Prologue
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“General?” Corporal Myers leaned into the small, sparely furnished office at USSOCOM at MacDill Air Force Base in Florida. “We don’t have a lot of time, sir.”
“Be there in a minute. You got Powell out there?”
“Yessir, should I send him in?”
“Give me a second.”
General Augustus Reed wasn’t surprised by Myers’s anxiety. He knew without being reminded that hot spots all around the world had gotten hotter in the last month. After all, he’d been with the Army for over thirty years and he’d seen his fair share of trouble. Unlike the corporal, he wasn’t worried, though. In fact, he’d never felt better. Trouble energized him. Made him sharp.
Distracted him from the mess he’d made back home with his daughters.
The General didn’t even want to think about that. But he supposed he had to, with Powell heading to Montana today. He was sending the man on a special mission. Had pulled a lot of strings last spring, plucked him out of a Navy SEAL team when he’d gotten into a bit of trouble and forced him into a special cross-branch task force with the sole design of using him for his own purposes. Luckily the General had amassed the rank—and, more importantly, enough favors—to get away with that kind of thing when no one else could.
With a grunt of dissatisfaction, he pulled open the bottom left-hand drawer of his battered wooden desk.
He supposed things weren’t such a mess at Two Willows anymore. Not like they’d been before, back in his daughters’ teenage years, when his girls had seemed to need to rebel against him constantly. They’d spent the last eleven years trying to shake off any restrictions he’d put on them, including the men he’d sent to run the cattle operation on his wife’s ranch after Amelia had died, and the women he’d sent to finish raising them. Now they’d all grown up, and he couldn’t send guardians to watch over them anymore.
So he’d started sending husbands.
He’d found two fine men for Cass and Sadie, and he was about to send a third to Two Willows to woo Jo. Hunter Powell, Navy SEAL sniper. Those girls might think they’d given him the slip, but he’d proved the old man had a trick or two up his sleeve. And a sniper would come in handy given the trouble hounding Two Willows these days. Some drug running outfit had tried to grab his land to use as a base of operations. His girls—and the men he’d sent to marry them—had fought them off. Twice. Time to send in reinforcements.
Still, he couldn’t squash the uneasy feeling in his gut when he reached into the drawer and pulled out an envelope.
It wasn’t that he was worried about his daughters, although he was; he had a feeling those drug runners would be back.
It was that there weren’t many letters from Amelia left, and when he’d read them all, he wouldn’t get any more. The General had come to depend on them, and he didn’t know what he’d do when they were gone. Only someone like Amelia could have foreseen her stroke and written so many timely messages for him to receive after she left him behind. Amelia was special. She’d always had a sense of what was coming next. The General hadn’t realized how much she’d foreseen until she’d died. Her warm, loving notes had guided him through his daughters’ teen years and into their twenties. Then she’d brought up the topic of their marriages.
As the General slit open the envelope, he knew she’d have more advice—more instructions—for him.
Knew he’d follow them to the letter.
Probably.
Lately she’d been telling him it was time for him to go home. He wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
Dear Augustus, she began like always, and the General settled in for a comfortable read.
Her next words straightened his back again, however.
You have got to be kidding me. You didn’t go to Sadie’s wedding, either? It’s bad enough you skipped Cass’s. Is there still time? Can you book a last-minute flight and make it? Tell me that’s what you’ll do.
The General swallowed hard, fighting the knowledge he’d disappointed his wife—again. She was right; there was still time to get to Sadie’s wedding, but he wasn’t going to get on any flight to Montana. Amelia had to know why he’d stayed away.
It’s no use. I know that you won’t. And my heart is breaking—for my girls and for you. You have to make this right. You have to—
Oh, why bother telling you what to do? Since when have you listened to anyone? Fine. Stay away, but keep sending those men. Jo is next, and she’s in desperate need of someone to love her—and to understand her. I hope you picked a saint for her—
The General swore. Hunter Powell was as far from a saint as you could get. A Navy SEAL. A sniper, no less. A man as haunted by his decisions as the General was haunted by his demons. He’d hand-picked the other men for his girls with an understanding of exactly why they were meant for each other. Hunter, he’d chosen because his gut told him to. It was as if he’d had one of his wife’s supernatural hunches about the man.
The General didn’t like that idea at all.
Especially given the reason Hunter had been kicked off his team and handed over to join the General’s unit of cast-offs. Normally, he’d send a man like Hunter packing, but something about his story didn’t ring true. Hunter was hiding something—the reason for his actions. He was a stubborn one, but the General’s gut told him he was stubborn in a good way.
—remember that saints often masquerade in sinner’s clothing. I know you’ll choose well. Jo always has been the apple of your eye. She used to follow you everywhere—a daddy’s girl through and through.
Amelia might as well have stabbed him in the heart. The General half crumpled the letter in his hand. He remembered those days—remembered tiny Jo trailing after him—and always some puppy or kitten—and on more than one occasion, colt trailing after her. Jo had loved two things in life—animals and her father. Not necessarily in that order. Back then all his girls had been affectionate toward him, but Jo had been his staunchest ally. He could do no wrong in her eyes.
And then he’d done the worst thing imaginable.
Left her for good.
Walked away from the church after Amelia’s funeral, before her casket was even lowered into her grave, got in his rental car and kept driving all the way back to Florida, where he’d been stationed—and where he’d stayed ever since.
He could not go home. Could not set foot on Amelia’s ranch. Not anymore.
It killed him to know that he’d never been defeated in battle, but he’d proved himself a coward all the same.
He missed his girls. Missed Jo. Missed her open-hearted enthusiasm for life. He didn’t talk to any of his daughters much anymore, but Jo was the one who’d changed the most since Amelia’s death. Gone were her open smile and love for him. Now he saw wariness in her eyes when they talked via video chat.
Loss. Heartbreak.
Swallowing against the old pain, he smoothed out the letter and finished it.
Send Jo a husband. A good man. Someone who will take the time to get to know her, Augustus.
And start making those plans. You have to go home.
Love,
Amelia
“General?” Corporal Myers opened the door again. “We’ve got to go—”
“Send Powell in.”
“Yessir.”
The General nearly smiled at Myers’s obvious exasperation. If the corporal was losing his cool, then time was tight. He’d have to make this fast.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” Powell stepped into the room. The General stood up and went to meet him.
“That’s right. You’re leaving soon?”
“Fifteen minutes, sir.”
Powell’s Southern accent was as thick as syrup, but somehow it didn’t detract from his sharp, watchful awareness. When he entered a room, people knew to leave him alone. There was something coiled inside him—something that snapped like a whip when necessary. He was a dedicated man, too, with plenty of commendations in his record for outstanding service to his country. Why had a man like him done something so out of character?
The General stopped himself. He knew as well as anyone how strangely a man could behave when those he loved were involved.
“You treat my girl right.”
“Will do.” Powell had taken on this mission without protest. The General thought he knew why. The man needed a new start. Somewhere no one knew how he’d let his team down.
Somewhere he could reinvent himself.
“She’s got to love you—not just agree to marry you.” He had no idea why he’d said that. Love wasn’t a term he bandied about. That was Amelia’s territory.
Powell’s eyes narrowed. He nodded once, but the command had troubled him.
The General clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got what it takes. You might not think so, but it’s in there.”
“If you say so, General.”
A hard man to read. A man with secrets.
Wounds.
Just for a moment, General Reed wondered if he’d made a mistake. If he’d read the situation wrong. What if Powell was exactly the man his record said he was? What if he didn’t have what it took to stick with this particular mission? Marriage was forever.
“I’ll do my best,” Powell added suddenly.
The General’s fingers tightened on his shoulder, then released. “Good.”
He hadn’t made a mistake. Had someone else? Why had Powell stepped so far out of character when he’d gotten into trouble? He searched the SEAL’s face for answers but felt Amelia’s approbation even though he got none. This was the man meant for Jo. He knew it.
Somehow.
“Go marry my daughter.”
“Yes, sir.”