CHAPTER ONE
February
Lance~
The air was hot, dusty, choking. There was pervasive smell of human waste that caught at the back of the throat. It was dark, but he knew that Ferris was on his right, and Ricardo was two paces back to his left. When the explosion came, it lit up the drab, pockmarked landscape. He flew into a million pieces. And rained down on the ground on top of the scattered body parts of his buddies.
Lance Prescott came awake to the thin stream of pure, cold air from his bedroom window. He had left it open a quarter inch at the bottom. Clean, sweet-smelling Colorado winter air blew into his room and replaced the memory of Iraq. He was wet. His short hair was soaked with sweat. His sheets were damp. And he smelled of funk and fear.
It had happened enough times that he had a ritual. He stood under a hot shower and soaped himself until he felt clean. The smell of shit from his nightmare dissipated. His body stopped shaking, and his heart rate settled back to a steady beat. He dressed himself in his work clothes. There was no point trying to go back to bed. He knew he wouldn’t sleep, and if he lay in bed thinking, his anxiety would return. Better to go up to the stables and clean tack than relive the past. You couldn’t alter the past. You couldn’t control the future. But anyone could handle the present.
He stripped his sodden bedding off the mattress, and bundled it into the washing machine. A little hot water and soap would get rid of some of the stench of death that clung to the sheets. He located his bottle of Falkirk Twelve-Year-Old in the cupboard and poured a small shot. He put the bourbon back on the shelf and closed the cupboard door. That too was part of the ritual. He added a splash of water from the tap. Took that first warming sip. Funny how he sweated and yet was cold clear through.
There was nothing on the television at three in the morning – nothing that he wanted to watch. But he forced himself to listen to a succession of elderly persons claiming that their arthritis symptoms had been entirely relieved by a device obtainable for the low, low price of $399 divided into three equal payments. Tax, shipping, and handling extra.
By the time he had finished his bourbon, it was almost time for morning stables. There was nothing in his fridge that he wanted to eat. But he made coffee, and drank a cup while he looked out the kitchen window at the frozen creek. It was lonely out there, and very beautiful. When he had first come to Success, Colorado, he hadn’t thought that he would find the ragged, rolling plains of the Double B as beautiful as the gentle hills of Tennessee. But after seven years, he didn’t think that there was a lovelier spot in all the US of A.
The winter sky was still pitch black, it wouldn’t start to get light for hours. Snow lay everywhere. It reflected the fading moonlight and he could see surprisingly far. He followed the grayish outline of a small bear wandering down by the creek. He wasn’t particularly worried, out here so close to the open range, wild animals were not particularly unusual.
The Double B Ranch was troubled by the occasional loss of calves and elderly cows to cougars, wolves, bears, and even the odd coyote, but his boss Laura Bascom considered that an inevitable part of the cost of ranching. Still, it was unusual to see a black bear so close to the stables and the houses, although this one seemed to be merely exploring.
He had a soft spot for American blacks anyway. Ever since he had made his buddy Enright* as a bear shifter, way back when they were both Privates First Class, he had been drawn to them. Of course, he had been living a long time with Enright’s tomfool idea of a joke. Not that there was much of his tattoo left. The Iraqi IED had made sure of that. But it was a memory of a happier, more innocent time.
As he sipped his coffee, he kept an eye on the little bear. Carlos and Rosa Diegos’ house was not far from his. And the new stable hand, Amber Dupré, lived behind him in a small cabin on the Diegos’ property. He figured Amber was too savvy to leave her garbage outside her back door to attract critters. But he didn’t know that for a fact. Hadn’t told her so. It would do no harm to keep his eye on the bear.
The bear slid down the steep snowy bank to the frozen surface of the stream. Landed on its back and spun out. Then it clambered up and did it all over again. It was having fun. It was probably no more than a half-grown bear cub. Just old enough to have been kicked out of its mother’s orbit so she could have another litter. And just inexperienced enough to play near human habitation.
The bear continued its game, but eventually, it came to grief. It slid down the bank on its belly, landed on its paws, did a somersault and went right through the ice. Lance didn’t know if there was anything he should do. He didn’t want to think of the bear freezing, or drowning, but rescuing a frightened wild animal was a dangerous proposition. He decided to wait and see what would happen.
What happened was that the bear broke out of the ice with its powerful front limbs, and scrambled up the bank. It shook itself vigorously. Water sprayed into arcs of droplets that froze and fell, pitting the snow all around the bear.
He watched as the bear wandered a little further down the creek to where the ice was solid. He didn’t worry until it crossed to the side of the stream where the houses were. He moved from the kitchen, to the living room, and then to his own bedroom. The bear was moving through the trees at a good clip, galloping straight for Amber’s little cabin.
He grabbed his shotgun and loaded it. Shoved his feet into boots. It was cold enough that he took the time to put on his parka and gloves. He would do Amber no good if his hands were too cold to fire his weapon. He jogged out of his back door, and moved as quickly as he could through the two feet of snow towards Amber’s cabin. The bear was at her back door rattling it.
Lance banged on the front door. He called loudly. “Amber, Amber.”
He envied Amber her sound sleep. But she was in danger if the bear came in while she was in bed. He tried the knob. It turned easily in his hand and he walked into the cabin.
It was warm. And just inside the back door, struggling to put on clothes, was a completely naked Amber Dupré. He stood there with his mouth open, drinking in the manifold beauties of this lovely young woman. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t noticed that she was a Venus.
Her sister Heather had recently married the boss’ cousin Patrick and Heather and Amber were identical twins. Patrick and Heather had settled in Washington State, where the Duprés were from. But Amber had moved out to Colorado to work on the Bascom Quarter Horse Stud as a stable hand. Weird choice. But not his business.
Amber’s blue eyes were round with shock at his unannounced entrance.
“There was a bear.” Lance stammered.
She clutched her clothes tightly to her body. But there was still a lot of pink and white skin to make his cock spring to life as if the foolish thing hadn’t been playing possum for seven years. Apparently it had been waiting for him to turn into a Peeping Tom.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He strode briskly to the side window and listened with his back to her. He couldn’t see anything with the lights on, but he was sure he would hear a bear if it was knocking over garbage cans or trying to get in at either door. At least his back was now to Amber.
“I’m decent,” she whispered. “If there was a bear, I think it must be gone.” She didn’t sound scared, which was quite something. In fact, she sounded amused.
He turned around and stared at her. She had tucked her magnificent bosom inside a plaid work shirt and done up the snaps. But without a bra, her boobs were straining at the snaps. Her jeans were done up. And as usual, they encased the loveliest, roundest, ripest ass in Colorado. Miss Dupré was without doubt one of the most delectable women he’d ever met.
“I beg your pardon for intruding,” he apologized. “I tried knocking but you didn’t answer.” He knew his face was red. At least the parts of it that could still blush.
*Jack Enright of Bear Necessities