Chapter 1

Dustin Franks sat on the edge of the bed, gasping for breath as sweat poured off of him. His palms settled on his moist thighs and his chin rested against his collarbone.

“You went longer than you ever have. I was beginning to think you’d never finish.”

His gaze slowly shifted to hers. “You had me fired up.”

“I meant every word I said.”

“Sometimes you push all my damn buttons. I think you enjoy seeing how much of it I’ll take.” He blotted the perspiration from his face and neck with a towel. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

His physical therapist rubbed her small baby bump. “No, you big worrier. You’re leaning less on me and the bar and putting more weight on the titanium calf and foot.” Rebecca handed him a cup of water. “Drink. You know the drill.”

“Shit, I know more drills than you can imagine.” Her word triggered memories of hellacious drills during BUD/S training; but his will had been indomitable and he’d made it into the SEALs. Even though, at times, he was positive he saw the pearly gates before him.

Rebecca waved the large Styrofoam cup in front of his eyes. “Dustin, wherever your mind went, come back. I was referring to the hydration drill.”

He shook the recollections from his brain and reentered the present. “Right.” He took the cup. “Rehydrate.” He gulped the water.

“I’m going to sit next to you.”

“Okay, Rebecca.” Damn shame she had to warn each of her patients of every movement she was about to make, so no one freaked out over the suddenness of it.

“Tomorrow, we’re going to talk about your release from BAMC. You’ll be out of here in two weeks, three at the most at the rate of your progress.” Rebecca patted his hand. “You are one determined man. I’ve never seen anyone push himself as hard as you have. Tomorrow, we start running on your sprinter prosthesis. I’ve got to go work with Brent now. See you in the morning.” Off she hurried to her next PT patient.

Dustin set his empty cup on his nightstand, pushed himself farther onto the bed, and twisted to lie down. The movement twinged his left hip marginally and his left thigh a few degrees more. His bicep had healed from the surgery to remove the shrapnel—one less pain to deal with. A three-day-long hellacious gunfight in Raqqa, a city along the Euphrates River in Syria, had damaged a great deal of the left side of his body.

Air attacks, bombs, and hand grenades had destroyed building after building—so much for the war in the Middle East coming to an end with fewer American boots on the ground. ISIS and a few small bands of radical insurgents had seen to that. His team, one of a few special ops forces, had been sent in to evict the killing groups, train local forces, and restore some stability.

One of the structures he and another team member, Kent Wysocki, had entered to clear out the enemy took a direct hit. It had required a great deal of his SEAL fortitude and strength of resolve just to crawl far enough from under the rubble to find air to breathe. The coppery stench of his partner’s blood stayed with Dustin for a long time. Even now, he’d wake up in the middle of the night, shaking, sweating, and smelling the blood of his dead buddy, Wysocki.

Nance, the team’s service dog, had jumped over the burning timbers to whine and lick the unwounded side of Dustin’s face and neck. With half of her head bandaged, she’d barked once and charged for JJ, her handler. JJ told Dustin as he and the medic worked on him that she’d alerted JJ in the middle of the firefight’s mayhem that one of the team had been hurt. Claimed she’d grabbed his sleeve and tugged while she growled. The German shepherd, who’d come to them with the name Ordnance, a two-syllabled moniker they’d quickly shortened to one—Nance—had helped save Dustin’s life.

“Mail call!” The corporal made his typical announcement when he entered the ward, jarring Dustin’s mind from his memories of that fateful battle. Mail call was the time of day most men at Brooks Army Medical Center—or BAMC—lived for and some men would just as soon elude. Hearing from family who expected the same person to read the cards and letters who had gone to war months ago was never going to happen. Guilt hung heavy in the air. They’d all changed, even the ones with no physical wounds.

“Dustin Franks.”

His stomach knotted. “Here.”

The baby-faced corporal handed Dustin an envelope from the Court of Howard County in Maryland and used a handheld reader to scan the label on it and a small box from Eagle Ridge Ranch, neither of which Dustin was in the mood to open. Maybe, by some miracle, the divorce Hailey wanted from her husband, the cripple, hadn’t gone through. After all, he hadn’t been able to make the trial date. By then, he’d been flown from Walter Reed to this high-tech hospital in San Antonio, Texas.

He placed them by his side and fingered the envelope, battling with himself. Did he still want to be married to a woman who wouldn’t stick by him? Fuck no. He’d have taken care of her no matter what illness she contracted. He tore open the flap and removed the divorce decree, signed and notarized—and registered in the court with a number. Damn, he was tired of being tied to one string of lifeless figures or another.

A muted “Set Fire to the Rain” drifted from the box. What the hell? That was the team’s theme song they sang as they drove away from a fight. What was his old commander—or officer in charge (OIC)—from SEAL Team 5 up to now? Dustin ripped open the box only to find a cellphone and a note. “If you don’t call me ten minutes after receiving my awesome, one-of-a-kind gift, I’m calling you, you candy-assed bastard. And I’ll keep calling until you answer. ZQ”

The music stopped, and Dustin sighed. Thank God. When he arrived here eight months ago, ZQ was waiting and sat with him for the first three days. He talked to Dustin when he wanted to be left alone and read him poetry by Walt Whitman, which he liked but was too stubborn to admit. ZQ’s actions only reinforced what Dustin had always known; he cared for his men.

The song started again. Ah hell, ZQ. Give me a fuckin’ break here. He swiped his index finger across the phone’s screen only to find a picture of Nance, her tongue lolling crooked from her mouth. Her one ear missing after being shot off. The day it happened as they fought their way through Al-Hasakah in Eastern Syria, her handler, JJ—Jerryl Jacoby—had nearly lost his mind. Hell, they all had.

They’d grown somewhat accustomed to the screams and moans of wounded men, but to hear their furry girl’s yelps ripped at what goodness remained intact within their souls.

On the cell’s photo, a sign hung around Nance’s neck that read, “Call me! Press 2.”

“Damn you, Zane Quinlan,” Dustin muttered as he shook the phone in frustration. The commander always did know his men’s weak spots and played them to his advantage. He claimed Dustin’s was his curiosity, which it wasn’t. Still, just how had ZQ gotten ahold of Nance?

Dustin pressed two, and after a couple rings, Nance barked a response. He talked to her a minute, teasing her like he always had. “Dance for me, Nance! Dance.” Evidently recognizing his voice, she whined and howled. There was some slurping, and Dustin smiled for the first time since forever. The damn sweet dog was licking the phone to get to him…and he lost it.

Neither realizing the explosion had taken his leg from the middle of his calf down, nor seeing his mother’s tears when he initially reached Walter Reed Hospita, nor finding out he’d missed his dad’s funeral…Not even his wife’s—hell, ex-wife’s, now—revulsion when she saw his damaged body tore at him so deeply as this dog’s reaction. Why the hell was that?

JJ’s firm voice in the background calmed her, while Dustin wiped his damp face.

Then ZQ took over the conversation.

“Hey, Dust, I knew if anyone could get to you, it would be Nance. Took you long enough to call me.” His team leader sounded like he’d just finished gargling with razor blades. Shit, Dustin wouldn’t be surprised if he had. The Old Man was hard-core. Not that he was really ancient, but any officer who’d survived fifteen years or more in an official capacity in special forces was respectfully labeled as “Old Man,” just not to his face.

“Is she at the ranch or are you visiting JJ?”

“Hell, they’re here at Eagle Ridge with me. Have been for over two months. JJ adopted her when his enlistment was up. The dog still had some time to serve but, having lost an ear, the bigwigs gave her an early retirement.”

“I figured he would do his best to keep her, as tight as those two were. Nance trusted JJ with her life.”

“Still does. I was coming from the stables when this god-awful racket echoed on my dirt lane. A man rode a vintage Harley with a sidecar, of all things. The dude wore a black leather vest a few shades darker than him and a black brain bucket for a helmet. And who was sitting in the sidecar, strapped in and wearing a matching black brain bucket with ‘War Vet’ and a Trident decal on the front? Ol’ Nance. Pretty as you please.”

Ice cubes rattled in a glass, and the sound of his sipping and swallowing filtered over the phone. ZQ was probably into his treasured double-malt Scotch. He hacked a laugh. “Soon as our pup saw me, she damn near went berserk. JJ stopped the bike and unhooked her. She cleared the side and ran like hell for my outstretched arms. I ain’t ashamed to admit I was already on my knees, crying like a damn fool baby. There was always something extra special about our Nance.”

There was a deeply inhaled breath and then a slow exhale. “I’ve got plenty of rooms here and I offered one to JJ and Nance, but both are happier sleeping outside on the ground. Some nights they sleep near the house and others they walk off to Lord-knows-where with a sleeping bag under JJ’s one arm and a jug of water and dog kibble under his other. Kid seems to need his space and I give it to him as long as he helps with a few chores around here. A man has to stay busy. Far as I’m concerned, he can stay as long as he wants. He doesn’t say much.” ZQ sipped at his Scotch again.

“JJ never was talkative, except with Nance. Ashley tried pulling him out of his shell, but it always depended on his mood how successful she was. He’d play cards with us guys, but didn’t trash-talk or tease to the extent most of us did.” Would Dustin ever be in the mood to carry on like he once had? Was that part of himself destroyed, too?

“I hear you’re getting out of BAMC in a few weeks. What are your plans, son?”

“How did you hear that?”

ZQ wasn’t prone to answering questions, just asking them. “I’d be glad to come to San Antonio to pick you up, Dust. You could stay with us for a week or so until you make some plans. Hell, you can stay longer if you like, as long as you do some odd jobs around the place.”

“I know you. You’re gathering together free labor to run that ranch. How many acres do you have?”

ZQ chuffed a laugh. “Just over twenty-two thousand, one longtime foreman, and four ranch hands. Temporary hands are hired in when needed. Dad’s cancer slowed him and with Mom’s arthritis, she couldn’t help much. So when it came time to re-up again, I figured my folks needed me more. After all, I’d already given more than twenty years to my country. Was time to help oversee things at home. Dad and I had eight good months together before he died. We made many a horse ride over the range while Dad told me stories of the ranch’s history. Mom said I brought him back to life for a while.”

A pool of despair slowly flooded Dustin’s muscles. “I’m glad you had that, ZQ. My dad was killed, driving under the influence, while I was being transported home from a hospital in Germany.” Christ, how many hospitals had he been in altogether? “So I missed his funeral. Was no emotional help to Mom. Thank goodness she had three other children to hold her up.”

“Are you planning on flying back to Maryland, Dust? Spend some time with your family?”

He’d already decided he couldn’t handle his mom’s constant hovering and crying spells. She’d lost her husband and now her youngest son was injured. Seeing him daily would only add to her grief—and his.

“No. I can’t. I’m not ready for hometown just yet. I call Mom once a week to see how she is, try my best to keep the conversation on her and the family because I don’t want to talk about me.” He clamped his eyes shut and hissed through his teeth as phantom pain in the foot he no longer had tortured his remaining leg. “It’s hard for her to understand why I’m so withdrawn. Why I don’t want visitors. Why I don’t want to talk about the war. I feel guilty for treating her like that, but I’m not the boy she raised.”

“War changes us all.” The jagged voice of his old officer in charge somehow gave comfort.

“It’s not that I haven’t thought about moving home, ZQ, but I can’t deal with facing everyone.” He stared at the overhead light. “Including my new ex-wife.”

“Oh, hell, Dust. I’m sorry. I’d hoped Hailey would get her shit together. Then why not come here? It wouldn’t take me but an hour and a half to come get you. Stay for a couple weeks or a few months. Mull it over in your mind and call me back. Nance would be real glad to see ya. We all would. You’d be among men who’ve been through hell and back with you. We’d understand as you work through all your personal demons.”

ZQ ended the call and Dustin stared at Nance’s picture on the phone. Crazy, fool, one-eared dog.

Kelcee Todd took her place around the polished conference table in a long room of Noah Sterling’s suite of offices. Why she needed to be here for the reading of Frank Brandt’s will was beyond her. She’d worked for him for more than two years in his Bookstore by the Falls, made sure he took his medicine on time, and ate regularly.

She also looked the other way while he played checkers too long with his buddies on the wooden front porch of the store. If it was too chilly, she simply carried out his old sweater and stood there until he got through fussing at her for babying him. She’d kiss his whiskered cheek when he jammed his arms in the sleeves, scowling at her. Mercy, how she’d come to love that old bald coot. He promised her she’d be safe with him and she was.

Now that he was gone, she wasn’t sure if she should keep the store open or not. She supposed it all depended on who inherited it. She hoped it was someone who loved books and kept the quaint store going. Four other people sat around the table, some fidgeting while everyone eyed each other…wondering.

The door opened and Noah Sterling walked in with a large cup of coffee that smelled of whiskey, his blue and green paisley necktie askew.

Owen Pohl waved his Cowboys ball cap in front of his nose. “My God, Noah, whatever ʼtis you got in that cup must be a hundred proof.”

The lawyer placed his hand to his throat and croaked; the drink was for medicinal purposes. He coughed weakly. “I have a terrible sore throat.” Maybe so, but he also had poor acting skills. The man would never bring home an Oscar.

Once the lawyer read through the typical legalities of the will, sipping from his cup every few minutes, he began the list of items bequeathed to the persons within the room.

“ ‘To my lifelong friend Owen Pohl, I leave my white 1960 Chevrolet Impala convertible. I know you’ll take good care of my baby.’ ”

Owen slipped his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his reddened eyes before honking into the red hanky sounding like some of the geese that nested near the pond below Warrior Falls.

The lawyer continued reading from the sheaf of legal papers. “We put many a mile on that fine banana boat, didn’t we, Owen? And I thank you for your loyal friendship.” The Old Man dabbed his eyes again and nodded, as if Frank were in the room with them.

“Yes, and he can have it. Father acted like it was pure gold. Can we get moving here?” Frank’s daughter sneered. She wasn’t the most likable person Kelcee had met in Warrior Falls, a small, unique town she’d come to adore.

“ ‘To my lifelong hunting buddy, Clint Silver, I bequeath all my stuffed trophy heads and bodies, even that black bear I shot on our trip to Canada. Although Clint and I both know it was his bullet that brought him down. Clint, there was no better hunting partner than you. I also want you to have my guns and gun case.’ ”

“Good grief,” Wanda Brandt complained again. “Trust my father to be preachy, even in his will. Can’t you hurry this up?” She slapped her expensive purse onto the table for emphasis.

Noah Sterling slipped his wire-rimmed glasses down near the end of his nose. “I am not some machine one can flick a switch to put into high gear. All my wills are read the same way. I suggest you behave yourself, even if time is so important to you. Surely your real estate agency will survive.” He glared at her for a good minute.

Wanda’s face turned beet red and Kelcee imagined steam blew out of the demanding woman’s ears.

The attorney looked at the will again. “ ‘To Shelby Johnson, I will my GMC truck and three thousand dollars on the condition she and her little boy leave her abusive husband and never return to Warrior Falls. Make a new life for yourself, without that lowlife who keeps beating you. No man should treat his wife the way he does. Run away to a different state, girl, and hide with that adorable boy of yours.’ ”

The lawyer took a sip of his spiked coffee. “ ‘If you stay with your husband, the truck and money revert to Wanda. You get neither until the day the court serves Bo with divorce papers. U.S. Marshal Clint Silver will escort you into your house to help you remove things you and your son need, and will then load it all onto the truck elsewhere, so Bo doesn’t know what you’re driving.’ ”

Shelby nodded and sobbed, while she trembled, no doubt with fear.

“ ‘Now, Wanda, we come to you. ‘Wanda, you were our only child and we doted on you your whole life. When your momma got cancer, you claimed your life was too hectic to help care for her. When my heart started giving out, you told me to hire in help. You were just too busy. Since you value time so much, I’m giving you your grandma Brandt’s grandfather’s clock and your great aunt Bessie’s mantel clock. All of your mother’s jewelry is in our bank vault. It, too, is yours along with all of our stock. Noah Sterling will go over the list with you. Someday, I hope you’ll learn the value of love and caring for others.’ ”

Wanda gasped and jerked straight in her chair. “That’s it? A couple of dusty, old clocks, jewelry, and next-to-worthless stock? Who gets the bookstore and all its books?”

All eyes volleyed toward Kelcee. A bead of sweat trickled down her back. Surely not.

“ ‘Kelcee Todd, I’m sure by now everyone is looking at you. No doubt my daughter is shooting daggers with those piercing eyes of hers. Ignore her. For two years or more, you’ve made sure I took my medicines on time, you reminded me of my doctor’s appointments, made my meals and covered me while I napped with the afghan my wife crocheted. I never had to worry about the store, or the books being shelved correctly, or the register drawer coming out even. You were my sunshine on many a lonely day…’ ”

“I bet she was his sunshine at night, too,” Wanda sneered and scowled at Kelcee as if she were a bug crawling up a wall.

Kelcee could put up with Wanda’s continual looking down her nose at her. After all, they were strangers, but this…this was too much. “Don’t disrespect your father like that. Frank was an honorable man. He never touched me in a sexual way. I’d get a hug from him at Christmas, but it was a fatherly hug. Something you’d know about if you had come by more often to see him. Say what you want about me, but don’t you dare dis Frank in my presence.”

“Nor mine.” Clint jabbed his finger on the tabletop.

Owen crumpled his Cowboys hat in his hands. “Mine neither.” He nodded once.

The lawyer waited a pregnant moment while Wanda muttered curses under her breath. He picked up the will again and continued. “ ‘Because of these things and so much more, I’m leaving you, Kelcee Todd, the bookstore and the land that runs to the edge of the pond at the falls.

“ ‘My bequeathal includes the physical building with my apartment upstairs, all the contents inside—books, shelves, furniture, and electronics—except for what I’ve willed to other people. Also the porch furniture and checker barrel used by townsfolk for decades is yours. I can see how much you love the place. It should go to you along with what funds remain in my bank account, after the funeral and other estate expenses are paid. Make a good life for yourself there.’ ”

After two hours of carrying her quickly boxed clothes and books from the room she rented at the local boardinghouse to her new home, Kelcee walked through her bookstore. Hers. She’d been upstairs often enough to get dry clothes for Frank when he’d had an accident because he couldn’t move fast enough to get to the lavatory at the back of the bookstore. The apartment would take a lot of clearing out and painting, but she didn’t mind hard work. Still, the reality was having a difficult time taking root. This bookstore and apartment were hers.

The door opened, and the rancher everyone called ZQ strode in. The man was like a movable mountain of granite with a devilish grin. Mannerly to a fault, he was the heartthrob of most women in Warrior Falls—single and married. His marriage to his country had broken many a heart, or so she was told. He doffed his black Stetson. “Howdee, Kelcee, word around town is this store is yours now.”

She swiped tears from her cheeks. News in this small hamlet sure did travel fast. “I don’t know what to think of it.” Her palms lifted and dropped. “This is the last thing I expected. Believe me when I say I don’t know what to do. The place needs some updating, but I don’t know how to go about it myself, nor do I have the extra cash to hire in handymen.”

He slowly circled around. “You need someone to help you lay out plans. Give you some direction.”

“Plans?” Where would she get the money for some kind of architect or construction guy? She had Frank’s old furniture upstairs to replace. Painting to do. Rugs to buy for her living quarters. She didn’t want to drain her savings; she’d been living on the cheap so she could buy a car.

“Yeah. Like a corner for you to read to children. A rearrangement of bookshelves to create small reading nooks like they have in those big-city stores. I have a friend coming who’s good at that kind of thing.”

Kelcee clasped her hands. “I don’t have the money to pay for something like that.”

“Dustin, that’s my friend, is just recuperating from war injuries. Helping you would be ideal. A few hours a day so he can regain his strength and self-confidence. You could help each other. He won’t be very talkative.” He lightly cupped her shoulder. “Dustin’s a decent sort, thrown by his war injuries. He needs a friend and a job to anchor him. The kid won’t want to be paid.”

What kind of man wouldn’t want to be paid for his labor? And just what did ZQ mean by this kid needing a friend? If she knew the rancher better, she’d swear there was a twinkle of humor in his eyes and a slight upturn at the corners of his lips.

ZQ stopped at a display of Stephen King’s latest release and read the back cover blurb. He carried it over to the register. “I love how this man’s mind works. Weird as hell and yet he can make you believe every word.” He handed her his charge card and glanced around. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have the latest Highland time travel by Maeve Greyson, would you? Mom loves that series.”

“A lot of women do. They’re over here. I’ve only got two left.” She hurried to the display and grabbed a paperback. “Here you are.”

“Add it onto my bill. You know, it didn’t surprise me old Frank left you this place. Not the way you took care of him. Half of the time he pretended he didn’t even notice. Good friends like you are hard to find. You deserve this store. I can see how much you love it.”

“Thanks. Still, I never expected it.” She glanced around. “Doesn’t seem the same here without Frank, does it? Almost like the spirit seeped out between the cracks of the building.”

A faint smile warmed his features. “That fact alone will make you cherish it all the more. Relax, Kelcee. Enjoy the gift a decent man left you.” He touched the brim of his Stetson with two of his fingers in a farewell gesture and exited the shop, carrying his bag.

Kelcee locked the store behind him. She went upstairs, put fresh linens on the bed, and cleaned the bathroom. Afterward, she emptied the bedroom closet and dresser, filling them with her things. At times, she stopped to shed a tear in gratitude. She had a home that belonged to her. A home where she hoped her brother would never find her.

For if he did, her life would be over.