Brandon looked down at the pick in one hand and shovel in the other. He'd held heavy artillery. He knew how to put together a rifle and take it apart in the dark. His skills with a firearm were deadly accurate.
And yet here he was reduced to a gardener. Sent off to battle weeds. Enlisted to sow seeds of string beans.
He didn't have time for this. He definitely didn’t have any patience for it. He’d come to the ranch to relax and recuperate, not to tend and till.
He’d figured he'd at least get to ride the horses. He could see Chase and Ortega in the distance trotting on horseback with a few of the other soldiers in residence. And yet here he was walking away from that excitement to commune with nature.
Wasn't the whole point of this to get him out of his head? Not to leave him alone with his thoughts. He was near to tossing the tools down in the cursed dirt when he spotted a red flame up ahead.
It was her. Reegan. She held the same tools in her hands that he possessed. Her tools were buried in the earth. The flowers around her stretched their wiry limbs up for her attention. But she wasn’t looking at the blossoms. Her blue gaze was latched on him.
Her gaze wasn’t friendly. Those long lashes swept low as she narrowed her eyes. Her nostrils flared. Her arms crossed over her chest, and her shoulders squared off in determination.
She reminded Brandon of a disgruntled kitten. Part of him wanted to toss her a ball of yarn and watch her play. The other part of him recognized the lioness hidden inside that ball of fur.
For the first time in his life, Brandon contemplated running away from a battle line. Because make no mistake, there was a line drawn in the fertile ground. It ended where the weeds were wilting away, losing a battle to Reegan Cartwright’s pruning.
He felt her fingers plucking at him. Sifting the soil of his being to get to the root of him. He held still for her, as though she’d taken one of those gardening sticks used to prop up a vine that couldn’t hold its own weight.
Brandon stood tall, the tallest thing in the entire field. The sun’s rays touched the top of his head first. But he wasn’t interested in the star’s light. He felt warmed through just being in Reegan’s presence. Even though he knew that he was about to get burned, his feet kept moving closer to the heat source.
"Hello, Ms. Cartwright."
He didn't know if he was still allowed the use of her Christian name. When she didn't correct him or insist that he call her Reegan, he knew the privilege had been revoked.
"How are you today?" He tried for politeness. Anything to get a few words from her, to refresh his memory of the sound of her voice. Perhaps once he heard a few more notes, he’d have that peace he’d felt when she sang wash over him again.
Reegan lifted her chin. She inhaled through her nostrils, her lips still pursed. Brandon held very still. Any second she would give him words.
Her chin dipped. She tugged the left corner of her lower lip into her mouth. Her gaze bounced from place to place. His face, his shoulders, his chest, and back again.
Finally, she settled on his face. She let go of her lip and opened her mouth. Her lips trembled as the words came out.
"I have questions."
Brandon felt his chest sink. He felt the blazing heat of the desert lick over his shoulders. He felt the hairs on his neck prickle with awareness. Danger, his brain told him. Flee, was the response his body told him.
She had questions? Those were the only three words he didn’t want to hear from this woman. He’d expected shouting. It had been two days. He’d felt certain she’d moved from the stage of denial and was at anger, perhaps even bargaining. But it looked as though she were still in denial.
He found himself lowering his body until he was kneeling before her. She let out a little gasp at his supplication. Her features softened. Some of her nerve left her for a moment, and she looked unsure.
Brandon had the urge to pull her into his chest. He wanted to tell her that everything would be all right. But that would be a lie.
Reegan still believed her brother was alive. Brandon knew it wasn't possible. If there was even the sliver of a chance, he hoped Reece would meet his end soon instead of face any torture at the hands of the insurgents who they’d come up against.
"What happened?" Reegan asked, her voice a shaky whisper.
It was a simple question. It was also the root of Brandon’s nightmares. Brandon swallowed a few times, but the lump in his throat wouldn't pass to let him speak.
"The last email I got from him, he seemed fine,” she said. “He said he was training for an operation and that he would have to go dark for at least four weeks.”
Brandon focused on the sound of Reegan’s voice. She wasn't singing, but the timber of it soothed him. Even though she was using her melodic voice to speak his nightmare out loud.
“That was over six weeks ago.”
Brandon nodded, meeting her gaze. He sat the shovel and pick down and leaned his elbow on his knee to prop himself up. “We did train. And then we went on an operation in Afghanistan. I can't get into the particulars of the mission. It's-"
"Classified."
Now Brandon bit his lip. Everything in him told him to tell this woman everything. But he’d been well trained. “I can’t tell you where. But I can tell you that it was a counterinsurgency mission. We were trying to help keep the peace for the upcoming elections in the region.”
The anti-coalition militias in Afghanistan were intent on disrupting the local and national elections. Having officials elected in a democratic fashion would undermine their authority. The insurgents detested the idea of unification of the country but more so a national government.
“Our team was sent to surveil a particular location which had reports of insurgent activity. We were nearing the end of the operation. Everything had run smoothly. And then …”
Brandon took a deep breath before continuing. Reegan was staring at him intently. He noticed then that her eyes were the same blue as Reece’s. It was like looking at the man, like the last time he’d seen Reece when he’d looked back over his shoulder.
Reegan reached out a hand to him. He’d expected her fingers to be pillow soft. But they weren’t. There were calluses on her fingertips. The polish on her nails was chipped, and there was dirt in the nail beds.
There was no anger in her gaze as she looked at him. No accusation. Her eyes held so much compassion. That’s what broke him.
“A group of women entered the perimeter. We weren’t sure if they were friend or foe. Your brother spoke the language and asked permission to go down to them. I should’ve said no. But I hesitated. I wasn’t sure.”
Brandon expected her to recoil from his admission. She didn’t. Her rough fingers squeezed his bicep like she was supporting him, like she was there for him.
He frowned at her. Didn’t she understand what he was telling her? It was all his fault.
“I was wrong. I should have told him to hold his position. It was an ambush.”
“The women were the insurgents?”
“I don’t know. We never found out. We tried to get down to him, but there was an explosion. When the dust cleared, they all were gone.”
She released her hold then. Her fingers relaxed their grip on his bicep. But her hand didn’t leave him entirely. Her palm rubbed up and down his arm.
She wasn’t looking at him anymore. She was looking skyward.
Beside them, Brandon heard a small sob. He’d known they weren’t alone, but it was the first time he gave any attention to the pastor’s daughter. Elsbeth Barrett covered her mouth with her hand and looked away. Tears streamed down her already red eyes.
Brandon was certain he’d get the same reaction from Reegan. But her jaw was firm, determined. Her gaze was clear. And her hand was still on his arm, offering him the support he should have been giving to her.
"So, you think he was blown up?” Reegan asked. “And that's why there was no body?”
Brandon hesitated. Explosions left traces. A recovery team had been sent in, and they’d come back with nothing. It was more likely that the insurgents had taken the bodies.
"Did you go back and look for him? Did they find his dog tags? What about civilians in the area? Did someone question them?”
"It doesn't work that way."
Brandon took a deep breath. He felt the heat of the desert licking over his neck at the rapid-fire questions. She didn’t understand. He’d already said too much.
Her hand finally fell away from him. Brandon was left feeling cold, alone in the bright heat of the Montana afternoon. There were those blue eyes staring at him. Accusing.
“Well, how does it work?" That beautiful voice rose, shouting at him.
"I did everything I could." He shouted, shooting up to standing. He was on his feet, towering over her.
Reegan looked up at him. Not in fear. In shock, confusion, and hurt. The sob that broke from her tore what was left of Brandon’s heart apart.
"I'm sorry," he said. But his voice was so raw, the lump so big, he wasn't sure the words even got out. Shame colored his vision until both women were a blur. He turned on his heel and, for the first time in his life, he ran away.