Need You Close (Second Chance Ranch #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Carson

“I’m not sure I like this plan.” My older brother frowned at me over his coffee cup.

Colt needed to move along to the sheriff’s office and stop worrying about plans he’d come up with. I was here to be a ranch hand on the spread he now owned with his husband, and I fully intended to do the damn job I’d agreed to.

“Your plan,” I reminded him. We’d had a long drive back from Denver the day before, and I’d slept like shit in Colt and Maverick’s guestroom. My voice was even thicker than usual, like each word cost a buck and I didn’t have a five to spare.

“Yeah, but you’re still not one hundred percent,” Colt stated the obvious. Perhaps he’d expected more out of the rehabilitation program I’d undergone in Denver. Whatever the case, he was doing a shit job of hiding how disconcerting he found my new normal.

Join the fucking club, brother.

“Not gonna be.” Short, clipped sentences were easiest for me, but the truth really was that simple.

I’d been found unfit for duty. Permanently disabled was stamped all over my discharge records.

If anywhere near a hundred percent was a possibility, I’d be on a plane this very minute, returning to my personnel and the job I’d left unfinished.

Instead, I was here, back in Lovelorn, Colorado, and the one thing I’d learned the past six months or so was that I might as well accept my new reality.

Colt, however, had yet to come to the same conclusion. His expression turned earnest. “If you keep up with the PT and exercises…”

“Colt.” I held his gaze, man to man. He’d seen me when I’d first arrived back stateside, knew what rough shape I’d been in. And Colt was a sheriff, same as our dad before him. He’d seen his fair share of gnarly accidents. He knew damn well there were some things a body didn’t come back from.

“I know.” His wide shoulders sagged. Colt leaned against the nearby fridge. “I hate this for you.”

When had his temples gone gray? And when had those lines around his mouth and eyes deepened?

I didn’t like thinking that I might be the cause.

He was eight years older than me to start, and then we’d lost our dad in the line of duty when I was a toddler, making Colt that much more parental toward me.

I’d never much cared for Colt making himself responsible for the rest of us and the messes we got ourselves into.

However, I also knew when to keep the peace, so all I said was, “Thanks.”

“I do wish you’d consider staying with us instead of in the bunkhouse.” Colt took on a “be reasonable” tone.

I snorted. “Full house already.”

“Always room for you,” Colt said, as if he and Maverick didn’t also have two teen girls and Maverick’s sister living with them. Besides, he and Maverick were newlyweds. The last thing they needed was Colt’s little brother underfoot.

“Gonna earn my keep.” I made my voice firm but added an approximation of a smile to soften my refusal. My facial muscles didn’t always cooperate, so I had to hope my effort was close enough.

“Stubborn.” Chuckling, Colt shook his head.

“Learned from the best.” I grinned at the ribbing, but also at how easy the retort had come out. Words were fickle things these days, so I’d learned to celebrate when they worked as I wanted.

“Fine.” Colt set aside his coffee and hefted my large army duffel bag up from where I’d dropped it near the back door. “Let’s get you settled then.”

“Don’t need an escort.” I gave him the hardest of glares and reached for my bag, but Colt being Colt, he resisted giving it back.

Thank fuck, his husband chose that moment to wander in.

Husband. I’d had about nine months to get used to the idea of Colt having one of those.

Never would have figured on that possibility, and with Maverick Lovelorn no less.

I’d been a little kid when Colt and Maverick had been high-school best friends, too oblivious to notice much beyond my video games and remote-control car obsession.

Maverick, though, had grown into a decent dude. He’d been with Colt when I’d arrived at the medical center in DC and had visited a few times during my Denver program. I’d come to appreciate that he could get Colt to see reason, so I shot him a pleading look and added a smile for good measure.

“Colt. Stop hovering.” Maverick easily plucked my bag away from Colt and handed it to me. “Let Carson walk to the bunkhouse on his own if he wants.”

“Not a kid.” I glowered at them both, grateful for Maverick’s assistance, but frustrated that I’d needed it. And the two of them negotiating like I was a teen asking for an extra hour past curfew rankled.

“I know.” Colt lightly doffed my shoulder. Too lightly, like he was scared to give me the same sort of brotherly shove he’d offer Kane. “But I’m always gonna be the big brother.”

“I know.” I swallowed back my groan. Sarcasm wouldn’t help anything. Colt was always going to see me as one more responsibility on his lengthy to-do list, and that was a fact.

Rather, as I headed out into the early morning light, I simply counted my blessings that Colt had backed down over his notion of settling me in like a damn kindergartner.

Maverick’s foreman, Grayson, had stopped by the house last night and told me to check in at the bunkhouse in the morning.

He hadn’t said to bring a parental figure and a permission slip.

I was Sergeant First Class Jennings, a rank I’d worked a dozen years for.

There was precious little I needed permission for.

Wait.

I’d been Sergeant First Class Jennings. Now I was simply Carson Jennings, the youngest Jennings boy, returned home, lucky to be hired on as a ranch hand at the largest spread in the area.

I sucked in a deep breath of humility, lungs filling with dry Colorado air.

Lord, I hadn’t done a Colorado summer in fourteen years.

I’d forgotten the acrid taste of late July in Disappointment County.

But here I was, and I sure wasn’t marching back to the ranch house, so I knocked on the bunkhouse door.

“Carson!” A cheerful, burly middle-aged cowboy with thinning hair greeted me like he’d been waiting for my knock. He had on faded jeans, a plaid shirt stretched over an ample middle, and a dish towel over one shoulder. “You made it.”

Despite my having no clue who he was, the guy warmly ushered me into an open-plan kitchen dominated by a large wooden table and chairs in the center. The room had a homey feel, with various faded cowboy signs on the walls and the smell of biscuits in the air. Three other men sat at the table.

“Here, let me help you with your bag.” A younger guy left the table to rush over to the doorway. He was way too skinny to be a cowboy and had fancy, styled hair that was better suited to a boy band, but he certainly seemed like he belonged here as he reached for my bag.

“I got it.” I held tight to my duffel, but the younger guy was persistent and pried it out of my hand.

“Have you eaten yet?” the older cowboy asked.

“Coffee.” The single word was about as much as I could manage as my head swam with the rush of activity and new faces.

“I’ll take that as a no and a request both.” He bustled over to a counter with a coffee pot and poured coffee into a large mug.

“That’s Casey, our cook.” The younger guy, who continued to hold my duffel bag, took it upon himself to make introductions. “I’m Adler, and at the table we have Motley and Chips.”

There was no way in hell I would remember all the names, but I nodded politely. “Hey.”

“And I’m Kat.” A tall woman with a long dark braid strode into the kitchen. “Stable manager, and darn glad to see you. We’ve been shorthanded, and Colt says you’re good with horses.”

“I’m a’right.” My tongue tripped on the word all right, giving me the same accent as a Philly-born buddy I’d had in basic training.

“We’ll ease you in, though, nice and slow.

” Grayson entered the bunkhouse, stepping around me to offer a hearty handshake.

He was somewhere north of forty-five, with the sort of rugged features and silver hair that made him appear older than the ranch itself.

He’d worked here as the foreman long enough.

Despite his grizzled appearance, he’d been welcoming the night before when he’d stopped by the main house.

Too welcoming. My back stiffened as he added, “And we’re not gonna quiz you on names. ”

“Don’t need easy.” I had to grit out the words, which came out far harsher than I’d intended. But of all the things I hated about my new reality, people pandering to me was the worst. “Treat me…any…another…other hand.”

I made a terrible case for myself as my tongue tripped all over itself, halting and reaching for the wrong words before settling back down. I cast my gaze down at the kitchen floor, not wanting to see Grayson’s expression transform from friendly to pity.

“Will do.” Grayson clapped me on the shoulder, undoubtedly already planning to give me the easy route anyway. “Eat up. Casey made biscuits and gravy in honor of your first day. We’ve got plenty of stalls in need of mucking.”

“Good.” I nodded sharply and took a seat at the table as Casey brought over the mug of coffee and a plate of biscuits and gravy.

Flaky, buttery biscuits with a rich, white sausage gravy were a favorite indulgence of mine.

I’d had plenty of bad versions in the military, but Casey’s recipe was top-notch.

Much as I loved the food, though, eating took all my concentration not to spill or slosh.

I’d worked hours in PT and OT on fine-motor skills, yet drippy foods remained a challenge.