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Nicole smiled to ease the concern reflected on his face. “Yes, and Wyoming isn’t all that far. As I said when I bought the property, if it doesn’t work out, then I know I’m welcome back here.” She stretched up and kissed his cheek then opened the door. “I’ll get my purse and be right out.”
Grabbing her purse off the staircase newel, Nicole took another sweeping glance of the house where she’d spent so many pleasurable months and said a silent final goodbye. She hoped to find peace and a way to forgive herself for taking Tony’s life where she was going. Time would tell if she could.
Chapter Two
His target came intoview, sweat rolling down his blackened face as he followed the hooded, long-robed figure with his scoped rifle. Lying on his stomach atop the hillside above the small Afghanistan village, Slade waited for his commander’s go-ahead in his earpiece. “Cover your ass by insisting on a direct order confirming your target’s identity before taking a shot.” He’d learned that from a former military sniper who now trained men to take a life to save others. That last order often soothed the moral battle he waged with himself over his chosen career path. The final attestation of the target’s lethal intention to kill as many innocent people as possible was a needed reminder of what a lowlife, deadly degenerate he was about to take out. The many lives saved by one pull of the trigger would ease his conscience until the next assignment when the questions would plague him anew.
A few people emerged from the crude huts and adobe buildings miles away from his perch, the women looking hot in their concealing clothing, some holding the hands of small children. A group of young boys, likely under the age of twelve, kicked a ball around the dirt street, grins creasing their faces. Teens were often recruited or forced to join the war. An old stoop-shouldered man gripping a tall stick for balance shuffled past a donkey grazing in a grassy area. From this distance, they appeared the size of dolls, and only the clothing and uncovered faces told him the gender of the taller boys.
Slade grew itchy the closer his target got to ending those innocent lives, and he prayed for his order to come through, either confirming or denying that was the suicide bomber he was sent to kill. “I’m getting too old for this,” he muttered then grunted at thinking twenty-seven was too old for any activity.
A double beep echoed in his ear, the kill signal he possessed a love-hate relationship with. He pulled the trigger, grateful for the ability to save lives, yet never took one with a gram of salt. Women and children screamed and ran for cover, all except one. She ran straight toward the fallen figure, fell to her knees sobbing, and reaching for the prone would-be bomber. Stunned, Slade pulled out his binoculars and zeroed in on her ravaged face as she turned him over. Bile clogged his throat when he viewed the face of a boy no older than ten, the woman’s wails adding to his gut-clenching remorse. The detonation switch to set off the bomb secured to his torso fell from the boy’s hand, but confirmation of his intentions didn’t matter. Terrorists knew all sorts of ungodly ways to threaten others to do their dirty work, but all he saw was a child dead by his hand.
***
SLADE KINCAID JERKEDawake and fought to untangle himself from the sweat-dampened sheet. Breathing heavy from reliving his worst nightmare, he got out of bed, not bothering with a light as he reached for his jeans lying at the foot. His Border collie, Chace, rubbed against his leg, and he took a moment to brush a hand over his soft head to let him know he was all right. Wearing nothing but the comfortable worn denim, he padded down the hallway lit by a nightlight, bemoaning his inability to get past that moment in time when he’d taken a child’s life. His conscience didn’t care about the people his action saved, which included his grieved aunt and cousins. God knows many more children would have perished that day if he hadn’t done his job, and the young pawn the terrorists had used had been doomed from the get-go. The boy’s relatives in that village had no idea he’d been kidnapped, his parents and siblings threatened with torture and death if he didn’t cooperate.
None of that helped when the kid’s face snuck by his shield during sleep. Eleven years, and Slade still couldn’t forgive himself, or forget. It defied logic, in his mind, but when did logic ever take place fighting a war?
The full moon glowing outside the living area’s wide windows guided him into the kitchen, the tile floor cool under his feet compared to the bedroom carpet and hardwood elsewhere. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, a dog biscuit for Chace, and made his way out to the back patio through the glass slider in the den. He tossed the treat to Chace, who settled on the patio, content for now. Unable to say the same about himself, he leaned against a post and took a long draw, the cold brew and cool late September air drying his perspiration-damp body. Instead of gunfire resonating in his ears, a baying wolf and the screech of an owl filled the silence of the vast Wyoming countryside.
Slade was the first to build his own home on the ranch he and his brothers had inherited from their father almost two years ago. He’d found some of the peace he craved for his unsettled conscience overseeing the work needed to breed and raise Charbray cattle on a spread of over thirty thousand acres. The crops were another source of income for the ranch, but the bulk of the Kincaid wealth was still pumping the rich oil from the fertile ground. His oldest brother, Brett, handled those and the accounts, thankfully. Slade much preferred the physical labors of running the ranch to the hours needed behind a desk.
He kicked back the last of the beer, set it on the patio table, and picked up his latest carving. Wade Hughes, their dad’s foreman, had taught him how to whittle before he’d left for the military, telling him the hobby would come in handy on long, lonely nights away from home. Leaning against the post again, he racked his brain, trying to recall if he’d ever thanked Wade after returning home for good, but couldn’t remember. He’d blacked out a lot of that time period he spent trying to cope with guilt even though he knew the boy was doomed the moment he was snatched from his home. After his superiors discovered what the Taliban threatened the youngster with, they told him, but it hadn’t mattered to Slade anyway.
By the meager patio light, he could make out the shape of a gnome, a whimsical piece he thought his sister-in-law would like. He would never admit it to his brothers, but he’d enjoyed Brett and Allie’s wedding two months ago. The small church in Eagle’s Nest was filled to capacity, and even more people attended the reception in Casper that evening. Slade spent most of the time people watching, always a fun way to pass the hours when you weren’t big on socializing and crowds.
He’d invited Deb to go with him, mostly to keep the single, eager-to-marry guests away. They used each other that way, which worked well for two people who weren’t interested in walking down the matrimony aisle. A frequent play partner at their private club, Deb made the perfect sub in private and was otherwise happy as a clam to maintain a close friendship. Now that Brett was married and Reed, the middle child, had committed to Lily, the pressure would be on him to settle down. Deb had teased him ridiculously about that at the wedding, saying how much she was going to enjoy witnessing his downfall. He let her have her fun, ignoring her and others since he knew the truth – no woman would take on a man who carried such baggage and worked ten to twelve hours a day although he was financially secure.
Besides, he mused with glee, once his brothers started giving their mother the grandchildren she’d been pining for, he would be off the hook. He looked forward to being the cool favorite uncle. Counting his blessings by reminiscing about family always helped to steady him after a bad night. With a twist of his wrist, he started carving the contours on the gnome’s hat while the painted streaks of dawn broke on the horizon. Watching a new day unfold with a blend of deep purple and pale pink then brighten to vibrant red, orange, and yellow also helped chase away the dark of night demons.
The sun made its debut, breaking the horizon in a canary-yellow blaze that forced Slade to squint to finish the gnome’s hat before returning the wood to the table. The hint of warmth touching his shoulders indicated another day of pleasant weather, something to look forward to with October right around the corner. The first snowfall of the year often hit them by mid-month, which made the end of September a busy time on the ranch. Folding the paring knife, he slipped it into his pocket and went inside to finish dressing and eat something before driving to the barns.
The steel roofs on the two large barns and smaller stable came into view as Slade rounded a corner on the unpaved road that wound through the front portion of their property thirty minutes later. Parking in front of the stable, he spotted the four college kids he had hired last year already loading hay bales to haul to the lower pastures. Their early appearance surprised him. They worked part-time while in school and weren’t scheduled until afternoon.
“Morning, boss,” Riley called out with a wave before grabbing the two straps wrapped around the bale and hefting it onto the flatbed.
