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Prologue
Special Forces soldier Wolf Conte stared at the gravestone of his fallen friend Jace McBride. Jace had been far more of a brother than his biological brothers could ever be—unless he did what Jace had asked. A grim smile graced Wolf’s stern lips.
No. Jace had never asked. He’d demanded. Expected. Wielded his expectations that the soldiers under his command would always man and woman up to do the right thing. And in a prescient power move, Jace had left a list of tasks he intended to accomplish when he mustered out and returned to Marietta, Montana. He’d also made it clear he expected his brothers to follow him to Montana when they were ready.
Stay a family.
Support each other as they built new lives outside the military.
But Wolf didn’t want a new life.
He wanted the one he’d had.
But Jace was gone. He’d been two weeks from home, no longer on the active-duty roster for missions and waiting for transport back to base in Washington State, when a mission had come down. Wolf and his team had been in the final prep for a different hot, diplomatically challenging mission and had passed, not able to juggle both. Jace’s Coyote Cowboys had been called in, though the soldier due to lead it—Jace’s second in command—had missed an extraction. Naturally Jace agreed to lead the mission and had died. The mission had been a disaster beginning, middle and end. The team had been given faulty intel and had walked into an ambush, taken fire, perilously crawled their way out. Secrecy blown to smithereens. The fallout in Washington—investigations, lies and denials—had tornadoed for months, but all Wolf cared about was that the team had been betrayed and three soldiers had been hit. Huck Jones had barely survived. Same for the military K-9, Duke, who was still grass side after several lifesaving surgeries. But Jace had died in the line of duty. Gone home in a box, never to accomplish the tasks he’d set for himself.
But Wolf—reeling from the loss and the guilt and endless ‘what-ifs…’—had ensured that Jace’s wishes and plans had been carried out. He’d divided up the list and had a team member pick one randomly and as each of the former Coyote Cowboys had mustered out, they’d gone to Montana this past year to check each ‘to-do’ off Jace’s list.
The men had not only succeeded, they’d also built lives in Montana—fallen in love, all but one had married, but Wolf expected an announcement any day. They’d had children born or on the way, new careers on local ranches and were even deep into the planning stages of creating a business—a survivalist, weekend or weeklong warrior type of thing for rich paper pushers with too much time, money and arrogance and too little understanding of what survival really meant.
And they want me to join them.
He could. He had his twenty in.
He had friends in Montana.
His half sister, Maeve, had moved to Marietta to take a job in public health after a disastrous divorce a few years ago, and last year his mom had moved to Oregon to manage a non-profit mustang rescue and training program. She was happy, thriving. Finally.
Nothing waited for him in Texas but bad memories and unwanted emotions.
Was she still there?
Wolf shut down the memories of their last…what would he call it? Argument was too strong a word. Agreement.
And a final goodbye—Taya looking so stoic and resolved that it would have ripped out his heart had he had one. It had been two years, five months and seven days since he’d held her, and he still didn’t trust himself to go to Texas and not find her.
But Jace wanted him to go to Last Stand, Texas. Never had a town been more aptly named. Jace had extolled the virtues of family, of dragging secrets and past hurts out into the light.
If Jace were still alive, Wolf would have had the urge to shoot him—just to wing him a little in one of his massive shoulders—the left one so it wouldn’t cause as many problems as it healed.
He didn’t want to go to Texas. He didn’t want to meet his biological half brothers—all happily married according to social media—living and working and building a future on what should have been his legacy too.
Should have.
Could have.
He would have had a home to offer Taya. Roots. A name. Something to be proud of. A legacy for them to build for their own family. The next generation.
He didn’t want to be a secret climbing out of the dark, fetid cave of the past.
Prodigal bastard coming to claim what he had no right to, but legally might.
His stomach soured.
‘Fight for what’s right. Fight for what’s yours.’
Jace had written that. Like a damn political slogan chanted at a rally by people who had blind faith. Self-righteous, bossy SOB.
Nah, hypothetically I’d go for his right shoulder.
Wolf had spent two decades fighting for what was supposedly right. But he didn’t believe in the missions anymore. So many lives lost. Blown apart. And him the trigger. The leader. Could he really re-sign up? Take the next promotion? Did he want to keep fighting wars or family?
A DNA test could not only blow his world apart, but also the world of his three half brothers cowboying it up on a Texas legacy ranch, smug in their roots and belonging and futures.
He closed his eyes.
Texas. Heat. Hate. Lies.
Would Taya still be there?
Did she find a man who’d stick? Give her the family she’d finally admitted she craved?
“Hey.” His sister joined him at the gravesite. “I thought I’d find you here,” she said.
She handed him a coffee from the Java Café, a place that she went every morning for a skinny vanilla latte. Then she’d eye the freshly baked pastries but deny herself except for Fridays.
“Sorry I was a little late to the memorial. I didn’t want to interrupt so I stood in the back by the shadowy Wilder crypt like a creepy vampire stalker.”
He thought he was supposed to smile at this point but sipped his coffee and stared at the headstone as if by sheer will he could change the engraved name to one he didn’t recognize.
The coffee was hot, welcome, smoothed the lump in his throat.
“Good chat.” Maeve bumped his shoulder playfully.
“My superpower.”
Even as a kid, he hadn’t been chatty. He took action. His mom or sister needed help. He did it. The family needed money? He found a job. Someone threatened him or his? He fought. He wanted a life he could respect that would help support his mom and much younger sister. He joined the military. Then Special Forces. And as he rose through the ranks, he finally felt proud of who he’d become. He never felt the need to apologize for who he was or wasn’t anymore.
Would going back to Last Stand, Texas, change what he’d fought so hard for?
Wolf didn’t know and didn’t want to find out.
But Jace had decreed.
The five other men—Cross, Huck, Rohan, Ryder and Calhoun—had answered Jace’s call.
Was he going to be the one to break the bond?
He thought he was undecided, but the burning, churning in his gut, told him the decision had been made.
Dammit.
The Coyotes had all found their own damn happy, happy.
His lips twisted into a scowl that was, he’d been told, at the age of almost thirty-eight, pretty much his permanent expression.
What would that even look like for him without Taya?
“What’s so funny, not funny?” Maeve asked.
Her eyes searched his, worried. She touched his arm. Her long slim fingers could barely span half of his forearm. “The men who spoke at Jace’s memorial—they’ve all retired from the military, Wolf. They’re building new lives, families, careers, and a side hustle. You could join them. I know you could. I’ve bought a house. It has a bedroom for you, anytime. You could stay as long as you want.”
Taya had plowed a lot of her early rodeo earnings into buying a house for her mom so she’d never have to worry again. He wondered if Taya finally had a home of her own now. She’d wanted that. She’d cried in his arms for the first time, her golden-brown eyes dark with sorrow, and laid down what had sounded like an ultimatum. A home. A man who stayed. A child. A family.
He dragged his attention back to his sister. Her eyes shimmered with concern and love.
“Wolf. You can start over. Go to school. Stay with me until you figure out what you want. You’ve never had the gift of time. Now you can. You can start the business with your friends or anything you want. I have money saved. You can…”
He removed her hand from his shoulder. Held it in both of his.
“Jace wanted me to go to Last Stand.”
Her breath caught, but she smiled up at him, though her lips trembled, and he felt a fierce wave of protectiveness. She might only technically be a half sibling like his unacknowledged Texas kin, but he’d taken care of her as a baby, helped raise her, protect her, fed her, paid her way through college and grad school—happy to see her pursue her dreams. He’d hated the man she’d chosen to marry, but he’d taken leave and had walked her down the aisle though mentally he gave them no more than three years.
And when she’d needed out, Wolf had taken emergency family leave and had flown home using various methods of transport to confront Maeve’s soon-to-be ex in a method that had the loser making demands shutting up and instead signing the papers and in the middle of the night vacating the home Wolf had helped his sister buy.
“Go to Texas, Wolf,” she urged. “You know you have to honor Jace’s ask.”
Maeve reached into her giant green tote that she seemed to carry everywhere and pulled out his Stetson she’d bought him years ago ‘so he’d always remember where he came from.’
“Good thing I brought this, beloved brother.”
Chapter One
Usually when arriving home in Texas, Wolf drove directly to his hometown, Whiskey River. He’d drive through the town’s poorest section, the Barrels, to remind him of how far he’d come.
But today he drove out of Austin under a clear blue late-November sky that would whisper twilight within the hour and headed to the neighboring town of Last Stand. Though only twenty minutes’ drive from Whiskey River, he’d avoided Last Stand as much as possible when growing up. The two small towns had been athletic rivals, but after his freshman year he’d juggled two part-time jobs, so school teams and clubs had been shoved aside as frivolous.
He didn’t have a plan once he hit Last Stand. No booking for a motel. No appointments.
Maybe he’d hit the historic Last Stand Saloon and have a beer. His first in months. He ran a lean hand down his face.
The last six months had been a grind. One long mission. He was used to those. But then short ones piling up. Small teams. Little intel. Top, top secret and the knowledge that failure wouldn’t bring rescue. The last one had nearly killed him. And barreling down the highway Chris Stapleton’s perky ‘Starting Over’ sliding into Zach Bryan’s moody ‘Heading South’ made him wonder, once again, if he should have just lain there in the jungle—water and decay and death all around—and finally stopped fighting.
What else did he need to prove?
But no, he’d risen up, fought his way out, carrying an injured teammate and driving the other two in front of him, him protecting their flank to eventual safety.
He’d wanted to toss the new medal in the trash and had barely resisted the disrespectful urge.
Yet somehow, the last six months seemed a vacation compared to hitting the outskirts of Last Stand.
Wolf was accustomed to physical struggle. Acute mental planning. He shoved emotions aside, and Last Stand blew the door off the vault where he’d stored a lifetime of ‘the feels,’ as his sister called them.
He wasn’t used to free time, no plan, and now had six weeks’ leave to essentially figure out the rest of his life. Remain in the field, ride a desk, become a trainer or retire.
And meet his half brothers. Or not.
He slowed down as he passed the ‘Welcome to Last Stand’ sign.
He didn’t actually agree that he’d meet his brothers. Jace had said ‘see.’ Small town, he could probably manage that anonymously.
He could practically hear Jace’s derisive snort from heaven.
Followed by an anatomically impossible suggestion.
Huffing out a reluctant laugh, he turned onto Hickory Street and then Main Street toward the saloon. It looked quiet—a few city utility trucks out. A couple of men on ladders and then a blaze of lights came on in a rush, dazzling him. Every shop’s roofline lit up in gold, the trees lining the street lit with gold LED lights. Western-style lights that lined the historic street sported large Christmas wreaths with a multitude of colored lights, and Christmas-themed banners streamed in the chilly breeze. The streetlamps were wrapped in red and gold lights. Blinded, confused, Wolf lurched the truck to a stop, closing his eyes to the blaze of light and color.
It had been a normal small-town street sliding into evening and now it was lit up like…ahhh Christmas.
Wolf had deliberately forgotten the holiday’s approach.
Dear God, would there be Christmas carols jangling in the saloon already? He racked his brain. It wasn’t Thanksgiving yet. His sister and mom had invited him for Christmas, but he hadn’t indicated he’d be home this early.
Too much unsettled business.
Or maybe none.
But he did need to make a plan. He’d survived by plans since he’d been old enough to think. Maybe this hollowed-out feeling in his gut and buzzing in his head would stop if he had a plan.
With a shout of ‘perfect, cut it’ out of a bullhorn, the light display winked off and the regular old western-style gas lamp streetlights lit up with a soft, warm glow, much like the ones in Whiskey River. The relief was tremendous, but he felt too edgy to sit still so he parked his truck and decided to walk, who the hell knew where. Most of the businesses looked to be closing up. Many already looked closed. That’s right. Sunday. God’s country.
He dragged in a breath, cut the engine and after a moment of staring at his hat, which his sister had handed him after Jace’s memorial months ago, he jammed it on his head. He didn’t deserve the hat. He’d never had the chance to be a real cowboy. His blood-bound destiny denied. Instead he’d worked at a feed store and riding stables as a teen in a hollow imitation of his bio half brothers’ lives before he’d joined up.
But the hat would help him blend—just another cowboy. Shadow his eyes and features that even though he’d tried all sorts of gymnastic denials he knew looked like the oldest Wolf brother. Axel.
He slammed the truck’s door harder than he needed to and began to walk, noticing everything without wanting to, but twenty years of training was hard to turn off.
Ironic. He was probably safer walking the streets of this town, but he felt in the cross hairs.
Why was he here? Jace. But Jace had been dead eighteen months now, his spirit in a better place. But the Coyotes had honored their fallen brother. Did he really want to ignore a friend’s edict just because he’d had the shitty luck to die?
Throat dry, heart thumping, he could barely swallow. The hairs on the back of his neck rose like hackles. What. The. Hell. He’d led missions in enemy territory with utter confidence and calm. He was in a small American town most people would call historically charming. Besides, it wasn’t like one or all of the Wolf brothers would be standing around Main Street near suppertime on a Sunday night. They had a ranch to run. A home. Families. No one would notice him. He’d looked like another cowboy, not a soldier, not a man on a distasteful mission.
“See, not meet,” he reminded himself. He didn’t want anything from the Wolf brothers. He’d earned his money. His rank. His pride. Still scanning, he continued to walk until he saw a sidewalk sign and a pair of custom red boots with silver stars etched with several dates and hand-stitched embroidery reading ‘Texas Cowgirl Tough.’
He jerked to a stop.
Impossible.
Even as his eyes reluctantly tracked up, he heard the voice—impossible to forget.
“Sorry, sir, we’re closed.”
Deep. Musical. A husk whispering around the timbre, inviting him for pleasure and sin. The voice that always seemed to be barely containing an amused chuckle as if she found him and his too-hot-to-contain need of her inexplicable, but she’d roll with it anyway.
“Don’t be like that, darlin’. It’s a beautiful night.” A bulky man blocked the woman from his view. “You’re a beautiful woman, and I’m in need of some company, if you know what I mean. You got some open bottles of wine. Let’s sit by the fire and…”
“I’m closing up.”
“I think you should remain open. Very open.”
Instinctively Wolf bristled, hands fisting, body readying for a fight. Did the wheedling jerk think whining was seductive?
“I’m not open. Time to go.” The steel edge sliced through her voice. Hot. No doubt now. Taya. Tall, slim, dark hair twisted low on her neck in some kind of an elaborate bun thing. She wore a longish swishy red dress, cropped denim jacket and a turquoise and silver concho belt. She hefted up a large wooden sandwich board sign like it weighed nothing and dismissed the wannabe Romeo by turning her back on him.
Mistake.
He’d taught her how to defend herself years ago. Reviewed the lessons when he’d visited because she was often on the road alone.
Wolf was already closing the distance, heart in his throat when the idiot lunged at Taya to catch her. Before Wolf took his next breath, he’d tripped the randy drunk, slammed him face-first to the sidewalk and, knee on the small of his back, he zip-tied the attacker’s hands. His weapon was out, safety off, pressed to the base of the man’s skull.
Clatter as the sign hit the sidewalk.
“Wolf?”
Oh, my God. It was Wolf. Here. Last Stand. On the doorstep of Verflucht, with a gun pressed to the too tipsy customer’s head. And what the hell? Zip ties.
“Put the gun away,” she hissed, terrified for him. “Now.”
The drunk groaned and struggled, swearing, unaware of the danger Wolf posed. Blood oozed from the customer’s nose. Wolf calmly looked up at her, and for a second she thought her legs would fail.
Dark Wranglers. Black T-shirt. Muscled arms more cut than last time, and how, how, how was that possible? His tan was deeper, expression grimmer, more shuttered. And her stupid libido jumped up and danced like she was in a West Coast swing dance-off.
No. We are done. Done. Done. Done with this man.
“What…what are you thinking?” She could barely squeeze a whisper out. Her body was rioting. “This isn’t…this…this is a main street. A tasting room. Oh, God, Wolf, please stand down. Put the gun away.”
Why was she begging? She should be calling 911. The tasting room manager Tinsley was inside and pregnant with her second child. Her husband Anders was about to arrive to take her home. She had to protect them. But she didn’t want Wolf arrested. Her thoughts spun like dust devils.
“Please,” she urged.
“Not ’til you’re safe.”
What was he even doing here? They’d said goodbye for the last time over two years ago. They’d promised. Last dance.
“Hey, girl.” Tinsley Wolf walked out of the tasting room and stood on the wide, wood-planked front porch. “Guess what?”
“Go back,” Taya commanded, spreading her arms wide and standing between Tinsley and Wolf. “Close the door. Lock it.”
“Like hell.” Tinsley walked down the steps to the sidewalk. “Are those zip ties?” Tinsley’s voice cracked in disbelief. “Did that customer attack you? We cut him off over an hour ago. His friends said they’d handle him. He came back? Come inside now, Taya.”
Tinsley pulled her cell from the pocked of her dress. Relief and fear clashed. Tinsley would call the cops. She should, and it would take less than a minute for them to arrive, armed, ready for anything.
Merry frickin’ Christmas.
“Wolf,” she whispered approaching him like she would an animal caught in a trap. “Wolf.” Her voice gained urgency. “Stand down. Put the gun away. You can’t be holding a gun when the cops come.”
He watched her approach. His beautiful navy eyes were inky black and tracked her every move. He was leaner. Deeper hollows under his spectacular cheekbones.
“Please.” Her mouth was so dry, and she couldn’t swallow.
Something awful would happen. They could never be together, but she couldn’t stand to see him hurt.
A new fear hit. Was Wolf okay? Was he having a flashback? PTSD? When her brother Tarek had first come home a few years ago after eight years of service, he’d had trouble adjusting. So. Much. Trouble. She’d been terrified for him. But Wolf had always seemed so strong. Invincible. Silent, but solid.
What if he was losing the plot?
What if…
She heard the sirens.
“Oh God. Please, Wolf.” She knelt beside him and after a moment of hesitation, she lightly placed her hand on his shoulder. Sweet baby Jesus he was cut. Hard as the redwoods he’d once road-tripped with her to Northern California to see.
And she could feel his body heat through the soft cotton. He was steady, but she trembled and for a moment she nearly closed her eyes to savor his warmth and strength.
No. They were done.
“Wolf, give me the gun.” She pushed their history and her still-ragged feelings aside. He couldn’t be here. He’d get hurt. And they were through. Especially now they had to be through.
“This is going to get all kinds of ugly. You’re not on a mission, Wolf. This is Texas. Shane Highwater and his police officers don’t mess around. You’re home. You’re not at war.”
The customer was still cursing up a storm, and he was bleeding on the sidewalk.
“Did he hurt you?” Wolf demanded.
“Gun, Wolf. Give it to me.”
“Soldiers don’t hand over their weapons, Taya.”
“You are not on the battlefield. This is not a mission. You know that right, Wolf? You know, right?” She was so terrified she struggled to talk without crying. Her stomach churned so badly she feared she’d throw up.
“Wolf, I’m safe,” she whispered, fingers trembling as they smoothed down his bare arm, the touch trying to soothe him or her, she didn’t know.
He took her hand with one of his, gun still held steady, and kissed her fingers.
“You look so damn beautiful,” he said.
She heard the screech of brakes, door open. Boots on ground. Shout of ‘gun’ and knew what was imminent.
She jerked to her feet, hands up, and jumped over the prone customer, her body blocking Wolf from the cops.
“He was protecting me. I was attacked. He saved me.”
“On the ground, now,” an officer she didn’t recognize shouted. Taya dropped to her knees on the hard cement.
Wolf swore behind her. “He can’t talk to you like that.”
“Hey, babe, what’s all the fuss about?”
Anders Wolf had arrived.
Taya closed her eyes. How had helping out at the tasting room this afternoon devolved into what was about to be a shootout, endangering Wolf, her and now her boss’s younger brother and expecting sister-in-law?
Maybe the murmurs were fact-based. The Wolf legacy and ranch really were cursed.
She began whispering the Lord’s Prayer under her breath, trying to hold back a sob of terror.
Before she got past ‘our Father,’ Wolf was there, his arm strong around her waist, gently pulling her up and nudging her behind his broad back. He tucked the Glock at the back of his waistband.
“You’re scaring her,” Wolf said to the cop pointing a gun at them both. His voice was diamond hard. “And endangering others.”
“On the ground now.”
“You’re terrifying me.” Taya clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. “I had this handled and now we’re at the OK Corral.”
And how dumb was it that she still had her hand pressed between Wolf’s shoulder blades and the flex of his rigid muscles made her want to take a bite?
Wolf had always made her feel primal. And too much of everything. But they were done, and if she lived past the next five minutes, she’d remind him.
The snick of the tasting room door behind her whooshed relief through her. Anders and Tinsley must have retreated, and she sagged to her knees both in answer to the cop’s demands and because she was shaking too much to stand. She slipped her hand into Wolf’s large calloused one.
“Down,” she urged. The tasting room was well built, but it wouldn’t survive a barrage of bullets. She needed to de-escalate this situation.
“Hey, Jesse.” Anders sauntered off the front porch, arms loose at his sides. “Looks like we got ourselves a little misunderstanding.”
Oh no.
Of course Anders Wolf, once a top-tier bull rider on the American Extreme Bull Riding tour, didn’t stay safe inside with his wife.
“Get back inside with your wife, Anders. This is police business.” The cop’s voice didn’t sound as authoritative now.
“This is my brother’s business and, according to my wife, one of her customers got a little unruly and this upstanding citizen jumped in to play hero.”
Anders could charm the fangs from a rattler.
“Whoa,” he said looking at the man who was now trying to sit up. “Are those zip ties? We got a little rodeo in town, Taya?”
Anders sauntered closer. He took Taya’s arm and helped her to her feet.
“Go inside, darlin’.” His voice was low and persuasive, his breath warm on her ear, and it snagged all of Wolf’s attention.
Fabulous.
Wolf shot Anders a hard look. “Don’t manhandle her.”
“God save me from cowboys, soldiers and Texas ranchers,” she hissed, stomping on Wolf’s foot.
“Ouch?”
“Give me the gun. I’ll shoot you myself,” she said, the terror of the past fraught moments bubbling over to insanity.
“Who’s pressing charges?” Jesse called out, lowering the gun as another cop car skidded to a stop and the officer jumped out already reaching for his weapon. “Who am I arresting? Stand down, Brody,” Jesse said tersely to the latest arrival. “Not sure who’s the perp and the victim, but the stranger’s packin’.”
“Gun.” Brody leveled the second weapon of this fiasco on Wolf, and Taya instinctively tried to angle her body in front of Wolf’s because she was apparently an idiot.
Wolf’s hand at her waist pushed her behind him again, and she bristled. She was Texas cowgirl tough. She was a former champion barrel racer. She didn’t hide behind her man.
Not yours anymore.
Brody wore aviator-style sunglasses even though it was evening, and his expression was hard. “Let’s take them all to the station.”
And another cop arrived and shot out of his car, his hand on the butt of his gun, but at least he didn’t unholster.
“Anders, what’s the problem?”
“Hey, Brian, welcome to the unexpected unruly rodeo.” Anders sounded like he was having fun, and Taya had the urge to kick him.
After I kick Wolf.
“I think we have a bit of a ruckus by an over-imbibed customer who left about an hour ago and returned and got a bit too handsy with Taya as she was trying to close up the tasting room. And we got ourselves a bona fide hero stepping in to help.” Anders couldn’t have sounded more like an aw-shucks cowboy from a spaghetti western if he was auditioning after weeks of practice.
“Take your hands off Taya.” Wolf’s voice was low, driven with purpose. “You have no right to touch her.”
She hadn’t realized Anders was still holding on to her arm, trying to gently lead her back to the tasting room. Why was Wolf focused on that and not the three cops? Wasn’t he trained to hone in on danger?
“Neither do you. We’re done. Remember?”
Wolf had no right to pull the alpha ‘my woman’ crap. Eighteen years off and on. He’d had plenty of time to stake his claim.
She pulled away from Anders and crossed her arms, glaring at Wolf who didn’t even look sorry for being such an old-fashioned jerk, and by the glint in Anders’s eye, she could practically see the combination of words scrolling with the sole purpose of riling Wolf more.
And then she heard a familiar hoot of joy. “Poleese. Zoom. Zoom.”
And the little voice that was her whole world could not have been more unwelcome. “Mama, Mama, I see poleese. I ride. Zoom.” And there was a careening sound eerily like the siren as he crashed into her legs.
She picked up her baby, held him tightly, angling him away from Wolf’s burning gaze. Why the hell had Anders brought Jack with him to pick up Tinsley?
“Inside, Tay.” Anders used his body to push Taya up on the wide porch toward the door, and this time she let him, desperate to get away from Wolf and the questions she could see forming.
“You married, Taya?”
She took the coward’s way and ran the few steps to the tasting room door, seized the custom wrought-iron V handle and jerked it open.
Wolf slapped the door closed with his palm, the hard press of his body blocking her. The heat and desire that scorched her blood and bones was sinful and scarier than the three cops skewed up in front of the tasting room.
She closed her eyes. She’d always had a thing for his hands. So large. Rough. Capable. And the things he’d done to her.
Don’t remember.
She held the evidence in her arms.
“You want to dance, Cowboy?” Anders’s usually fluid body and easy voice completely changed so that Taya didn’t recognize him. “I could go a round since you brought danger to my door and mine, cops and all.”
“I asked a simple question.” Wolf sounded all reasonable. “You married, Taya?”
Trapped.
She heard an SUV pull up. This must be Shane Highwater—chief of police, local hero and legend—and four cops in front of Verflucht was not the image owner August Wolf was shooting for, although since the name translated to ‘cursed,’ maybe he was.
Lie.
The unexpected impulse shocked her.
Wolf would go away again. Stay gone. They’d promised. She’d kept her word.
Taya felt cleaved in two. Her responsibility was to Jack. First and always. But her instincts also screamed to protect Wolf from himself. And didn’t her baby boy deserve a chance, no matter how slim, to know his daddy? Her father had been in and out of her life and then finally out. Wolf had never known his father. He’d confessed that to her early on like the fault was somehow his.
Say yes.
“No.”
Dooming them all.
Wolf eased open the door of the tasting room and herded her and her little boy inside. Anders paced behind her, and she heard Shane Highwater’s boots on the steps up to Verflucht.
Had she just put all of them in more danger?
“Sir.” Shane’s voice rang with authority. She didn’t know him by more than reputation, although she had served him a few times on the tasting room’s back patio. Once for his wife’s birthday. And another to celebrate Minna Herdmann’s impossible number birthday last spring. “I need you to step outside and answer some questions.”
“Take Jack,” she whispered to Tinsley. “I’ll meet up with you later and explain.”
Her heart hammering like she was mining for gold, she tried to pry Jack from his monkey cling.
“I’m not leaving you alone with him and four juiced cops,” Tinsley said.
“No, no, no,” Jack protested. “I stay Mommy.” And then Jack lifted his head from her neck and stared at Wolf.
Taya heard Wolf’s startled breath fracture, though the drunk, the scuffle, the cops holding weapons hadn’t fazed him at all.
Taya had felt they all stood on a crumbling precipice, and she was the first one to leap off.
The world tunneled to a pair of navy eyes with black and yellow flecks utterly like his own. He didn’t know much about kids. But he tried the math. Didn’t like the answer. Tried again.
What. The. Hell?
He’d wanted her to find a good man. Okay. That was a lie. But he did want her to be happy, so he’d been willing to walk away. So he couldn’t be pissy if she’d found another man, but the kid… He couldn’t let himself complete that thought.
“Gun.” The three cops were still crouched into defensive positions behind their cop car doors. The police chief attempted to block him from Taya, again, though his Glock was holstered at his back.
This was getting old, but the cops were jumpy, and he didn’t want Taya in the line of fire. And it was clear the younger Wolf didn’t have back-down in him either so Wolf allowed himself to be led from the entrance of the tasting room. What the hell was Taya working a job like that for? Had the child ended her career? Crushed her dreams?
A kid. His? Did he have a kid? Had he ruined her life to the point she was slinging wine for drunk, handsy tourists?
Guilt crushed. He followed Chief Highwater outside. The drunk was finally on his feet. Zip ties cut. Mouthing off. Gesturing at him. The tall cop asking him questions that didn’t matter because Taya stood in the doorway—not out of the line of fire—looking sick with fear and maybe guilt because she was holding what might be his kid.
A thousand times he’d stopped himself from reaching out to her over the past two and a half years. They were done. He’d promised. But if what he suspected was true, then they might never be done. Satisfaction warred with fury as he tried to grasp onto the fact that Taya had lied to him.
His training kicked in, softly, almost like a reminder of how he could incapacitate the police chief and the three others trigger-happy idiots. This was Texas. Who the hell wasn’t carrying and why posture about the Second Amendment but get bent out of shape when someone exercised their right?
Damn straight he was locked and loaded, and those two cops would probably piss themselves if they knew what other weapons he had.
But he was on leave.
Stateside. Not on a top-secret mission somewhere few Americans could pronounce where laws were more flexible, and he and his team technically didn’t exist.
“Cooperate,” Taya snapped stepping out onto the porch. “You’re going to be arrested.”
She sounded pissed and no longer afraid, and that made him feel marginally better. He paused, not budging when the chief crowded him with his body.
“How do you expect a man to respond when some drunk’s manhandling his woman, scaring her, keeping her from doing her job?” Wolf snapped out and stalked forward to the drunk, who was accusing him of a rather creatively dramatic attack.
A quick scan of the street when he’d arrived revealed most stores had cameras out front.
“I wasn’t scared. I had it handled,” Taya interrupted, nearly making him smile, despite the morass of emotions he was trying to stuff back in his brain and the strong call for action—pick up Taya and the kid and carry her out of here and keep driving until he had his answers.
Then what?
“Seriously zip ties?” Anders joined them. “Rodeo’s in July, Cowboy, and you’ll get laughed out of town if that’s how you plan to rope a calf.”
Wolf had never roped a calf in his life, and he hated the envy that spurted knowing Anders was likely an expert, but he drilled Taya with his attention. She was not telling him what he needed to know, and he didn’t want Anders to look too closely. Would he see what Wolf had seen on that football field freshman year when his emotions got hold of him, and he’d tackled Axel Wolf too hard, or had the years and battles erased any DNA clues?
He slanted the man who’d introduced himself as the chief of police a hard look. “Big guns for one disorderly drunk bent on assault. I had it handled.”
“Tell me your version of events.” Police Chief Shane Highwater remained polite, posture relaxed, but his voice had no give.
Wolf felt Taya’s tension like a building tsunami. She opened her mouth—to defend or bury him?
“He—” Wolf shot a look at the drunk who was sobering up fast and starting to think “—was manhandling Taya Youngblood as she brought in the…” He paused; was it a wine tasting room? “Business sign for the evening.”
Wolf forced himself to deal with this nuisance so he could find out what he needed to know about the kid. And if his blind trust in Taya—one of the few people on earth he’d trusted—had been tossed in his teeth.
Hell yeah, he could play by the rules if it benefitted him.
He’d think about the kid later.
And Anders Wolf.
First, he had to get rid of the cops. And Anders. And the small crowd gathering across the street.
“He verbally harassed her. Made sexual remarks. Lunged for her when she shut him down. I intervened.”
“Zip ties?” The first cop on the scene still sounded pissed. “Gun at the suspect’s skull? Who do you think you are?”
Wolf wondered if giving his rank would help or hurt him, but free information was anathema to his training.
“Wolf’s a soldier,” Taya said quickly, and her fingers circled his wrist as if that would stop him. “He’s an old…friend. He’s…on leave? He overreacted, but meant well and…” She trailed off.
Shane Highwater snapped out his palm. “ID.”
“Back left pocket. Mind getting it, Taya?”
Her eyes widened and her kissable lips rounded in a circle, kicking up the first hint of amusement in this dumb little small-town drama.
“Nothing you haven’t felt before,” he said softly, letting the memories play in his voice and in his eyes.
“After this I’m going to kick you,” she gritted out, and her stunning dark honey-gold eyes slitted.
“That sound like a threat, Chief?” He was actually having a little fun. Who knew he could be such a dick?
Anders looked like he wanted to use his head for target practice, and the three cops stirred restlessly, but the drunk had decided, finally, to dial it down.
“It’s a promise. You’re not supposed to be here.”
Taya reached into his pocket. Two and a half years, and a bit since he’d felt her touch. He resisted the urge to lean into her hand. Later. After he found out about the kid and her lies.
Her breath hitched when she looked at the worn dark blue wallet she’d bought him years ago with the lone star stitching to ‘remind him where he came from and where home is.’
Yeah, he was a sentimental idiot, but she still wore the boots he’d given her for her thirtieth birthday six years ago, so they were both softies.
He saw her swallow as she handed the wallet to the chief and turned away from him, her arms tightening fractionally around the kid, who squirmed around so he could see everything.
No ring.
Yeah, he’d noticed.
Chief Shane Highwater opened the wallet.
“What brings you to Last Stand, Green Beret?”
“Yeah,” Anders chimed in. “Let’s start there and keep going.”
“Just arrived,” Wolf said staring at Taya, the only one of them who mattered. “Came to see Taya.”
Taya stiffened, her eyes hot with outrage, sparking fire. He’d only ever seen that color during sex when she’d come.
Interesting.
“Considering my future. Wanted to run some ideas by Taya.”
She squeaked in disagreement.
“Thinking of mustering out.” He forced out the words he thought he’d never say, and he could almost imagine his fallen friend, Jace McBride, high-fiving him from heaven.
“Coming home—this time to stay.”
End of Excerpt