Prologue:

“There’s a new girl in town.”

Jeb McMasters glanced up from the laptop screen, eyeing his brother suspiciously.  “Now, why the hell would that be interesting to me?” he growled.

Grey’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief as he regarded his oh-so-serious older brother.  He suspected this news might be enough to shake up Jeb’s ordered little world, a world he’d isolated himself in for almost six months, ever since he came home from rehab.  Battered and broken, Jeb had closed in on himself, a situation only exacerbated when his fiancée broke off their engagement just weeks after he got back.  Hell, he hadn’t even been transferred from hospital to the rehab facility before Crystal stuck the knife in, announcing she couldn’t marry a paraplegic.

Grey’s blood still boiled when he thought about how badly Crystal had hurt Jeb.  His brother had put on a brave front, showing a tough exterior to the outside world but Grey knew he was still hurting, even now.

“You gonna tell me why you’re here?  I’ve got work to do,” Jeb announced.  He made a show of ignoring Grey, focusing on the laptop screen.

Grey strolled further into the room, his gaze flicking over the neat desk where the paperwork was lined up with strategic precision.  He looked down at Jeb, who’d abandoned the charade of staring at the screen and ignored a chilly stare from eyes as blue as his own.  He wanted to be close enough to enjoy the reaction his news was about to create.  “Mikayla Odell is back in Rock Ridge Hollow.  Word is, she’s here to stay.”

Grey had the satisfaction of watching the color drain from Jeb’s face.

********

Chapter One:

Jeb sat out on the porch, drinking a beer and watching the night sky.  He usually experienced some semblance of peace out here in the early evening.  Cicadas chirruped their evening song, and the horses out in the pasture whinnied quietly to one another as they made their way from one tasty patch of grass to the next.

Tonight, peace proved elusive.

Mikayla Odell.  Hell.  He hadn’t heard that name in… what?  It must be ten years.  She was the last woman he and—

Jeb lifted the beer to his lips, taking a long swig and mentally shaking himself.  No point dredging up the past, it was water under the bridge.  Mikayla was part of his history – ancient history.  He’d lived a lifetime since then, his choices bringing him to this point.  Reluctantly, his gaze lowered to his denim-clad legs.  He preferred this time of the day, when his useless limbs were gradually disappearing in the darkening shadows.  For the thousandth time since he returned from Kabul eight months ago, he focused on his thighs… his calves… his ankles… his toes.  Desperate to feel something – anything – which might suggest he’d get the use of his legs back.

Nothing.  Not a thing.  Not a twinge, not a spasm – nothing like what the doctors said would happen if he was going to get sensation back.  The memory of Crystal breaking up with him, the way she’d avoided his gaze – even now, after months, it cut him to the core.

“Need another beer?”  Grey pushed out past the screen door, two longnecks dangling between his fingers.

Jeb nodded, drained the last of his beer and put the empty bottle down beside the wheelchair.

Grey handed him a fresh drink and then leaned against the porch rail.  They both sipped their drinks, Jeb focused on the blaze of stars across the horizon, Grey watching the flickering television screen visible through the living room window.

“Anything in particular you need me to do tomorrow?” Grey asked.

“We need to get ahold of Newt Thornton, have a chat about borrowing his stallion.  Those mares’ll be ready in a couple of weeks, and you know what Newt’s like about negotiating deals.”

Grey nodded.  “I’m guessing you’ll handle that phone call?”

Jeb nodded, slugging back a mouthful of the bitter ale.  “About the only useful thing I can do nowadays.”  He tried, and failed, to keep the bitterness from coloring his tone.

Grey straightened up, resting his drink on the railing.  “Y’know, I’ve still got the details about those saddles and the—”

Jeb shook his head.  “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Grey inhaled sharply, then let the air slowly whoosh out between his lips.  “Don’t you think it’s time to start whittling away at that chip on your shoulder?”

Jeb remained stubbornly mute.  Yeah, he was struggling with what he’d lost, but hell, who wouldn’t?  He’d had all the therapy he could stomach, lost hope of living like a normal man.  He was surviving from day to day, doing what he could, trying to avoid thinking about what he couldn’t.

But sometimes he couldn’t avoid the fierce longing, the desire to regain what he’d lost.  Hell, he’d love nothing better than getting into the saddle, settle on Gandry’s back and ride across the land the way he did before he went overseas.  Before the IED which took the lives of four of his team and the use of his legs.

Shit.  He’d been lucky, all things considered, and he tried to remember that.  He’d come home.  He was sitting on his ranch in Montana, enjoying a beer at the end of the day.  He hadn’t died out there in that hot, dry hellhole. 

He was alive.

His attention reverted to Grey, who’d leaned forward and was waving a hand in front of Jeb’s face.  “What?” he snapped.

“You were miles away,” Grey remarked.

“I was tuning out your lecture,” Jeb grumbled.  “Unless you wanna talk about what needs doing tomorrow, you might as well go watch TV.”

Grey drained his beer, taking his time before he responded.  Jeb didn’t like it – usually it meant Grey had something on his mind, something he wanted to talk about, but was hesitating because he didn’t know how he would react.

Jeb couldn’t blame him. He’d been difficult to live with since he got home, but it didn’t make him any more comfortable waiting for Grey to break the protracted silence.  “Spit it out,” he finally demanded.  “You’ve obviously got something on your mind.”

“Mikayla.  I’m thinkin’ about heading into town to see her.  Thought I’d be neighborly, welcome her back to Rock Ridge.”

Jeb was stunned and it took nearly a full minute to respond.  When he did, he couldn’t keep disbelief from coloring his reaction.  “You’re kidding, right?  You can’t possibly believe that’s a good idea?”

Grey shrugged, seemingly unaffected by Jeb’s derision.  “A decade’s a long time.”

“Don’t you remember?  She left!  Skipped town like a bat out of hell,” Jeb growled.  “What makes you think she’d have anything to say to you? To me?”

“Aren’t you at least curious?” Grey asked, tapping his thumb against the empty bottle.  “Wouldn’t you like to see her again, discover what brings her home now?”

Jeb unlocked the brakes on the wheelchair, knocking over the empty beer bottle in his haste but he was too agitated to care and it rolled noisily across the wooden porch.  “No, Grey, I don’t want to see her, and I’m not fucking interested in why she’s come back.  Mikayla Odell means nothing to me.  G’night.”  Jeb yanked open the screen door, guiding the wheelchair inside in a smooth, well-practiced maneuver and the door slammed soundly behind him.