After Thorn “Tank” Hunt settled Echo at the base kennel, he headed home to a modest-sized house in the San Diego foothills. He wished he could keep Echo with him, but that’s not the way MWDs operated. They weren’t pets, but highly trained and valuable navy assets. Tank knew that, but still wanted the Malinois with him. There was no doubt that Echo was an alpha dog. He proved that every time in the field like the interrogation of Balik. Echo had just sat there, looking fierce as hell, and Balik couldn’t stop giving him fearful glances. Every so often, Echo would growl low in his throat. Balik wasn’t as intimidated by eight US Navy SEALs brimming with automatic weapons, but he was daunted as all get out to have Echo’s intelligent, feral eyes on him. Ruckus used it to his advantage, their LT was so damn good at his job both in leadership and in getting information he wanted. That guy was top dog and Echo knew it, the pack of them ran like wolves.

Tank knew about being a wolf, being an alpha and making sure that all the other wolves were aware that he was the one who was large and in charge. It didn’t really stem from being half-Hispanic or as anything as simple as being macho. It was all about survival on the streets of East LA. That urban battlefield prepared him not only for BUD/S, Basic Underwater Demolition/SEALS training, but for combat.

When he pulled into his driveway, he groaned softly at the powder pink Porsche parked at the curb. It even had a frothy name: Cabriolet and cost a hundred grand and a quarter—for a car. Yeesh. He hit his head a couple of times against his steering wheel. He needed a shower and some downtime, not the pink cotton candy juggernaut that was so self-absorbed she wouldn’t know empathy if it hit her in the head.

Princess Rebecca Dassault or Becca for short always had a sixth sense when he’d be home. She didn’t hesitate to show up unannounced because…well…the world revolved around her. Truth be told, she would take his mind off battle, conflict, the fact that Echo was getting on in years. Anyone who looked at that dog wouldn’t see it, but Tank noticed him slowing down which meant he’d be retired and Tank would have to contend with another dog.

He didn’t want another damn dog.

“Yoo-hoo, Thorny!” she called out, totally ignoring the person she was currently talking to on her phone. She flitted through the grass in a pair of high heels that had pom poms on the instep. Fluffy pink balls of spiky fur that jiggled when she walked. She wore a lot of pink and when he’d remarked about it, she said: I love pink and pink loves me back. It’s that simple. As he emerged from the car, she threw her arms around him. She was such a tiny little thing—most people were compared to his two-hundred and forty-pound, six-feet-four-inch frame. “Ooh, you feel delicious. Hop, skip into the house and shower and change. We’ve got a night of clubbing ahead.”

She didn’t even bother to wait for his answer, but just kissed him on the mouth and returned to her phone call as if he wasn’t there. He shook his head, used to her antics. They had a loose relationship. When he was in town, they fucked. When he wasn’t here, she fucked who she wanted.

“Ah, no, sweetie, not tonight. Winding down. If you want to stay home with me and give me a BJ, that works for me. I haven’t had a woman in months.”

She stopped talking and turned to look at him. Her mouth curled up at the corners. “BJ, huh?” She said into the phone. “I’ll call you back, Lacy. I’m busy right now…serving my country.”

He chuckled, grabbed his duffel and headed for the house. He heard her lock her car and follow him.

He was of the Gaston mindset. You give women books and before you know it, they’re reading, getting ideas and thinking. Actually, he enjoyed intelligent women, but Becca was nothing but froth and foam with a slamming body he enjoyed as much as she enjoyed him. Uncomplicated was what he liked at this point in his life—really malleable women who did things his way.

He dropped his gear at the front door and headed up the stairs. When he turned around, she was already shedding her clothes. The pretty little heels looked so out of place near his dirty, muddy olive drab kit. In fact, she looked like an exotic bird in her colorful print sundress that was now a heap on the middle of his stairs. Dressed in hot pink satin and lace, the sight of her made his dick rock hard.

She removed her bra and he had to admire her generous, pink-tipped breasts. His back hit the wall, and she walked right up to him. “I love it when you come off deployment looking so rough and tough.” She ran her open palm against his dark beard, her direct eye contact stimulating. She might look like a demure princess, but there was some good ole bad girl in there, too.

She molded her hand to the hard length confined beneath the fly of his NWUs or Navy Working Uniform, and she nipped playfully on his lower lip, sending a shock of arousal straight to his already aching groin. “I’d rather blow you than go clubbing.” She tugged his head down and followed that comment with a gust of warm, damp air into his ear that made him shudder.

“I’ll make it up to you, honey,” he rasped, aching for her mouth. “They don’t call it a job for nothing.” She laughed softly, and he dragged her into the bathroom. “Take my clothes off.”

“I do love a man in uniform, but I love one even better out of it.” She reached for his waistband while he twisted and turned on the water, getting it to the right temperature.

Divesting her of her panties, he dragged her inside the shower. “Wash me.”

She complied, using her soaped-up hands to touch every inch of him. “That’s no hardship. I love your muscles. There isn’t an ounce of fat on you. Every inch of you is so lickable.” She proved it by sending her tongue over him, and he leaned back closing his eyes. She bit and stroked her tongue over the ridges of his abs then settled on her knees. The soft wet warmth of her mouth closed over his dick, enveloping him in the moist heat of her mouth. She took him all the way to the base of his shaft as a deep, tortured groan rumbled up from his throat.

His mind was now totally on his pleasure. Mission accomplished, princess pink.

* * *

Kia got no response when she knocked on the modest ranch house door. The guy had just texted her to come around and take a look at the Shepard. She walked around the house to the barn and called out, “Hello?”

A tall, lanky man poked his head out of the barn door and said. “Howdy, ma’am. Come on over.”

She walked toward the man even as he gave her a once over and immediately she could see that he’d pegged her as different. He took in the ripped fishnet and the unique cowboy boots. “You’re an interesting one,” he drawled. “You here about the dog?”

“Yes. I’m Kia Silverbrook. Nice to meet you.” She reached out her hand and they shook.

“Marty Carpenter. Likewise.” He set down the brush he was using to groom a beautiful bay gelding. Kia rubbed his forelock when he sniffed toward her curiously.

“He’s beautiful.”

“Samson is that, but spoiled.” Marty smiled. “I’m happy to show you the dog, but I want reassurances that you have the right disposition to handle him, and he’ll have adequate exercise and nutrition.”

“I love animals and have three horses, one of them a challenge. I can handle him.” She followed him. “Why are you giving him away?”

“I have too many puppers as it is with a hound giving birth just a few days ago. My wife is giving me the evil eye. This is a stray I found on the side of the road. He’s a good dog.”

Already she was hooked. A stray, like her. “I need a guard dog, one who will protect me and my home.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place. He’s very vigilant. He’s been herding my small flock of sheep since he got here.” The affection in the rancher’s voice was evident, and Kia already liked him.

He brought her to a pen and emitted a shrill whistle. The sheep parted, and she got her first glimpse of the dog. Her eyes connected with his warm amber eyes and…powie. It was like she was struck by lightning as if it was kismet.

“Come here,” Marty said. Wow, he was muscularly built, very solid but that wasn’t a surprise. He was almost completely fawn-colored except for totally black ears and muzzle and a streak of black on his back. But his snout was shorter and his face showed the influence of the pitbull, wide head, powerful jaws.

“Someone trained him very well, and I’ve tried to find the owner, but no luck. Maybe he died or some other issue keeps him from claiming him. Either way, he needs a home. I’d keep him in a heartbeat if it wasn’t for—” His cell phone rang and he said, “Excuse me,” and walked off.

The dog trotted over and sniffed her, and she reached down and petted his wide head. He closed his eyes and butted up against her leg. What a sweetheart. Already her heart was getting taken over, but she had to wonder what he would do with strangers. Would he just cuddle up to them?

Marty turned then and his jaw dropped. He stared at her and the dog, then went back to his conversation. Just then a woman came out of the house with a cat carrier. There was plenty of low growls, threatening meows and general disgruntles. She stopped a few feet away and set down the cage. Kia crouched down to find a chocolate and cream cat—what was called a tortoiseshell or Tortie. She had copper eyes and a direct stare.

“She looks like a handful.”

“It’s a he. Rare for a Tortie, I know.” She reached out her hand and smiled. “I’m Emma, Marty’s wife.”

Tucking the phone into his back pocket, Marty walked back over to her. “So what’s the verdict?” The cat made a hissing noise and caught her on the ankle. Kia stepped back, her skin smarting.

“I’ll take him.”

“Him?” He looked at his wife and then back at her.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell her.”

“Oh,” he shuffled his feet. “Um…the cat goes with the dog.”

Kia absorbed that information and looked back down at the cat carrier. “What?”

“I found them together, and I’m afraid they’re bonded. If you take the dog, you’ve got to take the cat.”

She looked at the placid animal now sitting at her feet looking up at her with adoring eyes and the cat who was hissing up a storm and protesting as all get out.

“He just puts up a fuss. He’s really not that bad,” Emma said and Kia had to wonder if she just wanted him gone. “He’s a very good mouser and can live outside,” Marty offered.

“I do have a barn and horses,” Kia said. The fear of the morning break-in fresh in her mind, she figured it couldn’t hurt to have a guard dog and an attack cat. “All right,” she said, biting her lip and worrying the ring. “I’ll take them both.”

A few days later, after three shredded pillows, plenty of caterwauling, spilled food dishes and general tortitude, a word Kia came up with to describe BFA’s disposition, she was determined to win this animal over. He was a gorgeous one at that, all cream and chocolate. She was a good person and she loved animals. He would come around. His name came out of a hacking term for an alternative phishing method called Brute Force Attack. BFA sounded so benign, like BFF, but this cat wasn’t exactly interested in being best friends with her, more like mortal enemies. No matter what she did, he just wouldn’t warm up. Finally, she set him out in the barn where he proceeded to kill mice and leave them on her porch. But, he’d bonded with her horses, especially headstrong Quicksand. When she came out in the morning to go to work, he was perched on the big buckskin’s hindquarters, mocking her, pretty much a cat middle finger.

And when she looked down. Another mangled mouse. She got a tissue and raised it in the air. “Thanks! This is such a great present,” she said, then under her breath, “you little monster.” She buried it with the others.

Unlike BFA, Triton, her new guard dog, was fantastic. Several times, he’d barked enthusiastically and after a few tense moments, with him on alert, he would settle. She worried less and less about break-ins now. He had some amazing training, and he was easy to manage, energetic, but she loved running with him, walking with him. He was even good with the horses when she rode. A genuine little hero.

She wasn’t going to examine too closely why she had named the dog that, for the same reason, she didn’t exactly examine the reason she was enamored with forty. She closed her eyes when she got into the car and gripped the wheel. Even a ten-year-old memory could make her giddy just thinking about Wes McGraw. The fleeting glimpses of him here and there had been few and far between over the years.

But her stomach lurched and tied itself into terrible knots. She had kept a terrible secret from him. One that had lingered for ten long years, her biggest failure, her deepest regret.

Once she got to work, she had no idea why Wes was so heavy on her mind. He’d only been back to Reddick a dozen or so times since he’d left just before his father’s funeral. She’d heard that not only hadn’t he finished college, but he’d gone into the navy.

She’d overheard Annette McGraw say that her son had become a SEAL, part of the elite, tough fighting force. Wes in the military was hard for her, at the time, to get her head around. He was a cowboy through and through and had been born and bred for the range. She often wondered how he’d fared on the battlefield.

He and his father had been so close. She knew every one of his hopes and dreams because Travis McGraw had told her. He was such a good, kind man, a former rodeo cowboy that was a legend in Texas before he’d quit to take over the running of Sweetwater.

She’d met him at the business end of a shotgun, but he wasn’t threatening her, just the boys who thought she would be an easy mark for some sexual fun.

As morning flowed into afternoon, the crowd was heavy during the breakfast rush, plenty of tourist dollars flowing into neat, tidy Reddick and into her coffers. She thought she might like to spruce up the place a bit with a new sign and some paint both inside and out. She’d have to think about that. Probably do it before next summer’s bookings.

As soon as the lull started, Kia began inventory of the liquor, a tedious task, but it had to be done. Running out of booze especially on a Friday or Saturday night wouldn’t do. The bell over the door sounded as a customer came into The Back Forty.

The tapping of boot heels sounded, a familiar cadence in Texas. Kia looked up and everything in her froze. He was tall, so very tall and lean, standing by the door, a black Stetson on his head, the brim shading his eyes, but she’d know the man anywhere, anytime.

Wes McGraw had come home.

Big, wide-shouldered, he stood framed in the light, his thumb hooked in the front pocket of his jeans. His hands were long and well-shaped, and there was something almost deceptively casual about his stance, about the way his fingers splayed out against his thigh. Something lethal and a little too careless, as though he had small regard for danger.

Experiencing a strange flutter at the unexpected thought, Kia clenched and unclenched her hands, recognizing the flutter as an extreme case of nervousness. Wes McGraw did that to her, another constant where he was concerned.

He took in the room, a quick once over as if gauging the lay of the land and assessing everything there in one quick sweeping, tactical glance.

He took a few steps forward, then they faltered when he was close to the bar.

Taking a fortifying breath, she watched him come toward her, trying to quell her stupid girl crush on him. She wasn’t going to make a fool of herself. She was not.

Wes was and had been a stranger to her. They had only exchanged a few words to each other. He’d been the jock and she the freak, from two different worlds. And, even though she thought she had perceived something there, it was all in her imagination. High school was all about fitting in. Everyone wanted it and it was so hard when a square peg could only seem to find that round hole.

Feeling as if her heart was going to actually thump against her chest wall like in the movies, so visual she could almost see it, she stared at him, her heartbeat stopping completely when he took off his hat and she could see the lean angles his face. Ten years had taken a handsome boy into a rugged, gorgeous man. Some things hadn’t changed like the thick, coal black silk of his hair, or those intriguing, thickly-lashed whiskey eyes. He might have more lines around them now, but he was still simply an arresting man with his big body, knee-melting face and his strong, beard-shadowed jaw.

Ten years wasn’t enough to mitigate her guilt, or her doubts or the way she felt about him. Her pulse was racing with an awful mixture of surprise and anticipation, and a truly horrible excitement at just seeing him again.

Even a square peg could dream.

“Kia?” he asked, his voice going through her and reverberating in her bones, the kind of deep timber that melted her and probably every woman within earshot. His voice was deeper than deep, sending vibrations through the air, commanding attention and sending skin prickling, hair-raising chills through her body. His voice was the kind that people listened to and trusted. It hit her deep in her gut and drew her in.

His Texas roots were both in his voice and in his dress—a dark blue plaid western-style shirt that fit him like a second skin, faded blue jeans molded to lean hips and powerful thighs, a wide-hand-tooled belt that sported an engraved silver buckle threaded through the loops of his jeans and on his feet, a pair of scuffed cowboy boots. He leaned forward, the edge of the bar pressing against his lean torso as he extended his hand to her.

Kia felt vaguely suspended as she met his steady gaze. Placing her hand in his, she was bombarded by the warmth, texture and strength of his skin, his grip. “Yes, it’s me. Wes McGraw back in town. What brings you home?”

He met her gaze with an unreadable expression, his tanned skin and honed body a testament to his active, outdoor lifestyle. “My sister’s nagging and the high school reunion.”

Her stomach lurched again for different reasons. He was going to be part of the festivities? Part of next week’s Thursday night mixer, then the car wash Friday to raise money for the high school football and band uniforms followed by Friday’s tailgate and local football kickoff game, with the dinner and dance Saturday night, closing with a brunch on Sunday here in The Back Forty.

She’d see him all weekend. She glanced down at his left hand and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw no ring. Not that it was any of her business and didn’t mean that he wasn’t with someone.

His eyes were the color of old-aged whiskey and like the spirit teeming with multiple layers and a complex presence, irresistible and seamless blend of character and personality.

She was so lost in those eyes she didn’t realize that she was still clasping his hand. Unwilling to break physical contact with this man, she self-consciously let go. “There’s a lot planned,” she said lamely. “So, what can I do for you?”

“My mom said you have rooms for rent that are reasonable. It’s much too crowded at my sister’s house with my mom, sister, brother-in-law and niece and nephew.”

“Let me guess, short couch, long legs?” God, she’d forgotten how potent he could be in person, an attractiveness that was unfeigned and indestructible.

He chuckled and a brief grin lit his face. Wes could look so stoic, but when he smiled. Watch out.

“And old springs.”

“Gotcha. I think we can help you out.” She checked him in, ran his credit card, then she called out, “Sally Jean, I need you out here.” A blonde woman came out of the back, her hair in pigtails, a bright grin on her face when she got a load of Wes. Kia said under her breath, “Not for him.”

“You are no fun,” she whispered.

“I’m taking him up to the apartments. Watch the front for me.”

“You bet.” She smiled at Wes and said, “Hey, cowboy.”

He’d just settled the Stetson back on his head. He nodded, brushed the brim and smiled softly, walking along the bar to where Kia was watching the exchange. When her ribs connected painfully with the hinged bar top, she realized that she had been too caught up in staring instead of paying attention.

Stupid girl crush–one/Kia–a big fat zero.

Wes didn’t say anything, just reached out and lifted the partition for her. She slipped through and while she stood in the shadow of his body, he gently set it down. She tingled everywhere. “This way,” she said, her voice even more breathless than before. Geez, Kia get a damn grip. She was almost out the back door before she realized that she didn’t have the key. She stopped, turned and Wes plowed right into her.

“Whoa,” he said, “You need to give a cowboy a warning before stopping on a dime, darlin’.” He caught her against him with lightning quick reflexes and oh, boy was that one hard body. Startled at the contact, she grabbed for his arm and snagged one of those biceps and it was a good thing he was holding her so tightly, because swooning was a definite possibility. The bulge was thick, hard and rounded, but she held on.

She looked up into those warm eyes and said, “Um, I forgot…” Then got lost.

He was staring right back and it was a moment before he cleared his throat and said, “What did you forget?”

“The key,” she said sheepishly and the sound of his laughter rumbled against her breasts and stomach. Stupid girl crush two/Kia, no surprise, a big, fat zero.

“Oh, well, that’s important.”

He released her probably expecting that she had already regained her balance.

Not likely with this man.

She went around him and there was Sally Jean, eyes sparkling as she held out the key. Kia gave her a scrunched-up warning look not to laugh, but Sally Jean was irrepressible. “You got any more of them stashed somewhere?” she asked under her breath, sneaking another peek at Wes. “That’s one rodeo I want to ride.”

“Shush, you hussy,” Kia said taking the key and a deep, much needed breath.

She turned back around and headed out of the bar and around to the back. “You can use this entrance and park your vehicle in this lot. Be careful coming up the alley though because people are always coming and going, emptying trash, stuff like that.”

“Got it.”

She opened a wooden gate and went through, walking toward the stairs, trying to keep her voice even. “There are ice machines, one down here, one up on the porch at the end in case you want some. Although, the fridges in the apartments have ice trays if you prefer to make your own.”

She went up the stairs, Wes right behind her. She walked along the porch until she got to their best apartment. Inserting the key, she pushed it open and went inside.

“This is nice,” he said as he followed her. “Very western.” He walked up to some paintings hanging on the wall depicting cowboys on the range. “These are great. I also like the cowhide chair, tasteful without being too kitschy.”

His praise made her smile. “I’ve never been accused of ever being kitschy, maybe weird, strange and odd, but not that.”

He turned to look at her. “I would never describe you that way…different maybe, but that’s what makes things interesting.”

There was something about the way he turned his head, the way he looked at her, that made her insides knot up. As if he’d contemplated long and hard about what made her unique. Did it just get hot in here? “I got them at flea markets, redid the frames, recovered the chair and there you go. Cowboy stuff.”

He cast her another look, only this time she caught a trace of amusement around his mouth. “Cowboy stuff.”

She shrugged. “It’s big business. I do it my way, but people seem to like it.”

The corner of his mouth quirked again. “I bet they do.” All of a sudden it felt like they weren’t talking about her decorating prowess. It felt like the temperature rose a few more degrees.

He pressed his forearm against the wall, his hand hanging inches from her face and leaned in toward her. The light from outside slanted through the windows and exposed his eyes beneath the brim of his hat. There was something oddly disconcerting about the way he scrutinized her, as if he was peeling away layer upon layer, looking for the person within. Kia didn’t move a muscle, her heart suddenly pounding, her breath stuck in her chest. Awareness churned through her, making her heart beat even harder, and she was struck by a nearly paralyzing fascination with his hand, making her wonder what it would be like to be touched by him. A disabling weakness pumped through her, and it was all she could do to keep her eyes from drifting to his mouth, wide and full and looking very kissable. The amount of time she thought about kissing him filled many hours. A need so strong filtered through her. More than her next breath, she wanted to reach out and smooth her hand across that strong jaw, to experience his strength and his warmth. More than anything she wanted to experience his warmth.

His expression suddenly shuttered, and he jerked his gaze from hers, his jaw bunched.

The moment was past, maybe it had never been there. Sometimes it was easy for a square peg to mistake a round hole for a square one—the desperation quotient. She stepped back. “You can expect fresh linens every day and housekeeping comes around about ten or so.” She backed up some more and he straightened. “We serve breakfast downstairs until eleven-thirty, and of course we have lunch and dinner. Tonight, it’s cornbread and authentic Texas chili. Yum.”

She had reached the door, and she turned to go.

“Kia?”

“Yes?” She whipped back around.

“The key.”

“Key?”

“To the door.” That amusement was back.

Her words weren’t quite so steady when she responded. “Oh, right, ha. I’m so lame.” Yeesh, she was such a head-in-the-clouds dope. Feeling suddenly very foolish and very small, she eased a breath past the funny sensation behind her breastbone. Stupid girl crush three/Kia still a big, fat zero. She set it down on the end of the table. With her cheeks flushing, she closed the door behind her.

She was with Sally Jean. She so wanted to ride that rodeo.