The rope felt rough against his fingers as he coiled it up, the big gelding beneath him broadcasting his readiness, and this big fella, a palomino named Sunshine, was one of the best. Hanging the rope over the horn, he pulled out his gloves and slipped them on. The sun blazed in the bright blue cloudless sky and beat down on the rolling rangeland, the relentless heat shimmering up in waves. The rises and gullies lay like laugh lines in the earth’s surface, the folds held in place by sharply defined mountains rising up in the west.

A vast cloud of dust hung in the air, forming a golden aura that cloaked the landscape and distorted the horizon. Overhead, two red-tailed hawks circled, watching for unwary gophers.

The bawling of calves and the shouts of cowhands carried on the warm air, echoing in the crystal clarity. Hundreds of cows and their spring calves plodded onward through the rolling terrain, marshalled into a long meandering column by watchful riders. The cloud of yellow dust hung suspended above the undulating herd, the fine grit coating the newly unfurled leaves of the oaks and sweetgum, finally settling on the new shoots of grass struggling through last year’s thatch.

Cowboy pulled up his mount at the crest of a small hill, giving the reins a light jerk as the big palomino gelding danced and tossed his head, impatient, already seeing what needed to be done. The slant of the late afternoon sun angled beneath the brim of his Stetson. With his gaze fixed on the rim of a far-off ravine, he squinted into the distance.

A series of shrill whistles pierced the din, and Cowboy’s attention shifted to his dad as he gave signals to their two hardworking border collies to move up and turn the lead cows into a narrow draw. Yet when his eyes moved to his dad, he was indistinct, blurred not as if by distance, they were close, but in definition. With an unsettling feeling in his gut, Cowboy kicked his heels into Sunny and the gelding jumped into a gallop from the get go. All cow ponies knew what they were about and Sunny was one of the best.

Two other riders assisted him as he hazed the outside stragglers back into the ranks and crowded the herd into the gully, forcing them through the natural funnel. A sense of foreboding settled between his shoulder blades when he tried to make out his father again. The lead cows complied, calves crowded against their sides, lumbered through the wide gate, while other riders flanked the herd, trying to prevent any of the range-wary animals from bolting.

He wheeled the big animal around. Sunny tossed his head, prancing and Cowboy handled the spirited horse as easily as breathing. He gave him his head as Sunny instantly responded, lunging down the hill, stirring up more dust as he headed toward two stragglers grazing down by a ring of cypress. Cowboy grinned. Right on the money. He’d had cowhands who weren’t as smart as this horse.

Then there was another shrill whistle and he turned his head, confused. His dad was now gone, his horse’s saddle empty, the air heavy and humid. Something was wrong, the landscape was different, rain, darkness, water. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. Something was wrong.

Cowboy jerked out of sleep. The sound of the explosions was deafening. He was jarred out of his idyllic dream of what his life should have been and rolled right into hell. Mud flew everywhere in the tropical, water-saturated air.

He snatched his body armor and weapon out of habit, his uniform damp, ready in a heartbeat. They had been stuck here waiting out the intel before they could move forward which seemed like a good time to rest. Clearing his head from getting startled out of a deep combat nap, he put on his comm headset and listened in.

“Fuck! RPGs, ladies. I think we found the enemy!” Ruckus shouted. The enemy in this case was the Abu Hurriyah or ABH for short which in English stood for “Father of Freedom.” A Jihadist militant group based in and around Jolo and Basilan islands in the southwest Philippines, where the Moro or Muslim groups had formed into an insurgency for independence in the province. The group was designated a terrorist group by many countries including the US.

Another volley of rounds hit the wall outside, and off in the distance, he could hear other battles raging. “Kid, get up on the roof and get those guys to stop shooting at us, pronto!”

“Roger,” Ashe “Kid Chaos” Wilder said, sprinting under fire to one of the buildings below Cowboy and disappearing inside. He didn’t want to take his eyes off that roof with Kid on it, but he had a job to do. They had gotten a tip about a man who would have the intel they needed to rescue two American hostages and a Filipino doctoral student who had all been taken by the ABH at a small eatery in Manila outside the university. The Americans were Harvard recruiters and the Filipino a much sought-after candidate who had designed a new state of the art microscope.

To gain intel on the hostages, they were working with the Philippine Special Action Force with the SEALs on point. They were currently on the island of Basilan in Isabela City where there were still pockets of ABH fighting, but their objective was Farouk Bakil, a zealot who had in recent months been responsible for numerous kidnappings of foreign nationals in the country. With Americans targeted, the SEALs would run him to ground and get the information they needed.

With Kid laying down cover fire, Cowboy’s team, Lieutenant Bowie “Ruckus” Cooper or LT as he was known, Scarecrow, the comm operator, Blue, their corpsman, Hollywood, Wicked, Tank and Echo started their assault along with the SAF guys. The rain was coming down in a steady sheet. Dirt, leaves and debris eddying in the wind around them, Cowboy prepared to advance. Rubble from demolished buildings lay in heaps as they passed, keeping low.

“RPGs neutralized,” Kid said over the mic. Everything is quiet now, LT. Looks like they were reacting to the police in the area. I don’t think they know we’re here.”

“Solid copy,” LT said. “Let’s keep it quiet, ladies.” Cowboy, paired up with Tank and Echo, surveyed the windswept area. “Kid, get down here and get on point.”

“Copy, LT.” After a few moments, his voice came over the comm. “On point, plenty of tangos.”

“Keep it stealthy. Let’s hope we find this guy and get enough information to get those hostages out,” LT said.

“If they’re still alive,” Tank muttered.

“Comms scrambled,” Scarecrow said.

As Kid fed them information, they went through an abandoned and demolished house, and Cowboy saw the sentry at the same time Tank did. “Clear,” he whispered. “All yours, man.”

Cowboy moved up on the guard and with his knife made short and silent work of him. In front of them was a pile of debris and a burn barrel to keep the sentry warm. Tank squeezed off a suppressed head shot and the guy went down.

After crawling through the mud and rain puddles, they made their way into the main part of the city and Kid said, “Tangos on the buildings surrounding your position, LT. Half a dozen. Maybe more inside.” Cowboy, Tank and Echo had moved around the building to the back door.

“Copy that. They’re going to know we’re coming. We need to get inside a-sap. Cowboy?”

“Roger, LT.”

“Are you in position in the back?”

“Affirmative, ready for assault.”

“Go on my mark.”

“Kid, take them out. Cowboy breach. Get me Bakil. Alive.”

As soon as Kid started firing, they back kicked the door, Tank tossed in a smoke bomb and as the explosion went off, Cowboy smoked everyone left standing in the room. They made for the stairs as soon as the room was clear, took out two armed guys at the top of the stairs, and continued down the hall. Outside, Kid’s sniping had grown silent.

“Moving,” LT said. “Cowboy?”

“Standby,” Cowboy said as they breached another door and took out the two guards, recognizing Bakil. He wasn’t about to be taken. When he raised his arm to fire, Tank gave the apprehend signal and Echo was on him so fast, he never had a chance to discharge his weapon. Faced with the dog hanging on his arm in a vicious bite, his jaw locked, Bakil screamed, “I surrender! Get him off me!”

Tank covered him while Cowboy kicked the weapon away. “Target secured,” he said over the mic.

Challenged with the growling threat of Echo, Bakil spilled the beans and hours later they had what they needed. The hostages were being kept at an Abu Hurriyah safe house deep in Isabela City close to the coast. It was a chaotic op, but they took down the ABH fighters, securing the hostages.

“LT,” Kid’s tight voice came over the comm. “You need to see this.” They were currently at the safe house, a single-family home near the beach.

Cowboy and LT walked downstairs to the basement. Bodies were strewn across the floor, a testament to how well guarded this area was. Kid stood in front of a crate. He turned when they walked up. Kid moved out of the way, and Cowboy’s gut clenched.

“Warheads.”

“Yeah, I recognize them. These are from the undercover operation in Bolivia, ones in a cache that the Kirikhan rebels got away with,” Kid said, his eyes bleak. “But there’s only one here.”

“Where are the other five?” Ruckus growled.

“That’s a good question,” Kid said.

A question Cowboy was pondering as he kept his eyes peeled while they headed toward transpo to the back of the island—rigid hull inflatables, sleek high-speed boats or RIBs. “Angel One, this is Ruckus, proceeding to the boats, Rally Point Delta.”

“Roger that, Ruckus.”

Cowboy spotted them a second after Echo who jumped into a sprint and took the guy with the RPG down. The chopper was coming in fast through the gray sheets of rain, but still distant. They had to get to the boats. Automatic gunfire sounded all around him, but he stayed with the group while Echo hit several other targets, causing disorientation. He was the best damn dog. Cowboy hustled the rescued hostages toward the boat when one of the recruiters went down, blood coating his neck and shirt. Cowboy covered the wound with his hand, stemming the flow of blood. The guy’s eyes were wide, his mouth gaping with the shock and pain of the wound.

“Blue!” Cowboy called out, but he was already responding, already next to Cowboy, taking over.

Blue’s mouth pulled into a grim line, his hands working fast over the injured man’s wound. Cowboy was always in awe of their corpsman’s calm under pressure.

“Took a round in the throat. Not good! We need to move.” Blue shouldered him into a carry and headed for the boat.

Tank whistled shrilly and soon Echo was back with them. He had blood on his muzzle, but it looked like none of it was his. The dog flanked him as he rushed toward the RIBs. Helping the other two terrified hostages inside, he registered Tank’s warning. “Cowboy!”

He spun to find several ABH bearing down on them. They wanted either the hostages back or the warhead, Cowboy was determined it would be none of the above.

Cowboy took out one, and Tank doubled tapped the second. Soon they were in the boat and speeding out of the canal.

“This guy is going into shock, Angel One.”

“Roger that Trauma is standing by. We’re almost to Rally Point Delta. Coming in hot.”

“Hit it, Cowboy,” Blue shouted and the RIB surged forward as Hollywood manned the gun and took care of the tangos along the banks that were shooting at them. Spray from cutting through the waves and the rain drenched them, visibility obscured. When they were almost out to open sea, a gray landscape with occasional whitecaps, an explosion hit a dock nearby and rocked the boat, but Cowboy muscled them through the debris stinging his face and into the open ocean. The helos buzzed over them and they hooked up the two boats to the chopper’s underbelly. As they were lifted into the air, Cowboy could only think it was a job well done.

They were heading home after this, the brass obviously concerned about the warheads. If they were still in the hands of the Kirikhan rebels, it was bad news.

Very bad news, but Cowboy was off on leave to attend his reunion and spend some time with his family. The team was in store for some much-needed downtime.

His battle-focused mind relaxed, he remembered his combat “dream” and it hit him hard. That life was now a dream when it had felt so real. There was no ranch anymore, no legacy, no birthright. Now Cowboy was just the son of that no-good coward, Travis McGraw. He had never even tried to change anyone’s mind, not that he could. But he would like to go back to Reddick and be able to hold up his head without this shame dogging him, reconnect to his family. They had become the casualties in his battle to deal with his betrayal. Cowboy had lost his connection with Reddick a decade ago and felt nothing but humiliation when he thought about the area now. Going home meant nothing to him. He’d lost that a long time ago.

The day his dad had put a bullet through his brain.

Then a thought occurred to him. If he could get the ranch back, show the people of Reddick that he wasn’t like his dad, maybe that would be enough. He had the money tucked away. He’d saved every last cent of all his bonuses. His renewal for his tour of duty was coming up. Maybe it was time to reclaim what he had lost.

* * *

There was someone in Kia Silverbrook’s house.

Kia turned off the water of the shower, the sudden chill mixing to produce pin prickles of fear that blossomed like goosebumps all over her wet, tired body.

She listened intently, her body frozen, her muscles locked. But heard nothing.

Maybe her imagination? But lately, she had the feeling that she was being watched. She’d felt it in The Back Forty, her bar/diner/rooms for rent where she worked behind the bar and fed the people of the small town of Reddick, twenty minutes from Galveston and thirty from Houston. She felt it at the grocery store while she was squeezing cantaloupe and smelling them for freshness. The persistent ache between her shoulder blades was now a constant companion.

There was never anyone there, but the feeling had persisted, making Kia edgy and paranoid.

She waited as cool air slid across her just wet skin, the warmth from the water a fleeting memory. A shiver cascaded over her, a combination of physical and mental energy co-mingling.

She listened intently, her eyes fixed on the door, her ears attuned. Water trickled down the drain like an indrawn breath, adrenaline shocking into her system, twisting her stomach into knots.

Just when she thought she was hearing things and had reached for the tap to turn the water back on and finish her shower, she heard it.

A scuff of a shoe.

Her heartbeat quickened and the hair on the back of her neck stood to attention.

Slowly so as not to make a sound, Kia stepped out. She knew a little something about self-defense and trying to defend herself in a wet, slippery shower didn’t put her at any advantage.

She approached the bathroom door and with a deft flick of her wrist, she set the lock. She pressed her ear against the gap between the frame and the door. Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe it was her overactive imagination.

She could hear him breathing.

Her heart dropped straight into the pit of her stomach. Gasping, she backed away, her gut tightening in ever-increasing spirals of fear until it was a huge roll of panic.

She looked frantically around her, but there was simply no place to hide, no place to run.

Just as she reached for her discarded clothes on the floor, she heard the bathroom doorknob jiggle. Kia gasped and froze.

Her stomach flopped, turned upside down. “Oh, God,” she said softly.

* * *

He kicked the door open, ready for a fight, ready for anything, but the bathroom was empty. He knew she’d been in here. Suddenly he felt the air on his face, and his head jerked toward the left. He strode over to the open window and stuck his head out. The little resourceful bitch. A ladder to the ground swung against the house.

He swore softly. He looked back at the empty bathroom and the clothes lying in a heap on the floor. The woman was running around buck-assed naked?

He would like to see that. What an exotic beauty, with her alluring mix of big dark eyes and elfin features, her rich black hair and her very curvy body. But he wasn’t here to admire her. He was here for a very specific purpose.

Her accidental death.

* * *

Kia breathed shallowly. It was all the space she had for her lungs to expand. It was the only time in her life that she cursed her five-foot, nine-inch frame. She suddenly wished she was smaller.

And had someone she could turn to, someone tall and strong. Someone so handsome he made her lungs seize. Someone that she hadn’t seen in ten years. She sighed. Dammit. Now was not the time to daydream about Wes McGraw.

She could only be thankful that she hadn’t washed and dried the majority of the towels that would have occupied the space she’d wedged her body into. A space that barely accommodated her. Bone deep fear tightened her stomach and froze her limbs as she heard him swear. She realized that he was at the window she’d opened. Thank God she’d gotten that fire escape ladder. He went for the ploy.

But it seemed that her sense of relief was premature. She heard his footsteps stop as he stood right outside the closet. She bit her lip. Her hands tightened into fists that she pressed against her mouth to keep the whimper of panic from slipping out.

Her heart was beating so hard, she was worried that he could hear it. If it occurred to him that she had hidden herself instead of running, she was dead.

Finally, he moved away. She heard his retreating footsteps and then the closing of her front door. Breathing a sigh of relief, the panic and adrenaline receding, Kia let out a shaky sob. Tears of relief squeezed from her tightly closed eyes.

When she was sure she was alone, she extricated herself from her fetal position, groaning softly as her stiff muscles protested.

She clutched the edge of the doorframe as blood rushed to constricted extremities, the pain spikes almost welcome.

They reminded her in vivid detail that she was alive.

As soon as she got dressed, she found her cell phone on her coffee table and called the police. She sat on her sofa just breathing deeply to waylay the panic that kept climbing up her spine.

It hadn’t been her imagination. Someone had been watching her. Was her secret out? Did it have to do with her very long, very clandestine investigation that had brought her to nothing but dead ends?

She opened the door when the police knocked. After settling down on her couch, she answered all the questions they asked.

“We’re sorry about what happened to you, ma’am, but it was most likely a vagrant looking for what he could sell.”

She looked from the local fresh-faced deputy to his more experienced partner and realized that they hadn’t taken what she’d said seriously. That shouldn’t really surprise her. As a woman always looking in, she felt like the establishment, i.e., the Sheriff’s Department had written her off as a kook a long time ago. But she wasn’t going to allow that to bother her. She was pretty much an elastic band, and she always snapped back. She was determined to act normal.

“I don’t think so. I think this was the man I believe has been following me.”

“Yes, you did mention that, but you don’t have a description or any information for us to go on. You never saw this guy, right?”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist.”

“Yes, ma’am. We’ll let you know if we come up with any leads.”

Which basically meant she was screwed. They were right. She didn’t see his face; she had no description, no proof that he was following her, watching her.

As she closed and locked the door, she felt that same panic crawl up her spine. She backed away from the door, her senses heightened.

She went back into the bathroom and closed the door. Stripping down she turned on the water, but she tucked her vanity chair under the doorknob. No one was going to intimidate her, not here in this place she had built for herself.

She showered, hyperalert to any noise. Maybe she should get herself a dog. A big one with a deep bark and a menacing growl. At least she would have another warm, dependable body in the house. She decided that was an excellent idea. She was going to get herself a guard dog.

She dried her hair, leaving it loose and dressing in a sheer black blouse with bats all over it, a black bra underneath paired with a pair of ripped fishnet and a black denim skirt, and her kickass black studded cowgirl boots with the metal heel that made her feel invincible. She smudged her dark eyes with black eyeliner, foregoing mascara as she was blessed with thick dark lashes and a shade of red lipstick that contrasted with her pale skin. She worried the lip ring at the corner of her mouth as she grabbed her black cowboy hat, bag and keys on the way out of the house, locking the door behind her. Her shoulder blades tingled as she walked to her car, her three horses all nickered at her, Quicksand, a big tan buckskin gelding that was a challenge, Twilight Star, a black and white paint gelding with beautiful brushed patterns who loved apples, and Saragon, a brown appaloosa with a blanket of white with rust dots on his hindquarters, a solid trail horse. She’d already fed them early this morning, so they were set for the day.

“See you guys later. I might have a friend for you to play with soon.” She got into her Jeep, all silver and black, looking like a mini-hummer. As the house disappeared in the distance, the feeling of being in danger passed.

She’d lived here for eight years. She had her moneymaking business—hacking. She had her bar. She had her horses and the four-stall barn on her meager ten acres. She was on the outskirts of town, a bit isolated. She was solid and stable.

When she reached her bar, she parked behind the structure and entered through the alley. Reddick was a mid-sized town, mostly comprised of ranchers and people who supported the cattle trade. But it was more than that and with a population just under six thousand, it had grown since she’d been in high school. Between history, food, shopping, the beautiful scenery and close to the ocean, Reddick was a tourist magnet, people loved soaking up the charm of the Texas Gulf Coast.

Her cell rang as she slipped the key in the lock. “Hello,” she said entering the building and walking toward the bar.

“Howdy, Kia. This is Evie Marshall. We’re all getting together next week for the decorating party at The Barn.” A meeting and multi-purpose venue at the edge of town would serve as their site for the reunion. “Just checking to make sure we’re ready to go.”

“Yes, I’ve assembled everything.” Kia had gotten roped into this reunion committee and she’d been thrilled at first until she realized the group wanted her to do all the work. She rubbed the back of her neck, her stomach twisting. This was silly to immediately think about how many times in high school Evie had called her a freak. That was so long ago. She saw these people every day, but her isolation, her fairy bubble kept her protected. Did these people still think she was a freak? Probably. She still was too different and weird for anyone to understand her. Why wasn’t being herself enough?

“Well, girl, with your businesses, I’m sure you’re always straight out. This won’t tax you none, will it?”

“Nope, I’ll be there.”

“Good. We’ll have plenty to do. I’ll see you then.”

“Wait, Evie, do you know someone I might be able to get a dog from?”

There was silence, and Kia realized that she was probably wondering what the hell Kia was asking her for. Yeah, keep building that freak cred. Then Evie said, “I can’t think of anyone right now, but check the local paper. There might be some ads in there.”

“Good idea. I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye.”

Kia went to the front door and unlocked it. She could already hear movement in the kitchen. The breakfast crowd would be in soon. She walked to the curb, slipped in a coin and grabbed the paper out of the bin. Walking back inside, she opened it to the want ads, setting the newspaper on the bar. She looked under “Dogs for Adoption,” and found several prospects that might work, one with a fine description for a German Shepard/Pitbull mix. That sounded like an excellent combination, a herder with a pitbull mentality. The companionship was also going to be nice as people drifted in and out of her life just like when she’d been in foster care. Dogs like horses gave their owner unconditional love. Unlike people, once the bond of trust had been forged, there was no going back. Animals were uncomplicated and lived in the moment.

She could provide a good home for him.

But as an orphan, a foster kid, home was an intangible concept. And that summed it up. She went from home to home because most people thought she was weird or strange.

She was sure she was a changeling, one of the fairy folk who had replaced a human baby, a dark fairy, one who could never find her way home. That elusive dark den where she belonged. A place that defined her with all the other dark fairies. Strangely, her magic was technology based. The computer world was where she felt most at home, a language of zeros and ones that when she saw it, gave her a vast open universe of not only discovery, but creation. A life she’d never known. It was her dark Oz.

She’d had the ruby slippers for a long, long time, but the question was: How could she click them to get back home when she’d never had one in the first place?