Operation 20 Healing Ground
Syn
Syn pulled up to the ranch and killed the engine. He got out but didn’t go any farther.
He stood beside the open driver’s door, resting one hand on the frame as he stared across the acres of open country as though he’d crossed ten state lines instead of driving forty-five minutes outside Atlanta.
But from where he stood, it might as well have been another planet.
There were no sirens, horns blaring, traffic stacking itself for miles, or hordes of pedestrians flooding the sidewalks.
It was just sky, land, and a long gravel road bordered by blooming azalea bushes leading toward a massive country house.
The two-story home had a wide front porch, stone columns, dark timber beams, uncovered windows, and solar panels covering the roof catching the late afternoon sun.
The lawn rolled down from the porch in one wide, uninterrupted sweep of thick green grass, where four ridiculous peacocks strutted about as though they owned that part of the property.
Beyond the main house, the ranch spread in every direction.
Fenced pastures. Barns painted deep red with black trim.
Riding rings. A pond shimmering in the distance.
Horses grazing with tails swishing lazily.
Cows gathered beneath shade trees. A few goats doing goat stuff in a huge paddock.
And to his left, an alpaca stared at him with the blank judgment of an old detective.
Workers moved throughout the property in green ranch shirts, some interacting with customers, others hauling equipment or driving small utility carts. There was motion everywhere, but none of it felt frantic. It was work, but it moved at a peaceful pace.
Syn breathed in the fresh-cut grass, hay, warmed earth, and so many different animals, but over it all was something smoky drifting from the house that smelled like searing meat.
The scenery and air reached inside him and loosened areas that’d been tight for weeks.
Accepting Fox’s invitation to come out for a visit might’ve been the smartest decision he’d made yet.
Syn loved his brother Ro. He’d opened his house to him, fed him, let him sit motionless on his porch like a malfunctioning robot, and never once made him feel unwelcome.
But by the third week, Ro had become a serious mother hen with boundary issues. Constantly asking if him if he’d eaten, slept, taken his blood pressure medication, considered his future, and if he knew what the bible said about forgiveness.
Syn had humored him because he knew his brother meant well, but if Ro would’ve tried to shove one more asparagus spear into his mouth, their team was going to be a member short.
So when Fox offered the ranch, he didn’t think twice.
Not ordered, or demanded, just sent a message that said, come out here and breathe for a bit.
That was Fox.
The former SWAT lieutenant had been off the force for a few years but he still knew how to calm a crisis. Still possessed that sharp, quiet instinct.
One of the peacocks stopped near the edge of the lawn and fanned its train, bright blue body standing proud beneath a trembling spread of green, gold, and bronze. The bird turned slowly, making a shameless spectacle of itself.
Against his will, it made him think of Furi.
His breathtaking hair, face, strong, lithe gorgeous body.
Furi had always been stunning. Whether angry, laughing, or standing in the kitchen over a coffee pot barefoot with sleep in his eyes.
Had Syn been crazy to think he didn’t have to share that kind of beauty with the rest of the world?
He stayed leaning against his truck for almost an hour.
Nobody rushed up to him or came out of the house and asked what the hell he was doing.
And he believed Fox did that on purpose.
The bastard had always been intuitive, damn near eerie with it.
Fox had chosen this peaceful life over the dangerous one SWAT offered after he’d met and fallen in love with Bull, yet Syn doubted that natural ability of his to solve problems had disappeared.
A horse came over the rise like a shadow, and Syn straightened to gaze at it with the respect it deserved.
The animal was enormous. Almost seventeen hands at the withers, maybe more, with a jet-black coat glistening like velvet under the setting sun and a long black mane that moved like silk.
His head was high, ears alert, and every step he made radiated power and command.
And Fox was on his back.
He wore a black ball cap with the ranch logo stitched across the front, a matching black T-shirt hugging the lean strength of his torso, worn jeans under black chaps, and dusty cowboy boots.
He held the reins loosely in one hand, almost lazily, as if the huge animal beneath him obeyed because it wanted to, not because it was being forced.
Syn smiled for the first time in weeks. It felt strange.
“You were always the show-off on your squad.” Syn shook his head as Fox approached. “I see some things never change.”
Fox’s grin was cunning as ever.
He brought the horse to a stop a few feet away and swung down effortlessly. Annoyingly so. He landed in the dirt, dropped the reins, and the horse stayed glued to his side.
Syn looked him over. “What kind of horse is he?”
Fox stroked the horse’s neck. “Arabian. His name’s Diablo. Bull rescued him a few years ago.”
Syn eyed the animal and Diablo stared right back.
“He doesn’t look very friendly. Which I assume is why his name means the devil in Spanish.”
“For a long time, he wouldn’t let anyone touch him. Couldn’t get near him, much less ride him. He used to bite, kick stall doors in half,” Fox said, sliding his hand over the horse’s glossy shoulder.
“What changed?”
Fox’s smile turned smug. “He met me.”
Syn snorted.
“You know I have that effect on men.” Fox patted Diablo’s neck. “Turns out animals too.”
Syn laughed, and the sound surprised him enough that he almost stopped.
Fox noticed it but didn’t make a big deal of it. He walked up and embraced him, one arm hard around his shoulders, the other thumping against his back.
It was genuine. Brotherly. Understanding. So much that he held on for an extra second.
When they parted, Fox tipped his head toward the barns. “Walk with me to the stables. I need to brush him down. You can brush his friend, Nimbus. He’s a good boy. You’ll like him. Then we’ll put your stuff in the house after.”
Syn gave Diablo a wary look. “I’ve never been around horses.”
“You can trust Nimbus. He’s a young quarter horse, eight years old. He’s all love and compassion.”
They walked in silence.
Diablo followed Fox without needing the reins, black mane shifting, hooves quiet on the packed dirt.
Syn took in more of the ranch as they went.
The place was a full working operation, not some rich-man fantasy playing rancher.
As the day wound to an end, employees were tending to the animals and shutting down for the night.
He saw a lot of sweat, brows being wiped, and shirts damp at the spine.
Two women walked past in khaki pants and green ranch shirts, both carrying clipboards.
They slowed, grinning in his direction.
One had dark curls tied high and a smile that radiated, even at dusk. The other had red hair braided over one shoulder, freckles across her nose, and eyes that swept over his whole body with outrageous confidence.
“Who’s your friend, Fox?” the redhead asked.
“Buddy from Atlanta,” he said.
“Buddy got a name?” the brunette smiled.
Syn tried not to stare back, but damn. Those women were not shy.
“Syn,” he said.
“Mm,” she hummed. “That fits.”
The redhead laughed. “I’m EmmaJean.”
“Louisa,” the brunette added. “Holler if you need anything…that is of course if you’d prefer to make me holler.”
Syn blinked. Good Lord. What the—?
Fox made a sharp sound. “Keep walking.”
Syn looked after them despite himself.
Louisa winked, still laughing.
Fox shook his head. “Stay clear of those two, brother. Absolute maneaters. They’ll feast on you and spit out the bones when they’re done.”
Syn laughed again. “You speaking from experience?”
“I’m speaking from watching grown-ass cowboys fall in love after one night.”
“They work here?”
“Louisa runs livestock operations, and EmmaJean’s the trail boss,” Fox said. “Between the two of them, they can wrangle horses, ranch hands, tourists, and stupid city men with thick wallets. Not always in that order.”
The first stable stood beside the largest barn with its wide doors already open.
Inside, the air changed. It was cooler, rich with hay, leather, cedar and that earthy animal scent that should’ve been unpleasant but somehow wasn’t. Dim orange sunlight filtered through high windows in long, dusty beams.
Stalls lined both sides, each with clean bedding, nameplates, water buckets, and big, curious heads peering out as Fox and Diablo walked through.
“This is where we keep the staff horses,” Fox said, leading Diablo toward a grooming bay with thick rubber mats on the floor. “Lesson horses and guest horses are in the east barn. Rescue cases in the smaller one past the pond.”
Fox hitched Diablo loosely to a post, went to a cabinet and began gathering supplies.
He pointed toward a horse already tethered in the next grooming space. “That’s Nimbus.”
Nimbus was almost the complete opposite of Diablo. A tall, spotted gray horse with a pale mane, and wide brown eyes. He turned his head towards him and blew softly through his nostrils.
Syn approached him cautiously. “Will he uh…does he bite?”
“Nimbus? No. He’s a good boy.”
Fox demonstrated what to do on Diablo first, sweeping his hand in slow circular motions with a flexible, plastic brush he called a curry comb, along the horse’s neck and shoulder.
Diablo’s eyes slid half closed as he leaned subtly into Fox’s hand, then more blatantly until Fox had to brace his boots.
“Spoiled bastard,” Fox murmured fondly.
Diablo bumped his massive head against Fox’s chest.
Fox laughed under his breath and pressed his forehead to the horse’s. For a moment, they stayed like that, man and animal breathing together.
Syn watched them, as something quiet within him opened up.
Not sadness exactly. Maybe longing…or envy.