About the Author
Using actual Texas settings and realistic characters, this USA Today and Publisher's Weekly bestseller, creates stories with characters who put everything on the line. Angi is an 11th generation Texan who lives there with her husband and 'four-legged' kids. Find her at AngiMorganAuthor.com
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Nick Burke snapped awake and heard the echo of his labored panting in his ears. The faceless man shooting him in his nightmare faded, allowing him to suck some air into his lungs. A bright beam of sun snaked through his curtains and caught him in the eye.
"What the?" His alarm was gone. But he'd set it the night before. Mom. He shoved back the hair stuck to his sweaty face and scratched his damp scalp. The sheets were drenched again. "Damn nightmares."
He rubbed the numb skin covering the scars on his chest. No feeling in the daylight. Unlike at night when the dreams prodded and twisted a knife in the wound.
The more he tried to forget the shooting last year, the more he was surrounded by triggers. Literally. Stupid to believe he could face that demon and survive without some type of consequence. Cord had volunteered him to guide a drug task force through the mountains on his land and he'd met Beth. Then the shootout two weeks ago had almost gotten him shot a second time. He could still hear the bullet buzzing by his ear like a jet-propelled mosquito.
As a result, the nightmares had intensified.
He wouldn't be that stupid again. Let the task force get some other dumb rancher to help. He needed to work his cattle and prepare for winter. He'd done his part and wasted enough time chasing an enemy that would never be gone. It was a fact of life he had to get past.
Living this close to the Mexican border, it didn't matter if it was the nineteenth or twenty-first century. Cattle rustlers or gunrunners. There would always be some sort of threat out of the control of the ranch owners.
Doing everything possible to make the Rocking B successful should be his number one priority. He didn't have the time to be distracted by the task force or nightmares
or a beautiful pair of legs.
Almost a year since he'd been shot and there were only two instances when his dreams hadn't attacked him. A night of sedated dreams in the hospital while recovering, and one night in the arms of a raven-haired seductress.
The first thought of Beth started his blood pumping faster. The second thought cooled his heels in a blink. Having law enforcement constantly searching his property was bad enough. Undercover DEA was worse. Getting involved with her was out of the question. Her skill set would never be adequate for the Davis Mountains.
Sure, she could handle a gun. She'd proved that by dropping the drug dealer jamming a .45 to his head. But she was afraid of horses, for crying out loud. He was a rancher. He rode horses. Needed horses. Couldn't live without horses.
But he could definitely live without Beth setting foot on his ranch again.
A timid knock on the door had him jumping into the mud-caked jeans he'd dropped on the floor next to the bed.
"Nick? You awake?" His mother's voice was so soft it wouldn't have been heard if he hadn't been awake.
He found his digital clock across the room. Nine in the morning? "Mom, did you move the alarm again?"
"Oh, good, dear, you're awake. Are you dressed?"
He hauled a T-shirt over his head just before she pushed the door open a crack. "Go ahead and come in and confirm my total lack of privacy as a thirty-year-old man. I've told you before that you've got to stop turning off the alarm."
His mom stood with one fist on a hip and one finger pointed in the air to halt his speech. Easier just to let her have her say. "Dear, there's someone here to see you, and I didn't want you riding off to rope a cow or check a fence."
Almost twenty-five years on the ranch and his mother still had no desire to learn what really went on here. He'd laugh, but he'd learned the hard truth of ranch work only after his foreman had shot him in the back.
"You know I'm not seeing people."
"Yes, sweetheart. I've tried a couple of times to warn you about this appointment. I even left a message on your phone."
"Appointment?"
"That's right. I tried to ask you, but since you ignored me, I've taken matters into my own hands. You'll either march into the living room or pack your bags." She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes.
"No way. You probably have a shrink in there."
"So, you're leaving, then. Such a shame. Your father and I will miss you every day, but we'll deal with it." Her hands fell to her sides and he swore she looked three inches shorter.
"What? Mom, this is my ranch. You can't kick me off."
"Yes, it is, son, but not officially. Not yet." She stepped closer and hugged him around his waist, too short to put her arms any higher.
He patted her shoulder, thinking again. Had he really heard her correctly? He set her away from him. "You're saying I have to see whoever's in the living room or lose my inheritance?"
"We're not going to disinherit you, Nick." She turned and sat on the corner of the bed. "Would it work if I did? Would you talk with a counselor?" She wrung the corner of her apron around her hands, obviously distressed. "How long do you think you can keep this up?"
"What? Working my own ranch? Men have been doing it for centuries."
"You know what I'm talking about. Sweetheart, you barely sleep. Don't you think your dad and I hear every time you wake up? Or creep down the hallway to watch television? Or even play those games on your laptop at all hours?" With a long sigh she sat on the edge of the bed.
"That's all normal, the doctors told you"
She closed her eyes. She waited for him to finish. Her manners had never allowed her to talk over someone else.
"You're out the door before dawn," she continued. "And not back inside until nine or ten at night. Straight to your room and screaming from your nightmares when you do fall asleep."
"I didn't know you could hear me." His parents had never said a word. What part of his nightmares had they heard? "Do you think talking about this with a stranger is going to help?"
His quiet mother brushed a tear from her cheek. He was lost, unable to respond. It hadn't always been that way, only since
"It's worth a try." Juliet Burke put her hands on her thighs and stood. "But that's not who's waiting for you."
Man alive, he'd almost agreed to talk to a shrink. His mother didn't know just how close he'd been to caving. He hated seeing her so concerned. Hugging her tight to his chest, he was unableor unwillingto look into her sad, worried eyes.
"Come on, Mom. It's getting better," he lied. He faked a smile as he released her, crossing his fingers that she'd relax and believe him for a day or two. "Does breakfast come with this meeting?"
"Of course. I was just waiting for you to get up before putting the biscuits in the oven. Beth's drinking coffee and we'll visit while you shower."
"Beth Conrad? The DEA Amazon that hates my guts? The woman who swore she'd lock me up for obstruction if I interfered in her investigation again? That Beth?"
"She doesn't hate you, sweetheart. She's come to ask a favor." His mother moved and gently shut the door as she left.
"The last favor she asked for involved me walking down a long pier and jumping head first into a dry lake."
"I heard that."
Beth Conrad heard it, too. She silently slipped back to the ancient fireplace in the living room as Juliet's footsteps started down the hallway. Yes, she'd been listening to a private conversation, but she didn't actually have a good track record with Nick Burke. It grated her last nerve to ask him for anything. It didn't matter that technically she wasn't the person who was asking.
"Need some more coffee?" Juliet asked, wiping her palms across the embroidered apron. The smile on her face hid any of the anxiety that had been in her voice a few moments ago.
"No, thanks. I'm fine. Or at least I am at the moment. I'm not certain how crow tastes and might choke a little once Nick is out here."
Juliet laughed.
"I don't think this is a good idea, Juliet. Your son and I haven't been the best of friends since I was transferred here. The little I've gotten to know about him suggests he won't capitulate."
"Nonsense, you don't know each other and have only met under the most stressful situations." She held up a hand and paused.
Beth had only met Juliet and Alan Burke a couple of weeks ago. After the disastrous operation in the mountains, Nick had driven Beth to the Alpine emergency room. Then he'd stuck around to give her a lift back to the bed-and-breakfast where she'd been staying. His parents had misunderstood his cryptic message and rushed to the hospital, thinking their son had been shot again. After a sigh of relief, they'd waited with their son and had insisted on taking her to dinner. Nick had fumed and protested the entire way to the café.
"Okay, I hear the shower running so we can really talk now," Juliet said. "This is beneficial for you both, Beth. We've gone all through this."
"Yes, ma'am. But just for the record, I protested then and I'm protesting now. Kate McCrea should never have twisted her husband's arm to request that I reside at the ranch. He's a Texas Ranger and technically my boss. I don't know why she asked that I be kept on the task force, I should add." If he hadn't, she'd be out of the DEA and searching for a new job.
Instead she'd act like a sitting duck. A dangling carrot they hoped to lure the perpetrator into making a move against her with. Tasked with the covert job of finding ruthless informants passing information to gunrunners and drug smugglers. Honestly, acting as bait was the only skill she felt competent in providing McCrea's task force.
And until someone nibbled the bait, they were conducting interviews and trying to covertly connect the dots.
"No one did any arm twisting. After you saved my son's life, on top of everything that's been happening in these mountains, no one had to tell me you were an agent.
Kate just confirmed what branch of the government you worked for. She's almost a member of our family. And I only assumed there was a task force involved. No one told me anything." Juliet smiled and raised her eyebrows as if asking a question.
"I'm not at liberty to discuss the investigation. I won't ever be, even if I stay here. And your family may be in danger."
"We already are, dear. This is a risk we're willing to take by staying and not selling to the corporations trying to buy us out. We just need to convince Nick that you should be here." Juliet rose, lining up the coffee pot with the sugar and creamer. "I need to get those biscuits in the oven."
"I'm completely inadequate, especially helping in the kitchen, but I'll try."
"You're not inadequate, just out of your element. Now, you wait right there for my pig-headed son," she said.
There was no way to keep from liking Nick's parents. Especially Juliet. Her husband had been very ill for quite some time, but the woman never had a bad word or complaint. Nick was her only child and suffered from PTSD after being shot last year. His state of mind was evident to everyone who knew himand even those who didn't know him well.
One night together and she'd witnessed the tension, his avoiding sleep as long as possible, the slight shaking in his hands when others spoke of the cartel.
Juliet was at the swinging door to the kitchen. "I'm very concerned because my son was shot, nearly died and then almost killed a second time. I can't bear to think about what would have happened if you hadn't been there. We have plenty of space in this house. It makes a lot of sense for you to stay close."
Beth took a step toward the kitchen to follow.
"No, no. You stay there and enjoy your coffee. It'll be so nice having another woman around here. And you know, there really is a lot Nick can teach you."
"That's what I'm afraid of," she mumbled after her hostess went through the door.
Nick Burke had been a thorn in her side since she'd arrived in Marfa, Texas. Each way she turned in this investigation, there he stood. He was thrown in her path or she was thrown in his. Even the horrid horses she'd been on had worked against her efforts to stay away from him.
Now her supervisors had arranged for her to bunk at Burke's ranch and practically be bait wiggling on a hook. With one phone call, Ranger McCrea had assured the very people who had sent her here to fail that she had no problems. He'd told her boss that she was vital to the task force and that the firing of her weapon and subsequent death of an attempted murderer fell under his jurisdiction. The matter had been investigated and was closed.
Then he'd turned to her and said she needed to learn more about the area and enhance her riding skills.
What riding skills? She was a city girl, used to mass transit and high-rises on every corner. She'd refused to resign after her mistakes in Chicago. So as punishment, they'd sent her on an assignment she couldn't possibly complete. The wide open spaces made her feel small and inferior. Not to mention the wild animals
or the tame ones.
Nothing could be worse than banishment to West Texas for letting her guard down.
Well, it wouldn't happen again. There would be no hesitation. None. Ever.
She sipped her coffee, and wandered around the immaculate room. She lifted a picture of a young Nick and Kate McCrea back in high school. Was that a twinge ofjealousy eking its way into her emotions? No. She wouldn't fall for the hurt, silent cowboy no matter how compelling his story.
But it didn't matter. She set his picture back in its spot on the writing desk. Every time he opened his mouth it was easy to push him further into a "don't touch" category. Almost as far as she seemed to have landed on his "not worth the bother" list.
The smell of baking biscuits soon filled the air. She should offer to help in the kitchen again, but she truly was hopeless there. Her mother had tried to teach her often enough, but nothing had stuck. When setting the table she could never remember which side of the plate the knife or fork should be set. Of course, that wasn't the reason she was here. The real reason was about six-three and didn't want her near him
or his mother.
"Mornin'." Nick's greeting was anything but pleasant in tone. It was something close tobut not quitereluctant tolerance. "How's your arm?"
