Page 12 of Shades of Mercy
“Okay. I’ll speak to her. We’re almost to the drop-off point.”
She pulled down the visor and checked herself in the lighted mirror. She looked exactly like a woman who’d been kidnapped, crawled through an air vent, and was shot at in some dank alley.
This day just kept getting better and better.
Chapter Five
Bryar LeGuard-Steel removed the loaf of strawberry honey bread from the oven and placed it on the sideboard as she waited for the cowboys to gather around the weathered table. Music from the antique radio in the window filled the air, and she hummed along.
As the song's final chord faded, a local weather alert announced an approaching storm in Shades Cove.
The seductive woman’s voice practically purred the warning, “Stay indoors this evening, my friends. Don’t take any chances. Now sit back and enjoy this oldie but goodie.”
Jag slapped his worn Stetson on one of the hooks near the back door and stepped into the kitchen, offering Puma’s wife a smile in greeting.
Over the last six months since Jag moved to Storm Pass, he’d gotten to know Bryar. Puma was a fortunate man. Not that Jag wanted the same things, but he was happy to see that his buddy had found happiness.
Jag, on the other hand, broke out in hives at the mere mention of theMword.
His therapist used the term “avoidant behavior”, brought on by PTSD. Hell, he wouldn’t argue. Due to the intense training and high-stress missions in the SEALs, and tests on his brain had shown damage due to blast exposure, he was what he phrased as “fucked up”. Compared to who he was when he retired, he’d come a long way. If he got six hours of sleep a night, he was doing great, he ate and worked out regularly, and didn’t jump out of his skin at every loud noise. Improvement came in baby steps.
Being at Storm Pass, surrounded by his brothers-in-arms, he felt as though he was growing, becoming human instead of operating on automatic pilot.
“Something smells delicious.” He told her as he passed through, grabbing water from the metal bin overflowing with drinks. His mouth watered as Bryar took a large casserole dish out of the oven and placed it on a metal rack to cool. It was meatloaf, one of his favorites.
“You'd better enjoy this meal. I told you that after today, I can no longer cook. The doctor said I need to take it easy, which means running this kitchen is out of the question.” She lovingly touched her round belly. “Did you hear that, husband?” she said to Puma as he stepped inside the kitchen from the mud room.
“Yes, my love. We don’t want to take any risks with our girl.” Puma Steel, a burly man who was as tough as rocks until it came to his wife, wrapped his arms around her and spread his stained fingers over her baby bump.
“Does this mean you’ve found someone to replace me?” she asked. When he stayed silent, she turned on her bare feet and gazed up at him through her lashes. “Babe?”
“It’s okay. I have an idea.” Puma said, sneaking around her and grabbing a pinch of bread, which he slyly popped into his mouth.
“I saw that. Don’t ruin your dinner,” she said with a teasing smile.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Meatloaf is my favorite,” Puma replied.
Over the past six months, Jag had eaten better than he had in all his thirty-five years. He was used to sitting in the dark or by a fire, enjoying a mysterious MRE after a day of chasing terrorists. Sometimes, he had to remind himself to slow down when eating so he wouldn’t disrupt his digestive system. He’d been diagnosed with an ulcer and finally, he got it under control.
When Puma introduced the idea of reviving Storm Pass and starting a security company, Jag had been a bit leery of the prospect. Having grown up on a farm, he was well-acquainted with horses and livestock, yet he had spent over fifteen years as a grunt.
He’d been living on a secluded mountain since he came home and he decided maybe it was time to stop hiding. So, he took Puma up on the offer.
Almost dying on a mission in Kuwait could be considered a wake-up call, figuratively speaking. He took a good look at his life, reflecting on how many criminals he’d brought to justice, how many attacks he’d prevented on friendly soil, and concluded that it was time to retire his rifle and boots. Being a soldier was both mentally and physically arduous, and he found himself starting to resent his lifestyle.
Now he wore a Stetson and Wranglers and couldn’t find a complaint.
Although there was a learning curve in working the land, he quickly adapted and now felt at home. He also found a peaceful pleasure in his security work. Recently, he’d started assisting the sheriff in searching for missing persons in the mountains. This wasn’t part of his original plan when he arrived in Shades Cove, but the team responded wherever they were needed. He liked utilizing his tracking skills. Last week, he’d located two lost teens on the mountain when they took a wrong turn and ended up stuck next to a flooded ravine.
Jag was writing a new chapter for himself, and the world was his oyster.
He sat down at the table with some of the crew who had alreadymeanderedin. They all looked tired and dusty after a day of inoculating the livestock. Under the vet’s guidance, they had managed to immunize half of the livestock. Jag had learned a lot of valuable skills today.
Ranching wasn’t for the weak. He’d be sore for a few days. His leg gave him fits sometimes. The bullet had fucked up his leg, but thanks to a combination of demanding physical therapy and pain meds he was now able to walk without a limp. He just needed to slow down a bit.
He was also learning to enjoy the view.
And damn, what a view he saw every day here at Storm Pass.
