There was also a brochure for some wellness retreat-spa-ranch thing in Wyoming. I’d gotten about three of these in the last nine months. They must be desperate for customers.Come to Mercy River! Indulge in massage and skin treatments. Book an appointment with our on-site physical trainer or relax in your private cabin. The photos were breathtaking. Mountains and green pastures, a cozy cabin, horses. I studied each one like I might actually go there someday. Stalling.
I didn’t want to look.
But I picked up the postcard anyway, pinching a tiny corner between my thumb and index finger like it could bite me if I wasn’t careful, and read the message.
Now we can be together.
Ha. No fucking thank you, Mr. Delusional Stalker.
I let the postcard fall from my fingers to the floor and stared out the window. Autumn was the city’s best season, but there was something to be said for the lush green of Central Park in summer, too, and I couldn’t feel the humidity from up here. Beyond the park was the skyline, high-rises gleaming in the soft glow of golden hour.
Goddamn, I loved this city, but I needed to disappear. Hide out until this all blew over in some sheltered Podunk town where no one knew my name. I studied the Mercy River brochure again. The “About Us” pagetold the story of five military friends banding together to open the ranch. The scenery truly was gorgeous. Mountains…That would make a great backdrop in photos, right? Horses…Sure, why not. A spa…Yes, I could definitely get on board with that.
And most importantly, two thousand miles away from this city and anyone who knew me.
2
JEREMIAH
The only thingmore annoying than wrangling cows was wrangling cowboys. Especially when those cowboys were also ex-special forces who would be mightily offended if I were to use a whip or rope on their hides, and even more especially when those cowboys were the only thing standing between me and my breakfast. Our Monday meeting started at nine, but it was 8:57 now and two were missing.
“Where is Seb?” I groused.
Liam Cole grunted, which could have meant he didn’t know, or it could have meant he knew but didn’t want to narc. In all fairness, Liam should have been the one wrangling cowboys, not me. It was his ranch, after all. But Liam preferred cattle to people,so here we were.
Mercy River Ranch had been in the Cole family for four generations. The ranch had nearly gone under with Liam’s parents, until Liam’s younger brother, Daniel, had the bright idea to turn the ranch into a nonprofit retreat for veterans, military, and first responders suffering from the mental scars that came from doing the kind of work we did.
Daniel and Liam Cole, Sebastian Ashcroft, Mateo Alvarez, Holly Delaney, and me—we had all served on a SEAL team together years ago. Now we were cowboys together. I was the general manager. Liam and Mateo oversaw the cattle operation. Holly and Seb handled the nonprofit.
Liam filled his mug then raised the silver urn to me, brows arched above big dark eyes that somehow looked bigger and darker than ever. I held out my own mug, squinting at him as he topped it off. Why did he look so…pretty?
I peeled my gaze away. “Mateo? You see Seb this morning?”
“We’ve got two minutes,” Mateo said, always the optimist. “He’ll be here.”
“Unless he’s dead,” Holly chirped as she breezed through the doorway.
She headed to her usual perch on the front desk, but with her arms full of sleeping chicken, she couldn’t pop herself onto it. Mateo patted his lap and, without missing a beat she placed one boot on his thigh, usinghim as a stepping stone. His hand circled her ankle and his biceps flexed as he gave her a boost. His other palm ghosted her calf to steady her, but she didn’t need it. Graceful as a ballerina, she twirled onto the counter and settled above him, her legs hanging next to his shoulder. Mother Clucker didn’t even blink.
I shook my head. “He’s not dead.”
Holly shrugged like it didn’t matter to her either way, even though I knew it did. “He might be dead.”
“I’m not dead.” Sebastian finally made his appearance. “I’m not even late.”
There was a fresh bandage on his arm, which meant he had been out in the mountains this morning. Rock climbing or mountain biking, probably. That was what I told myself, anyway, because the alternative was he’d jumped off a cliff wearing nothing but a nylon wingsuit like some kind of deranged Batman. I tugged at my hair, frowning at his bandage. You’d think the only survivor of a rescue gone really fucking wrong would handle his own life with a little more care.
I bit back the safety lecture that wouldn’t do any good and muttered, “Call next time.”
“Sure, Dad,” Seb lied with a smirk, because he thought it was hilarious that I was a mere six months older than him and still demanded check-in calls. Maybe if he stopped scaling mountains in the stupidest way possible, I’d be less nervous about it.
“Coffee?” Liam offered, and I found myself once again puzzling over what was different about him.
“Sure, I’ll take a cup. Thanks,” Seb said.
Liam set his own mug down to fill Seb’s, leaving a smudge of pink on the rim where his mouth had been. There was a beat of silence as we all realized what it meant.
“Are you wearing makeup?” I asked, baffled.
