdrop to the old building, he already felt more at home than he had anywhere else. Maybe it was because he was tired. More likely, he felt that way because he didn’t want to move again.
As he stepped down from his pickup, he shrugged off his exhaustion. He could sink his teeth into this project. It beat cleaning years of grease off the diner’s floor back in Texas.
With a new sense of purpose, he passed the large roll-on-roll-off trash bin, already half-full of broken boards, crumbled sheets of drywall panels, ruined carpet and damaged furniture. He climbed the steps to the wide veranda and entered through the stately double doors of the lodge.
Six men and a woman stood in the lobby, wearing jeans and T-shirts. They had gathered around a drafting table, all looking down at what appeared to be blueprints.
The woman glanced up. “Oh, good. Drake’s here.”
The others straightened and turned toward Drake.
As he studied the faces, his heart filled with joy.
He knew Hank from way back at the beginning of his career as a Marine Force Recon.
Hank had been the experienced SEAL who’d taken him under his wing and shown him the ropes of what it was like beyond training.
Clean-shaven, he had a short haircut, unlike the shaggy look he’d acquired on active duty.
The man had a few more wrinkles around his green eyes, but he was the same man who’d been his mentor so many years ago.
Hank stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Morgan, I’m glad you made it. You must’ve driven all night to get here.”
Drake took the man’s hand and was pulled into a bone-crunching hug.
“Good to see you,” Hank said.
“Same,” Drake said. “It’s been a few years.”
Hank stepped back. “I believe you know everyone here.”
Drake nodded, his lips spreading into a grin.
A man with dark blond hair, blue eyes and a naturally somber expression stepped past Hank and pulled Drake into another powerful hug. “Dude, it’s been too long.”
“Grimm,” Drake clapped his hand on the man’s back. “I thought you were still on active duty.”
Mike Reaper, or Grimm as he’d been aptly nicknamed, patted his leg. “Took shrapnel to my left leg. It bought me early retirement.”
Drake shook his head. “Sorry to hear that.”
“I’m not. I was getting too old to play with the young kids. It was time for me to move on.” He nodded. “I’m looking forward to getting my hands dirty with something besides gun cleaning oil.”
“Move over, Grimm. My turn.” A man shoved Grimm to the side. “Bring it in, Morgan.”
A black-haired man with shocking blue eyes grabbed Drake by the shoulders and crushed him in a hug. “’Bout time we worked together again,” he said. “When did we last?”
“Afghanistan,” Drake said when he could breathe again. He grinned at his old teammate from his last tour of duty before leaving the Marines. “We took out that Taliban terrorist who was cutting off heads for fun. How’re you doing, Murdock?”
Sean Murdock stood back, smiling. “Better, now that you’re here. Thought we were going to be Army puke heavy. We needed some bone frogs to level the playing field.” He turned and dragged another man forward. “Remember this guy?”
Drake’s brow furrowed. “Utah?”
The handsome man with the auburn hair and blue eyes smirked. “I prefer to go by Pierce. I like to think I’ve outgrown the Utah moniker.”
Murdock laughed and pounded Utah on the back. “You’ll never live down Utah. Once an uptight asshole, always an uptight asshole.”
Pierce “Utah” Turner’s lips pressed together. “Thanks.” He held out his hand to Drake. “Good to see you under better circumstances than the last time we worked together.”
Drake gripped the man’s hand, truly glad to see him. “Taking mortar fire while trying to extract that Marine platoon was not one of our cleanest joint operations. You saved my life that day.”
“And you returned the favor five minutes later,” Utah said. “I’d call it even.”
Drake glanced toward the last man he knew in the group and smiled. “Hey, Judge. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Didn’t think you’d remember me, it’s been so long.
” Joe “Judge” Smith, former Delta Force Operative, was the old man of the group of men Drake would work with at the lodge.
Like Hank, he’d influenced Drake when he was a young Marine Force Recon fresh out of training.
He’d been an integral part of the first joint operation of which Drake had been a part.
He'd hung back to provide cover fire for the team as they’d exited a hot zone.
Judge had taken a bullet to his right forearm and had to use his left arm and hand to fire his rifle.
The man hadn’t missed a beat. He’d held on long enough for the entire team to reach the Black Hawk helicopters waiting at the extraction point.
When Judge hadn’t been right behind them loading the aircraft, Drake had jumped out, determined to go back. He’d gone less than twenty yards when Judge had come running, dozens of Taliban soldiers on his heels.
Drake and the rest of his team had provided him cover until he’d dove aboard the helicopter. They’d lifted off under heavy fire and made it back to the Forward Operating Base without losing a single man. He’d made an impression on Drake he would never forget.
“What brings you to Montana?” Drake asked.
“Got tired of wiping the noses of baby Deltas,” Judge said. “When I reached my twenty, I figured it was time to leave.”
“I always wondered why they called you Judge,” Drake admitted.
Judge shrugged.
Grimm laughed. “It came out of a barroom fight. Patterson didn’t like the way a man was treating one of the ladies. When he told him to back off, the man asked him what he was going to do if he didn’t.” Grimm’s lips curled. “He became the Judge, jury and executioner.”
“You killed the guy?” the woman at the drafting table asked.
Judge shook his head. “No.”
“He made him wish he was dead,” Grimm said. “He almost got kicked out of Delta Force. If the woman he’d defended hadn’t come forward to tell her side of the story, his career would’ve been over.”
Drake glanced around at the men he’d fought with and shook his head. “Had I known we were having a reunion, I would’ve come sooner.”
“I want each of you to know I would hire you in a heartbeat for my organization, Brotherhood Protectors, but you all have expressed your desire to fire nail guns, not Glocks. I haven’t given up hope that you’ll change your mind, but I respect that you want to try something different.
And with that, I’ll hand you over to your new bosses.
Molly McKinnon and her fiancé, Parker Bailey, are from the Iron Horse Ranch.
” Hank waved a hand toward the man and the woman who’d remained at the drafting table.
“They’re the new owners of the Lucky Lady Lodge. ”
“For better or worse.” The man took Drake’s hand. “Welcome aboard. I’m here to do the grunt work, just like you guys.” He turned to the woman. “Molly is the brains behind the project.”
Molly shook Drake’s hand. “Glad to meet you. Now, if we could get started…”
He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”
She turned to the drawings. “We’re in the demolition phase of this project. We have to clean up what was damaged in the mine explosion before we can assess structural damage,” Molly said.
Parker added. “Each man has been assigned different areas to work, not too far from each other in case you run into trouble.”
Molly pointed to the blueprint. “Drake, you’ll take the butler’s pantry and coat closet on the far side of the main dining room.
The walls are cracked and crumbling. We need to get behind the drywall to see if the support beams have been compromised.
Your goal today is to clear the walls on the mountainside of the rooms and any other walls showing significant damage. ”
Parker raised a hand. “I’ll take Drake and Grimm to their locations.”