Rowan shoved his phone back into his pocket and swung off the bars of the pen. His boots crunched through the thin layer of dust that coated everything this time of year. He glanced over his shoulder at the mare watching him leave with her ears pinned back.
Yup, she’s going to be a handful, and I’m not mad about it.
“I got her, boss.”
“Thanks.” He nodded to Former SEAL, Calloway “Edge” Reed, and cursed whoever the hell Camden Moore was. He didn’t want to deal with strangers today. He’d much prefer to be back in the round pen with the mare. He relished the challenge of helping her. There was something about gentling and saving a horse from themselves and the kill pen, which spoke to his soul. Dealing with people… that he did not relish, especially at dawn on a fucking Tuesday.
Cold air hit the back of his neck as he walked to the house, thick with the scent of the rain those clouds following the rising sun over the horizon promised, pine trees, and good old dirt. Beyond the barn, The Stronghold with its paddocks, corrals, and bunkhouses, claimed a couple of thousand acres of Bell County. Rowan’s stomach tightened. Strangers didn’t show up here by mistake. They were invited, or they stopped at the ranch’s Texas gates and followed the instructions to text his number with a copy of their ID, just as Camden Moore had done.
By the time he made it to the porch, Gael was already in his usual spot with a mug in one hand and his phone in the other. He looked up, one brow raised in question.
“Morning.” His voice was still rough with sleep.
Rowan climbed the steps two at a time. He didn’t bother with pleasantries; his twin knew him well enough that he’d do a double take if he did. “You ever hear of a Camden Moore?”
Gael frowned, setting the mug down on the railing. “Nope. Why?”
“Because he’s parked at the front gate, and wants to talk. Says it’s urgent.” Rowan pulled off his gloves and slapped them against his thigh. He handed Gael his phone with Moore’s ID open on the screen, “You sure, he don’t ring a bell with you?”
“Nope.” Gael leaned his hip against the post. “I’ve never seen him before. Want me to ping it over to Joel?”
“Nah, Mac will drag his ass out of Italy and fly in here with his guns blazing like he’s protecting the OK Corral, and it could just be someone looking for directions. We’d never hear the end of it.” Rowan figured Gael’s partner, Joel “Mac” McKenzie, or even Fumes as he was sometimes known, a member of one of the most secretive JSOC task forces in the world, didn’t need to get involved unless absolutely necessary. “I figure we’ll just drive on down there and see what this fucker wants.”
Gael set down his coffee cup on the floor and reached for his boots. “Sure thing.
As much as he’d prefer to ride down to the gates on his horse, Rowan stepped inside the door to grab a set of keys. “Truck or ATV?”
“Truck,” Gael called over his shoulder. He was already heading toward the gravel lot. “I’m not riding bitch seat today, and ATV 2 has a flat.”
“You got it.” He picked up the keys and reached for the holsters hanging on the hooks next to the key rack. There wasn’t a hope in hell they were going down to the gates unarmed. The awesome thing about working with his twin was that he didn’t need to ask what Gael was thinking. Just like their skillset with weapons, the connection they shared had helped put them in the upper echelons of special operations. Rowan tossed Gael his Glock and slid behind the wheel.
The road to the front gate wound through the property, narrow and lined with trees that had started to turn gold with the fall. Rowan’s hands rested easily on the steering wheel, but his eyes were moving as he scanned ridgelines, fence lines, and the shadowed tree break where the world outside began. The hum of the truck filled the silence.
Gael finally spoke. “You think he was sent by one of ours?”
Rowan shook his head. “If he was, he’d know better than to show up unannounced. He’d use the drop channel, someone would have given us a heads up, or if he was one of our old team, he’d have unhooked a hot wire and sent us into lockdown.”
“Agreed.” Gael racked a round into the chamber of his weapon and slid the holster on the clip on his belt.
“Yeah.” Rowan clenched his jaw enough his teeth hurt. “Which means I’m already pissed off.” They came around the last bend, and the high, black steel gate framed by a massive wooden arch, with the Stronghold brand burned into it, came into view. An old pickup truck sat just beyond it, engine idling, the driver’s dooropen. A lone figure stood beside it, hands in his pockets, head tilted toward them as he watched them come down the drive. Rowan tensed and slowed the truck to a crawl as the man pulled his hands out of his pockets.
“Stay frosty, that dude don’t look one bit happy at all.”
“He’s put his hand on the hood.” Gael’s words confirmed that someone had schooled this visitor on how to act when they arrived.
The gate sensors picked up the box in the truck, and the outer lights flicked on, cutting through the lingering fog as Rowan stopped his truck a dozen yards short of it. Neither he nor his brother moved to get out yet; they’d survived too many ambushes to ever assume a knock on the door was innocent, and they wanted to see what this visitor would do.
Rowan studied the man through the windshield. Mid-fifties, sunburned, his shoulders squared in the kind of way that said he’d spent his life working outside. He wore jeans, boots, and a weathered hat. He looked more like a rancher than trouble. Still, neither he nor his twin relaxed.
“Looks like a rancher.”
“Yeah.” He agreed with his brother. “You think he’s here to buy a horse?” It was the only thing that made sense.
You don’t turn up at dawn to buy a horse with no notice.
“Don’t know.” Gael flexed his fingers, then put one hand on the door handle, “least not if you’re normal, you don’t.”
Rowan eased the truck forward until they were close enough for voices to carry without shouting. He shut the engine off, climbedout, and moved toward the gate, stopping a few feet short of it where he could dive for cover if he needed to.
