High Intensity (High Mountain Trackers HMT 2G #2)

Chapter 21

Twenty-One

Jillian

“Your daddy is crazy.”

Aspen agrees, nodding her head and bouncing on her toes as she hangs on to the porch railing.

Dan was off on an errand and Sloane asked me to look after the little one for a couple of hours while she went for her doctor’s appointment. I ended up taking the little one out on the sled and dragged her around the paddock and to the barn and back, when Ama called us over to join Thomas on the porch for some hot chocolate.

“That boy is as smitten with that little girl as he is with her momma,” Thomas contributes.

“I’m not sure how far that’s going to fly with Sloane right now,” I point out.

Sloane, who returned to the ranch after her doctor was called away for an emergency and her appointment postponed until next week, spotted Dan unloading the surprise gift he picked up for Aspen’s birthday. Never mind the girl doesn’t turn one until April, still almost two months away.

From what I’ve been able to pick up from my perch on the porch, the cute little black-and-white Shetland pony had been well-trained and the price a steal he couldn’t pass up, but apparently Dan didn’t clear his plans with the baby’s mama first. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion his timing to pick up said pony while Sloane was supposed to be at her appointment was not an accident.

“What were you thinking?” I hear Sloane raise her voice at him. “She’s only one, she can’t look after a pony, so guess who’s going to be doing that?”

Dan says something in response, but I don’t hear more than the faint rumble of his voice as he obviously tries to calm her down.

“And what about when the team gets called out and you’re gone for days at a time? I’ll not only have a toddler and a dog, but also a newborn to look after, and now you’re adding a damn pony?”

We’ve gone from angry to emotional, and I have a feeling Sloane has just shed a light on what really has her freaked out. It has less to do with the cute little Shetland and more with the fact she is pregnant.

“Hormones,” Thomas mutters.

He’s not wrong, but he’d better not say that to Sloane’s face or she might lose it altogether.

From what Sloane told me, Aspen’s father decided parenthood wasn’t for him when the baby was only a few months old. I could see how she could worry history might repeat itself. Of course the rest of us can see Dan would never be that guy, but given Sloane’s earlier experience, it may not be as obvious to her.

I have a feeling Dan may have clued in to some of that as well. I watch him take Sloane in his arms.

“What’s going on over there?” Wolff asks, coming up the porch steps.

He’d been out on the ranch with JD this morning, carting hay to some of the outer pastures. We’d had our own argument about it earlier, since I didn’t think the doctor’s, “Take it easy for a few days,” translated into going out on an ATV and hauling bales of hay. Wolff argued he would be careful but had to burn off some energy.

It wasn’t until after he’d taken off, I found out from Sloane the second guy—the one Wolff had shot—did not survive and died last night. The sheriff apparently informed Wolff this morning, but he never told me. I suspect that may have been the reason he insisted on going out, needing some space—some fresh air—to process the information. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it myself, and I wasn’t the one holding the gun.

“Nothing they can’t resolve,” I tell him, walking up and slipping my arms around his waist. “Are you done or do you have to go out again this afternoon?”

When he aims his blue eyes at me, I can see the fresh shadows there.

“We got done what needed to be done.”

“Good, because I was hoping maybe you could drive me back to my place this afternoon.”

“Wow. You’re not wasting any time,” Wolff scoffs, taking a step back. “Sure, I’ll drive you home.”

As I register his response may have been a little abrupt, he’s already down the porch steps and disappearing toward the cabins.

I turn to Thomas, a little confused. “What just happened?”

But he just shakes his head. “Other than that communication seems to be a lost art? Heck if I know; must be something in the dang air.”

Before I have a chance to react, Aspen suddenly starts crying.

“What’s wrong, little one?” I coo, picking her up from her spot at the railing.

“Mama…”

I guess she saw Sloane, because she’s twisting her little body in my arms to keep her mother in view. Of course her cries have not gone unnoticed, both her parents are already making their way over. Dan has the pony by the lead.

“Hello, sweetheart.” Sloane plucks Aspen from my arms. “Want a sneak peek at what your silly daddy bought you for your birthday?”

“Isn’t her birthday yet,” Thomas contributes.

“Not like she’d know the difference,” Dan calls back.

“Corn bread out of the oven. Chili is on the stove,” Ama announces, sticking her head out the door. “Thomas, get your bony butt in here before the young ’uns descend and eat it all.”

“They better not if they know what’s good for them,” he grumbles, tossing his throw blanket aside, and pushing himself up out of his rocking chair.

I grin and shake my head. These guys are like one big patchwork family.

“Where’s Wolff?” Ama aims at me.

Right . I should probably do some damage control there.

“I’ll go get him.”

Wolff

Fuck it.

If she wants to rush back to her place, let her.

I don’t know why it pisses me off anyway.

The moment I open the door of the cabin, her dogs are all over me. They’ve only been here a couple of days but greet me with almost as much enthusiasm as they do Jillian. It’ll be quiet here if she goes back home. When she goes back home. Only a few days and already I know I’ll miss them. All of them.

So maybe I do know why. I like having her and her dogs in my space, but it seems evident she’s not enjoying it as much, or she wouldn’t be in such a hurry to leave. Hell, maybe it’s better she does, I’m in a foul mood and not up to being social anyway.

Maybe I need to take Judge for a nice long ride, clear my head. He hasn’t had much exercise since the search for the plane. It’s a nice day and as far as I know, there’s no bad weather in the forecast.

I change my muck boots for my riding ones, and step outside to head to the stables, when Jillian comes walking up.

“I was just coming to get you,” she indicates. “Ama has lunch ready.”

“That’s okay, I’m not particularly hungry. I’m gonna head out for a bit, I’ll grab something when I get back.”

The expression on her face is a combination of confusion and maybe some hurt, but she forces a smile on her lips.

“Yeah, sure.”

But when I start walking past her, she grabs my hand.

“Hey, listen. I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with what I said earlier. I should’ve worded that differently.”

I retrieve my hand from her hold and wave it dismissively.

“Nah. I just need to clear my head, that’s all.”

“Of course,” she responds immediately.

For some reason, her look of understanding makes me feel guilty as hell. It doesn’t stop me from going to the barn and getting Judge saddled up. I need some air and a bit of space to get my head straight, because I’m not myself.

Leading Judge out of the barn, I hear Jackson behind me.

“Hold up, will ya?”

I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to my surroundings and hadn’t noticed Jackson inside. He walks out behind me with his horse, Banner.

“What are you doing?” I ask as I mount Judge.

“Going for a ride, I guess,” Jackson returns, swinging into the saddle himself.

I nudge my horse toward a trail that runs behind the barn and up into the mountains. Jackson follows close behind.

“I don’t need company.”

“Just pretend I’m not here,” the asshole persists.

Whatever . If he wants to follow me around, I can’t stop him.

To his credit, he doesn’t say anything until I stop to take a break at the highest point on the trail. It’s at the top of a rock face overlooking the ranch and the Fisher River beyond. From this vantage point I can even make out the roof of Dan and Sloane’s place, which was only finished the fall of last year.

I loop Judge’s reins around a low branch and find a rock to sit on. Stretching my legs out in front of me, I settle back to take in the view in peace. Jackson has a different idea as he joins me and hands me a can.

“Seriously? Beer?”

He shrugs. “Found them in the bar fridge in the tack room. Call it lunch.”

It’s still cold, and a sharp hiss escapes when I crack the tab. The beer goes down smoothly.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

“You’re welcome.”

He cracks his own beer, takes a good drink, and belches when it goes down too fast.

“Charming.”

He darts a glance my way. “Nobody here but us.”

I know what he’s suggesting but choose not to bite. Instead, I take another drink, but Jackson is ready to make a point.

“Most people think I attempted suicide because of this.” He raps his knuckles on his prosthesis.

I’m surprised he brings up his attempt, it’s not something he’s talked to me about before.

“It isn’t?”

I guess I’m “most people.” I figured it was the trauma of the ambush that lost him his friends and his leg that had him swallow a cocktail of medications last year.

“No, that wasn’t it. Do you know what I did in service of our fine country?”

I shake my head. I know—like the original High Mountain Trackers team—Jackson was special ops, which means what he or any of the others did, isn’t exactly common knowledge.

“I was a sniper. A sanctioned killer.”

I must’ve made a face, because he calls me out.

“What? Too harsh? It’s what I was called in to do; eliminate targets. At some point you stop counting, after all, they’re no more than a speck through your scope. Something abstract. And all of it is justified. Enemies to our country.”

He takes another drink from his beer, and I wait him out, unsure what to say at this point anyway.

“Then one day your unit becomes the target, and you become the speck in someone else’s viewfinder. Someone who believes wholeheartedly in their cause, whose actions were justified in their defense of their existence. Then by some stroke of luck, you wake up in a hospital and realize your leg is missing but at least you still have your life.” He nods and glances over at me. “Suddenly those specks you saw through your scope become as real as you are.”

He rubs a hand over his face and turns back to the view, taking another drink before he continues.

“For months after, you’re encouraged to talk about the loss of your limb, of your friends, about what was done to you. Yet, no one asks about what you have done, and that is what has you waking up in the middle of the night, screaming. And keeping it in, not sharing what is really eating at you, can do a lot of damage.”

It takes me a few moments to process all that information. I’ve got to admit, his story stirs something in me. As much as I don’t think our experiences are necessarily the same, I can’t deny I’ve been shoving down the news I caused another man’s death.

“He wasn’t my first,” I confess. “But you’re right, I don’t like talking about it. What’s there to talk about? I had no choice.”

“It’s not about that. It’s about the taking of a life. That was someone’s loved one, someone’s friend, someone’s family.”

I wince at that. He just put into words what I don’t allow myself to linger on, but that doesn’t mean it’s not on my mind.

“Look,” he continues. “I’m not the only one, there are at least four other members of our crew who’ve at one point or another struggled with this. All you’ve gotta say is you’re struggling, and any one of us will follow you to a quiet spot with a beautiful view and have a beer with ya.”

Good to know. Real good to know.

“I don’t recall asking you though,” I kid, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“No, you didn’t, but listening to you blow off your girlfriend like that was an obvious cry for help.”

Fuck . Jillian.

I took my bad mood out on her by getting pissed over something that could have probably been resolved with some clarification. Instead, I used it to distract from what’s really been eating at me since this morning.

Throwing back the dregs of my beer, I crush the empty can and toss it at Jackson, who deftly plucks it from the air. Then I get to my feet.

“I should be getting back.”

He grins at me. “Got some groveling to do?”

I adjust the hat on my head. “Something like that.”

“You better get to it then. Looks like you’ve got a good thing going.” He leans back, folds his hands behind his head, and crosses his ankles. “I’m gonna enjoy the view a bit longer.”

I take Judge’s reins, grab the horn, and swing myself back in the saddle.

“You know, that offer of a quiet spot and a beer goes both ways.”

Jackson throws me a mock-salute.

As soon as Judge and I hit level ground, I give him my heels, and we head for the ranch at an easy canter.

Jillian is sitting on the couch with her stuff all packed up and waiting beside her when I get home. But before I can get to any of the things I thought up to say to her, she beats me to the punch.

“What I meant is that I should get home for the dogs, not because I don’t like being with you, because I do. Even if the circumstances weren’t ideal. But the dogs need their space, they need proper exercise and continuous training,” she rambles. “And my business; I haven’t looked at my emails in days, so it’s about?—”

I easily silence her with a hard kiss. While she’s still recovering from the shock, I grab my opportunity to say something.

I decide to go with the simple truth.

“I’m sorry I was an ass. I took my bad day out on you. Thank you for clarifying your reason for wanting to leave, it makes it a little easier to let you go.”

Her beautiful mouth stretches into a grin.

“You’re always welcome to pack a bag of your own and come with me.”