Stay for Me (Hallow Ranch #2)

Prologue

Mags

Year One.

The bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside the small animal feed store, the chill of winter seeping into the space. My legs ached, scar tingling as my damaged left side radiated with pain. I bit down, grinding my teeth as the heat of the store hit me.

Fuck.

Warmth.

Never thought I would be craving heat again, but here we were.

As the skin of my cheeks began to sting, I felt the tension in my neck dissipate. My stomach growled, but I barely even noticed. I wasn’t here for food.

In fact, food was the last thing on my mind.

Three pairs of eyes landed on me, studying me for two or three seconds before the owners went back to their business. As the door behind me slowly closed, I took a moment to enjoy the heat, grateful for something so simple.

It had been a long trek to this little town, and my survival instincts were kicking me in the ass. The logical thing to do would’ve been to stay in Denver, lay low, find a job there, save up some money, then move on in the Spring.

PTSD didn’t factor into logic. It obliterated it.

A big city was the last place I needed to be. Just the sound of a car horn sent me back into a place I’d barely escaped from, drowning me in traumatizing memories. No, I couldn’t live in a city.

I needed quiet.

I needed some fucking peace.

“Can I help you find something?”

Slowly, I turned my head to find an older man behind an antique cash register, wearing a thick flannel and an old straw hat. As I assessed him, he leaned forward to look over the counter and his eyes dropped to my boots, recognition flashing in them. I let him study me, from my boots to the tan duffel on my back. Curiosity was a part of humanity, and people—normal people—loved to stare at men like me.

No matter how much I hated it, I didn’t have any say in the matter.

When the man’s eyes hit my face again, he said, “Welcome home, soldier.”

Home.

What a fucking joke that was.

I said nothing, walking to the counter, clocking the veteran’s hat on the wall of pictures and antiques behind him. He braced his wrinkled hands on the counter, pride shining in his eyes. I gave him a nod.

That was when I noticed how quiet everything was in here.

I liked it.

For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe, and my anxiety settled in my chest, the weight lifting off me, and I felt somewhat normal.

“What can I help you with?” the man asked again. “Anything you’re looking for?”

“Work,” I answered gruffly, the sound of my own voice foreign. I couldn't remember the last time I’d spoken to anyone. The days had blended together, time not granting me a shred of fucking mercy as I tried to figure out my life, wondering what the hell I was going to do with it.

“You don’t look like the kind of man who would survive retail,” he noted.

I said nothing, only staring at him.

He clicked his tongue. “Do you know where you are?”

That was the only thing I was certain of. “Hayden, Colorado.”

His eyes assessed me again, dropping down to my worn-out coat, lingering on the missing third button for a moment. “You get any injuries over there, solider?”

My next words were blunt, like the dull knife still lingering in my fucking back. “None that won’t keep me from work.”

“Can you ride a horse?”

“I’ll learn.”

The old man hummed, his eyes taking in my appearance. “You on drugs?”

“Nope.”

“You ever been on drugs?”

My jaw ticked and my grip tightened on the strap of my pack. I wasn’t in the mood to be interrogated. “Not by choice, no.”

He nodded and leaned back, sighing as he pulled out a notebook from underneath the register. “How much are you looking to make?”

“Enough to survive.”

The old man’s lips twitched. “Well, survival looks different for everyone.”

No, a lot of people confuse survival with greed. I inhaled through my nose and hit him with my definition. “Enough to put food in my gut and clothes on my back.”

His head tilted to the side, and, once again, silence fell between us as he studied me. “That’s all?”

I could feel eyes on my back as I nodded once. “That’s all.”

The man nodded, an understanding sigh leaving him. “Well, I don’t have any work for you, but Hallow Ranch might.”

The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I grunted, still feeling those eyes on me.

Fucking hell.

Taking a second, I looked around the quiet store, noting the few people in there, were no longer interested in me, having gone back to their business. My eyes stopped when they landed on a blonde head. The lights above created an illusion, giving the woman a halo of sorts, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure she was real.

“Denver Langston just got out,” the old man informed me, pulling me back into the conversation. I looked back over to him, waiting for more. “The new owner of Hallow Ranch. He got out of the Marines about a year ago and took over.”

That didn’t give me much, but knowing this cowboy was a fellow Marine was something. I looked back to the veteran’s hat displayed on the wall, wondering if the stranger had experienced anything remotely close to the hell I’d been forced to serve in.

“His father passed shortly after he got home, and his younger brother left town before that,” the man continued.

I didn’t give a rat’s ass about Hallow Ranch’s history.

I just needed a damn job.

The old man scratched his jaw, muttering something under his breath as he stumbled around behind the counter, looking for something. After a few moments, he handed me a business card, dated 1989. “Give that to him and tell him I sent you. That might give him some sway.”

I pocketed the card. “Going to need directions.”

He waved his hand, a smile on his face. “I’ll drive you.”

I shook my head, shutting him down. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be walking to Hallow Ranch, sir.”

His brows lifted so high, I was half convinced they would fly off his face. “It’s a five mile walk, soldier. You sure you’re up for that?”

I was silent again, staring at him and giving nothing away.

Like hell I’d be getting into a fucking car I wasn’t driving.

Reluctantly, the old man sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Head north up this road for about three miles, take a left on County Road, and then walk until you see sign.”

One hour later.

I tipped my head back, taking in the massive “H” on the barn in front of me. The entire structure was overdue for a fresh coat of red paint. I’d been on the property for all of ten minutes, bypassing a white house with a wraparound porch and heading straight down the hill to the barn. Even though the ground was covered in snow, I knew the ranch owner would be down here, tending to his animals. Twisting my neck, I took in the land around me, blanketed in crisp white snow, the rays of the sun peeking through the gray clouds above, causing the ground to sparkle.

I’d been all over the world. I’d seen and experienced all kinds of landscapes, but there was something about this piece of land that felt peaceful.

Peace was something I knew nothing about, and I was desperate to discover it.

“Yo!”

I looked over to the corral, finding a cowboy walking his horse towards the barn, a black hat perched on his head. He was tall—taller than me. A long, black beard hung on his face, his mouth set, and the bags under his eyes didn’t take away from his intimidation. As he drew closer, I held his gray eyes and lifted my chin.

“You Denver Langston?” I called, my breath drifting into frigid air.

He stopped just in front of the barn, his horse neighing in protest as he studied me. Like the man in the feed store, his eyes scanned me, taking in my appearance, lingering on my boots. The cowboy said nothing, just turning and walking his horse into the barn.

I remained were I was, jaw twitching and feet planted firmly on the gravel, waiting.

From inside the barn, I heard a stall door close, followed by the soft crunches of a horse eating. Seconds later, the cowboy reemerged from the shadows, his thick black work coat draped over one of his shoulders, thick gloves on his hands. As he walked to me, he shoved the gloves in the back pocket of his jeans and then stopped a few feet from me. I could see the heat from him floating up in the freezing air, but from the looks of it, he didn’t mind the cold.

“You the owner of this ranch?” I asked.

“Who’s asking?” the cowboy finally replied, his voice deep, his eyes holding mine.

“I am.”

A short chuckle left him, and he looked away from me for a moment. “Fucking Marines. Cocky sons of bitches,” he muttered.

“Guess it takes one to know one,” I replied coolly, assuming this was Denver.

The man looked back at me, his lips twitching. “You going to give me your name, or are should I let you keep playing the role of smart ass?”

“I’m too tired for games, Mr. Langston,” I said, holding my hand out. “Mags.”

He eyed my hand for half a second before taking it and giving it a firm shake. “You got a last name?”

I shook my head once. “Nope. Just Mags.”

As we dropped hands, he asked, “Man’s gotta have a last name.”

“Don’t have one to give you.”

He studied me, and behind him, I heard a voice coming from the building beside the barn. “Alright then, Mags. What do you want? I have a lot of work to do before this damn blizzard hits.”

“Work,” I informed him, flicking out the card the man from the feed store gave me. “He told me you’d have some for me.”

Langston’s eyes dropped down to the card and then flicked up to mine. “You want to work here?”

“Affirmative.”

His dark brows came together underneath his hat, his eyes flashing. “What makes you think you can cowboy?” he pressed.

“Can’t be much worse than war, Langston.”

He grunted and looked out into the field. “You’re right about that,” he muttered.

I said nothing, waiting patiently for his next words and praying to whoever the fuck was running the show up there to let me have this one win. After everything I’d been through, in my opinion, it was the least I deserved. I had no home. I had no family.

All I had were the dark memories of my past and the clothes on my back.

I just needed this, and I’d be fine. I’d make it.

“I can’t pay you much, Mags,” he said, his voice serious. “This job is hard work, and right now, little pay.”

“I just need clothes on my back and food in my gut, sir.”

The cowboy studied for me for a long time then, and for a flicker of a moment, I was convinced he might have been seeing his past self in me. The man had demons, that much I knew. Unlike me, he wasn’t even bothering trying to hide them. From his rumpled flannel, to his beard, to pale skin…I knew Denver Langston was drowning.

“When did you get back to the States?” he questioned, his voice level.

“Two months ago,” I told him, unsure whether that was the truth or not. It felt like two months, but it might have been four…or six. Truth be told, I didn’t remember much from my time in the hospital to me walking into my house, finding pain instead of a warm welcome.

That was all in the past now.

“Where’s your vehicle?”

“Don’t have one.”

He reached up and adjusted his hat, a tired sigh leaving him. “You a drifter, Mags?”

I didn’t answer because the fuck of it was, I didn’t know how to.

After a few moment of silence, he clipped, “I can’t hire a man who is going to bring trouble to my ranch, Marine. I have mouths to feed and a fucking son to protect.”

“Don’t have any fucking trouble to bring in the first place, sir. I’m just looking for work,” I said, my spine snapping straight.

“You on drugs?”

“No.”

“Have you ever done drugs?”

“Unwillingly.”

He jerked, the moment so small and insignificant that if I wasn’t who I was, trained like I was, I might’ve missed it.

“You got a record?”

“Nope.”

“What was your job in the Marines?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

His head ticked to the side. “I’m asking you.”

I clenched my jaw. “To serve my country.”

When he didn’t respond, I—unfortunately--felt compelled to tell him the truth.

And so, I did.

By the time I was done, the Hallow Ranch owner was looking at me in a different light, the coldness in his gray eyes having melted away. “Mags,” he said, testing the name. “Was that your call-sign?”

I shook my head. “Didn’t have one.”

“Nothing else?” he prompted, still stuck on me not having a last name.

“Mags is the only name I got. Sorry to disappoint.”

Langston grunted and looked to his boots. After exactly ten seconds, he lifted his head and answered my silent prayer. “Right, well, if you want work, I have some for you. You’ll get cash at the end of the month. I don’t clock hours, but if I have to come into the bunkhouse to wake your ass up, you’re gone. Understood?”

I nodded.

“This job is hard work and, again, little pay. Hopefully, in a few years, should you choose to stay on, I’ll have more for you. Right now, I’m just trying to keep the fucking ranch above water.”

“You don’t have explain anything to me,” I told him. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

He stared at me for a another moment then, a harsh winter wind swirling around us.

“Let’s get you settled in. Work starts in the morning.”

With that, he led me into the bunkhouse, introduced me to an older cowboy and his son, gave me a bunk, and told me to be in the barn before sunrise.

A few weeks later, when the snow was still on the ground, settled and waiting for the sun to melt it, I was deep in my work, pulling long days and even longer nights. My injury had proved to be only a slight problem, but I didn’t make it known to the cowboys around me. I kept my head down and worked.

Jigs, the old bastard in charge of teaching me the ropes, had been impressed with how quickly I caught on. In a few days, after the corral had been cleared of the fresh snow, he was going to start teaching me how to ride so by the time spring came, I would be ready to help with the herd.

I leaned the shovel against the horse stall, surveying my work, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down my neck. I’d been in the barn since four AM, getting a head start on my chores because I couldn’t sleep. Then again, I could never fuckin’ sleep. Denver wouldn’t be down here until later, after his son’s doctor’s appointment, and Beau was visiting his girlfriend at her college. It was just me and the old man on the ranch this morning.

So when I heard the loud roar of a shitty sounding engine coming from outside the barn, my body went on alert. I made my way to the barn doors, knowing the horses would whine when I opened them again. They were sick of the cold almost as much as I was. I heard the familiar sound of squeaky breaks, followed by a car door slamming as I pulled open the doors. My eyes went directly to a shitty looking Honda Civic parked in the muddy, iced covered gravel.

It was a dark day, the usual overcast winter sky sucking the color and light out of everything around Hallow Ranch, reminding me of my own soul.

Lifeless.

Colorless.

Dark.

As I stared at the car, a sound filled my ears. Sweet.

The sweetest sound I’d ever heard in my life.

My head snapped to the left, my eyes locking in on a light, a golden little light in the middle of this barren land.

Her hair was blonde, but not just any blonde—the color of honey. Her skin was fair, a beauty mark by her right eye, and those eyes—Jesus.

“Hi,” the woman breathed out.

Jesus, but she was fuckin’ real, wasn’t she?

My eyes dropped away from her stunning hazel ones, taking in her appearance and noticing two things. One, it was too damn cold out here for her to wearing that dress. Two, she loved color. Her dress was yellow, tights underneath it a dark purple, her rain boots hunter green, and there was thin pink scarf around her neck that was doing nothing to keep her warm.

“I’m just here to see Denver,” the woman continued, brushing some of that honey hair out of her face, her teeth chattering. “Is he here?”

I shook my head.

She moved closer to me, and I watched as frustration came over her eyes. “Do you know where he is?” she asked, standing less than three feet from me now.

The wind blew then, coming from behind her, and her scent—Christ.

Sweet.

So damn sweet.

My mouth watered.

“Um. Sir?” she called, her brow pinched with worry.

“Langston’s not here,” I grunted.

“I gathered that—”

“Don’t know when he’ll be back,” I informed her, the sound of my own voice unfamiliar to me. This was the first time I’d spoken more than one or two words in weeks.

She looked up to the house, wrapping her arms around herself, her teeth chattering. I didn’t know who this woman was to Denver, but she needed her ass spanked for not wearin’ a fuckin’ coat.

“You need a coat,” I grumbled.

Her head snapped back to me, eyes wide, cheeks red. “I have one in the car.”

I gave her nothing else, needing to get away from her.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

I stared at her, knowing the probability of me seeing her again was low, so I decided right then I would give her this and only this. She would have my name only. “Mags.”

“Mags,” she repeated softly, testing it.

It was then I knew.

It was then my short lived peace came crashing down around me, revealing to me a new version of hell I hadn’t had the pleasure of experiencing yet.

The universe wanted me dead, and it couldn’t kill me in the war. So now, as penance, whoever the hell was up there ruining my life decided to show me what heaven was supposed to look like, dangling it in front me, teasing me—torturing me.

It was then I knew I would never know peace because I could never have her.