SHIELDING SERENA (LAST LIGHT SECURITY #1)

Chapter 1

Ten years later, Last Light Ranch, the mountains near Cottonwood, Arizona…

Walker settled onto a rocking chair on the porch and looked across the ranch yard as the sun began to peek over the mountains, setting the high-country scrub alight in every imaginable shade of gold. Beneath it all was the ocher color of the earth. Of Red Rock country.

It was a hell of a far cry from battles won and friends lost. From death and destruction and heartbreak.

One of the dogs bounded up and nosed under his hand for a pet.

"Hey Becker," he said, giving the Australian shepherd a scratch.

"What's doing?" The dog, along with her partner in crime Holmes, were named after buddies they'd lost after they returned home from the battle that had changed their lives.

It was a way to memorialize their friends, to keep them close in a place they should have lived to enjoy.

He heard someone clanking around in the kitchen and knew his quiet time was about to end. But it was all right. The six of them were here this weekend to talk in a way they hadn't in a long time. Walker, Hunter, Quentin, Tate, Taylor and Malcolm. The survivors.

They’d come a long way in ten years, building this ranch when they had time, using the money they’d earned off the residuals from the bestselling book and lauded docudrama that’d chronicled their last stand that day. They’d used it to heal, then made it a place for other veterans to do the same.

Six months ago, Tate had used the ranch to protect a federal witness when all hell had rained down.

His friend had taken care of business and gotten the girl.

In fact, now he was sporting a wedding ring that none of them had seen coming and running with a pack of his Air Force brothers and sisters as part of their Las Vegas security company, St. Michael’s Solutions.

Walker had made it in time to help as much as he could. He had even met Tate’s business partners and seen their operation in person. And it had given him an idea.

As if summoned, Tate moseyed out, a cup of coffee in one big hand.

He looked good. Looked happy, which wasn't something Walker usually associated with the man.

Tate had always been stoic, steadfast, hard to read.

The guy who beat everyone at poker, but no one ever seemed to mind, because he was simply…

Tate. Now he seemed to exude contentment.

Walker knew it wasn't an emotion he'd ever find himself and felt a pang of envy that he quickly pushed down. His team would be enough. It had to be.

"Morning," Tate said as he settled into one of the other rockers, the frame creaking under his weight. Big Boom had been his nickname back in the day, and it still fit him to a tee.

"Morning," Walker answered, and then smiled. "Listen to us, sounding like cowboys."

That got him a quick grin in response. "The rest are stirring," Tate said. "Thanks for the coffee." He lifted a well-used white porcelain cup in salute.

Across the courtyard Jesse Hanson poked her head out of her cottage and gave them a wave, then went to the barn for the morning chores. Becker perked up and trotted across the gravel driveway toward the woman who truly ran Last Light Ranch.

Walker listened to the world coming to life around them. Sitting in the quiet with Tate was easy, the man had always been the silent type.

He’d been the odd man out on that fateful deployment. An Air Force guy attached to a bunch of Army grunts. When it’d all been said and done, eight of them had walked away. Only eight, out of a ragtag platoon of forty-five. And now only six of them were still standing.

The smell of bacon wafted on the air, and he knew that Hunter was tinkering in the kitchen. The man had never met a stove he didn't want to max out, even in the field. It'd been an obsession and true talent that they'd all benefited from.

Tate finished his coffee as Jesse ambled over. "Do I smell bacon?" she asked, a lilt of hope in her gravelly voice.

"Hunter's at it," Walker confirmed. "Let's go see what he's created for us today."

The three of them filed into the house, and Walker took a moment to marvel at what they'd made.

It'd taken over a year of hard work, sweat and a lot of cursing, but more than that, a compulsion to use their hands to create instead of destroy.

To bond again when bullets weren't flying and blood wasn't being spilled.

The living area they’d entered looked like a high-end lodge, but one aimed at comfort rather than with a designer’s style.

The furniture was big and comfortable, the floors reclaimed hardwood from a derelict barn they’d found on the back of the property and painstakingly sanded and refinished.

Expansive windows let in the light and framed the beautiful scenery outside.

They'd done a damned fine job.

His gaze strayed to the mantle of the tumbled rock fireplace, to the pair of photos sitting side by side, one showing eight men, their arms slung over each other ‘s shoulders with the backdrop of war smoldering behind them. The second was a jarring opposite. Five of them in their Class A uniforms and Taylor in a tux, all of them looking uncomfortable on the red carpet at Cannes. Two photos, worlds apart, especially from the world they’d made here in Arizona’s Verde Valley.

Quentin, Taylor and Malcolm emerged from the left wing of the living quarters, bickering good naturedly about football.

When they'd designed the living area portion of the ranch, it'd been with the intent of housing the six of them, plus the four additional guest cottages that’d been added later, in case someone needed the quiet. When they’d hired Jesse, she’d taken up residence in one of them.

Hunter started putting out plates filled to overflowing with fluffy omelets, crispy bacon fried to perfection, home fries and biscuits and gravy.

They settled in at the big rough-hewn table, conversation at a minimum.

The food, as always, was first-rate. Hunter had supplemented his already solid skills by going to culinary school on the government's dime after he separated from the Army.

Walker waited until all of their plates were clean and Jesse had departed to complete the rest of the morning chores. While she was an integral part of the ranch team, this was something the Frosty Fuckers needed to discuss amongst themselves.

"Thank you for making time to come out," he began.

"I need to propose something, and I wanted to do it in person rather than over email.

" He paused, looked at each man in turn.

"I was already thinking about this before everything went down last year, but the assault on the ranch cemented it.” He nodded at Tate.

“I want to open up an arm of Hank Patterson's Brotherhood Protectors here in Arizona. I’ve known Hank for years, and he told me about his organization when I bumped into him in Billings a year or so ago.”

In retrospect, the encounter with Hank seemed fated. They’d chatted about Walker’s job with a global security company out of Phoenix, but how he’d become antsy, and was considering moving back to his hometown of Rimrock Creek and the ranch he and his teammates had built together.

“When he started explaining how the Brotherhood Protectors were a part of the community, how they offered their services to people who really needed it, instead of another day of the corporate grind, it felt more like a mission briefing than a casual conversation, and it stuck with me. There are offices all over the country, even in Hawaii and down in the bayou, but we’d be the first in Arizona. ”

Everyone looked interested, even Tate, who was already involved in a similar venture.

Walker doubted he'd ever be able to lure the man away from his team in Vegas but having him and his friends as backup would be more than welcome. He’d liked the members of St. Michael’s Solutions and had been impressed with what they’d done as a team even more.

"When we built this place, it was for us to decompress, to rediscover who we were out of a wartime environment.

Then it became about helping other veterans, which is when we brought Jesse on board to manage the increased activity.

I'd like to expand even further. To move onto the ranch full-time and begin helping the locals who backed us even when they didn't know what we were doing up here. To offer services ranging from protection to problem solving, like I did back in Phoenix, but to carefully vetted clients. I don’t want to change what we do here, but expand on it.”

Taylor leaned forward, the wheels already spinning in his brain. "I like it. I've got commitments on and off, but I can make it work."

Walker started to protest. It hadn't been his intent for anyone but him to attempt this. But since they all owned the ranch, it was a joint decision to take this step, to morph their safe space into yet another thing. Before he could speak, the rest of them were nodding.

Then Tate said the words Walker had hoped he would. "St. Michael's will be more than happy to provide support when you need it. I met Hank after the shootout and I like him. He’s solid, and the work is… compelling,” he finished.

With those words, with those nods, Last Light Security was born.