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His Rodeo Sweetheart
Pamela Britton


Lost and FoundAfter serving in the Army, veterinarian Ethan McCall isn’t sure where he belongs. So visiting Claire Reynolds’ family ranch to help with her military dog rescue centre seemed as good a place as any to start! But even though Ethan can’t stop thinking about beautiful single mum Claire, he knows he could never offer his heart…Claire recognises the pain in Ethan’s green eyes. Yet, with a son to raise, there’s no room in her life for romance. Claire and Ethan can’t deny their attraction for ever – could two broken hearts come together to make a family whole?







“I’m going to grab something to eat.”

She needed to escape the urge to do exactly as he suggested—to sink into his arms and forget for the moment that she was the single mother of a very sick little boy.

“Claire.” He called her name and she ignored it, turning toward the kitchen.

“I need to eat.”

“No,” he said. “You need a hug.”

Funny how just a moment ago she couldn’t cry to save her life, yet his words brought instant tears to her eyes. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

She sucked in a breath, trying hard not to crumble because that was all it had taken—one gentle call of her name, one random act of kindness, one offer of a shoulder to lean upon—for her to lose strength.

“Don’t be kind to me because if you touch me I might crumble and if I crumble I don’t know if I’ll be able to put all the pieces back together again.”

He stared down at her with a kindness that melted her self-control. “If you crumble, I promise to help put you back together again.”




His Rodeo

Sweetheart

Pamela Britton







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


With more than a million books in print, PAMELA BRITTON likes to call herself the best-known author nobody’s ever heard of. Of course, that changed thanks to a certain licensing agreement with that little racing organization known as NASCAR.

But before the glitz and glamour of NASCAR, Pamela wrote books that were frequently voted the best of the best by the Detroit Free Press, Barnes & Noble (two years in a row) and RT Book Reviews. She’s won numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award and a nomination for the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart


Award.

When not writing books, Pamela is a reporter for a local newspaper. She’s also a columnist for the American Quarter Horse Journal.


This one’s for Patti Mahany,

the best big sister a person could ask for.

You make me laugh.

You’ve listened to me cry.

You’re always there for my daughter, and

I appreciate that more than you know.


Contents

Cover (#u41d1e9e5-7467-5b59-97f0-ee3fd3058eac)

Introduction (#u9da82354-c867-5e84-9171-a6b7c570a735)

Title Page (#uf773ed0f-2a65-5ab1-b5b3-51d90d8a9e69)

About the Author (#ud2251ec2-a89e-5d59-9b15-3846e2397231)

Dedication (#u62b43b83-6437-5bce-9862-f23a5aaef64d)

Chapter One (#ulink_f25ea825-4f4b-5e07-a811-9167a8f63c2d)

Chapter Two (#ulink_cd8ea697-3cc9-5491-9f9d-3d863040ab1d)

Chapter Three (#ulink_359d8090-9489-546e-8944-a8af32dad1e8)

Chapter Four (#ulink_49a4d8e8-d869-5c5d-b807-f196d23724a9)

Chapter Five (#ulink_f088241d-450b-509c-be2e-e1dba98caaa0)

Chapter Six (#ulink_931104f4-e6e7-513b-beed-75d6fbe7d1b2)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_b7ec9f56-df25-589f-9ae9-c30384288d48)

There was something about a man in uniform.

Claire Reynolds had seen a lot of them over the years. It had gotten to the point that she hardly even noticed them anymore, but this man, she thought as a warm wind blew off the tarmac, this man stood out—and not just because he wore dress blues.

“Ms. Reynolds?” He walked out from beneath the shade of a C-40, although he had to yell to be heard. Behind him, across a strip of asphalt that shimmered from desert heat, the nose of a C-5 cargo plane lifted. The roar of its engines sounded as if a thousand storm clouds hovered overhead.

“You must be Dr. McCall?” she all but yelled back, a hank of her long black hair blowing across her face. She should have pulled it into a ponytail.

The man nodded, his hand lifting to his hat, a black beret with a gold oak leaf cluster near the pointy tip. Major Ethan McCall. Decorated soldier. Veterinarian for the US Army. She’d been on base before thanks to CPR—Combat Pet Rescue—but she’d never met this man. Was he new?

Beneath his hat, green eyes squinted as he turned to face the back end of the smaller cargo plane, the big bay door yawning open like the back of a semi. In the shade of one of the wings, an aluminum dog crate stood silent. Claire watched as a black nose and part of a snout popped out of one of the holes, then back in again. For some reason, it made Claire smile. She looked up at the man in uniform and found him staring at her.

“Thanks for coming all the way out here.” He looked away, and Claire took a moment to gather all her hair in one hand and twist it so that it would stay in place. He was young, much younger than she had expected. And handsome. She hadn’t expected that, either. Light brown hair. Strong jaw. Sideburns. A younger version of George Clooney.

“I didn’t mind.” And she hadn’t. She’d needed to get away, even though her troubles had followed her here. As much as she loved her six-year-old son, as much as she wanted to be there for him every step of the way, she’d craved a brief burst of freedom. So she’d made the long drive east and then south to the desert, leaving Adam in the care of her brother and sister-in-law. God help her, she’d wanted to keep on driving.

“Sorry about the uniform.” She looked up in time to see something cross behind his eyes. “Funeral detail.”

The reason for the heightened security presented itself. She’d been on base enough times to have the routine down by heart. But today there had been an added layer of tension. She did a half turn toward the plane and spotted it then. A casket sat just inside the cargo bay. It caused Claire’s heart to stab her rib cage, the same way it did whenever she heard more bad news about her son’s health.

“Oh.” Of pithy things to say it probably didn’t top the list, but there really wasn’t much more to verbalize. He probably hadn’t heard her anyway. The roar of four jet engines as they reached maximum horsepower made words disappear. When the sound faded somewhat she raised her voice and said, “I better make this quick, then.”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off the casket, and when he turned back to her, she saw the sadness in them.

“It’s his dog.” The words emerged from her, unbidden, but when she saw him flinch, she knew it to be true.

Janus. The Belgian Malinois, which a less trained eye might ID as a German shepherd, had belonged to his friend. She had to look away for a moment, her throat closing in mute sympathy because she recognized his type of pain.

“I’m so sorry.”

Her security badge caught the breeze and blew against the white shirt she wore. Inside the crate the dog poked his nose through a hole again. She was tempted to present her scent, but there would be time for that later. Instead she took a deep breath and looked Major McCall in the eye.

“Is the family certain they don’t want to keep him?”

He shook his head sharply. “He’s a great dog. Passed his personality test with flying colors. It’s just that the wife has two small kids. She’s worried about Janus being too much to handle.”

He would be a lot of work. Military dogs were known to be hyper, but they settled down once they realized their job description had changed. From military dog to family pet. It happened all the time.

She inhaled, trying to think of something else to say. “Tell them they can always change their mind.”

“They won’t.”

He shook his head mutely. Inside the kennel Janus whined. You could tell a lot by an animal’s cry. There was the feed-me whine and the I-want-out-of-my-crate whine, and the one that always tugged at her heart. The I-miss-my-master whine.

Janus wanted his master.

“Toughest part of the job, listening to their cries.” She’d said the words softly, too softly to be heard by him, or so she’d thought. The cargo plane had lifted higher into the clear, blue sky, the sound of its engines slowly fading away, and the wind had caught her words, bringing them to his ears.

“It is, isn’t it?” His eyes were so light that the black lashes stood out in stark contrast. From a distance it would look as if they were lined with makeup. Major Ethan McCall was all man. Wide shoulders. Narrow waist. Big hands.

She had to look away because noticing his hands seemed somehow wrong, especially given their conversation.

“I wanted to come do this for Trevor, but after tomorrow...”

She looked up again because something about his words caught her ear. She tipped her head sideways. “You’re getting out?”

He nodded. “Seemed as good a time as any.”

She’d met a lot of veterinarians over the years. Army. Marine. Yes, even Navy, but they were always stateside. When he glanced toward the back of the plane again, she knew he hadn’t been. He’d been over there. In combat.

“Going into private practice, then?”

He shrugged. “Not sure yet.”

She searched for something to say because the sadness in his eyes tore at her heart and reminded her of all she’d lost, too. Funny how you could go through life wrapped up in your own little world, feeling sorry for yourself, only to be smacked in the face by someone else’s problems.

“Well, if you find yourself at loose ends, you’re always welcome to visit CPR. My family owns a big ranch. You’d be welcome there.”

He hadn’t heard her. He kept glancing back toward a nearby hangar. The family would be here shortly, she surmised. That was the reason the base commander had stressed the importance of being on time. They wanted Janus off base so the family wouldn’t have to see the dog. Less painful to them that way.

“I’ll think about it,” he added.

So he had heard her. “It’s a nice drive,” she said, even though a part of her warned to just shut up and get the hell out of there. “It might do you good to get out.” Damn her need to mother everybody.

She was almost grateful when his gaze shifted back to Janus again. It must have served as a reminder of what they were there to do, because he braced himself. She saw the physical effects of it when he straightened his shoulders and clenched and unclenched his hands. She knew in an instant that the man whose body he’d accompanied back home had been more than a casual friend. He’d been a brother in arms. A member of his fighting family. Major McCall had been in combat, which meant someone must have pulled some strings to allow him to attend the body. She understood that type of bond all too well. She had two brothers who were military, one of them ex, the other about to be. Her husband, too, had been in the military before...

She took a deep breath. “Maybe we should get Janus loaded.”

He nodded, and then turned. The dog’s kennel had been placed on casters, making it easy to wheel to her vehicle. She’d been allowed to park near the tarmac, and she’d taken advantage of the shade offered by the massive metal building used to house aircraft. A local car dealership always loaned her a van for free. She chirped the lock, the two of them pausing for a moment near the double back doors.

Janus whined. She glanced at Major McCall just in time to see him swallow. Hard. “You mind if I say goodbye?”

She nodded mutely. He squatted down next to the metal box, cracked the door open.

“Shtopp,” she heard him softly mutter the German commands nearly all combat dogs grew up hearing. “Sitz.”

Inside the kennel, Janus shifted around. She couldn’t see much with the metal door blocking her view, but she spotted the black paw that landed over the top of Major McCall’s hand. He turned it until the two were touching palm to pad. It made her want to cry.

“This kind lady is going to find you a new home,” she heard him say. “A place where someone won’t be trying to kill you every five seconds.” She saw him smile bitterly. “Well, aside from maybe a five-or six-year-old kid that might try to saddle you up and ride you around.”

That was so close to the truth of what might happen, Claire found herself momentarily smiling, but her smile faded fast because watching Ethan say goodbye to his friend’s dog was difficult to watch. Usually a pickup was impersonal, the military staff remote. Not this time. It took every ounce of willpower not to lose it right then and there.

“Take care of yourself, buddy.” He reached in and stroked the dog’s head. “Trev will be there with you every step of the way.”

One last pat on the head before the man closed the kennel door. He didn’t look at her as he straightened. “Can you help me lift?”

“Of course.”

His hands shook as he reached for an aluminum handle. In a matter of seconds they had the crate inside. Claire stepped back and closed the doors.

“I’ll take good care of him.”

“I know.” He still wouldn’t look her in the eye. “The base commander told me about you.”

“It’s a labor of love.”

He met her gaze and she could see it then—how hard he’d fought for control. But he had himself in hand. His eyes might be rimmed with red, but he was a soldier through and through. A combat veteran. A man who’d been trained to keep his cool even when the world fell apart. She knew the type well.

“Thank God for people like you.”

She felt close to tears again for some reason. “And thank God for servicemen like you.”

They both dropped into silence, Claire wondering what he would do after today and where he would go, warning herself that it wasn’t her problem.

“I should get going.”

He nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”

She started to back away, but he held out a hand. She didn’t want to clasp it. She really didn’t. Stupid, ridiculous thing because there was no reason why she shouldn’t, but the moment she touched him she knew she’d been right. It was like a scene from an old-time movie. A slowing down of time. A freeze-frame moment when everything seemed to stand still and all sound faded: Zoom in camera one. Hero and heroine touch and seem unable to look anywhere but into each other’s eyes.

“Drive carefully.”

He let her hand go and smiled. He had dimples. She would have never expected dimples.

“Thanks,” she heard herself say, and then she forced herself to take a deep breath as she turned away and headed toward the driver’s side door.

Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

She looked back.

Major McCall still stood there, his hand lifting to his hat as he saluted. She smiled, saluted back, all but wilting into the driver’s seat a moment later. She started the engine and slowly backed out, Janus whining one last time. It wasn’t until she hit the main road that she pulled over on the shoulder.

She leaned back and closed her eyes, shaken by the touch of his hand.

“What in the world was that?”


Chapter Two (#ulink_cffd2e50-4624-580a-8552-5935b06f72b0)

What was he doing here?

Ethan McCall looked down at his nearly finished coffee. He’d just driven five hours to pull into a strange town, order breakfast at a place called Ed’s Eatery, and then sit and watch traffic pass through the small town of Via Del Caballo, California.

My family owns a big ranch. You’d be welcome there.

He recalled her eyes. They shared the same eye color, only his were nothing like her green eyes. Hers were like the rind of a lime. Bright green. Bottle green. Sun shining through glass and right into her soul green. He’d never seen anything like them before. They’d been filled with kindness, too, and maybe that’s why he’d driven to her hometown. That, and the truth was, he had no place else to go.

Out in front a new car pulled into an empty parking spot, one of the diagonal kind. A small family. Two little kids. Mom laughing at something Dad said. It was such a stark contrast to his view over the past four years—crumbling buildings, half-dressed children, dust-covered cars—that for a moment he simply stared. The mom took the hand of the youngest child, a little girl with cute blond curls that caught the morning sun. Behind them and across the street, someone loaded what looked like grain into the back of their truck. The sign on the store read Via Del Caballo Farm and Feed. Out in front sat a row of livestock feeders. Round. Square. Tall. Feeders of all sizes. When he’d first sat down he’d gazed at them for the longest time, just thinking about the times he’d been in the Middle East, longing for a view like the one he had now.

Hometown, USA.

“Need more coffee?”

He glanced up at the waitress—a teenage girl with dirty blond hair and freckles—and said, “No, thanks.”

She smiled and walked away, Ethan would bet she entered her pig in the county fair every year. FFA. Local rancher’s daughter. Good kid with no bad habits and a weekend job.

Life in a small town. He’d fought to protect that lifestyle. Had kept going even when the chips were down. And then Trev and Janus had been shot and...

He nearly cracked the handle of his coffee mug. It took him a moment to regulate his breathing again. When he did, he glanced across the street.

And froze.

It was her. Claire Reynolds. The woman he’d come to see. The one he’d convinced himself wouldn’t be home. The woman who’d called him on the phone one day—out of the blue—and asked for his opinion on a dog in her care. Behavioral issues, she’d said. But instead of calling her back he’d slipped behind the wheel of his old truck and found himself heading north and then west.

And there she was.

She’d slipped out of a pickup truck, that long, black hair he remembered so well pulled into a ponytail. She glanced toward the restaurant and he found himself turning away, even shielding his face with a hand, for some reason embarrassed even though he doubted she could see him sitting in the window of the local coffee shop. He’d felt stupid for arriving unannounced. He’d been debating with himself for over an hour whether he should call her now, drop into her place, or just go back home. Except he didn’t have a home. Just an empty apartment near the base that he hated with a passion.

She’d moved to the back cab of her truck, helping a little boy down. That must be him. Her kid. The little boy who was sick. After he’d buried Trev, he’d done some calling around to find out more about the woman who now had care of Janus. He’d learned a lot about Claire Reynolds. He knew she’d started the rescue in honor of her deceased husband. They’d had trouble adopting his dog once he’d been discharged. The man had been sick and the dog had been healthy so the military had reassigned the dog—something that happened pretty frequently with wounded warriors—and so they’d lost out on the animal. The whole ordeal had prompted Claire to start Combat Pet Rescue and, when her husband had passed, to help write legislation that mandated combat veterans would have first pick at their dog. She’d thrown herself into the endeavor whole hog—or so he’d been told. And now her son was sick, too. Cancer. Pediatrician had caught it early, but still... Some people had no luck at all.

He watched as she hugged her son, and then straightened. Her hand found the top of his ball cap, rested there for a moment, then gently stroked it, as if she’d forgotten he didn’t have any hair. She snatched her hand away.

Some things just weren’t fair.

Trev’s wife was on her own now, too. At least she didn’t have a sick kid.

He found himself standing up before he could stop to think about what he planned to do. The waitress smiled at him as he left, and Ethan nodded before sliding past the family of four and out the glass doors. It was one of those perfect Saturday afternoons. The kind made for sitting on a porch and drinking tea. Blue sky. Probably 70 degrees. The smell of summer hung in the air thanks to a sidewalk planter that held rosemary and lilac.

He headed toward the store. Up and down the street, people went about their Saturday business. It was a picturesque town. Storefront windows. Dark green canvas awnings swooping low over the sidewalks. Boutiques sat next to hair salons that sat next to antiques stores; and in front of it all, cars parked at an angle. He ducked between two of those cars now, pausing for a moment to check traffic. Just his luck to come home after three tours in the Army and get mowed down while jaywalking. The traffic on Main Street was pretty light and he made it across in time to watch Claire and her son enter the store.

“You are not getting the John Deere tractor,” he heard her say. She’d disappeared between some shelves and he followed the sound. He spotted her as she made her way down an aisle filled with sprays and ointments and shampoos for animals and at the end of which lay a section of toys.

“But, Mom—”

“Don’t ‘but, Mom’ me. You have more toys than you know what to do with.”

Her son had her green eyes. He could tell because he’d stopped in front of a shelf of toys and now faced his direction. “But I don’t have this toy.”

Her ponytail swayed from side to side as she shook her head and reached for his hand. “They all look the same to me.” She tugged him toward her. “Come on. I need to talk to Mr. Thomson about that shipment.”

And then she faced him and froze. He did, too. Her son smacked into the back of her legs.

“Mo-om.”

And it happened again. That same shock of electricity that had hit him the first time he’d seen her, out there on the tarmac, the last place he’d expected to see such a beautiful woman, one with so much sadness in her eyes.

“Hello, Claire.”

* * *

SHE HAD TO be mistaken. It couldn’t be—

“Dr. McCall?”

He smiled and she knew it really was. A more casually dressed Ethan in jeans and a black T-shirt and a black cowboy hat, but still the man with the green eyes that jolted her to the core. Even now she had to look away and when she did...

Scars.

Her gaze snagged on them like a hangnail. They ran up his arms. Angry red wheals crisscrossed his flesh. He had a tattoo, too, she noticed now, some type of tribal thing that circled the top of his upper left arm. They were recent, those scars, and for the first time she realized he hadn’t just known the soldier who’d died, he’d been in combat with him.

“I thought I’d surprise you.”

Their gazes connected again and her stomach gave that familiar lurch, the one that made her feel dizzy and uncertain and maybe even a little scared. What was it about this man? Why did being in his presence elicit such a mix of emotions?

“You surprised me, all right.”

She hadn’t meant her words to come out sounding so strained, but she could tell he’d picked up on the tension she felt.

“If this is a bad time—”

“No, no.” Her eyes caught on Adam, who stared up at the man curiously. Her son might have recently turned six, but he had the mind of an adult, and she couldn’t help but notice the curiosity in his gaze.

“Adam, this is Ethan McCall, the veterinarian I was telling you about.”

“Were you in combat?”

Leave it to her son to blurt out the first thing that came to mind. He hadn’t learned to filter his thoughts, but she could tell Ethan wasn’t offended.

“I was.” His smile was soft and easy and it made her stomach twirl for a whole different reason. “Now I’m just a civilian.”

A civilian who could help her with Thor. She shouldn’t forget that. She should be grateful he’d driven all this way—and she was—she just hated the way his mere presence made her feel so out of sorts. He had that effect on her.

“My mom didn’t tell me you were a real soldier.”

He had wrinkles near the corners of his eyes, the kind that were so deep the skin was lighter where the cracks fanned out. Those lines disappeared as he smiled, as he did now. “Whoa there, partner. Everyone in the armed services is a real soldier.”

“I know.” Her son glanced up at her as if seeking reassurance. “My dad was in the Army.”

“So was I.”

Adam’s eyes widened, and he probably would have gone on about Marcus if Claire hadn’t touched his head as a way to silence him.

“So what brings you to town?” She asked the question even though she knew. Her phone call. She’d dialed his number without thinking. He hadn’t called her back. Honestly, a part of her had been relieved.

When he met her gaze she spotted discomfort in his eyes, maybe even uncertainty, something she would never expect to see in a man like Ethan.

“I was thinking I could look in on that dog for you, the one that’s giving you trouble. And Janus, if you still have him.”

She didn’t say anything. It took her a moment to realize he awaited a response. “Sure,” she forced herself to say. “Absolutely.” Come on, Claire, inject a little more enthusiasm. “That’d be great,” she said with a big smile. At least she hoped it was big. And not too fake. And that it projected at least a little bit of gratitude because she really was grateful to him for making the trek all the way to her hometown.

She just wished he’d called first.

“You’re going to help us with Thor?” They both glanced down at the little boy. “Man, you’re brave. He almost bit my mom’s hand.”

Those green eyes shot to hers. “Is it that bad?”

She shifted from one foot to the other, something close to shame causing her to lick her lips in chagrin. “He’s been—” she searched for the word “—a challenge.”

“Then I should probably look at him sooner rather than later.”

Yes, he probably should, and that was the problem because now that he stood in front of her she wondered what had possessed her to invite him to the ranch.

“You should come out today.”

“Adam.” Claire had to physically restrain herself from tapping her son with her toe. “I doubt Dr. McCall has time to see Thor today.”

He glanced toward the door. “But I do.”

“See,” Adam said, taking her hand. “Let’s go right now. Thor needs help.”

She pulled her fingers from her son’s grasp. “But I have to check on that order.”

“I’ll wait,” he said.

She straightened. Of course he would wait. He had nothing better to do. Recently out of the Army, on his own, nobody to report to. She, on the other hand, had a million things to do, starting with her errands here in town.

She glanced down at her son, spotted the excitement in his eyes and recognized the reason for insistence. Adam felt sorry for Thor, as so many people felt sorry for her son, something she’d explained to him when he’d been given toys for no reason at all. He’d been the one to goad her into calling Dr. McCall. And here stood the good doctor, and she was grateful, she really was.

“Then I guess I’ll be right back,” she said, resigned to her fate. She’d just have to catch up on life another day—if she ever caught up.


Chapter Three (#ulink_f9281285-ca77-59df-be19-d340a94d79c8)

What was he doing?

Ethan turned down a Y in the road, following behind Claire’s silver pickup, the wheels of his own truck making a sticking sound as they drove on what looked to be new pavement.

You’re checking up on an old friend’s dog.

They were out in the middle of nowhere, mountains ringing a picturesque valley carpeted by grass. In the distance, at the base of the hills, trees stained the bottoms a darker shade of green, but the peacefulness around him did nothing to lessen the beating of his heart. That staccato rhythm was the same type he’d felt before jumping out of a plane for the first time, or heading overseas, or facing enemy fire, and damned if he knew why he was feeling it now.

Just check in on Janus, take a look at Thor and then leave.

And go where? That was the question. That was always the question.

They’d traveled the road for at least a half mile, when at last Ethan spotted in the distance a small, square home that sat at the base of a low hill beneath giant oaks. A cute picket fence matched the white house. As they drew nearer, he could see a fence made of rust-colored barbed wire along the back of the property, beneath the line of trees a hundred or so yards away, the fence posts that held it in place stained gray with age. To the left of the house sat a line of kennels, at least a half dozen of them, more than one Belgian Malinois pacing inside, all of them barking up a storm. Well, all except one. He suspected that was Thor, but for now he had eyes only for Janus.

His hands gripped the steering wheel. It’d been tough saying goodbye. Tougher still to see him again. He missed Trev more than he would have thought possible given the short time they’d known each other. Then again, combat will do that to a person: make brothers out of near strangers.

“Welcome,” Claire said as she stepped out of her truck.

He’d parked next to her, along the left side of her house, almost in front of the kennels. He got out and stood by the side of the truck, the smell of dirt and oak trees and fresh-cut grass so predominant that for a moment all he did was inhale.

He caught her staring at him curiously. “Nice place.”

She had her hand on her son’s head again, bending down to say something.

“But I want to watch him with Thor,” her son said.

“In a minute,” he heard her murmur.

The boy’s head bowed. His shoulders slumped. He did everything but kick at a rock, but he did as she asked, muttering something under his breath, something about Hawkman.

His gaze must have reflected his puzzlement because she smiled. “His immune system still isn’t up to par.” Her smile faded a bit. “He thinks I’m stupid for wanting him to go inside and wash his hands after we’ve been out and about.”

“So he’s threatening to have Hawkman come after you?”

The smile turned back on. “He’s a friend of the family.”

“You have a superhero for a friend?” For the first time since his arrival, he felt like smiling, too. “Wow. I’m impressed.”

Something low and soft that he recognized as a laugh filled the air. “Not really. We’re friends with Rand Jefferson.” She shook her head. “The actor that plays the superhero in the movies. It’s a long story.”

“Maybe you can tell it to me after I say hello to an old friend.”

“Yeah, sure.” Her smile seemed to have a short in it because it fizzled. “He’s over there.”

“I know.”

Janus had spotted him. He could tell by the way the dog’s eyes had fixated on him, his whole body having gone still, as if he silently tried to telepathically commune with his old friend. He knew what he would say.

Where have you been? What are you doing here? Where’s Trevor?

He didn’t have an answer for the dog.

“Platz,” he ordered sternly as dog after dog jumped up on the fence of their loafing sheds. Janus just stood there, as if he tried to reassure himself through sight and smell that it really was his master’s old friend. Then he shifted his gaze past Ethan, as if hoping to spot Trev.

He nearly stumbled.

I keep looking for him, too.

You deployed with someone. You see them day in and day out. You drink beers with them, you shoot pool with them, you even go on leave together once or twice. And then—bam—just not there. He still couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t imagine how Janus felt.

“How are you?” he asked the dog, flipping up the latch that kept the front gate closed. “Good to see you again, buddy.”

The familiar words set the dog’s tail in motion. He still glanced behind Ethan again, then he sat down in front of him.

Ethan smiled. This, too, was familiar. When Trevor would bring Janus in for a post-op exam, the dog would walk right up to him and sit down, as if silently saying, “Go on. Get it over with.”

“Nah,” he said softly, squatting down in front of him. “I don’t need to check you for bullet wounds. Not here. Not today.”

Not ever again.

His hands had started to shake again. He covered the tremors by burying them in Janus’s fur. It wouldn’t hurt to check the condition of his injuries, he told himself, parting the fur, finding a diagonal slice that started at the top of his right shoulder blade and ended between his two front legs. A piece of mortar had nearly taken his leg off, but it was healing nicely.

“How does he look?”

Ethan didn’t turn, just went on exploring Janus’s body as he said, “Good.”

He dragged his hand along the dog’s side where he found a half-dollar-sized bump. Sniper round. Went clean through. Miracle Janus had lived. Another scar on his other side—this was from an old bomb blast. So many untold stories. So many near misses. Until...

He stood quickly. Janus scooted closer to him, his head tipped back, dark eyes unblinking. He opened his mouth and started to pant, something close to a canine smile lifting the corners of his mouth as their gazes locked.

I missed you, too, he silently telegraphed.

But it was also damn difficult. It brought it all back. The trip home. The funeral afterward. The look on Trevor’s wife’s face as she’d been handed the flag. She tried to be so strong for her kids, but her hands had trembled as she reached for the talisman, and he’d watched as the weight of her sorrow brought down the roof of her control.

“Ethan?”

“Whatever you’re doing, keep on doing it.”

Breathe, he told himself. And again. Don’t let Claire see how close you are to crumbling, too.

“Good. I’m glad. Just as soon as he’s healed from his wounds, I’ve got a home lined up for him.”

He had to work to keep his voice even. “He’ll do great.” He just wished...

“What?”

Clearly she’d read the dissatisfaction in his eyes. “I wish she would have taken him.”

“Who?”

“Naomi,” he clarified. “Trevor’s wife. I wish she would have taken him.”

“Me, too.”

He should have applied to take Janus home, but that was the problem. He didn’t have a “home,” a necessary component to being approved for adoption. He might have been able to pull some strings, but to be honest, then what? He had no idea where he was going, or what city he’d end up in, or what he’d end up doing. Before he’d left for Via Del Caballo he’d applied to a number of jobs, most of them working at veterinary clinics, but a few of them doing what he wanted to do—training dogs. Right now, Janus didn’t fit into his life. Better to let him go, to let him start over with a family to love him.

“Ready to look at Thor?”

“Sure.”

The dog hadn’t changed position since his arrival. He still lay huddled against the wall of his shelter. He couldn’t even see the dog’s eyes, they were buried so deeply into his paws.

“I put him on the end so I could interact with him on my way to and from the kennels.” She led him back the way they’d come. “It hasn’t helped. He’s snapped at me twice. I usually don’t neuter them right away, but I’m wondering if it wouldn’t help with this dog. To be honest, I’m at my wit’s end.”

He approached the dog warily, his experience with military working dogs—or MWDs—having taught him that it was often better to approach behind the safety of a fence first, so he once again walked around the corner of the row of kennels. All the dogs had passed a behavioral test, but still, she had a point. Neutering him might help, too. In fact, most MWDs were adopted out already spayed or neutered, but Claire took all dogs in, one of the rare civilian operations in the United States. Clearly, someone had pulled some major strings when setting up her operation, not that he cared. As long as the dogs were well taken care of. Thor looked good, he thought, approaching the kennel. Beneath the shade of a giant oak tree, the dog blended in with a shadow but his coat and his weight told Ethan all he needed to know. His lack of movement told him something, too; he was a dog that clearly didn’t want to be disturbed.

“He’s obviously eating well.”

“He is, but he waits to eat until I’m not around. I’ve watched him through my kitchen window. He picks at his food, too, I’ve noticed, eating a little here and a little there.”

“Any vomiting or diarrhea?”

“No. I had him checked out by a friend. She did a complete workup. Nothing wrong.”

He squatted down next to the dog’s run. “Hey, Thor, buddy. How’s it going?”

No response. Not an ear twitch. Not a wrinkled nose. Not even a tiny wag of the tail.

“What happened to his partner?”

“KIA.”

It was just a phrase—KIA—but it kicked him in the gut. He had to grab at the fence as the familiar anxiety returned, not that Thor noticed. Ethan could still smell the desert if he closed his eyes. Hear the sound of the incoming mortar just before it hit their encampment. Hear the screams...

Stop.

He couldn’t change the past. Couldn’t change what happened to Trevor any more than he could change the direction of the wind. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of oak and pollen-filled air and...Claire.

Mostly, he focused on the smell of Claire; vanilla with maybe just a hint of butterscotch thrown in. Woman were a rarity over there, especially pretty women, women who smelled good. He would focus on her and her kind eyes.

Three, two...

He got ahold of himself, just as he’d taught himself to do, with grim determination. His hands still shook, but he was able to focus on the dog again. “Do you have a whistle?”

“Do I...” He turned in time to spy her look of consternation. “In the house, I think.”

“Would you get it for me?”

She turned without another word, and Ethan watched her walk away. The scent of her lingered. Like dessert after Sunday dinner. Like home.

You are home, idiot. Back in the States.

No. Like when he’d grown up with his grandfather, back before he’d died. The best times of his life. And then everything had changed.

And if she knew how messed up you are, she’d stay in her house. To hell with the whistle.

That was the thing; nobody knew how messed up he was. Not even his superior officer. Not even the military shrink. Not even the discharge officer who’d asked him repeatedly if everything was okay.

No. Things weren’t okay. And it scared the heck out of him.

* * *

SHE FOUND A whistle with Adam’s help, her son insistent that he go outside and watch whatever it was Major McCall was about to do.

“Do you think he’ll have him attack someone or something? You know, blow the whistle and tear something to shreds.”

Her son might be bald. He might still be recovering from the hell the doctors had put him through to kill the cancer in his blood, but he was still a boy.

“No, Adam. I don’t think he’s going to do that.”

They emerged into the bright, spring sunshine. It’d been a year ago that Adam had been diagnosed. A year ago since her world had fallen apart. Hard to believe time had passed so quickly, but they weren’t out of the woods yet. Though the cancer hadn’t metastasized, it was still a waiting game. So far the immune depression therapy had worked, but they still had a while to go before they’d be given the all clear—if they were given the all clear. Things could change at any moment, which was why she refused to get her hopes up.

“What’s wrong with him?” Adam asked Ethan, his baseball cap nearly falling from his head he bounced up on his toes so hard. “Are you going to put him through his paces?”

She had to give him credit; Ethan didn’t seem bothered by her son’s exuberance. Quite the contrary. He smiled down at him, even tapped the brim of his hat, just as she did, and it was then she noticed it.

His hands shook.

Her eyes shot to his. Was he nervous? Did Thor make him afraid?

“I’m just going to perform a little test.” He held out his hand for the whistle.

Yes. No mistaking it. He shook.

“Here.” The polished surface caught the light as it swung back and forth.

He snatched the whistle from her so fast she wondered if he knew she’d spotted his quaking limbs. Something about the way he turned away from her, too, as if he were afraid she’d look too closely. Little did he know. The man had held her attention since the moment she’d met him.

He blew the whistle.

Loudly. Shrilly. Unexpectedly. Claire’s heart nearly jumped from her chest.

“Ouch.” Adam covered his ears. “That was loud.”

And Thor didn’t move.

Claire stood, frozen, as a dozen little puzzle pieces fell into place. The way the dog ignored her. How he never rushed to greet her when she went outside. How he never came to her when she called his name.

He was deaf. She felt like a fool for never checking something so basic, so in-your-face obvious. Then again, Thor had been given a full physical, and a health clearance following that. He still bore the physical scars of his injuries. She’d just assumed his lack of attention was related to the physiological baggage he carried.

She took a step closer to Ethan and said, “It wasn’t just his unresponsiveness that concerned me. There are other...issues, too.”

He tucked the whistle in his pocket. “Like what?”

“He seems...detached somehow. He never wags his tail. Barely shows interest in his food. Ignores me for the most part.”

He headed toward the entrance to the kennel.

She rushed to catch up to him. “Let me go in with you.”

Adam knew to stay behind. He’d been strictly forbidden from dealing with Thor, but that didn’t stop him from asking, “Can I go in, too?”

“No,” she told her son. “Stay here.”

She patted him on the head again, something she seemed to do more and more of late. Reassuring herself that he was still there. At least that was what one of the other moms at the hospital had told her when she’d spotted the gesture.

Ethan had rounded the end of the building. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned about Thor’s behavior.

Still, she heard herself say, “Be careful,” as he slipped inside the “doghouse,” as Claire liked to call it, a spacious room with a man-sized door leading to the dog run. Inside, an uneaten bowl of food lay in the corner. It worried her. Every day she hoped the dog would get better. Now she didn’t know what to think.

Thank God he made a house call.

Fate, she admitted.

Thor lay just outside the back door, and Ethan moved slowly, his footfalls light. There had been dozens of times when Claire had done the same and she’d always taken care to use a soft voice to announce her arrival. Now she understood why the dog had been startled to the point that he’d tried to bite her. She’d snap at someone, too, if she’d been taken by surprise.

“Hey, Thor,” she heard Ethan say. When she joined him, it was in time to see Ethan kneeling by the dog’s side, but this time the dog’s reaction was different. Normally he cocked an eye, maybe lifted his head in mute greeting, then went back to ignoring the world. This time he opened his eyes, immediately lifted his head, then stood. He moved toward the man who knelt beside him and sniffed, only to be clearly disappointed by his investigation. The dog’s head lowered. His shoulders appeared to slump. He lay down at Ethan’s feet.

“He’s missing his handler,” Ethan observed.

His male handler, she realized. She was just a poor second in the dog’s eyes. Not worth getting to know.

“He was injured pretty severely,” she said. “I’m thinking he probably lost consciousness. I would imagine he has no clue what happened to him.”

“Yeah, I had a friend send me his file.”

He’d done that for her? For the dog? Somehow, that took her by surprise.

He buried his fingers in the dog’s fur, held them there for a moment, and if she hadn’t been watching him closely, she might have missed the way he inhaled deeply. It was as if the dog’s presence reassured him. He ran his fingers through Thor’s coat, and she wasn’t sure if it was a professional gesture, or a personal one. Another deep breath and then he began to move his hands up and down the dog’s body, feeling for the scars now covered by hair, she realized. Another dog that’d been injured by a bomb blast. She’d seen far too many in the past three years. Thor had nearly had his leg taken off. The missing patch of fur right below the knee was the only visible sign of his injuries.

She knelt down next to Thor, too, touching him. Whatever Ethan’s problem was, she understood all too well the soothing reassurance of a dog’s coat. How many times had she come out and done the same thing, sometimes in the middle of the night, her son completely oblivious to her midnight visits?

“Anything?” she asked.

He shook his head.

Their gazes met and there it was again. The sadness. It lingered in his eyes like a bad stain. “No sign of pain anywhere. That’s good.” He went back to examining the dog.

She had to inhale deeply, too, but for another reason. What was it with this man, that she found herself studying him just as intently as he examined Thor?

He seemed to have recovered himself now. He cupped the dog’s head. Thor looked up at him obediently. “We always do a complete physical before releasing a dog to civilian life, but it’s entirely possible the loss came later.” He lifted the dog’s lips, checking gum color. “Scar tissue can do more damage than the initial injury.”

Satisfied with what he saw in the dog’s mouth, he examined Thor’s ears next.

“So what now?”

“Damn. I wish I were back on base with all my instruments.”

“Do you need me to make a call? My brother’s wife has a friend who’s a vet, and she could bring her truck over.”

“No. That’s okay.” He moved Thor’s head so he could peer into the left side ear. “I can’t see any obvious obstruction. I’m betting scar tissue.”

He held the dog’s head again, lifting an index finger and seeing if Thor tracked his progress, similar to what a human doctor would do. His hands had stopped shaking. He had gone into full-on doctor mode.

“Looks good. I was thinking some kind of lingering pain might be causing his lack of appetite, but that’s not it. He’s unresponsive to pressure test, and his teeth look good, so no abscess in the mouth.”

He moved in closer to the dog, sat down next to him, stroking his head. Thor did something she’d never seen before then; he placed his head in the man’s lap. She saw Ethan freeze, and then his expression changed. His face softened as he silently communicated reassurance with his hand. And just like his human counterpart, the dog inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.

Claire wanted to cry.

“What’s the matter, buddy?” Ethan said to the dog.

She moved in closer. “Sometimes I wish they could talk.”

He stroked Thor’s head absently. “Well, if they could, this one would probably tell us he’s depressed.”

“Is that possible?”

“They’re a lot like humans.”

“So what do we do?”

“It’ll take some time for him to adjust, and to come out of his depression.”

“If he comes out of it,” she added.

He nodded and Claire’s heart dropped. If he wasn’t in perfect health she couldn’t adopt him out to a new family. Well, she could, but it’d be more difficult to place an animal with issues. Nearly impossible, as a matter of fact. There would be interviews and screening and maybe even a trial period. Time. That was what it would take.

“Is he going to need special help?”

She’d forgotten about her son with his nose pressed up against the chain-link fence, but his words tore at her heart. “Special help” was what she called his cancer treatment. She hated the C word, avoided using it at all cost.

“He’ll need special training,” Ethan said, “to compensate for his lack of hearing. He’s used to listening for commands so we have to teach him to look only for nonverbal commands, arm movements. The good news is he already knows most of them. We’ll have to teach him some new ones, and teach him to constantly keep his gaze focused on his handler, but retraining him is possible. No more walking up to him unannounced. Make sure he sees you before you touch him. That should stop the biting.”

“That’s easy,” Adam said. “I can do the training, too.”

Claire shook her head at her son. “Honey, it’s not as easy as that. It’ll take a professional. What Dr. McCall is suggesting isn’t like teaching a dog to sit and stay. He’ll need to learn to listen without hearing. That means he can never be out of his kennel. If he can’t hear he won’t be able to hear us and learn boundaries. What if he ran into the woods?”

There was nothing but open land between the ranch and the coast. Well, that wasn’t precisely true. There were coastal towns, but the point being, if Thor got out, they’d be lucky if they ever found him again.

“I’ll help him learn.” Adam’s soft words pricked at her heart. Alas, her son was in no condition to take on the task of training a dog.

“No.” She made sure her word was firm. “We’ll have to find someone else to retrain him.”

“I know someone.” Ethan straightened.

Claire’s heart jumped in relief. “Who?”

The wrinkles next to his eyes reappeared. “Me.”


Chapter Four (#ulink_007563b0-02d9-54b0-907e-a2f5db5bc475)

She couldn’t have appeared more shocked if he’d announced his intention to drive his car to the moon.

“You?”

He faced her squarely. “I was thinking earlier that I might be able to help you out. At least for a little while, until I decide where I’m going next.”

Green eyes that were so beautiful he couldn’t stop studying them blinked, then blinked again. She had the world’s longest lashes, the tips of them touching the arch above her eyes. Sweeping black brows dropped down low in consternation.

“But you have your own life to get back to.”

“What life?” As sad as it sounded, it was true. Why else had he driven a hundred miles to see her? “I’m in between jobs right now, trying to decide which direction I want to go. I’ve actually been toying with the idea of training dogs, my way of still helping our country. I’d still practice medicine, but I’d like to learn that aspect of military dogs. Finding that type of job might take a little while, though. In the meantime I have a bit of money and plenty of time on my hands. Let me help.”

She started to shake her head, that pretty, silky black hair of hers falling over one shoulder, but her son interrupted her midshake.

“He could stay with Uncle Colt.”

She whirled around to face the boy. “Adam, no. We couldn’t impose on your uncle like that. Besides, your other uncle, Chance, will be coming home soon. He’ll need the apartment then.”

“But he won’t be home for three more months. You said so yourself.” The boy’s lower lip jutted out, green eyes imploring. “They have that super big place and it’s empty.”

“Yes, but they won’t want a stranger staying there.”

“Major McCall isn’t a stranger.”

“Adam—”

“It’s okay.” Ethan smiled down at her son. “I can find a place in town.”

But the little boy’s eyes showed grim determination. “I’ll go call Uncle Colt right now.”

The boy turned toward the house, calling over his shoulder, “He won’t mind.”

“Adam!”

She’d been ignored. He saw her mouth open and close a few times. Claire clearly wanted to call to her son again, maybe even run after him. Instead she stood there, something close to embarrassment floating through her eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” It was hard not to smile in the face of determination like Adam’s, but he had a feeling if he showed her his amusement, Claire would feel even worse. “I think he’s trying to help.”

“You’re probably right. Ever since he’s been sick he’s been worried about me. He says I do too much. That I’m always busy and it’s not good for me. He’s such a little man but he has grown-up concerns.”

Her words had the ability to make him forget his own troubles for a moment. He’d almost broken down earlier. But he’d stopped it—thankfully. And here was her son, fighting for his life. It served as an example that there were worse things in life than dealing with a little anxiety.

A little?

Okay. Some days he would swear he was about to have a heart attack, and as he stared into Claire’s kind eyes, he wondered what she would do if she knew the truth—that the man who was at her place to “help” needed help of his own.

A screen door slammed.

“That was quick,” she said.

Adam didn’t run, but his steps could almost be called a skip. Ethan knew what his uncle’s answer had been before Adam even spoke.

“He said to bring him over.” His smile could have lit up the inside of a room.

“Adam—”

“He said he thinks it’d be cool to have a dog doctor living on the property.”

Claire’s mouth opened and closed again. He could tell she wanted to say something, to dash the boy’s hopes with words, but she wasn’t proof against the excitement in her son’s eyes.

“I take it he lives at Misfit Farms?” Ethan asked, having passed a sign along her driveway that pointed to a different road, one labeled with that name.

She nodded.

“I don’t mind going over there.” He tried to tell her without words that he wasn’t about to take advantage of her brother’s kindness. He knew she didn’t want him to and he would respect that wish. “You can show me around the place.”

She must have received the message because some of the concern faded from her eyes. She still searched for something to say, though, something that she could use to finagle her way around her son’s high-handedness.

Something wet touched his hand.

He looked down. Thor peered up at him, curiosity in his brown eyes. Ethan glanced at Claire. Her eyes had gone wide.

“He likes you.”

No. He probably reminded Thor of his handler, the man who’d been killed in action...like Trevor.

“See.” Adam’s eyes were as wide as his mom’s. He pointed. “Thor wants you to stay, too.”

Claire stared up at him, then down at the dog, then back at him again.

She looked troubled, and resigned. “Maybe you should go meet my brother.”

Thor’s nose nudged his palm again.

Maybe he should.

* * *

THEY DROVE TO her brother’s place in less than two minutes. Claire tried to ignore the presence of the man in the seat next to her, but it was nearly impossible.

Thor liked him.

For the first time since the dog had arrived she’d seen life in the canine’s eyes. What did it mean? Would Ethan be able to get through to the dog, something nobody else had been able to do? She could tell Ethan didn’t plan to accept the invitation to stay with her brother, and she appreciated his tactfulness, yet suddenly she wondered...

His hands had shaken.

There had been that look in his eyes, too, the one she’d recognized. She seen the same look in her husband’s eyes when he’d come home from the war, and then later, as he’d been admitted to the hospital. The same look in her son’s eyes.

Fear.

He fought demons, this man who had suffered through war. It made her want to help him. Marcus had called it her greatest gift—her desire to help. Claire thought of it more as a weakness because she often stretched herself too thin thanks to her inability to say no. It was why she’d gotten into the dog rescue business. Why she’d insisted on nursing her husband herself even though the military had offered hospice care. Why she’d stayed by her father’s side, too, even though she had owed the man nothing.

Her tires hummed as she drove over the newly paved road. She couldn’t get used to the smoothness, but Natalie, her brother’s new wife, had insisted her clients would expect pavement. Still, as she turned left toward Colt’s place, she wondered what the cows that still ranged the pastures thought about the strange black strip.

“Wait until you see my uncle’s place.” Adam leaned forward, as if they would have a hard time hearing him when his voice was just one level above a yell over the sound of the truck’s diesel engine. “It’s awesome.”

Awesome was one word. Expensive another. Amazing was applicable, too. Her sister-in-law had won a huge jumping event last year, one with an equally huge purse. Natalie must have spent nearly all of it building her new riding facility.

“Wow,” Ethan said when they drove between two low-lying hills, and her brother’s place came into view.

Wow was right. The big red barn still stood in the same spot as it had in their youth, as did the house directly ahead, but the two-story farmhouse had been given a new coat of white paint. The original barn—the one she and her brothers had hidden from their father in when they were younger—had been converted back to a hayloft. Directly opposite it now, to their left, sat a gorgeous twenty-stall barn that seemed to match the old-fashioned farmhouse somehow. It was two stories, four windows with wooden frames directly above the opening—the apartment her brother Chance would live in one day soon.

That wasn’t the only big change.

A covered arena sat behind the barn. A white fence surrounded the whole complex. They had to pass between the pristine posts, her truck’s wheels catching the newly installed cattle guard and vibrating the interior.

“That always makes my insides jiggle,” Adam said with a giggle.

Hers, too, she admitted, marveling at how green it all was now. Sprinklers. They sprayed every surface that wasn’t covered by asphalt, including the square turnout pastures by her brother’s old arena to her right. The “outdoor arena” they called it now. There were a few jumps in the middle of it, but the bulk of her sister-in-law’s practice fences were in the covered arena. That was because her brother still managed Rodeo Misfits, his specialty act that involved trick riding. They needed the arena for practice. Still, the whole place was like an emerald gem set in the middle of a golden field.

“Does your family compete in riding competitions?”

“You could say that.”

“My uncle is a rodeo performer. My aunt jumps horses.”

All of which should be self-evident to some degree, Claire thought. Though it was the middle of the week, no less than four people rode in the covered arena, one of them her brother, looking out of place in his Western saddle among all the English riders. His truck and trailer still sat in the same spot, though, the words RODEO MISFITS still emblazoned on the sides. At least that hadn’t changed.

“This is some place.”

“That’s the apartment.” Adam pointed to the windows above the opening of the barn.

“Adam, we don’t even know if Dr. McCall wants to stay with us yet.”

Adam all but poked his head between the two front seats. “You do, don’t you, Major McCall?”

“It’s Dr. McCall,” he corrected. “I’m out of the Army now. And I’d love to stay here, but I think we need to talk to your uncle first.”

Points in the man’s favor for being diplomatic. She had to focus on keeping her gaze straight ahead, though. The urge to look at him, to smile, to reach out to this man in a way that was personal, was nearly overwhelming.

“Uncle Colt said he’d get off his horse when we got here.”

He must have called her brother on his cell. Determination, thy name is Adam.

They parked in front of the new barn and it still felt strange to slip out of her truck and hit pavement. Natalie had explained that her wealthy clients didn’t like dirt and mud, something that seemed stupid considering they rode horses, but she didn’t doubt her sister-in-law for a minute. People who jumped horses tended to be wealthy and drive cars that cost six figures. Prissy people, her brother called them, though he’d become friends with most of them in the past year.

Adam was already on his way through the middle of the barn and the arena on the other side. Prissy people didn’t like to get wet, either, which was why they’d erected the covered arena less than twenty yards from the back entrance of the barn.

“This place is amazing,” Ethan repeated.

Claire nodded. “I’ve been afraid to ask how much it all cost.”

It even smelled new. New paint. New shavings. New leather. Shiny leather halters straddled brass hooks. She couldn’t see any of the horses inside, not at first—the metal grates along the front stopped them from poking their heads out—but as she walked down the center aisle, one sleek animal after another was revealed. Some ate. Some stood. Some peered at her curiously as she walked by.

“Beautiful animals.”

“Imports,” Claire explained. “Most of them, at least. Although there’s a few off-the-track Thoroughbreds and even a quarter horse or two. The majority were bred in Europe.”

“I used to see horses when I was in veterinary school, although nothing like this.”

He walked next to her along the barn aisle, light shining on his face despite the cowboy hat, thanks to the opening at the other end of the barn. He’d tucked his hands in his jeans. She wondered if his hands shook again and had to fight the urge to turn her head and study him intently. Whether he suffered from anxiety or not, it was none of her business. She appreciated his help, but no more than that.

“You worked on horses in the military?” She glanced at him.

“Cavalry units. Believe it or not, they’re still in existence, although they’re mostly for parade purposes.”

“These horses are strictly for jumping and some of them cost as much as a new house.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Her sister-in-law received a commission on sales. Between that and her purse earnings she’d been able to build everything around them. It drove Colt nuts. Her brother was very much a man, and the fact that his wife made more money than he did took some adjusting, but they made it work. Her brother had found love and she couldn’t be happier for him.

“Mom, Uncle Colt says Major McCall can stay in the apartment above the barn if he wants.”

Her brother sat on a horse on the other side of a solid-wood rail, a wide smile on his face, Adam having already accosted him. Not for the first time she noticed how much he’d changed. His gold eyes always seemed lit from within. His black hair was tucked beneath a black cowboy hat—as it always was—but he didn’t keep it as closely shaved as he used to. More relaxed, that’s what he seemed. And happy. Very, very happy. She doubted their brother, Chance, would recognize him when he came home in a few months.

“I take it you’re Major McCall,” Colt called out to her guest.

“Ethan,” the handsome doctor said—yes, handsome, damn it. It wasn’t a crime to notice. “Nice to meet you.”

The two shook hands, although her brother had to lean over the rail to do so, not that the horse he rode seemed to mind. Playboy—her sister-in-law’s horse—she recognized, the horse’s successful reining career having resulted in Colt hitting fewer rodeos and staying closer to home. He still loved his rodeo act, but he loved his new wife more. That was why he’d turned the act over to someone new—Carolina Cruthers—although Claire wasn’t quite sure what to make of the standoffish woman.

“My nephew told me you just got out of the military.”

“Been out two weeks,” Ethan clarified.

“So this is him?” Her sister-in-law rode up next to her husband, a wide smile on her face, blond hair tucked beneath a black-and-gray helmet.

“This is him,” Claire echoed, for some reason incredibly self-conscious. Maybe it was because she knew Natalie had noted the doctor’s good looks. There was a twinkle in her blue eyes as their gazes connected, and a nonverbal, “No wonder you want him to stick around.”

It’s not like that, she silently telegraphed.

Okay, so maybe it was. She was human and it’d been a long, long time since she’d been with a man. So long, in fact, that she couldn’t even remember that far back. Scratch that. She remembered. About a year after her husband had died. A quick hookup the weekend of the town rodeo, and a night she’d rather forget, but it served to remind her of yet one more reason why she’d never let her attraction to the man get out of hand. Awkward couplings in the middle of the night weren’t her thing.

Not even when the man was as handsome as Ethan.

At least, that was what she told herself.


Chapter Five (#ulink_aafcdb37-3019-5298-a9ee-3dc0eac696b2)

“I’m Natalie Reynolds,” said a woman on a massive sorrel horse. She held out a hand wearing an odd-looking glove. Half leather, half crochet. “And this is my husband, Colt, since Claire seems too distracted to perform the introductions.”

Ethan glanced at Claire in time to see her eyes flick away, seemingly in humiliation, but what did she have to be embarrassed about?

“Nice to meet you.” Ethan shook Natalie’s hand, her horse snorting in protest at the sudden thrust of his arm. Might be big, but the horse still had the nerves of a Thoroughbred. Couldn’t deny it was a beauty, though. The animal looked almost wet its coat glistened so noticeably. When Claire had said her sister-in-law’s horses were worth a small fortune, she hadn’t been kidding.

“You’re the dog doctor, Adam tells me,” the woman said.

“MWDs—military working dogs.”

She nodded, her eyes the same color as a military ribbon. They projected friendliness, those eyes. “Ever work on horses?”

“Actually, yes.” Most people were like Claire. They had no clue that military veterinarians worked on all sorts of different animals. It all depended on the base where they were stationed. He could look at a cat one day, a bird the next, sometimes even cows. All that had changed, however. “I was attached to a cavalry unit once, nonactive, strictly for parade purposes, but it was fun traveling around with them.”

That was before. Pre-orders. Off to the Middle East. Life had never been the same since.

“Interesting,” Natalie said.

“But I’m not really tied to my veterinary career. My hope is to work for one of the big canine training facilities. I’d like to keep serving my country in a small way and that seems like the best way to do it.”

Claire looked impressed, then thoughtful. “That explains why you’re so willing to work with Thor.”

He forced himself to focus on Claire’s words, because that was who’d spoken. He stared into her eyes, observed the different specks of green in them. A distraction technique, one that he hoped would keep his hands from shaking yet again.

“That’s part of my master plan, anyway,” he admitted.

Focus.

He’d been hoping—damn, how he’d been hoping—a trip to the country might be just what his frazzled nerves needed. He realized too late he’d been kidding himself. Trev’s death was still too fresh. The things he’d witnessed still in the forefront of his mind. The helplessness he’d felt was something he would never forget.

Damn it.

“I think it might actually work out to have him stay here,” he heard Natalie say.

“No,” he interjected. Natalie drew back a bit and he realized he’d sounded a little terse. “Look, you’re really kind to even consider offering me a place to stay.” He caught the boy’s gaze, forcing a smile. “But I can’t accept.”

“Actually, you’d be doing us a favor.”

It was Claire’s brother who’d spoken, the man leaning forward and resting an arm on his saddle’s horn, saddle creaking in protest. “One of the owners Natalie rides for has decided to put her horse up for stud. We were just talking about how to handle that.” He pointed with his chin at his wife. “We both know a lot about horses, but we’re not breeding experts, and the stallion in question is worth a lot of money. We have a friend who’s a vet, but she’s pregnant and busy, and we have no business risking its health in the breeding shed, and so we need a professional to help us do it right. At least until we can find someone to do it permanently.”

Natalie was nodding as she fiddled with her reins. “I was explaining to my husband just yesterday that a lot of big show barns offer stallion service.” A strand of blond hair had escaped from beneath the black cap she wore. “It was kind of a long-range plan of ours to do the same, and then my owner called last week and she really doesn’t want to have to move her horse...”

“So we were thinking this would work out perfectly,” Colt finished. “We’d hire you as a consultant. You could advise us on what equipment to buy and what kind of facility we’ll need. And if you’re still here after we get it all done, you could be our stallion manager, at least until you decide to move on or we find another full-time veterinarian interested in the job. In between all that, you could work as our barn manager. You know, keep an eye on things when we’re gone on the weekends.”

“See?” Adam’s voice was full of smug satisfaction. “All settled.”

Ethan had a feeling the words were something Claire said on a regular basis and that Adam just parroted. Still, their offer was too generous to believe. “You really want me to work here?” He turned and anchored his gaze on Claire’s again. She seemed just as surprised as he did.

“Well, maybe.” Natalie splayed a hand in his direction. “We realize we only just met you, and this is way sudden. It’s sudden for us, too, so worst-case scenario, why don’t you stay a night and think about it? Adam tells us you’re kind of homeless right now.”

He was, but he still couldn’t take them up on such a generous offer.

“Look, it’s really nice of you to offer, but I wouldn’t be comfortable imposing.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” Colt said. “You’re a brother in arms. Or didn’t you know I was in the Army, too? I wouldn’t dare let a combat veteran stay in a strange hotel, not when we have a perfectly good place for you to bed down for the night.”

“There’s an apartment over the barn.” Natalie’s smile grew. “It’s nothing big, but it’s new and it’s perfect for a single man. Colt and Claire’s brother will be living there when he gets discharged in a few months.”

“Please?” Adam said, coming up and smiling at him. “It’d be a big help to my mom.”

He realized then that the boy didn’t want him to stay for selfish reasons. This wasn’t about having a cool new adventure learning how to train dogs. This was, and always had been, about making sure his mom didn’t have to deal with Thor all on her own. The boy worried about his mother, just as she probably worried about him. They were looking out for each other. He had no idea why that made him feel weird inside, but it did.

He inhaled deeply. He didn’t want to do it. There were a million reasons why he shouldn’t—his recent anxiety attacks, his horrible dreams, his need to get on with his life, but most of all, his hatred of being a burden on people.

But there was one reason why he should do it. Actually two.

He looked into Claire’s eyes, and then her son’s.

“Okay. I guess I’ll stay.”

* * *

“YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE made such a big deal about it.” Claire stared at her son. Thank God they were back in her own house and Ethan at her brother’s place. “The poor man probably felt so guilty about saying no, he didn’t think he had a choice.”

Her son sat in the same chair he had when she’d broken the news to him about his illness a year ago. He’d lost his hair somewhere in between, but the light from the kitchen window behind him revealed a peach-fuzz scalp. He looked better. Less pale. Maybe a little more flushed than she would like to see, but so much better than at the start of this whole mess.

“Well?” she asked, because he just sat there staring up at her.

“You need help, Mommy.”

The kid knew how to work her, that’s for sure. All he had to do was call her mommy.

“No, I don’t need help. We have plenty of help between Uncle Colt and Aunt Natalie and their friends. And Uncle Chance will be back soon. We’re fine.”

“Uncle Colt and Aunt Natalie are too busy, and Uncle Chance isn’t coming home for three more months.” He said three more months as if it were a whole lifetime, and in his world, it probably was. “One more person would be good. You could go to town and things.”

Go to town: code words for stop worrying about me. He might be six, but her son had the wisdom of someone five times his age. She couldn’t help worrying about him, though. The doctors watched Adam like a hawk. Blood samples could be taken locally, but they made the trip to Los Angeles to speak to his oncologist about the results and any adjustments that would need to be made to the myriad of medications they had him on. It served as a constant reminder that her son was in a battle for his life. So, yes, maybe she was a tad overprotective, but that was her job.

“Buddy, we’re doing fine, aren’t we?” Claire leaned forward in her rickety wooden chair that’d been in her family for generations and had seen better days. Her whole house had seen better days. “I mean, it’s not near as crazy as before, right? It’s okay.”

Before—when he’d been undergoing treatment. Before her life had fallen apart and the center of her world—her son—had nearly died. Not just once, but twice. Midnight trips to the hospital. Long stays while they fought to get his immune system sorted out. Weeks on end of never sleeping in their own beds.

“At least we’re home more.” She glanced around the kitchen. It was a mess. So were the family room and bedrooms. Adam was still being homeschooled. Until his immune system got back up to normal levels, it was better for him. Honestly, though, she liked him at home. Her life was chaotic. Dogs in the morning, each of whom needed to be taken out and exercised individually, then homeschooling, something she’d thought would be easy but had turned out to be hard, then back to work with the dogs, the office work in the afternoon because her “job” was to place the dogs in her care, and then work at her other job: graphic artist. Then it was back to work with Adam, then dinner, then bed, rinse, repeat. Unless there was a doctor’s appointment—

“Mom?”

She’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t even realized her son had spoken, and whatever it was he’d said must have been pretty important judging by the seriousness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, bud. What did you say?”

She held back a chuckle when he said, “Jeez, were you even listening?” as a teenager would have said. Too much television.

She didn’t bother trying to conceal her guilt. “Nope.”

He released an exaggerated sigh that was so much like the old Adam that she smiled.

“I worry about you, Mommy. You’re doing too much. There’s all that paperwork about Dad. The dogs. Me. I’m not a little boy anymore. I can take care of myself.”

The paperwork for Dad. She was part of a lawsuit against the makers of the vaccine that’d made Marcus so sick. Yes, she admitted, Adam was right. That was a lot of work, too. But he was wrong about one thing. He was still a little boy. He might have seen more in this past year—friends dying, his mom’s grieving, the harsh realities of life—than most people saw in a lifetime, but he would always be her little man. Always.

“Don’t worry about me.” She touched his chin. “I’m doing just fine.”

“That’s what every parent says until they drop dead from a heart attack.”

The words were uttered so seriously and so matter-of-factly that she ended up smiling.

“I’m taking care of myself.” Okay, so maybe she wasn’t. She needed more sleep. Truth be told, she always felt so tired. And she would love some time for herself just as Adam suggested. To know that the dogs were taken care of and Adam looked after so she could escape into town to do a little window-shopping. All things she could hypothetically do right now, except she never did.

“All right.” She sighed deeply. “I’ll tell you what. When Dr. McCall comes over tomorrow morning I’ll let him take care of the dogs for me. You can stay with me and help and I’ll run into town for some errands.”

Her son’s whole face lit up and only in that moment did she truly understand just how much he’d been fretting over her.

“He said to call him Ethan. And that sounds like a deal.”

Yes, she admitted, he had said to call him that, but for some reason, it felt better—safer—to add the doctor title in front of his name. He was here temporarily, after all. She wasn’t going to become friends with him. Well, okay, she’d be friendly, but that was it.

Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.


Chapter Six (#ulink_8092bd6a-79fa-531a-a408-d5f459100e4f)

He slept more soundly than he had in months—at least at first. But then, almost as if his subconscious sensed the rising sun, the nightmares began.

Trevor lay on the ground.

Fire.

BOOM.

He’d shot up, and then as his heart settled into his chest, slipped from bed, walking over to the row of windows that overlooked the old hay barn and wondering, not for the first time, what he was going to do. He wanted to train dogs. He knew that, but he didn’t want to give up being a vet. He hated being a burden almost as much as he hated the nightmares that haunted him.

Focus.

The word had become his mantra. He had the entire upstairs portion—no little space as Colt’s wife had made it sound. The roofline made for shorter walls to his right and left, but dormers had been placed at regular intervals, allowing light to spill in. It was bare. Nothing more than a space that echoed back the sound of his boots against the hardwood floor, but it felt like a mansion compared to his cramped quarters overseas.




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