Page 90 of Duty Unbound

I climbed into the passenger seat, charmed by the faded plaid upholstery and the small horseshoe hanging from the rearview mirror. “She has character.”

The truck started with a rumble, and soon we were bouncing down a dirt road that wound through the property. The landscape opened up around us—expanses of green pasture, clusters of trees, the mountains a constant presence on the horizon. I rolled down my window, breathing in air so fresh it almost hurt my lungs after months of recycled hotel air conditioning.

“You look better already,” Ethan observed, glancing at me as he drove. “Some color in your cheeks.”

“I feel better.” And I did. Something about this place—the openness, the distance from all the crazy activity—was already working its magic. The image of that dead raccoon still lingered at the edges of my mind, but here, with the wind in my hair and Ethan beside me, it seemed less horrifying somehow. More distant.

He parked near a large red barn, and I followed him inside, hit immediately by the earthy scent of hay and animals. He hesitated, looking back at me with concern.

“Sorry about the smell. I didn’t think about it.”

“It’s fine,” I assured him, already moving deeper into the barn where I could see several horses in stalls. “It smells like real life.”

One horse—a beautiful chestnut with a white blaze down its face—nickered softly as we approached. Ethan grabbed an apple from a barrel near the door and held it out to me.

“Here. Hold it flat on your palm, like this.” He demonstrated, then guided my hand toward the horse’s velvety muzzle.

The gentle lips tickled my palm as the horse delicately took the apple. I couldn’t help the delighted laugh that bubbled up.

“That’s Rusty,” Ethan said. “I’ve had him since I was sixteen.”

“He’s gorgeous.” I stroked the horse’s neck, marveling at the muscled strength beneath the sleek coat. “You must ride him when you visit.”

“When I can. He’s getting older now, but he still likes a good run.” Ethan scratched under the horse’s chin with obvious affection. “Want to see the rest?”

He showed me around the barn—more horses, a few sheep in a pen outside, chickens scratching in the yard. A trio of barn cats regarded us suspiciously from their perch on a stack of hay bales. Everything was well maintained, but clearly working farm equipment, not the designer hobby farm of a wealthy family playing at agriculture.

“This was your life,” I said, not quite a question.

“Still is, in many ways.” He leaned against a post, watching me pet an inquisitive goat. “The land gets in your blood. Even when I’m halfway around the world on a mission, part of me is still here.”

What would that be like? We’d always moved around when Nova and I were growing up as opportunities made themselves available for her.

“You up for a hike?” Ethan asked, interrupting my thoughts. “There’s somewhere I want to show you.”

“Sure.”

Back in the truck, we drove farther into the property, eventually stopping where a trail led up into a cluster of rolling hills. The path was well-worn but natural, winding through wildflowers and scrubby bushes as it gradually climbed.

The physical exertion felt good after so many days of stress and fear. The sun warmed my skin, the breeze carried the scent of pine and earth, and Ethan walked beside me, occasionally steadying me with a hand at my elbow when the trail grew steep.

“Almost there,” he said after about twenty minutes of steady climbing. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Trust me.” His hand found the small of my back. “I’ll guide you.”

I closed my eyes, allowing him to lead me forward. The ground leveled out beneath my feet, and I could feel open space around me, the warmth of direct sunlight on my face.

“Okay,” he said, his voice low near my ear. “Look.”

I opened my eyes and gasped. We stood on a rocky outcropping that offered a sweeping view of the entire valley. The ranch spread out below us—the main house, the barn, paddocks with tiny figures of horses and cows. Beyond that, Ethan’s house and, farther still, the neighboring properties and the distant road. The mountains rose majestically behind it all, cradling the valley in their protective embrace.

But what struck me most was how familiar it felt. Not because I’d been here before, but because I’dpaintedthis scene—or one remarkably like it—dozens of times.

The house. The animals. The sweeping land. The only thing missing was?—

“No children playing in the yard,” I whispered, the words escaping before I could stop them.

---