The Edge of Courage (Red Team) (2 page)

A train chose that moment to travel through. The conductor blew the horn a few times. The raspy, long whistle bounced around in the emptiness that ached inside Rocco. The tracks rumbled and rattled as the cars passed by. He bent his arm over the truck door and leaned his forehead on it as the train went on and on.

When the noise grew distant, he held the phone to his ear and listened to Kit breathe.

“You okay, man?” Kit asked.

“Yeah.”

“Look, I need a favor.”

“What?”

“I need you to go up to Wolf Creek Bend. Mandy has a parcel of land up there. Inherited it from her grandparents. She’s starting an equestrian center and has an opening for a ranch hand. She can’t seem to keep that job filled.”

Rocco sighed. “I don’t need a pity job. Jesus, Kit. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Right. ‘cause you and that truck, you’re tight, man. S’all you need.”

“Kit—”

“Look, her land backs to Blade’s. I’m going to bring him home in a couple of weeks, but I’m not sure how long I can stay. If you’re there, you could check in on him now and then after I leave. And Mandy seriously needs the help. Something funky’s going on up there. I don’t think she’s safe.”

Rocco rubbed his eyes. Mandy was Kit’s half sister. She’d been in junior high school and Kit had been a senior in high school before they ever knew they were related. Before both of their lives had gone to hell. Somehow, through letters and occasional visits, they’d become close over the years. If Kit said she needed help, then she did.

“What do you mean ‘funky’?”

“Just weird shit. She can’t keep staff. There’ve been some unexplained accidents on the construction site. The cops don’t think it’s anything unusual, but it don’t sit right with me.”

“You looked into the construction company?”

“They checked out.” There was a pause filled with unsaid things. “I can’t leave for a while yet. I’m getting out, as well. I’m going to work for a private company. Blade, too.”

“You guys going merc?”

“Tremaine Industries isn’t a firm of mercenaries. Owen Tremaine’s hiring former Red Teamers. He wants the three of us. I’ll talk to you about it when I get out there. Until then, I’d feel a lot better if you went up to Mandy’s to see what’s going on.”

What the hell. What did he have to lose? He’d have work, a place to sleep. A chance to find normal again. A chance to heal. The sooner he got better, the sooner he could go back for his son.

“Fine. I’ll head out today.”

“Thanks, bro. I owe you.”

Rocco had a flash of the afternoon Kit and Blade pulled him out of the pit he’d been stashed in after the explosion. He’d spent seven years in the Hindu Kush, four of them observing the infamous warlord, Ghalib Halim. No one else had come looking for him. No one thought he’d survived the blast—except for his two buds. Hell, he’d been Red Teaming so deep and so long, no one else even knew he existed. They’d given him a canteen, an MRE, and an M16 that day, then the three of them had taken the cave where Halim was holed up, executing a kill order that had been years in the making.

“No, Kit, you don’t owe me. We’re a long way from even.”

“Rocco?”

“What?”

“Try to keep it together, feel me? I want an update in a few days.”

“Roger that.” Rocco dropped the connection.

* * *

Wind slipped past the low ranch house and curled around Rocco’s legs, carrying a feminine whisper of ragged words. The late May morning bit like a winter day. He shoved the door shut on his old Ford pickup, letting its creak announce him. A slow look around the decrepit property showed him a barn in an advanced state of collapse, two large, overgrown pastures, a small, older farmhouse screaming for a new roof and a paint job, a steel building, and a larger ranch house that looked about a century newer than the little farmhouse.

Rocco shoved his thrift-store cowboy hat on his head and made his way to the steel building where he could hear a woman’s frustrated mumbles. She had a weed whacker gutted on a counter and was leaning over it with a screwdriver. She still hadn’t heard him.

“So—do you get off torturing small engines or did that one just make you mad?” he asked, standing at the entrance to the big, cluttered workshop. The woman jumped about a foot, then sent him a glare over her shoulder. She looked away and swiped the back of her hand across both eyes. Then, drawing a deep breath, she came over to him as she shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

Light fell across her face. Rocco was unprepared for the effect she had on him. Her skin was pale, smooth like cream, freckles sprinkled lightly across her nose. Her cheeks were rosy with the day’s crisp air. Straight gold-red hair the color of copper wire hung in loose streams over her shoulders. Her eyes were large and very green, like emerald cabochons. Her dark lashes were spiky with moisture. Had she been crying?

Rocco ignored that likelihood, focusing instead on the fact that good old Kit had given him a poor description of his half sister all these years. She wasn’t anything like a redheaded, freckle-faced monster. As she looked at him, those green gemstones narrowed.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a voice so melodious he shivered.

“Kit sent me. Said you had a job opening.”

Mandy took one look at the man standing before her and silently cursed her brother. She’d told Kit she needed a handyman—barely a couple of hours ago—and he sends her
him
.

The man was silhouetted against the stormy sky, which deepened the shadows in the hard angles of his face. He had dark-brown hair that curled a little at the edges of his hat brim. His beard, filling in from several days of not shaving, did little to gentle his jaw or obscure the shallow cleft in his chin. His lips were rounded and sensuous, though the lines bracketing his mouth gave him an edgy look. His nose was straight and narrow, flared slightly at the nostrils. His eyes were black. His gaze, obscured somewhat beneath the wide brim of his cowboy hat, was cold. Ancient. Impossible to read.

Her senses went on high alert. If Kit hadn’t vouched for him, she would send him packing. She should anyway. He was every inch a warrior. She studied his eyes, trying to get a feel for what type of worker he would be, but she couldn’t see past his stony expression. Wolf Valley Therapeutic Riding Center was to be a place of sunshine and healing, not the dark shadow world of a haunted soldier.

“Oh, no. No. No, Kit.” She shook her head

The man leaned against the side of the shed and let his grin out, flashing white teeth against his olive complexion. “You’re a fan of his too, huh?”

“I thought he was going to send a friend over.”

“I am a friend.”

“No. You’re a Green Beret.”

The man’s face hardened. “I’m out of the service. I wasn’t Special Forces.”

Mandy frowned. “With all that’s going on around here, I don’t need you to take a job you’re not going to keep. It’s hard enough to get anyone to stay as it is, but putting an adrenalin-junky in a low-level handyman’s position won’t fly. Thank you for coming all the way out here. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“Well now, sweetheart,” the man drawled, “you didn’t hire me, so you can’t fire me.”

Mandy squared her shoulders as she met his steely gaze. Adding him to the mix of everything else that was happening was like holding a flame to a Molotov cocktail. A plain bad idea.

“I want you to leave.”

“Negative.”

“Mr—” What had Kit said his name was? “Whoever you are—”

“Rocco Silas.”

“You’re trespassing. How about I call the cops?”

Rocco quirked a brow at her. “How about you do that?” he agreed. Kit’s sister glared at him. He sent her another grin just to see the flush rise on her skin again. Sun broke through the stormy clouds, streaming through the air to brighten a circle about her, igniting the highlights in her hair until it was the color of wheat washed in a red sunset. It fascinated him. It was as changeable and dramatic as the woman herself. Yanking her flaming mane around one side of her neck, she reached into her pocket and withdrew her cell. She hit one number, then lifted the phone to her ear.

If she was calling the cops, he didn’t like the fact that she had them on speed dial—or rather, that she had a need to have them on speed dial.

“Your Neanderthal’s here. Call him off, Kit.”

Rocco took advantage of her preoccupation with the phone call to give her a thorough look-over. Her jaw was a tempting line that ended in a narrow chin. Her neck was slim. Her shoulders looked thin and feminine in her jean jacket. Beneath it, she wore a top that emphasized a nice rack and a sleek ribcage. Her shirt was longer than her jacket, flaring out over her hips. Her legs were long and slim, her jeans tight enough to accentuate the toned muscles of her thighs. He stared at her legs, realizing she stirred something in him that had long been dormant.

Christ, this was not going to be an easy assignment. He had not expected to be attracted to Kit’s sister. It was a distraction he could do without right now.

He cut her arguments short as he pulled the phone from her and held it up to his ear. “We’re cool, Kit. I got this.” He shut off the phone and handed it back to her. “Tell me where I can put my gear.”

Mandy glared at him, sorely tempted to tell him exactly where he could put his things.
“Just for the summer, Em. Please? I need to know you’re safe. And there’s no one I trust more than Rocco,”
Kit had asked so nicely before he’d been cutoff.

Silence settled between her and Rocco, broken only by the wind that whined as it curled around the toolshed’s entrance. It caught her hair again, tossing it in front of her face, toward her brother’s friend. She didn’t look away from him as she drew it over one shoulder, didn’t miss the way he tracked the path her hair made across her skin.

She glared at him, disliking the heat his gaze spread through her. “I need a man who can pull his weight around here.”

The humor drained from his face. “This ain’t my first choice of gigs, either, sweetheart. Why don’t we try it and see how it goes for a week or two? Besides, I can fix that weed whacker you gutted.”

“Two weeks. If you can last that long.” She held out her hand. “I’m Mandy Fielding.”

Rocco looked at her small, long-fingered hand but did not complete the gesture. It was a handshake, for chrissake. A simple handshake. He didn’t touch her. He couldn’t risk it. She dropped her hand almost as quickly as she’d offered it.

“Tell me you’re not afraid to get your hands dirty?”

He didn’t answer her. She had no idea how stained his hands were.

“Right,” she continued, nervously filling the breach his silence caused. She rubbed her palms on the sides of her thighs. “Well, I need some pastures mowed, old barbed wire removed, new fencing put up.” She looked back to the cluttered garage. “And I need someone who can work magic with ancient farm equipment. That sound like something you’re interested in?”

Rocco pulled a long draw of air. Wolf Valley Therapeutic Riding Center was way the hell off the beaten track. He cast a quick glance around them, seeing all the mindless, physical work that needed to be done—work he looked forward to tackling for the very reason that it was mindless. He glanced at Kit’s sister. “It is.”

“It pays $300 a week plus room and board.”

He nodded, making no effort to negotiate. She cocked her head, studying him. He met her look with an unblinking gaze, his features shuttered.

“You know anything about ranching? You ever worked on a ranch before?”

“I grew up on a spread over in Albany County. Always thought I’d be one of the hands there one day.”

“Why aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “Army. Afghanistan. Been gone a long time.”

“When did you get back?”

“A few months ago. I guess Kit didn’t give you my dossier.” He hoped she would take the bait, hoped it would distract her from drilling into the fact he’d been at Walter Reed until about a week ago.

It worked.

She crossed her arms and bit a corner of her mouth as she studied him. “No dossier, but it’s not needed. Kit vouched for you. You’ve got two weeks.”

Mandy turned and led the way to the older, smaller farmhouse. Four steps led up to a deep porch and a front door that opened into a small kitchen. “You’re the only one staying here, so pick your bunk. The kitchen’s stocked and linens are in the closet.” She pushed the door open and stood back while he entered.

He did a quick circuit of the kitchen and living room, then turned down the hallway and looked at both of the bedrooms. Two twin beds were in either room with a bathroom between them that was entered by the hallway. The space was simple, clean. And a long, long way from the beautiful, jagged ranges of the Hindu Kush with its ancient, organic homes and enemies lurking in every shadow.

“You hiring more hands?” Rocco asked as he came back into the kitchen. A house this size would have slept ten or twenty fighters in Afghanistan, but after the fiasco at the shelter, he didn’t feel like sharing the space.

“Not for a while. Not until we’re closer to opening. I’m looking for a barn manager, but he’ll eventually have an apartment in the stable.”

Kit’s sister sent him a measuring glance, and Rocco wondered what those big, green eyes of hers saw. When she backed across the threshold to the open space of the porch, he supposed he had his answer.

He was what he was and couldn’t be anything else until he finished what waited for him. One more mission, one that was personal. When it was over, he would learn to be a civilian. Regular people everywhere managed to live normal lives. He could, too. He would have to.

Rocco took out his phone and dialed her number. “Kit gave me your number. Here’s mine.” He nodded at her phone, which had started ringing. “Save it. Don’t hesitate to call me if something seems odd. I’ve got a pair of walkie-talkies in my truck. Keep one with you at all times so that you can get me anywhere on this ranch if phone reception is bad.”

Kit’s sister saved his number and put her phone away. “Great. When you get settled, come get me.”

“I’m settled.”

She smiled slowly, still trying to figure him. He wished her luck.