Chapter Two
His target came intoview, sweat rolling down his blackened face as he followed the hooded, long-robed figure with his scoped rifle. Lying on his stomach atop the hillside above the small Afghanistan village, Slade waited for his commander’s go-ahead in his earpiece. “Cover your ass by insisting on a direct order confirming your target’s identity before taking a shot.” He’d learned that from a former military sniper who now trained men to take a life to save others. That last order often soothed the moral battle he waged with himself over his chosen career path. The final attestation of the target’s lethal intention to kill as many innocent people as possible was a needed reminder of what a lowlife, deadly degenerate he was about to take out. The many lives saved by one pull of the trigger would ease his conscience until the next assignment when the questions would plague him anew.
A few people emerged from the crude huts and adobe buildings miles away from his perch, the women looking hot in their concealing clothing, some holding the hands of small children. A group of young boys, likely under the age of twelve, kicked a ball around the dirt street, grins creasing their faces. Teens were often recruited or forced to join the war. An old stoop-shouldered man gripping a tall stick for balance shuffled past a donkey grazing in a grassy area. From this distance, they appeared the size of dolls, and only the clothing and uncovered faces told him the gender of the taller boys.
Slade grew itchy the closer his target got to ending those innocent lives, and he prayed for his order to come through, either confirming or denying that was the suicide bomber he was sent to kill. “I’m getting too old for this,” he muttered then grunted at thinking twenty-seven was too old for any activity.
A double beep echoed in his ear, the kill signal he possessed a love-hate relationship with. He pulled the trigger, grateful for the ability to save lives, yet never took one with a gram of salt. Women and children screamed and ran for cover, all except one. She ran straight toward the fallen figure, fell to her knees sobbing, and reaching for the prone would-be bomber. Stunned, Slade pulled out his binoculars and zeroed in on her ravaged face as she turned him over. Bile clogged his throat when he viewed the face of a boy no older than ten, the woman’s wails adding to his gut-clenching remorse. The detonation switch to set off the bomb secured to his torso fell from the boy’s hand, but confirmation of his intentions didn’t matter. Terrorists knew all sorts of ungodly ways to threaten others to do their dirty work, but all he saw was a child dead by his hand.
***
SLADE KINCAID JERKEDawake and fought to untangle himself from the sweat-dampened sheet. Breathing heavy from reliving his worst nightmare, he got out of bed, not bothering with a light as he reached for his jeans lying at the foot. His Border collie, Chace, rubbed against his leg, and he took a moment to brush a hand over his soft head to let him know he was all right. Wearing nothing but the comfortable worn denim, he padded down the hallway lit by a nightlight, bemoaning his inability to get past that moment in time when he’d taken a child’s life. His conscience didn’t care about the people his action saved, which included his grieved aunt and cousins. God knows many more children would have perished that day if he hadn’t done his job, and the young pawn the terrorists had used had been doomed from the get-go. The boy’s relatives in that village had no idea he’d been kidnapped, his parents and siblings threatened with torture and death if he didn’t cooperate.
None of that helped when the kid’s face snuck by his shield during sleep. Eleven years, and Slade still couldn’t forgive himself, or forget. It defied logic, in his mind, but when did logic ever take place fighting a war?
The full moon glowing outside the living area’s wide windows guided him into the kitchen, the tile floor cool under his feet compared to the bedroom carpet and hardwood elsewhere. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, a dog biscuit for Chace, and made his way out to the back patio through the glass slider in the den. He tossed the treat to Chace, who settled on the patio, content for now. Unable to say the same about himself, he leaned against a post and took a long draw, the cold brew and cool late September air drying his perspiration-damp body. Instead of gunfire resonating in his ears, a baying wolf and the screech of an owl filled the silence of the vast Wyoming countryside.
Slade was the first to build his own home on the ranch he and his brothers had inherited from their father almost two years ago. He’d found some of the peace he craved for his unsettled conscience overseeing the work needed to breed and raise Charbray cattle on a spread of over thirty thousand acres. The crops were another source of income for the ranch, but the bulk of the Kincaid wealth was still pumping the rich oil from the fertile ground. His oldest brother, Brett, handled those and the accounts, thankfully. Slade much preferred the physical labors of running the ranch to the hours needed behind a desk.
He kicked back the last of the beer, set it on the patio table, and picked up his latest carving. Wade Hughes, their dad’s foreman, had taught him how to whittle before he’d left for the military, telling him the hobby would come in handy on long, lonely nights away from home. Leaning against the post again, he racked his brain, trying to recall if he’d ever thanked Wade after returning home for good, but couldn’t remember. He’d blacked out a lot of that time period he spent trying to cope with guilt even though he knew the boy was doomed the moment he was snatched from his home. After his superiors discovered what the Taliban threatened the youngster with, they told him, but it hadn’t mattered to Slade anyway.
By the meager patio light, he could make out the shape of a gnome, a whimsical piece he thought his sister-in-law would like. He would never admit it to his brothers, but he’d enjoyed Brett and Allie’s wedding two months ago. The small church in Eagle’s Nest was filled to capacity, and even more people attended the reception in Casper that evening. Slade spent most of the time people watching, always a fun way to pass the hours when you weren’t big on socializing and crowds.
He’d invited Deb to go with him, mostly to keep the single, eager-to-marry guests away. They used each other that way, which worked well for two people who weren’t interested in walking down the matrimony aisle. A frequent play partner at their private club, Deb made the perfect sub in private and was otherwise happy as a clam to maintain a close friendship. Now that Brett was married and Reed, the middle child, had committed to Lily, the pressure would be on him to settle down. Deb had teased him ridiculously about that at the wedding, saying how much she was going to enjoy witnessing his downfall. He let her have her fun, ignoring her and others since he knew the truth – no woman would take on a man who carried such baggage and worked ten to twelve hours a day although he was financially secure.
Besides, he mused with glee, once his brothers started giving their mother the grandchildren she’d been pining for, he would be off the hook. He looked forward to being the cool favorite uncle. Counting his blessings by reminiscing about family always helped to steady him after a bad night. With a twist of his wrist, he started carving the contours on the gnome’s hat while the painted streaks of dawn broke on the horizon. Watching a new day unfold with a blend of deep purple and pale pink then brighten to vibrant red, orange, and yellow also helped chase away the dark of night demons.
The sun made its debut, breaking the horizon in a canary-yellow blaze that forced Slade to squint to finish the gnome’s hat before returning the wood to the table. The hint of warmth touching his shoulders indicated another day of pleasant weather, something to look forward to with October right around the corner. The first snowfall of the year often hit them by mid-month, which made the end of September a busy time on the ranch. Folding the paring knife, he slipped it into his pocket and went inside to finish dressing and eat something before driving to the barns.
The steel roofs on the two large barns and smaller stable came into view as Slade rounded a corner on the unpaved road that wound through the front portion of their property thirty minutes later. Parking in front of the stable, he spotted the four college kids he had hired last year already loading hay bales to haul to the lower pastures. Their early appearance surprised him. They worked part-time while in school and weren’t scheduled until afternoon.
“Morning, boss,” Riley called out with a wave before grabbing the two straps wrapped around the bale and hefting it onto the flatbed.
Strolling up to them, Slade nudged his Stetson up and fisted his hands on his hips. “Morning. Now, tell me what gives.”
Jeff, the cut-up of the group, flashed a cheeky grin. “We love working here so much we cut class this morning just to help out during this busy time.”
Keith sighed and rolled his blue eyes. “Knock it off, Jeff. They canceled classes today, and maybe tomorrow, because of a water line bust.”
That, Slade could believe, but it still didn’t explain their early clock-in. “And?” He zeroed in on Evan, the one with attitude oozing out of every pore all the time. The only reason he tolerated his insolence was because he knew the signs of emotional baggage, and the kid carried a butt-load of it. “Evan? You never beat around the bush. Let’s have it.”
“There’s a kegger starting around four at the reservoir,” he stated with a shrug, his hazel gaze direct, as if defying Slade to lecture them.
“Ah, man, why’d you have to go and tell him that,” Jeff whined. Keith and Riley glared at him.
Slade debated his reply. On one hand, he wanted to lecture them, remembering all too well his youth and the lines he and his brothers often skirted when in partying mode. Their father, Casey, left their supervision and discipline up to Wade after their parents’ split. When he did spare time in between women for his sons while they spent summers on the ranch, it was all fun and games. Those early college days, however, were a different story, as with most kids.
Dropping his hands, he strode forward and hefted a bale to his shoulder, saying, “My authority begins and ends on this ranch. I’m not your father.” For some reason, Evan’s shoulders went rigid at that. Ignoring him, Slade swung the bundled hay atop another one. “But I will remind you to be careful, and don’t drink and drive. I’ll fire your ass if you do. If you need a ride, call me, regardless of the time. You should be able to get two loads out to the feeders this morning.”
Reed drove up to the stable and got out of his truck, and Slade lifted a hand to him. “Reed and I will be working out in the fields. You know how to get hold of us.” He pivoted, Chace racing ahead as he joined Reed without waiting for a response. “Hey,” he greeted his brother.
“Morning. They’re early.” Reed nodded toward the hands, giving the dog a quick rear rub.
“Canceled classes and a lake party this afternoon.”
Reed grinned. “Ah, the good old days. I remember them well.”
Slade scoffed as they went into the stable. “Yeah, right. You were already headed toward the straight and narrow your first year when you decided to become a cop.”
“Cops like to party and cut loose. And,” Reed said, opening Apollo’s stall gate, “I’m not a cop anymore.”
“True,” Slade admitted, strolling forward along the wide, concrete aisle separating the two rows of horse stalls. Bandit head-butted him in greeting, the stallion’s black mane sliding along his muscled tan neck. “Hey, boy, ready to ride?”
Reed led Apollo out of the stall holding the reins, eyeing him with a smirk. “If you crooned to the ladies in that voice, they’d fall at your feet.”
“If I wanted a woman to sit at my feet, I’d find one that’s submissive.” He followed Reed out the back way where they tethered the horses at the corral fence and saddled them.
“Speaking of which,” Reed said as he mounted, “you haven’t said if you’re coming to the get-together Thursday. We have a few new members.”
“I’ll try to make it.”
Slade thought the three of them were nuts when they decided to buy the old run-down lodge off the highway at auction and renovate into a nightclub. He only agreed because the upper floor was an ideal space for their private BDSM gatherings. Growing up with a wealthy father whose public philandering constantly landed him in the society pages of the Casper paper taught them the benefits of keeping their personal lives quiet. None of them would deny sowing their wild oats when they were younger, but they took commitments seriously and stayed off the gossip party line. They had their mother and stepfather’s marriage example to thank for showing them the difference between their parents’ views on relationships.
“You need to get out as much as I do after these weeks of putting in long days,” Reed stated, interrupting his thoughts.
He wasn’t opposed to hanging out at Casey’s, the club they’d named after their father, and doing his part in assisting their friend and manager, Jordon Myers. But he was a moody son of a bitch, and he more often than not preferred solitude and quiet to the loud din of a jam-packed room.
“You have Lily now,” Slade pointed out. “Why are you pestering me?”
“I don’t have to nag her. She’s easygoing and sweet, and agrees you should get out more.”
“She is that, and you’re as whipped as Brett,” he returned, scanning the wide-open range for the herd they should be catching sight of any time now.
“Yep, and I love it.” Reed pointed to their right. “There they are.”
Slade experienced one of those rare twinges of envy at hearing the pleasure in Reed’s voice. Almost six months ago, a deranged stalker had set fire to Lily’s house in Eagle’s Nest with her and Reed inside. His brother’s sixth sense and quick actions saved them both and the woman was now incarcerated in a mental facility for violent offenders. Lily’s compassion toward the woman who had believed the lies her husband fed her during their affair made it easy to see why his brother had fallen so hard and fast. He adored her and Allie, Brett’s wife, but even so, he was content with his life now that he’d learned to live with guilt.
Chace ran ahead, and Reed cast him a quick glance. “Race?”
“You’re on.” They took off, neck and neck, their mounts eager for the run.
With his stallion’s hooves pounding the ground, legs stretching and sides heaving, the wind on Slade’s face and sun on his shoulders as he leaned over Bandit’s neck, racing his brother, he thought life didn’t get better than this.
When Slade called it a day nine hours later, enough daylight still remained to drive home without his headlights. After Reed took off, he checked with the two hands assigned night patrol before heading home himself, pleased they were left with only a small herd to drive close enough to get hay out to them this winter. Turning into his drive, he reached above him to click the garage door opener. He’d debated whether to build the house with the back windows facing the open range or the narrow woods that separated their property from the old Studman place. After spending a good portion of his military days hiding in trees or propped on foliage-covered hillsides, the unobstructed view appealed to him more than the year-round forest greenery.
Slade caught the faint whispering flow of the full creek that ran through the woods, followed by the clearer sharp bark of a nearby dog, as he slid out of the truck. Likely a stray, he thought, shutting the door, then changed his mind when a female voice followed by a whistle filtered through the trees.
“Sam, come!”
The dog must have obeyed because he could barely detect a soft, crooning tone before the more distinct tap of a hammer hitting a nail reached him. Last he heard, the ten acres that lay between the Kincaid ranch and Baily’s spread had sold at auction, but that was a few months ago. Curious, and with nothing better to do right now, he put Chace in the house then strode to the path he and his brothers took when running wild in this area. The trail led to the short wooden bridge they’d built themselves to cross the creek when it was too cold to splash in. The wooded area between his place and his neighbor was only about a block wide, and it took him less than ten minutes before he emerged from the trees.
Slade paused to watch the young woman pounding nails into a loose fence board, wondering if anyone else was around. From the looks of it, the entire fence should be replaced instead of repaired, but that was her business. A happy mixed-breed dog ran around the field, chasing something only he could see, or maybe nothing at all. His shaggy black coat was the same color as his owner’s chin-length hair that she kept scooping out of her face as she bent over the rail. She was slender, the jeans and high-necked, long-sleeved black tee fitted but not restrictive. The sneakers wouldn’t last long if she planned to spend much time in these fields.
He strode forward to introduce himself and lend a hand since no one else had made an appearance. What he did notice was the work that needed to be done on the barn and house, signs the property had stood vacant for many months. She didn’t look up as he approached, not even when the dog barked and dashed to hide behind her.
“You’re trespassing, in case you didn’t notice,” she said, dropping a hand to give the dog a quick pet.
The soft voice and caring gesture didn’t match the unfriendly tone, and he found himself intrigued. “I’m Slade Kincaid, live right beyond the woods over there.” He jerked a thumb behind him.
She sighed and straightened, turning large, sky-blue eyes his way while scraping her hair back. The wispy bangs fell across her forehead again, her wide mouth tightening into a straight line, her face as arresting as her attitude.
“I didn’t ask, but I’m tired, so I’ll play nice. Nicole Wells, and I live here now.”
Amused, Slade decided to push her buttons, just for the heck of it. “I’ll help you finish up.”
“Why on earth would you do that?” she asked, her voice perplexed, as if she couldn’t believe her attitude didn’t turn him away.
“Because that’s what neighbors do.”
She let loose with a rude snort. “Not where I come from.”
He read the blue and white lettering on her shirt with the large dog paw print in between the lines. Dogs Make Me Happy – You Not So Much. She had a sense of humor to go with the prickly attitude. He liked that.
“You’re in our neighborhood now.” To get on her good side, if she had one, he squatted and held his hand out to Sam, who hadn’t budged from her legs.
Without taking his eyes off the cowering dog, Slade said, “I assume this is the Sam I heard you calling a few minutes ago.”
“Yes, and he doesn’t like intruders, either.” She whacked another nail with unnecessary force.
“I’m a visitor and friendly neighbor, a far cry from an intruder,” he returned. “You’ll need another dog if you want to deter intruders.”
Sam inched his head around her knee and stretched to sniff his hand. When his long tail thumped the ground, Nicole huffed and muttered, “Traitor.”
“Nah, just smart enough to realize I’m no threat.” He scratched under Sam’s chin then rose and tipped his hat. It was too dark now for her to do much more. “Nice to meet you, Nicole Wells.”
Slade barely made out her wry grin. “You too, Slade Kincaid.”
***
INTERESTING GUY.
Nice butt to go with what she could make out of his shadowed jawline, broad shoulders, and deep drawl, the lowered Stetson shielding his gaze, conjuring up all kinds of fantasies.
Nicole shook her head at the fanciful thought as she watched her neighbor walk into the woods. That’s what she got for keeping to herself so much this past year and staying holed up on her new property the last two weeks. The first cowboy she talked to sent her mind into the gutter. He was a diversion from my exhaustion, she thought, picking up the bag of nails and starting toward the house with Sam at her heels. “You were nicer than I was. What’s with that?” she asked him as she held the back door open. Sam trotted inside without answering.
Since setting foot inside her new home and checking out the property she’d purchased through an agent, Nicole had discovered the amount of work needed to get her shelter up and running. She’d kept enough of the money Tony left her to buy this place, turn it into a rescue, and cover the operating expenses. With luck, the contracts she’d signed before leaving Chicago to illustrate children’s books would pay her living expenses. Without a mortgage, she wouldn’t need much.
A mudroom separated the kitchen from the back door, and she braced a hand on the wall to toe off her shoes, remembering what the neighbor said about boots. She might prefer solitude to socializing for now, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t take any advice she could get to make her transition from city life to country girl easier. Bending over, she removed her socks and tossed them into the washing machine on the opposite wall before padding barefoot to the refrigerator. Scanning her limited options for dinner, Nicole grudgingly admitted she couldn’t put off a shopping trip into town much longer. She really missed her mom’s home-cooked meals.
Avoiding attention in Chicago, especially from the media with Natalie’s prodding, had been impossible after Tony’s death and she’d moved in with her parents. They hounded her for interviews, even pestered the volunteers at the shelter once they got wind of her involvement. And after the will was read, Tony shocking everyone, including her, by leaving her everything except his shares in the family company, things got worse and it was easier to stay inside and concentrate on her career as an illustrator.
There were eggs, cheese, and onion enough for an omelet and as she prepared the simple meal, her thoughts drifted to her neighbor. She honestly didn’t mind the visit from Slade, but also didn’t want to encourage him to stop by whenever the urge struck, even if he was the first man to stir her dormant libido. Nicole had taken a chance on finding the peace and solitude she craved by moving away from the city where she’d spent her whole life. In the last fourteen days, she’d not only found both on this land but the perfect place to start a rescue shelter for dogs. The woods separating her from neighbors were a far cry from the close quarters of apartment living and the compact row of brownstones where her parents lived, both in one of Chicago’s poorer and not-so-safe neighborhoods.
There was still quite a bit of adjusting to do in transitioning from city life to country; she’d never expected it to be quick or easy. She filled Sam’s food bowl then carried her plate from the rusted stove to the rickety table. Taking a seat in the one chair, she sighed, eyeing her light dinner. While researching the property’s location before bidding on the ten acres, she’d learned Casper was the closest big city and second largest in the state after Cheyenne, their combined populations a fraction of Chicago’s. After viewing the work needed on the house, barn, and caretaker’s cottage the auction website posted, she’d made sure she could get the necessary supplies nearby.
At a minimum of a forty-five-minute drive one way, though, she would have to stock up on frozen groceries that would last for weeks, very different from running into the corner market near her apartment at home every few days. Either that or search for a closer, smaller nearby town where she could pick up essentials that would get her by until she could get into Casper.
Nicole finished the omelet and threw away the paper plate. Unpacking the dishes would wait until she bought a dishwasher, which would have to wait until the kitchen was remodeled. Still hungry, she grabbed a bag of potato chips out of the walk-in pantry, the best feature in the house, and finished it off working a crossword puzzle, curled in the corner of the old, lumpy sofa. She needed to keep her brain occupied so she wouldn’t dwell on or fret over the daunting tasks ahead of her. An hour later, she fell asleep in the sleeping bag on top of her bed, a new mattress topping her list, praying she hadn’t bitten off more than she could handle.