From the beginning, the mission had been FUBAR—fucked up beyond all recognition. They sustained enough casualties to decimate even the strongest and bravest. Relentlessly Hawkeye had urged each soldier on. Despite his own injuries, Hawkeye had carried one man miles to the extraction point.
What happened immediately after that would haunt Hawkeye and Jacob to the end of their days, and it created a bond each would take to the grave.
“You’ve had some time on the ranch. I assume you’re a hundred percent?”
Physically, yes. But part of him would always be in that South American jungle, trying to figure out what had gone so horribly fucking wrong.
Hawkeye nudged the photograph a little closer to Jacob.
“Who is she to you?”
Hawkeye hesitated long enough to capture Jacob’s interest.
“Someone I used to know.”
Jacob studied his friend intently. “Used to?”
Hawkeye shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Right after we got back from Peru.” He stared at the photo. “She helped me through the rough patch.”
Tension made Hawkeye’s voice rough, and he cleared his throat.
“Shit.” Jacob cursed himself for not walking out the moment Hawkeye asked for help. “It—whatever it was between you—is in the past?”
“Yeah. She’s a smart woman, recognized damaged goods and was astute enough not to follow when I walked away.” He shrugged. “To tell the truth, she’s too damn good for me. We both knew it.”
“It’s over?”
“There never was anything significant. She’s a friend. Nothing more. But if anyone’s intent on hurting me…” With great deliberation, Hawkeye flipped over the picture.
Jacob couldn’t help himself. He looked.
The woman was breathtaking. She was seated on a white-painted carousel horse, arms wrapped around its shiny brass pole. Dark, wavy hair teased her shoulders. But it was her eyes that stopped him cold.
He was a practical man more accustomed to making life-and-death decisions than indulging in fanciful poetry, but that particular shade of blue made him think of the columbines that carpeted the ranch’s meadow each summer.
Her smile radiated a joy that he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced. Longing—hot and swift—ripped through him. Ruthlessly he shoved the unfamiliar emotion away. He was seated across from Hawkeye, discussing a job. Nothing more. If he accepted the assignment, it would be his responsibility to keep her safe and ensure she had plenty to smile about in the future.
“After this, Commander Walker, we’ll call it even.”
“Even from you, that’s a fucking cheap shot.” Jacob didn’t need the reminder of how much he owed Hawkeye. Nothing would ever be even after the way the man rescued Jacob’s mother from the inside of a Mexican jail cell.
Unable to stop himself, Jacob picked up the photo. Hawkeye’s gamble—his drive deep into the Colorado mountains—had paid off. Jacob couldn’t walk away. Elissa wasn’t a random client. She was a woman who’d shown compassion to Hawkeye, and that shouldn’t have put her at risk.
With a silent vow that he’d care for her until the shitstorm passed, Jacob tucked the picture inside his shirt pocket.
Hawkeye lifted his shot glass, then downed his whiskey in a single swallow.
“Sir? It’s closing time.” Elissa summoned a false, I’m-not-exhausted smile for the cowboy sitting alone at a table for two in her mom and dad’s Denver-area pub. The man had been there for hours, his back to the wall. From time to time, he’d glance at the baseball game on the television, but for the most part, he watched other customers coming and going. More than once, she was aware of his focused gaze on her as she worked.
When he arrived, he asked for a soda water with lime. Nothing stronger. Minutes before the kitchen closed, he ordered the pub’s famous fish and chips.
Throughout the evening, he hadn’t engaged with her attempts at conversation, and he paid his bill—in cash, with a generous tip—before last call.
Now he was the last remaining customer, and she wanted him to leave so she could lock up, head for home. She needed a long, hot bath, doused with a generous helping of her favorite lavender Epsom salts.
If she were lucky, she’d fall asleep quickly and manage a few hours of deep sleep before the alarm shrieked, dragging her out of bed. After all, she still had to run her own business while taking care of the bar.
Over the past few days, exhaustion had made her mentally plan a vacation, far away from Colorado. Maybe a remote tropical island where she could rest and bask in the sun. A swim-up bar would be nice, and so would a beachside massage beneath a palm tree.
But she was still stuck in reality. She had to complete the closing checklist, and that meant dispensing with the final, reluctant-to-leave guest.
With a forced half smile, she tried again. “Sir?”
The man tipped the brim of his cowboy hat, allowing her to get a good look at his face.
She pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp.
He was gorgeous. Not just classically handsome, but drop-dead, movie star gorgeous.
His square jaw was shadowed with stubble, but that enhanced the sharpness of his features. And his eyes… They were bright green, reminding her of a malachite gemstone she’d seen in a tourist shop.
In a leisurely perusal, he swept his gaze up her body, starting with her sensible shoes, then moving up her thighs, taking in the curve of her hips, then the swell of her suddenly aching breasts.
When their gazes met, she was helplessly ensnared, riveted by his intensity.
The silence stretched, and she cleared her throat. She was usually a total professional, accustomed to dealing with loners, as well as groups out celebrating and being rowdy, or even the occasional customer in search of a therapist while drowning their sorrows. But this raw, physical man left her twitterpated, her pulse racing while her imagination soared on hungry, sexual wings.
Andrew, the barback, switched off some of the lights, jolting her. After shaking her head, she asserted herself. “It’s closing time, sir.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The cowboy stood, the legs of his chair scraping against the wooden floor. “I’ll be going, then.”
His voice was deep and rich, resonating through her. It invited trust even as it hinted at intimacy.
An involuntary spark of need raced up her spine.
Forcing herself to ignore it, she followed him to the exit. Instead of leaving, he paused.
They stood so close that she inhaled his scent, that of untamed open spaces. She tried to move away but was rooted to the spot. She was ensnared by his masculine force field—an intoxicating mixture of raw dominance and constrained power.
Desire lay like smoke in his eyes. In a response as old as time, pheromones stampeded through her. She ached to know him, to feel his strong arms wrap around her, to have his hips grinding against hers as he claimed her hard.
Dear God, what is wrong with me?
It had been too long since she’d been with a lover, but this cowboy was the type of man who’d turn her inside out if she let him. And she was too smart for that.
“Ma’am.” Finally he thumbed the brim of his hat in a casual, respectful farewell that made her wonder if she’d imagined what had just happened between them.