Page 11 of Rescued Hearts

Dutch was all soldier, each step measured and every action efficient. His back was straight and his gaze full of quiet alertness. Though he was relaxed, Gray knew how easy it would be for Dutch to shift into fight mode. The Stetson he wore pulled low over his eyes might conceal the battle wariness in his gaze, but Gray knew it was there, same as his own whenever he looked in the mirror.

Crew gave Gray a small nod, a restraint in his demeanor that made Gray question how long he’d been out of the military. He didn’t fidget but didn’t have all the confidence that some of the other vets who’d been here a while did. As if parts of him were still lost in the fight.

Tension spread through Gray’s chest, but he arranged his features into a pleasant look as he nodded back at Crew.

“How’s it going, guys?” Willow piped up.

Dutch’s mouth twisted in a smile he didn’t quite unleash on Gray’s sister. “Better than you by the looks of it.”

She cocked a hip and settled her hand on it. “None of you men seem to know the meaning of hard work and a little dirt.”

Dutch flashed a smile that vanished as quick as it appeared. “At least I won’t waste any time cleaning up before I head to the bonfire.”

“Good!” his sister shot back. “Then you can haul all the logs over to the pit.”

Crew eyed Gray. “Will you be going to the bonfire?”

His guts gripped. “Uh…no. I’ll be in my room working.”

Willow jumped in. “Gray is writing a novel.”

Dammit, Willow.

Crew eyed him with more interest. “I enjoy reading. What’s the novel about?”

“It’s a memoir.” As soon as he blurted the words, regret flooded in. His sister never forgot a thing.

Sure enough, her stare drilled into the side of his face. “Wait, I thought it was a thriller like the Jack Reacher series.”

“It’s a little of both.” If he could aim the shovel at his own head and knock himself unconscious to get out of this conversation, he would. He shifted the tool on his shoulder.

Everyone fell silent as if waiting for him to expand on that thought.

“As a military pilot…it is a little bit of a thriller.” He cleared his throat. “Y’all have a good time at the fire.”

Before anyone could stall him longer, he took off in long strides toward the shed. He quickly hung the shovel on the hook on the wall and made certain to close the door for the night. No one would ever dream of trespassing on the Black Heart. Just knowing that the family ran a security company was enough of a deterrent to any crime, not that there was much in the rural area.

Shooting a look toward the spot where his sister and the guys had been gathered, he saw they were gone. Luckily, he didn’t encounter anyone else as he headed into the house.

The inside smelled like fresh coffee. Since Carson kept early hours and late ones too, he had a fresh pot going at all hours of the day. Gray made a beeline to the kitchen. The shelf where the mugs were kept was filled with more of his sister’s monstrosities sporting butterflies and flowers.

He moved a few around, searching for the one he preferred but didn’t see it. With a grunt, he grabbed a light purple cup off the shelf and filled it with coffee. He’d need it for what he had planned for tonight.

With measured steps, he left the kitchen, glad he didn’t run into any of his brothers, and walked to his bedroom on the far end of the house. The house had originally been their summer home growing up. After their old man died, they sold out in Texas and dumped every penny into the Wyoming ranch, and it showed.

Everything that had once been broken, run-down or outdated had been replaced with new. His bedroom was a mix of old and new. The original hardwood floor still had a dark stain in one corner where he’d caught it on fire as a kid playing with matches. He stared at the spot as he quietly closed and locked the door.

The spot was a reminder of his past. Though he was different from the eight-year-old who dropped a match and set fire to a sock lying on his floor, the darkness remained.

Just like what happened to drive him out of the cockpit. That event was a black scorch mark on his soul.

He’d replaced his childhood bunkbeds with a king-sized one when he came home for good. The comfortable pillows pulled athis senses, urging him to bypass what he needed to do, but he fought the urge to lie down and shirk his duty.

Taking a seat at the new metal and glass desk, he opened his laptop. The screen illuminated, displaying the spreadsheet that had taken him all winter to compile.

5003 names.

Five thousand and three families waiting for words that would never be enough.

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