Chapter One
In the private cemetery on her family’s ranch, Olivia Cattenach knelt by her brother’s grave and brushed grass clippings from the headstone. Six months since Justin had been killed in action. Hard to believe. The loss was still as fresh as the day two soldiers had shown up at her front door with his tags and their condolences.
Worse than losing her brother, her best friend, was the reality of a life cut short at just twenty-eight. Tragedy didn’t begin to cover it. One IED, one wrong step, and he was gone. Erased as if he’d never been here at all.
Knowing Aunt Mae was standing behind her at the wrought iron gate, waiting to start the day, Olivia sighed, took a sip of coffee from a travel cup, and tried to keep her morning visit short. But, damn. The sharp stab of loneliness pierced her stomach.
She glanced past his grave and that of her parents’ to the northern pasture in the distance, teeming with long golden stems as far as the eye could see. “In another month, we can harvest the winter wheat and plant the spring.”
Though the crop only encompassed one-hundred of their two-thousand acres, and it wasn’t near the revenue as their other income margins, it had been Justin’s favorite part of the ranch. Hands deep in the soil, wide open land, and silence.
His last days hadn’t had any of those elements. Instead, he’d been in a decimated structure in the arid desert, surrounded by crumbling concrete. Guns, explosions, shouting...
She shook her head and eyed their house to her left, beyond the ridge where the cemetery was located. Merely a blip from her position. Justin used to race her from the cottonwood tree edging the iron fence, down the incline, through the wildflower garden, and to the three-story log cabin they called home. As the older sister by two years, she’d let him win, of course. Until he’d hit a growth spurt as a teen and grew taller than her by six inches. All legs, her brother.
A bitter wind blew across the range, bringing the faint scent of snow from the Laramie Mountains to the south. Sun beat down on the prairie grass to her right, over the eastern and southern passes. For mid-April in eastern Wyoming, the day was proving to be warm. Overnight temps had been in the forties, but it would probably hit the sixties by lunch. Not a half-bad start to a Monday.
Feet shuffled from behind, reminding her she couldn’t sit idle talking to a ghost much longer. She eyed Justin’s grave one last time and attempted a smile. “Love you. Say hi to Mom and Dad. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The figure of speech made her throat burn as she rose and turned for the gate. Because she wouldn’t see him tomorrow. Thanks to a commanding officer who’d made a bad call, she’d never see her brother again.
Aunt Mae waited patiently, one arm propped on the post, a to-go mug of coffee in her other hand. Sunlight hit her pure white strands, cut in a neat bob above her wide shoulders. Her craggy face had seen many rough winters, the fine lines a testament to her will, but her piercing blue eyes were as kind as her soul.
She’d grown up on the ranch and, twenty years ago, had stepped up when Olivia’s mother and father had died. She hardly remembered her parents, scattered fragments of memories really, but Aunt Mae resembled Olivia’s father down to her square chin and solid frame.
Olivia adjusted her fitted red flannel under her canvas jacket and stepped into Aunt Mae’s brief embrace. The rustling of their clothing scratched the air as they separated, then they walked toward the house with Aunt Mae’s arm slung over Olivia’s shoulders.
She breathed in crisp mountain air tinged with frost and soil. “Nice morning.”
“That it is.” Her aunt glanced at her as their boots crunched over the gravel-strewn path. “Long walk to take every morning, though.”
“You don’t have to come with me.” She often didn’t accompany Olivia on her routine trek, and those were the days she’d found it harder to leave and get to the duties awaiting her.
“I don’t mind. These old bones need the exercise.” Aunt Mae dropped her arm, severing the connection, and glanced ahead. “I’ll bet my bison stew recipe there’s a certain foreman waiting for you outside the barn.”
Olivia knew better than to accept that wager. “No doubt.” Bright and early, Nakos always waited for her to round the bend from the cemetery trail. He usually put in a solid hour delegating duties before she even stepped off the front porch.
“He wouldn’t make a bad husband, baby girl.”
True. Olivia could do worse than Nakos Hunt. With the dark skin tone and black hair of his native Arapaho tribe, combined with solid bone structure and a handsome face, he’d definitely been conceived at the deep end of the gene pool. He was also hard-working, kind, and protective. Too protective, but she shrugged that off.
Thing was, there were no sparks. Appreciation, yes. Chemistry? No. Still, she was thirty years old, lived on the outskirts of town to which had few prospects, and if she wanted to carry on the family legacy, she needed to put serious thought into settling down with someone. She got along well with their foreman. He’d been the closest to a best friend she’d had since Justin died.
“I’ll think about it.” She took a sip of coffee.
“You’ve been thinking about it for months.” Aunt Mae’s eyebrows pinged. “The boy’s had a thing for you since you were sixteen. How long are you going to make him wait?”
One more thing to add to the guilt pile. “It hasn’t been that long.”
“You’re right. He’s probably crushed on you since his family came to work for ours. I peg that somewhere around age nine.”
Olivia laughed. “Okay, stop.” She shoulder-bumped her aunt. “He hasn’t exactly made a move.” Not that she would’ve known what to do if he had. Nakos had always been placed in the what-if column in her someday mental file. Biological clock aside, she was hesitant to pull out the folder and dust it off.
“Who says the man has to do all the work? Show some initiative.”
Yeah, yeah.
They walked in silence the rest of the hike, and just before she parted ways with her aunt, Nakos came out of the third barn with a clipboard in hand.
“Shocker.” Aunt Mae winked. “Go get dirty, baby girl. And I mean the naked kind.”
With a laugh, Olivia waved goodbye, watching her aunt take the long, winding path up to the house. She turned to find Nakos’s dark eyes on her and walked closer. “Good morning.”
He gave a nod, and the wind caught his short ponytail tied at his nape. “Hebe, Olivia.”
Every morning, he greeted her with a hello in his native Arapaho tongue, and something about it settled the turmoil in her chest. Not that she minded change, but she preferred certain precious things to remain the same.
One corner of his mouth curved. “A smile looks good on you. Been awhile since I’ve seen it.”
“Thanks. What’ve we got today?”
“You and I have spring shearing this week. The wool supplier’s coming Friday for a pickup. I put four guys on counting and moving steer farther down the eastern pasture, two on horseback checking the southern fence-line, and another three on the northern ridge. We’ve had some trouble with pronghorn antelope eating crops.”
That accounted for all her men. Nakos made ten. They hired additional seasonal help when needed, but until the wheat harvest, they were solid.
While Nakos consulted his clipboard, she studied him. Like her, he wore jeans and a flannel, but his coat was thick wool and he donned a black cowboy hat. At his six feet, she had to shield the sun with her hand and crane her neck to look at him. Clean-shaven, thick neck, defined shoulders, broad chest, and a narrow waist. She tried to wrap her mind around something romantic between them. All she could conclude was...maybe.
But why the hell not? She’d never know if she didn’t grab an opportunity by the bootstraps. “Aunt Mae says I should get dirty.”
He glanced at her. “Well, we could bypass the sheep and muck stalls. Then again, shearing’s sweaty work.”
Sigh. “She says the naked kind of dirty.” She couldn’t blame him for not catching her drift. It’s not as if she’d ever flirted with him before. She wasn’t even sure she knew how, at any rate. In these parts, the direct approach of buying someone a beer at the sole tavern in town was the equivalent of an offer.
He went eerily still and, as if in slow motion, his gaze slid from the clipboard to her. Hard black eyes nailed her to her spot and probed as if searching for the Holy Grail of meaning.
Unnerved and feeling more than a little stupid, she shifted her weight to her other foot. “Have you ever thought about it? Me, you, clothes on the floor?” Yikes. Couldn’t get any more obvious than that. She’d kill Aunt Mae later.
A harsh inhale, and he turned his head, glaring at the mountains in the far distance. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow and he closed his eyes for a brief moment before looking at her once again. Interest flared in his eyes, but uncertainty was gaining ground.
Finally, he switched the clipboard to his other hand and deigned to respond. “Where is this coming from, little red?”
He only called her “little red”—a reference to her size and hair color—when pissed off or if she did something he thought was adorable. She couldn’t tell which extreme he was hovering near at the moment, and his expression wasn’t offering any clues.
She shrugged. “We’re not getting any younger and we’re both single.” Lovely. She might die from over-romanticism.
“That’s not exactly a reason to date someone.”
Lord. She wished she’d never brought it up. Irritation made her eye twitch. “I didn’t say anything about dating.” When he just blinked, she sighed. “Never mind. Have the sheep been kept in all night?” They couldn’t shear if the herd was wet from the elements.
He shoved the clipboard under his arm and dropped a hand on his hip. “Yes.”
“And they’ve been fasting since yesterday?” This was to avoid excess waste to keep the wool and floor clean, plus minimized the sheep’s discomfort when rolled to their backs.
Not that Nakos didn’t know all of this, but a topic change was sorely needed. She was beginning to wonder if her instincts and Aunt Mae’s declaration about Nakos’s feelings were accurate. If that were the case, Olivia might’ve just made things very, very uncomfortable between her and her foreman.
“Yes.” He eyed her with a cross between confusion and frustration. “The first quarter of the flock is rounded up and in the pen. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“I know.” Most days, she didn’t have a clue what she’d do without him. He’d always been her rock—silent, strong, and unrelenting. “You do a great job, Nakos. Sorry. I’m having an off day.” Or year. Whatever.
He gave her a disbelieving look littered with concern. She walked around him and headed for the barn, but he gently grabbed her arm to stop her retreat.
With his face half in shadow from his hat, he drew a steady inhale. “Are we really doing this? Are we talking about crossing that line?”
“I don’t know.” Despite the chilly air, her cheeks heated. “Maybe we should table the discussion and think about it.”
He stared at her a long beat. “Why now? I never got the impression you were attracted to me.”
“You’re very attractive.” That wasn’t the issue. And if this wasn’t the most whack conversation the two of them ever had, she’d eat her own cooking. “I’m restless, I guess. Aunt Mae started in about settling down and, well...Yada.”
All he offered for the longest time was a slow nod. As if an afterthought, he let go of her arm. “Let’s get going on the herd. That can’t wait.” Posture stiff, he pivoted toward the open barn door.
“Are you angry?”
With his back to her, he paused. “No.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I’m processing. Out of nowhere, you proposition me and then claim it was out of boredom.”
Crap. She stepped in front of him, her stomach twisting in guilt. Just what every guy wanted—his pride bitch-slapped. “I’m sorry. And I didn’t say I was bored, I said restless. There’s a difference. If you’re not interested, we can pretend the past ten minutes never happened.”
“My curiosity isn’t in question and you know that or you wouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. Not once have I put you in a corner, little red.” He stepped closer, crowding her, and looked down his nose at her. “Know why? Because you’re not interested.”
“How do you know? We’ve never kissed or tried a relationship on for size.” In fact, she could count on one hand the number of times he’d touched her, and she’d still have spare fingers. He always stood beside her, had her back, but they didn’t have a touchy-feely kind of friendship.
“You feel it or you don’t. It’s as simple as that.” He shook his head. “Go ahead. Table the discussion, as you claimed. Think about it. I’ll be right here, where I’ve been the past twenty years. Now, can we get to work or would you like to throw me a second punch?”
Her shoulders sagged and she closed her eyes. This was why she’d blown off Aunt Mae every time she’d tried to bring up the idea of starting something with Nakos. One comment and a failed attempt at flirting had managed to wound his pride, insult him, and dent their friendship. At a loss, she opened her eyes, only to find his gaze pinned to something over her shoulder and a determined set to his mouth.
“I’m sorry.” She’d say it a thousand times over. As if reluctant, he glanced at her. “I care about you, Nakos, and I wasn’t thinking beyond right this second.” Which was completely out of the norm for her.
Obviously, his feelings ran deeper than attraction. She never should’ve toyed with his emotions. In part, she was glad she’d said something because now she knew for certain instead of simply going off assumption. If they kissed and there was a spark, they could build upon that, perhaps, since the notion was out there. But instinct sent warning knells clanging against her temples, shifting in her gut. He hadn’t been wrong, either. Desire wasn’t knocking on her door. Not the consuming kind worth risking their solid unit to test the waters.
Conflicted, she rubbed her earlobe between her forefinger and thumb—a nervous tick she’d had since she was a girl.
“Consider it forgotten.” He pointed to the barn. “Work now. Talk later.”
They wouldn’t talk about it, though. That wasn’t their dynamic. He had a way of reading her, and her him, without the need for words. Not that they didn’t have open communication. She’d yet to meet anyone more brutally honest or forthcoming than him. But heart-to-hearts? Hell no. Even after Justin died, Nakos had offered no platitudes. He’d just stood next to her, silently watching and letting her know he was there if she crumbled.
She followed him inside the barn and took stock. Baa-baas rent the air and the scent of straw mixed with soil clung to the crisp cross-breeze. He’d rounded up a third of the flock and had some penned on one side of the large space, the rest in the outer holding area just beyond the open rear doorway. Roughly a hundred sheep stalked around while her faithful black and white border collie, Bones, sat idly in the middle of the room, awaiting orders. To the right was a sturdy wooden table where they could roll the wool and a large crate already on a skid for easy transport.
Nakos had sure been busy this morning while waiting for her. Quickly, she removed her canvas jacket and hung it on a peg just inside the door. Since each sheep could produce eight to ten pounds of wool, and the process of shearing required skill, it was harder than most realized. Luckily, she and her foreman had it down to a science.
With Nakos holding the animals in position, she sheared. He rounded the flock and sent them out one-by-one as she rolled and stored in compatible silence. They moved as one like clockwork through lunch and into the late afternoon before they finished with the herd slated for today.
Once the barn was locked tight and the flock out to pasture, they headed up the winding path to the house as daylight faded to dusk. Crickets chirped while their boots crunched over gravel. Bones trotted along beside her, his tongue drooping partly out of his mouth.
She swiped the sweat from her forehead with her arm, chilly now that the temp had dropped. Her muscles cried uncle as she glanced at Nakos. “Are you staying for dinner?”
“No. I’ve got leftovers from Mae. I’ll walk you up, though.”
He had a cabin on the ranch’s property near the southern ridge, a good ten minute trek. His truck would be in the driveway to get him back home, so seeing her to the house wasn’t unusual. But his dismissive tone kept the erected distance firmly between them. Uneasiness coiled in her stomach as they rounded the bend, and she figured she’d give him a couple days before apologizing again. Hopefully, that would get things back to normal.
Stopping abruptly, he glared straight ahead. “Are you expecting company?”
“No.” She followed his gaze to his blue pickup truck, partially blocked by the corner of the house. Behind it, parked next to the pine trees lining one side of the driveway, was a motorcycle.
She only knew a handful of people in town who owned a bike, and none would drive it up to her ranch this early in the season. As they got closer, she spotted the telltale green canvas military-issued tote strapped to the back of the seat, and her heart stopped.
“Oh no. Do you think it has something to do with Justin?” He’d been dead six months, though. Who could possibly want to visit her regarding him?
Nakos, jaw tense, glanced from the motorcycle to her, then at the three-story cedar log cabin like he was searching for signs of trouble.
The lights were on downstairs, a yellow glow emitting from the windows. Nothing seemed amiss on the wrap-around porch. The rocking chairs and pots filled with marigolds were in place, the heavy front door closed. All was quiet.
“I’ll follow you inside.” He jerked his chin, telling her to precede him.
She walked along the side of the house to the tack room in back, where they kicked off their boots and hung their coats. Her stomach somersaulting, she opened the kitchen door, letting Bones inside, and stepped through, Nakos on her heels to close it behind them.
Nothing was going on the six-burner gas stove. The slate countertops were free of dinner clutter, but remnants of something Italian hung in the air.
Aunt Mae rose from the scarred pine table in the center of the room, a teacup in hand, while Bones trotted off into the other room. “There you are. You have a guest.”
Olivia glanced at the visitor in question as he unfolded himself from a chair and stood. The legs scraped the floor, and the sound ricocheted off the white distressed cabinets and back to her like a bullet.
Holy crap. The breath backed up in her lungs. Man wasn’t the word to use to describe the person standing in her spacious kitchen. Giant, perhaps. All she could do was stare, caught between confusion about who he was and avid fascination.
Easily six feet and a handful of inches, he towered over her, even with the table and several sandstone granite tile squares between them. His head was shaved bald, but he had maybe a day’s worth of light brown scruff on his jaw, indicating what color his hair would be. A sleeve of tats ran up both arms and under a fitted white tee that left nothing to the imagination for the definition that lay underneath. Bulging muscles and veins and...testosterone. Yes. A huge wall of testosterone, this guy.
He shoved his huge hands in the pockets of his worn jeans, causing his biceps to bunch. He must’ve bench-pressed a Buick to get guns that size. “The name’s Nathan Roldan, but I go by Nate.”
Lord, his voice. Deep, guttural, and with a resounding echo that rumbled through her nervous system. She rolled the name around because it sounded familiar, but no way would she forget him had they met before.
“Do I know you?” She pegged him at close to her age, give or take a year.
“Ah.” Aunt Mae smiled, and the anxious tension in the gesture made Olivia’s pulse trip. “Why don’t you get washed up and we can talk? While we were waiting for you, Nate and I ate. I’ll reheat it for you.”
Nakos, as if sensing a problem, cozied closer to Olivia’s side. He offered her a look that said, I’m not leaving you alone with this guy.
Confused herself, she glanced at the newcomer again. His gaze darted between the two of them before he nodded in some kind of understanding. That made one of them, at least.
“I’m not here to cause trouble.” He pulled a wallet out of his back pocket and strode around the table.
His gait was like that of a graceful predator, and now that he was smack in front of her, she took in the details of his face. Fine lines, barely noticeable, wrinkled his forehead. His olive skin was more reminiscent of years in the sun than heritage. A golden tan of light bronze. The soft, slight downcast of his eyelids contradicted the harsh slash of his brows. So did his full, pouty mouth with the sharp cut of his jawbone.
Damn. He was one beautiful specimen. A little intimidating and extremely rough around the edges, but wow. She wouldn’t want to be caught on his bad side—assuming he had a good side—yet the naughty bad boy vibes were like an undercurrent pulling her in.
Don’t-mess-with-me meets I-dare-you-to-resist.
He held out what looked like a photo, and she got hung up in the dark brown of his eyes, framed by criminally long lashes. His lips pursed when she failed to take the item from him. “I served overseas with Justin.”
At her brother’s name, she sucked in a sharp breath and snapped to attention. With a shaking hand, she took the picture and glanced at it.
In camo gear and holding a rifle, Justin stood beside the man before her. A military jeep as the background, the guys posed, Nate’s arm around her brother’s shoulders. Justin’s grin and blue eyes had her throat closing and longing banding her chest. Before she got too emotional, she passed the photo back to Nate and cleared her throat.
He then extracted a driver’s license, courtesy of the state of Illinois, and showed her first, then Nakos, who eyed both the card and man like he was one flinch away from going postal. Nakos crossed his arms in a clear what-do-you-want pose.
Nate tentatively glanced at Aunt Mae and back to Olivia when her aunt nodded consent. “I just want to talk, and then I’ll leave if you want.” His gaze darted between hers, giving her the impression he was looking through her and into some deeper part she didn’t know existed. “Before he died, Justin gave me a message for you.”