Boone (Reapers Rejects MC: Origin

Stories Book 2) Elizabeth Knox & Beth

Hale
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/boone-reapers-rejects-mc-origin-stories-book-2-eliza
beth-knox-beth-hale/
 boone
Reapers Rejects MC: Origin Stories
Book Two
elizabeth knox
beth hale
 contents
Reapers Rejects MC Members:
Trigger Warning
Timeline Note:

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue

Author’s Note:
About the Author: Beth Hale
About the Author: Elizabeth Knox
B OONE

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination and are not to be
construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Boone. Copyright © 2023 by Elizabeth Knox & Beth Hale. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in articles or reviews. For
information contact Elizabeth Knox & Beth Hale.
Editing by Kim Lubbers, Knox Publishing
Formatting by R. Epperson, Knox Publishing
Proofreading by Beth Hale, Magnolia Author Services
Photography by Wander Aguiar, Wander Aguiar Photography
Cover Design by Clarise Tan, CT Cover Creations
Created with Vellum
reapers rejects mc members:

Boone - Prez
Fisher - VP
Dagger - Enforcer
Burnout - Road Captain
Bow - Sgt. at Arms
Fist - Full Patch
p. Mindi
Cracker - Full Patch
Bear - Full Patch
Ringer - Full Patch
Glacier - Full Patch
Ghost - Full Patch
John - Prospect
 trigger warning

This book is intended for mature audiences only. If darker books are not for you, please do not move
forward. After re-adjusting my trigger warning system, I will not be giving any spoilers. Please
understand that this is not your run-of-the-mill romance, and tough subjects will be discussed in this
storyline. This story could include things like rape, kidnapping, abuse, domestic violence, drugs,
alcohol abuse, and many other potential triggers.
 timeline note:

Boone takes place after the epilogue of Fist, which means there is a three year time jump.
 prologue

15 YEARS AGO . . .
Boone
My alarm clock blares, pulling me out of my blissful sleep. I smack the top of it, only wanting to
sleep for a few more minutes, but it seems like as soon as I press the button, it’s blaring again. At this
point, I know if I keep hitting the snooze button, I won’t get my ass out of bed until I’m running late, so
I muster the courage and rise up. I throw my legs over the other side and run my hand along the other
side of the bed, where my wife Eva usually is. Only, she’s not there. Hmm, weird.
I get out of bed and head into our en-suite bathroom. It isn’t anything special, but it’s something
the kids don’t use or get dirty, so it’s a win for me. I turn the knob for the hot water to come on and
turn the knob for the cold too, but only slightly. I take last night’s clothes off and toss them in the
hamper, then take a piss. It doesn’t take long before I’m under the warm stream of water.
This is my ritual every morning. I fight with my alarm clock, head into the bathroom and turn the
shower on, strip out of everything I have on, take a piss, and then get in the shower. I don’t think I’ve
started any day without doing each of these things in that exact order.
Fifteen minutes might pass by in time, and I’ve already changed into clothes for the day. I slide on
my boots and head downstairs. As soon as I hit the first step, the scent of sausage wafts through the
air. Ah, I guess that explains Eva’s absence this morning.
I hit the bottom step, and she smiles at me brightly, but something about it feels a bit forced.
“Sausage, mmm. You making eggs this mornin’ too?” I peer over and look at the counter to see what
she has on it.
“Yes, of course. I’m going to make some pancakes as well. The boys are eating us out of house
and home, so after breakfast, I do need to run into town to get more groceries.”
“All right. Can you grab more milk and orange juice while you’re there?”
“Of course. Is there anything else we need?” Eva asks as she turns the sausage patties over.
“I can’t think of anything, but I know the boys really like those colored juices you get them. They
look like they’re in a plastic barrel, sort of.”
“Ah, yeah. I know what you’re talking about. They should have enough for a few more days, but
I’ll stop and grab them more,” Eva tells me and motions for the coffee pot. It’s the first time I’m
looking at it, and I’m relieved. There’s already a full pot there, and it’s much needed.
I grab a mug and proceed to make my coffee, slowly sipping on it while my wife finishes making
the entire spread for our two boys and us.
Speaking of the little devils, they come charging in from outside with mud on their boots through
the living room and into the kitchen. I glance over at Eva, knowing damn well she’s about to blow up
at them. Some days she can scream until she’s red in the face at these two because they don’t listen to
her, and as I’m waiting for her to snap, she doesn’t. I find this really odd, but maybe she’s cutting them
some slack since it’s the first thing in the morning?
She ends up rolling her eyes and huffing at them but doesn’t dare say a word. I find it weird, but
she must just be cutting them some slack. Right? Honestly, I’m not too sure. Eva’s usually so quick to
speak her mind, especially when the boys aren’t doing what they’re supposed to.
“Boys, breakfast is ready. Go sit at the table, and your dad and I will bring it over,” Eva tells
them, and they do as she says. I grab the plates and silverware while Eva takes over every dish, then
the boys start making their plates. We get our plates filled after they do, and I don’t waste any time
digging into this delicious food. Eva is a damn good cook. She’s a close second to my mother, which
is a hard thing to do.
We finish breakfast pretty fast, and the boys ask if they can go out and play, to which Eva and I say
yes. I help my wife clean up the table and put the leftovers in the fridge, and as we’re washing the
dishes, Eva turns to me. “There are a couple of other errands I want to run while I’m in town, so I’ll
probably be back sometime in the early afternoon.”
“All right. Sounds good.”
“You know, Ericka is back in town too? I’m going to stop in and see if she’s at her parents’ store.
You know we haven’t caught up in ages, so I hope she’s there.” Ericka is one of Eva’s longtime
friends. They went to high school together, but Ericka moved away after college.
“Shit, in that case, take as much time as you want, babe. You’re always taking care of the boys.
The least you can do is give yourself a couple of hours with your friend too.”
“Really?” Eva looks up at me with her big Bambi eyes.
“Yes, really,” I confirm, and her smile grows. She wraps her wet hands around me and gives me a
big smooch right on the lips.
“Thank you, Boone. I think I really need some time away from the children. I need time to just be
an adult.”
I laugh, knowing all too well how our sons can be.
Eva and I share a kiss goodbye before she leaves, and I make sure she has enough money to go to
the store, plus go out to eat with Ericka if she wants to. It’s maybe fifteen minutes when I get a phone
call, so I walk over to the wall and pick it up. “Hello?”
“Son, it’s your mother . . . I need you to come quick.”
“What? Why? What happened?” The last I knew, she was fine, as old and spit fiery as ever.
“She had a stroke this morning. The doctors, ugh . . . they’re not optimistic. I need you to get up
here. I need you by my side, son because I don’t know what I’m going to do if I lose your mother.” I
can hear the pain in his voice, and there’s no question about it. I need to go be with my father and pray
to God that my mother somehow pulls through this.
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll be there soon.” They live in town, so I know which hospital my mother’s
going to be at. I hang up the phone with my father and then head to the clubhouse, ask one of the
clubwhores to watch my boys until either my wife or I get back.
The only other thing I do is go up to my VP, Fisher and tell him what’s going on. He says he hopes
my mother will pull through this, and I do too.
Our entire family is going to shift without her presence, so I need her to wait. She can’t kick the
bucket just yet. I’m not ready.
 1

M IRANDA
The chill wind lifts my dirty blonde hair and tangles it around my face. I impatiently blow it out of
my eyes and toss my head. I know I should have taken the time to throw it up in a ponytail, but I just
wanted to get this done. This is my last day here, my last day in what has become a nightmarish reality
for me.
But I’m done with that, done with letting the days and nights be brutally lonely for me. It’s time I
reclaim some semblance of my life. The life I had before is gone, irrevocably gone, and there’s no
way any future will be close to the same. And that’s okay, it’s really okay. I’ve lived with the past,
wallowed in it, long enough. I feel at peace with this decision I’ve made, and I know I’ll be all right
as I take these first shaky steps into my new future.
I play Tetris with some packing boxes, making them all fit in the trunk of my small, red Honda
Accord. These boxes hold the things I simply can’t live without, the mementos that I hold near and
dear to my heart. There’s not much—I don’t need to hang onto everything like I did for months up to
this point—but what I did decide to keep is precious to me.
The wind gusts again, hinting at the rain that’s due to come in a couple of hours or so from now.
I’ll be well on my way then, leaving Durham, North Carolina behind me as I head to the Mountain
Home Air Force base in Idaho. It’s about a thirty-six-hour drive, so I’ll be on the road for a few days.
And I’m getting a rather late start today, leaving in the late afternoon, but it couldn’t be helped.
I go back inside the house to grab a scrunchie out of my purse—I’m tired of the wind whipping my
hair into tangles—and catch a glimpse of myself in the shell-shaped mirror on the wall.
My icy blue eyes are bright with determination and anticipation, but my face looks drawn. Almost
haggard. My lips are unpainted, as is the rest of my face—why bother with makeup when you’re going
to be moving and sweating—and my hair looks limp. Well, that can’t be helped either. The fashion
may be big hair sprayed with Aquanet to make it almost unmovable, but I don’t have time to be a
slave to fashion. Not right now. And truth be told, not much of ever. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy
dressing up and following the latest eighties trends. I just . . . well, I haven’t had the heart for it in a
long while. I haven’t had the heart for much of anything.
I huff out a sigh and check the clock hanging beside the mirror. There’s enough time for me to
brew a small pot of coffee. I drink it black anyway, so it won’t matter that there’s no milk or creamer
in the fridge or sugar on the counter. And I’m sure I’ll welcome the caffeine kick once I’m on the
road. Thankfully, there are just enough coffee grounds left for me to scrape out the right amount for
half a pot. I may end up pouring half of that down the drain, but at least I’ll get a cup or two before I
head out.
 While I wait for the liquid gold to fill the glass carafe, I make my way upstairs to check once
again that I’ve gotten everything that means something to me. I step into the master bedroom, my
Keds-covered feet sinking into the shag carpeting covering the floor. The pale pink wallpaper brings
a small smile to my face, and I think back to how chic I thought it was when Gerald and I first moved
in. The smile twists when Gerald crosses my mind, but I can’t erase the past. Can’t change it. And
don’t want to, not really. If I could change one thing, just one thing, it would be to bring Joshua back.
I sniff and look around the bedroom again. The pale pink walls, the scalloped wall border, white
with pink cabbage roses—to match, of course, the bedspread and curtains and pale pink carpet. I’d
never redecorated—what was the point—but the room still looked almost new. Like a ghost had
flitted through from time to time.
And that’s what I’ve been for too long. A ghost. A shell of myself. I shake my head and close the
door. My clothes are packed, my toiletries are packed, and there’s nothing in that bedroom for me
except bad memories. I move down the hall and open the door to the second bedroom. Joshua’s room.
It’s been stripped bare. When the movers came, I told them to take everything from in here. The
bed, the dresser, the nightstand. All of Joshua’s clothes. I’d gone from one extreme to the other. After
he’d died, I went a long time without touching any of his things. I left his room alone like he’d left it
that day. I couldn’t bear the thought of changing anything. It became a shrine to my lost little boy. And
then, once I’d made the decision to move to Idaho, I had men come in and remove that shrine. Oh, I’d
taken what I’d wanted, what I’d needed, as physical reminders of Joshua. But everything else—the
clothes, toys, furniture—I wanted out. That happened last week.
I’m leaving almost everything else in the house too. The new owners, the newlywed couple I sold
the house to, are grateful. I’m taking my clothes and personal items, a few pictures, and what I packed
from Joshua’s room, and that’s it. Everything else—the furniture, the dishes, the appliances—are
staying. I won’t need them in Idaho. I’ll have everything I need already there.
I go back downstairs, pour a cup of coffee, and go sit on the sofa to drink it. I curl my legs, clad in
dark brown leggings, under me, look out of the window, and sip. As I drink, I let my mind wander to
Stephanie. My older sister. A smile ghosts around my mouth. Stephanie may be older by two years,
but I’ve always been the one to take care of her. Stephanie is a dreamer, eternally optimistic, the kind
of woman who wears rose-colored glasses. Me, on the other hand . . . while I don’t consider myself a
pessimist, I am a realist. I’ve had to be, to survive the shit fate has thrown my way.
And I’m not being completely fair to Stephanie, I admit to myself as I watch the clouds swirl by.
She’s had her own hard shit to deal with. Which is why I’m on my way to Idaho. Stephanie found out
she was pregnant seven months ago. She was over the moon when she called to tell me. She and her
husband, a supposed Air Force captain, had been trying for so long. And then, two months ago,
Stephanie’s husband died. Killed in the line of duty overseas on some mission our government sent
him on to combat the freaking Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union. Stephanie
believes her husband was solely Air Force, but I have other thoughts. I truly believe he was more than
just an Air Force captain.
Stephanie and I are the only family each other has now. Our parents were killed in a car accident
ten years ago while they were on vacation in San Francisco. Joshua is dead, Gerald divorced me, and
now Stephanie’s husband is gone. When she’d called and asked if I’d come to the base and help her
with the baby, I said yes. I put the house up for sale and dealt with everything else. And now,
Stephanie’s baby will be here in a couple of weeks or so.
It will be a fresh start for all of us, a new start in a new year. The military is allowing Stephanie
to stay on base until the baby is born and then until she can find suitable housing elsewhere, and in
that time, we’ll all begin again. Me, my sister, and my niece or nephew. Stephanie has decided she
wants it to be a surprise.
I drain my cup, check the time again, and decide to head out. I pour the rest of the coffee down the
drain, rinse the carafe and the cup I used and leave them in the sink so the new homeowners will
know to fully wash them. Then I deal with the grounds, tie the small trash bag closed, take it to the
end of the driveway and drop it into the large trash can there. Once that’s done, I make a final sweep
downstairs to make sure I have everything. Check. Then I grab my purse and the small cooler where
I’ve packed some cans of Coke and a few snacks I can easily munch on in the car and head out.
After pulling into a gas station to top off my tank, I dig around and pull out enough change to make
a phone call. I snag the last empty payphone, insert the money, and dial Stephanie’s number.
“Hello?” Her voice is groggy, and I know I’ve disturbed her nap.
“Hey, sorry to wake you up. I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving Durham and heading your
way.”
“It’s awfully late to be heading out, isn’t it?”
I laugh a little. “Nah, it’s only four. And just starting to get dark. But I’m just going to drive for
three or four hours just to get out of town. Then I’ll find a motel and grab some sleep. And, listen, I’ll
call you every afternoon around four, so you’ll know where I’m at and how it’s going. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay. Be careful and drive safely. Miranda?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, sis. Talk to you tomorrow.”
I’m smiling as I slide back behind the wheel. I feel good. I feel righteous. Like I’m finally on the
right path again after years of stumbling along, lost in a fog of grief and loss. I pull onto the interstate
and head toward my future.
 2

BOONE
“Happy Birthday, Dad!” Fist says, slapping me on the back as hard as he can. Fuck, I remember a
time when I could barely feel the impact. These days he practically knocks me over when he does it.
Fuck, Cracker is capable of the same damn thing. How my two boys grew up into strong giants, I’ll
never know.
“What is this, your fifty-fifth?” Cracker asks, and I nod.
“Fifty-five? I would’ve sworn you were forty-five.” Mindi shakes her head in disbelief, and I
smirk. Out of all the women I could’ve shacked up with, I’m glad it was Mindi. She’s the best out of
the lot of them.
“There’s a reason you’re my favorite daughter-in-law.”
“I’m your only daughter-in-law.” Mindi rolls her eyes, and my boys get a good kick out of it.
“For now. You never know when Cracker’s going to find a lovely lady he wants to settle down
with. I could like her a lot more than you. You never know, so best keep being nice to me.”
“I highly doubt she’s going to make your favorite cake for your birthday. And I made a spice cake
with vanilla icing. Who else is going to deal with all of your attitudes, too? I doubt anyone else will
knock you back with some good banter.”
I chuckle, liking the fact that Mindi feels a little bit threatened by what I’ve said. I doubt Cracker
will pick a good woman like Mindi, but I can hope. Cracker’s always been drawn to the wild ones. I
doubt he’s going to find a woman that calms his storm. He’s probably going to be with one who makes
the wind and rain that much more intense. “Maybe so, sweetheart.”
“On a serious note. How do you look so young?”
“Well, that’s an easy one. Every time I fucked a virgin, it gave me anti-aging superpowers.”
Mindi cackles, throwing her head back from how hard she’s laughing, and elbows me in the side.
In a way, Mindi doesn’t even feel like a daughter-in-law. She feels like she’s one of my daughters. My
relationship with Mindi is a bit better than my relationship with Cassidy or Mallory.
Cassidy was a surprise baby. I had her when I was seventeen, and her mother was a runaway
clubwhore who was also seventeen. Cassidy and I have a solid relationship, a mutual respect, but we
haven’t ever been close. Cassidy’s mom overdosed when she had just turned nine years old, and her
maternal grandmother wanted to have custody of her, but there were some complications that didn’t
make it feasible. I didn’t fight it when her grandmother said she wanted her, but the State had other
plans. I figured she’d be in a better position with her grandmother versus with me at the club. I didn’t
think the clubhouse was the right place for a little girl to be raised. Because her grandmother was
across state lines, it meant she couldn’t legally become her guardian. Cassidy was in the state’s care
until she was fourteen because they believed I wasn’t fit enough to raise her. Eventually, they gave me
custody when she was fourteen.
Mallory, my other daughter, is a completely different story. After my romance with Cassidy’s
mother fizzled out, I was twenty-three when I met Mallory’s mother. She was a good woman, and
when I say a good woman, I mean she came from a long line of super-religious people. She had only
come out to Montana with some girlfriends and her parents for a vacation, then met me, so she stayed
longer. Soon enough, she was pregnant, and I thought for sure she was sticking around until she didn’t.
One day, when Mallory was a little over three months old, I woke up to a note from her saying as
much as she loved me, she loved her family more and needed them to help her with Mallory. Long
story short, only half of what she was telling me was the truth. She was really forced to go back home
by her father, who happens to be a preacher. There wasn’t a discussion about it. She just vanished
into thin air. So, she moved back to South Carolina with our daughter. After the initial anger, I sent
money out there to make sure Mallory had what she needed, just like I was doing with Cassidy.
Although, I’m damn sure Cassidy’s mother was using the money to get her next fix. Over time,
Mallory’s mother would send her up to Montana for Christmas over the break, but other than that, I
didn’t get to see her much.
“Are you hungry, babe? I’m starving, so,” Fist tells his ol’ lady, and Mindi nods. Mindi isn’t the
typical woman I imagined my son with, but I’m glad she’s different. I think different is what he
needed. She’s a bit bigger than the rest of the women we have hanging around the club, especially the
clubwhores. Hell, she’s probably two of them put together, at least, but she’s drop-dead gorgeous. I
figured when she first started hanging around that the clubwhores would’ve started in on her because
of her weight, but I’m glad they didn’t. If they had, it would’ve been hell to pay for them. I would’ve
kicked their asses straight on the streets, and they know it.
“Yes, me too,” Mindi replies to her man.
“You kids go on and get some food,” I tell the kids while I make my way over to the bar, where
John, our prospect, is manning it.
“Happy Birthday, Prez. Want your usual?” John isn’t the typical man I would’ve ever thought who
would’ve worked out around here, but he did. He’s proven himself every step of the way, and if he
continues to do that, he’s going to have a place here for eternity.
“Thank you, and yes, please.”
John begins making my scotch on the rocks, and classic rock blares in the background from the
jukebox. It’s only a couple of minutes before he places my drink in front of me, and I take a seat at the
bar, enjoying the momentary silence from club members coming up to speak to me. I sip on my drink,
and my thoughts float back down a familiar river called memory lane. When I really think about it, my
life has completely changed. It’s not the same as it was all those years ago, but I wouldn’t trade it for
the world.
Fuck, in some ways, I thought I would’ve been shacked up with the woman of my dreams by now,
but life hasn’t taken me down that path quite yet. It’s not like I’m avoiding finding a woman. Hell, no
one could blame me if I was with my track record. From Cassidy and Mallory’s moms to Eva . . . I’ve
been put through the fucking ringer with that shit.
Considering I don’t have a woman of my own, I could at least get some decent birthday pussy. I
scan my eyes over the clubwhores, immediately looking at Misty. She’s the easiest of the bunch, but
she did some shady fucking shit to my son, which immediately takes her off my list of potential
bedmates. Any of the other brothers can fuck her, and it’ll keep me out of getting involved in those
twisted dramatics.
 Double looks damn good in a low-cut blue shirt with some tight jeans that hug her ass just the
right way. I finish off the rest of my drink, eye fucking the ever-loving shit out of her. She’s a natural
redhead with double d’s.
I mosey on up to her and snake my arm around her waist, tugging her off in the direction of the
clubhouse rooms. She giggles playfully. “I guess you saw something you liked tonight, huh?”
“Your assumption is right,” I tell her as I push the door open to one of the rooms. I flick on the
light switch, and Double hits the ground and takes off her shirt and the white lace bra underneath it,
giving me a beautiful look at those tits of hers. Fuck, my cock is raging, and she can see the outline
through my jeans.
Double unbuckles my belt, unzips my pants, and frees my cock. She palms it in her hand for a
minute, going up and down. I close my eyes, reveling in the feeling, and lick my lips. All of a sudden,
the wetness of her mouth wraps around me, and she rolls her tongue around the head of my cock.
Double cups my balls, applying the slightest pressure, which sends my pleasure through the roof.
God, it feels so fucking good.
Only a few minutes of this pass when there’s a knock on the door. Immediately, I’m aggravated.
“What?!” I snap in the direction of the door.
“Prez, someone is broken down right by the gate. You’re the best with cars, so . . .” Ghost tells
me.
“So it sounds like you dickweeds need to learn!” I snarl, and I’m sure Ghost is smirking on the
other side of that door.
Double pulls her mouth off my cock and turns around, pulling her jeans and panties down,
showing me her perfectly pink pussy. “Give me five minutes, and I’ll be out there.”
“Sure thing,” Ghost calls back, and I grab a condom from the bedside table, rip the foil and cover
my cock. I slam myself into Double’s pussy, not giving her any time to adjust to my size. I fuck her
like a cheap whore, not giving a shit. No one is going to fuck up me getting some ass on my birthday,
that’s for damn sure.
I run my arms around her body and hold her large tits in my hands, running her nipples between
my fingers, and her moans begin to grow. She gets wetter and wetter the harder I fuck her, so I pick up
my speed, and soon enough, her juices are sliding down her legs. This is one of the reasons I love
fucking her. She’s the wettest out of the bunch, and if you push her hard enough, she’s a squirter.
Double’s pussy tightens around my cock, and she’s right on the brink of coming, and just as her
body begins to shake, my own release comes. “Fuck, that was good, babe.” I slap her on the ass and
pull my cock out of her, yank my condom off, and throw it in the nearest trash can. Double turns
around and shoves her mouth all the way down my cock until she’s gagging, and fuck if I don’t want to
keep this going.
“I have to go,” I tell her, and she takes her mouth away from my cock, pouting in the process.
I tuck my still-hard cock back in my jeans and ready myself before I leave the room, then head
outside of the clubhouse to get on one of the quads. It’s December eighteenth, and we just had some
snow, but I don’t want to start one of the trucks up and drive all the way down there. I grab a heavy
jacket from the lean-to where we keep our bikes and the quads, then drive toward our gate. I push the
button and head right on through, and within no time, I’m right up at the car.
Headlights are on, and at first, the only thing I spot is a silhouette. But, as I get closer, the woman
is in nothing more than a pair of jeans, nice boots, and a light jacket. She isn’t in winter gear at all. If
she was from Montana, at least she’d have the common sense to be wearing something decent.
The plates say North Carolina, and I guess I’ve found my answer. She’s a long way from home.
 “Hey there, you having some car trouble?” I speak loudly so the woman can hear me, but there’s
no way she didn’t hear me riding up on the quad.
“Yeah, I am. I don’t know what the heck is going on. I’m Miranda, by the way.” She extends a
hand, and I meet it.
“I’m Boone, and all right, let’s see if I can figure anything out here.” I try to get a good look at this
woman, and while it’s dark, I can tell she’s a beautiful woman from the headlights. They’re hitting her
slightly, and I think she has lighter hair. She has a thinner frame, almost like someone who’s athletic.
I walk around her car and pop the hood, taking a good look at it before I turn back to her. “Okay,
tell me what happened, exactly how it happened.”
 3

M IRANDA
For a moment, I’m speechless. This man . . . Boone . . . his voice sends a shiver through me. It’s
like a husky whiskey whisper. Deep and full-bodied but smooth. Jesus. I snap back and give myself a
mental shake. It’s too cold to be mooning around like a teenager.
“I was driving, just driving like normal. Then all of a sudden, the car stopped. Stopped moving, I
mean, not running.”
“Hmmm. That’s all?”
“Well, no. Sorry. Right before it stopped moving, there was a loud popping noise. I mean, loud. It
scared the daylights out of me.” The breath we expel when we speak causes foggy puffs of frigid air
to be visible. Holy crap, I’ve never been in this kind of cold before.
“All right. I’m going to leave the hood up for now, but I want to check out your tires, okay? Just
stay there for now and let me have a look.”
I nod and keep standing by the raised hood on the passenger side of my car. Glancing around, I
realize I’m pretty much in the middle of nowhere, stranded with strangers down the road. It makes me
a little nervous, but at least I’m not stranded in the middle of nowhere alone. And while it’s cold as
fuck out here, it’s also wide and open and gorgeous. I’d noticed that much while driving through
Montana during the daylight. But now that the stars are out, it’s so damn pretty. There are stars in
North Carolina, of course, but Durham is such a large, busy city that the starlight is pretty much
obliterated by the artificial light.
I’m standing with my face upturned, mooning over the stars like an idiot, when the man—Boone—
walks back over to me. The sound of his voice causes me to start again.
“It’s the tire rod end on the driver’s side wheel,” he tells me.
I give him a blank stare. “I have no idea what that is.”
Boone motions to me with his flashlight. “Come on around here, and I’ll show you.” I follow him
to the other side of the car and let my eyes follow his flashlight beam to the apparent problem. The
tire is almost halfway out from where it’s supposed to be, sitting at a weird angle and looking all
kinds of messed up.
“Oh, my God,” I moan. “It’s bad, isn’t it? It looks bad.”
He chuckles, and it’s like a long, low rumble in his chest. “It’s not exactly good, but it can be
fixed. If you can give me a few days, Miranda, I can get it all squared away for you.”
I let out a weighty sigh and press my fingers against my eyes as the stress rushes through me. I so
do not need this right now, not when things are finally starting to go my way. Isn’t that how the world
works, though? I kick at the wheel lightly and shove my hands into the pockets of my jacket.
 Boone raises his eyebrows. “Are you in a hurry to be somewhere or something? On some kind of
a deadline, maybe?”
I give him a bad-tempered shrug. “No, not a real deadline or anything. In a bit of a hurry, yes. But
only because I want—really need—to be in Idaho with my sister before my niece or nephew is born.”
He nods. “Ah, I understand. And this is a bitch, puts a real kink in your plans.”
“It really kind of does,” I admit. “See, Stephanie, my sister, is all alone right now. Her husband
was a captain in the Air Force and was killed because of the Cold War. I don’t know all the
particulars—neither does Stephanie because of the need to keep things quiet, I guess—and she’s all
alone now. Pregnant and alone and in Idaho, about to have a baby all by herself.” I’m babbling a little
bit, and I know it, but I can’t help it. I’m nervous and stressed and trying not to cry.
Boone just nods again. “I’m very sorry for the loss of a good man, and I thank him for his service.
What part of Idaho is your sister in?”
I sniffle. “Elmore.”
“Look there, common ground between us already, Miranda. I have some family in that area. Look
here. I’ll get you squared away. I promise. Just give me a couple of days so I can get the part ordered.
If they tell me it’s going to take a while to be delivered, I’ll ride you out to Elmore myself.”
“Ride me?” I question.
Boone chuckles again. “On my bike. My motorcycle, as long as the weather isn’t too bad. If it is,
we’ll take one of the trucks,” he clarifies.
“Oh,” I pause. “Oh,” I say again. “That’s incredibly generous of you, Boone. I don’t want to be
any trouble to you.” It is a generous offer—maybe too generous, I think. I’m not used to people,
especially strangers, offering to do things for someone. It’s throwing me for a loop. I need time to
think.
“It won’t be any trouble,” he replies easily. “But for now, we need to get back inside. It’s getting
colder, and there’s a blizzard on the way.”
“A blizzard,” I repeat like an idiot.
“Yep. A real whiteout, they’re saying. Ever been through one of those?”
I shake my head.
“You’re in for an experience,” he tells me with a smile. “Come on, now, get whatever you need,
and let’s get going.” He slams the hood of my car down and stands back to give me room.
I move quickly, pulling my duffle bag out of the backseat before turning the car off, locking the
doors, and shoving the keys in my pocket.
Boone takes the bag from me and puts it in the small storage compartment of the four-wheeler.
Then he climbs on and motions for me to get on behind him. I swing a leg over and settle onto the
seat, holding on to Boone’s waist when he begins to move forward.
We rumble through the night, and the cold wind slaps against my face and steals my breath. Jesus,
it’s like breathing in shards of ice. But it’s also exhilarating—especially because I know there’s a
warm destination ahead.
Within a few minutes, we’re slowing down and coming to a stop. It’s hard to see in the dark, but
there are a few lights. I can make out a sprawling building and several smaller buildings surrounding
it. There are lights shining from multiple windows and people milling about outside.
Boone jerks his head, and I take the unspoken hint. I hop off of the four-wheeler, and Boone
follows me, taking my duffle bag and leading me inside. The warmth blasts through me, and I almost
whimper. It feels like heaven inside after being so long in the cold.
Boone leads me farther into the room, and people turn to look. There are both men and women in
here, but the men far outnumber the women. Some people wear open, welcoming expressions, and
some of them look at me more warily. That’s fair, I acknowledge to myself. They don’t know me, and
I don’t know them. I am a stranger in their midst.
I follow Boone to a large kitchen. He points to two different areas. One is where a coffee pot
holds half a carafe of dark liquid, and the other is where a phone is mounted to a wall painted a
cheerful yellow.
Then he speaks. “Feel free to warm up with a cup of coffee. Cups are in that cabinet there, spoons
in that drawer. Milk and cream are in the fridge, and sugar is in the sugar bowl. And there’s the phone
if you need to call your sister and let her know you’re going to be a couple of days later than
planned.”
I give him a smile. “Thank you for both offers. But it’s so late. If I drink coffee now, I won’t sleep
at all, and Stephanie is probably already in bed. I’ll call her tomorrow. I usually try to call her around
four in the evening, so she won’t expect to hear from me before then.”
Boone nods. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really. I ate an elk burger at the hotel restaurant a few towns back, and it was massive. And
the fries it came with were so good that I ate them all. I’ll be surprised if I’m hungry by the time
breakfast rolls around.”
“You were checked into a hotel for the night?” Boone asked. When I nodded, he continued. “What
made you check out and leave?”
I hesitated, then shrugged. “Some men came into the restaurant. They were rough looking and rude
to the waitress, and they kept looking at me. When one of them asked me what room I was staying in,
it made me uncomfortable enough to grab my bag out of the room, check out, and start driving again. I
was going to try to drive until daylight, find a cheap place to sleep for a few hours, then hit the road
again. But, well, you see what happened to my car.”
Boone has a fierce scowl on his face. “I’m sorry those idiots made you feel uncomfortable enough
to leave. But if your intuition led you to do that, then it’s probably for the best. Besides,” he gives me
a grin that lights up his eyes, “I wouldn’t have met you otherwise. Come on, if you’re not hungry, then
I’ll show you where you can sleep while you’re here.”
I follow along behind him as he leads me down a hallway and then opens a door on the left. He
motions for me to enter ahead of him, so I do. I let my gaze travel around the area, and I hum low in
my throat. It’s a beautiful space, with hardwood floors covered by thick rugs, a huge bed with a wine-
colored duvet thrown carelessly over it, and two open doors. I can see that one leads to an en-suite
bathroom and the other to a closet. Nice.
I walk farther into the room, and Boone follows me. He tosses my duffle bag onto the bed, then
looks the space over himself.
“Will this be all right?” he asks.
“Oh, my gosh. Yes. You’ve been more than generous, more than helpful. I appreciate it so much.”
Boone nods, then hesitates before he speaks again, “Would you like to have a drink with me?”
There’s a beat of silence, then two, as I look into his eyes.
 4

BOONE
Miranda runs a hand through her hair and ends up nodding. “Yes, that would be great. If there’s
any time where I need a drink, it’s right now.”
I cackle at her response and walk with Miranda over to the bar where John’s still manning it.
“John, can you get this lovely lady whatever she wants?”
“Sure thing, Prez. Pick your poison, ma’am.”
“Oh goodness, don’t call me ma’am. My mother was a ma’am, and I might not look like it, but I
have some youth still left in me.”
“You do look like it,” I speak up, immediately trying to ease her worries. There’s an intense
moment where we’re looking into the other’s eyes before Miranda turns her attention back to John.
“I’ll take a jack on the rocks, thank you.” I’m a little surprised that Miranda is drinking something
so hard. I sort of expected her to want a glass of sangria, wine, or maybe even a fruity cocktail.
“Sure thing,” John tells her, but then he swallows hard. “I didn’t mean that with any disrespect, by
the way.”
“It’s all right. I’m just giving you a hard time, is all.” Miranda smirks at him, and John chuckles
lightly before going off to make her drink.
I take a seat on the barstool in front of me, and Miranda does the same. From the corner of my eye,
I can see eyes are on us—more specifically, her—and shoot my club a warning glance. I can imagine
she’s uncomfortable enough since she’s in a strange place and her car broke down, so I don’t need
them, adding any more stress on her. I might not know Miranda at all, but I’m not an idiot by any
means. I can tell she’s going to be like a deer in headlights if she has too much pressure on her.
“So, you said your brother-in-law served in the Cold War?” I ask as John hands me my drink and
then Miranda hers.
She takes a sip and then answers. “Yep, he sure did.”
“What was he doing?” I know she said he was a captain in the Air Force, but something about her
tone makes me think something else is going on. I haven’t heard many people have been out there as of
late. In fact, I thought a lot of the troops were pulled out of that area . . . but what do I know? It’s not
like I keep track of wars or the politics of them.
Miranda laughs nervously. “Well, that’s tricky. I’ve never really gotten a straight answer from my
sister. I was always told he was a captain in the Air Force, but if you ask me, I believe he was US
Intelligence. He was always making trips to DC when he was stationed in North Carolina and always
seemed to make it known to my sister and me that he had certain security clearances that others would
have dreamed of.”
 Since I met Miranda, I’ve been working on really getting a feel for who she is as a person. Thus
far, I really think she is a family woman. So far, I’ve heard about her sister and her brother-in-law.
Especially since she’s driving across the country to get to her sister before she goes into labor. If that
doesn’t say she cares about her family, I don’t know what does.
Now that we’re in the club’s lighting, I can really take in her features for what they are. When we
were outside, I couldn’t see her that well, but now I can. Yes, she’s thinner, like she has an athletic
build. She’s got some beautiful, straight ashy blonde hair that looks like it came out of a damn
commercial. Her skin looks sun-kissed like she bathes out in it for hours at a time, and she’s got really
high cheekbones, which really accentuate her facial structure. The features that keep calling me to
look at them are the freckles over her face and her deep icy blue eyes. She’s a natural sort of beauty I
haven’t seen in a very long time. Sure, the clubwhores here are beautiful, but they’re nothing in
comparison.
Her shirt isn’t overly tight, but I’ll guess they’re half a handful. I’ve never minded women with
smaller breasts, and if I end up in bed with this woman, I know they’ll do.
Fuck, I shouldn’t want to take her to bed . . . but I do.
I know I just fucked Double earlier, but it is my fucking birthday . . . and now Miranda is like a
tall glass of water to a man in the desert. I lick my bottom lip, and Miranda catches me doing it.
“Something on your mind?”
“Mmm, yeah, somethin’ is,” I confirm, but I’m not going to tell her what that is.
Miranda swallows hard, and her eyes meet my own. “I caught you staring at me like a starving
dog.”
“Does it bother you?” I question as she takes a sip of her drink.
She shakes her head, “No, quite the contrary.”
Now, I’m not a genius by any means, but I know when a woman is flirting with me, and Miranda
is doing just that. I don’t have any other intentions with her than fixing up her car and maybe getting a
good fuck or two. She doesn’t seem like the type of woman who’s going to become all clingy after I
fuck her, so what the hell? Why would I refrain from going down this road?
“Good, ‘cause I can promise you there are a few things I’m good at, baby doll.”
Miranda raises both of her brows, and a flush of red strikes through her cheeks. “Is that so?”
“It is, and I think maybe I should prove it.” As soon as I finish saying it, John smirks and has to
turn around. He’s making himself busy doing something along the back of the bar because the young
man knows exactly how I intend to play this game. There’s no denying what’s building between the
two of us, but I don’t rush it.
Miranda and I stay at the bar for another hour, having a couple of drinks in the process. A lot of
the club members end up leaving, retreating back into their rooms. In the meantime, we make some
small talk, getting to learn more about each other. Nothing too deep, but we’re just building up to
when I’m going to take her back over to my house. It’s a farmhouse, really, and has been in my family
for many generations. Ever since my ancestors came across from Scotland, they settled here in
Montana. They were farmers, which is how we secured this plot of land. Hundreds upon hundreds of
acres are mostly used to raise beef cattle. We rent out some of our fields to local farmers along the
back of the property, but it’s far enough away that they don’t stumble upon any club business.
I’m still in the beef cattle industry, mainly raising Black Angus and Herefords. They’re great for
meat, and we have about one thousand head spread across the property right now. Every year we keep
a certain number for the club, providing all of the steaks and ground beef we could possibly need.
Though, when it comes to the farming industry, the entire thing is struggling right now, especially the
cattle industry. I’m lucky enough to keep my head above water, but it’s only because of what the club
does and our skills in laundering money into the farm. A lot of my neighbors haven’t been so lucky
and have defaulted on their loans. Some of them have even come to me for money, and I’ve helped
them. I charge a high-interest rate, but the last thing I want to do is see my neighbors lose farms or
ranches that have been in their families for generations, just like mine.
Miranda puts her hand over her mouth and yawns. I guess that’s my signal. She did mention she
hadn’t even gotten any sleep tonight since those guys creeped her out at the last hotel she was at.
“Come on, I’ll walk you to your room,” I offer, standing up immediately.
I finish my drink, and Miranda does the same with the last bit of hers. We walk side-by-side, and I
lead her out of the clubhouse and up to my family home. She seems a little surprised but not overly so.
I lead her inside, through the living area, and up the stairs until we’re at my bedroom. I let her walk in
first and then look over at her.
“Well, I’m going to . . .” I start off, but Miranda looks right into my eyes with those icy blues.
They’re almost as icy as my own, but mine have a bit more saturation than hers do.
“You’re going to say, shut the door, right?” Miranda asks me, and I lick my bottom lip, tasting the
remnants of my drink.
“Mmm, how could I say no to that?” I say as I walk into her room and shut the door, locking it
behind me. I slide my cut off, placing it on top of the dresser, and Miranda wastes no time coming up
to me, skimming her angel-soft hands under my shirt, helping me strip it off. We move like two people
who have done this time and time again, and ultimately we’re standing in front of each other naked as
the day we were born.
Miranda has her hands skirting against my beard, feeling my coarse hair, and she smiles. “You
like it?”
“Mhm, I do. I’ve never been with a man who has a beard before,” she admits, then looks right
back up into my eyes.
“Well, you’re in for a treat then.” I pick her up by her legs and toss her on the bed, diving straight
between her legs. It’s the first thought that came to my mind, especially knowing she’s never had a
man like me before. I’m about to bring so much pleasure to this woman that she’s going to have
withdrawals when she gets to her sister’s house.
I flatten my tongue out and drag it along her pussy. The hairs down here are the same shade of
blonde on her head, but she doesn’t have a lot of hair. She just has a landing strip on the top of her
mound. I don’t mind licking a woman’s pussy, but I love it when I’m not getting a two-for-one
experience. What I mean by that is I don’t want to be giving them head and flossing my teeth at the
same time. Ugh, there have been a couple of times when that’s happened, and I don’t want to
experience it again.
Miranda arches her hips and runs her hands along the top of my head, rooting her fingertips in my
hair. I lick up and down, then fuck her with my tongue, and she moans. God, the way she moans is
making my dick rock hard. It’s like an angel singing. I keep fucking her with my tongue over and over
again until I go for her clit, circling my tongue around the hardening nub, but I don’t forget about her
entrance. I stick two fingers inside and pummel them inside of her. She moans louder and yanks on my
hair harder than she was before.
“Boone, I need you. I can’t keep waiting for it,” Miranda practically cries out, and it’s enough for
me.
I arch her leg up and slam my cock into her center. I’m already inside of her when I realize I
didn’t put a condom on, but oh well. I won’t come inside her. I get a deep angle by the way I’m
holding her leg, and her small tits bounce with every thrust. She arches her head back in pure bliss as
I play with her clit while I’m stimulating her on the inside, and Miranda runs her hand up my chest,
feeling every muscle very slowly. She stops at my neck, forcing me down to her, and it’s the first time
I’m kissing her lips. They’re as soft and delicate as every other part of her. Damn, this might be bad to
admit, but I’m glad her tire rod broke.
Her pussy tightens around me, and her eyes widen. “Boone, fuck, I’m so close . . . I’m so fucking
close.”
“Don’t you worry, baby doll, you’re getting there,” I promise her, keeping up with the same pace
since her body’s reacting to it.
In only a couple of minutes, she’s convulsing around my cock, and I’m having a hard time holding
my own release back.
I pull myself out of her, and Miranda immediately goes down to my cock, wrapping her lips
around it. She plants her hands on my ass and sucks my cock into her mouth like a damn vacuum at
warp speed until I’m right on the edge.
I pull my cock out of her mouth and stroke it until my seed is shooting across her chest, and it’s the
first time I’m looking at the color of her nipples. They’re surprisingly a light caramel, but I guess it
isn’t too surprising since her skin is sun-kissed.
Fuck, this woman is beautiful.
 5

M IRANDA
The pale, lemony-yellow sunlight washes through the window and dances across my eyes. I open
them slowly, taking in the unfamiliar room and the unfamiliar warmth of a man snuggled against my
back.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a man in my bed. I realize lying there, with Boone’s arm
wrapped around my naked torso, his breathing slow and steady in my ear, is both extremely
comforting and somewhat disconcerting. Part of me can’t believe what happened last night.
I’ve never met a man and had sex with him so quickly. Never. I even made my ex-husband wait
until our wedding night before we were intimate like that. And while there’s been a couple of men
since the divorce, I’ve never jumped into bed with one within hours of meeting him.
But Boone . . . Boone is different. Different how? Well, that will take some thinking about, and I
can’t lie beside the man. I spent a very enjoyable night fucking and thinking deep thoughts right now. I
ease away from him and creep out of bed, careful not to wake him. I watch him from the side of the
bed for a few moments to make sure he’s still asleep before grabbing the duffle bag I’d brought in the
night before and making my way to the en-suite bathroom. Wait? My duffle bag . . . how did it get in
here? It was in the room in his . . . whatever that place is, with the bar. Did he come and get it for me
at some point in the night? He must have.
I close the door behind me and glance around. While it’s not a decadent room by any means, it is a
large one. There’s a small part partitioned off by a half wall, and a peek assures me it’s the toilet
hidden back there. A shower takes up most of the left wall, a glass door surprisingly sparkling clean.
The sink is against the opposite wall, free-standing, with a large square mirror above it and two small
cabinets on either side. What looks like a large open-door cabinet holds towels, washcloths, and
personal hygiene products. The floor is comprised of wide, smooth planks like the walls, and a large
bathroom rug, the color of ripe peaches, covers most of the area between the shower and sink. All in
all, it’s a nice space.
I pull out a change of fresh clothes and lay them over the half wall, then grab a couple of towels
and a washcloth. After checking to make sure the shower has soap and shampoo, I let the water warm
up while I rummage around in my duffle bag for my brush and toiletry bag.
Finally, I step under the hot spray and let out a quiet moan as the water hits my skin. I’m sore in
places I haven’t been sore in a long time. I use Boone’s soap, and the light pine scent is refreshingly
light and masculine. The soap has more of an ocean breeze smell to it, and the mixture is nice. After I
rinse out my hair, I turn off the water and wrap one of the towels around my long locks. Then I dry off
with the other towel, wrapping the piece of large, white cotton around my body.
 After rubbing lotion on my arms and legs, I moisturize my face and add a light layer of makeup. I
never wear a lot, but I want something to help hide the stress and fatigue I know is showing on my
face and especially under my eyes. Then I plug in the small hair dryer I always travel with and deal
with the damp tangles. Finally, I pull on the clothes I chose: clean underwear and a fresh white bra,
jeans, and a long sleeve t-shirt the color of kiwis. I tug on thick socks and pack everything back into
my duffel bag before opening the door.
My boots are on the floor, so I grab them and move over to the bed so I can pull them on and tie
them. As I’m tightening the last lace, the bedroom door opens, and Boone enters, carrying a cup of
coffee. The smell hits my nose like heaven, and I manage to hold back a whimper but not the greed in
my eyes.
Boone chuckles. “You want this?”
“Gimmie.”
He laughs again and hands me the cup. I cradle it in my hands, inhaling the life-affirming scent
again before I take a sip.
Boone leans against the wall, one booted foot in front of the other, and watches me with amused
eyes. “I share the same addiction. I didn’t know how you take it, so I didn’t doctor it any.”
I shake my head as I take another sip. “This is perfect. I take it black. Thank you.” I can feel it
happening as we speak, that awkward gap growing between us. I struggle to keep my tone even. “I
suppose I should thank you for last night too.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “No, allow me to thank you. It was the best night I’ve had
in a long time.”
“Me too,” I admit, even as a blush stains my cheeks. Boone winks at me, and I can’t stop the
delighted giggle from escaping my lips.
My gaze tracks back to the bed, and Boone follows where my eyes go. He pushes away from the
wall and gives me a cocky grin. “I’d be more than happy to keep you in my bed all day, baby doll, but
let’s try to get some fuel in us before we go another round. Are you hungry? I know I am. Come on,
let’s go get some breakfast.”
I nod and take the hand he offers me. I carry my coffee with me into the kitchen, and Boone leads
me to the counter. “Sit here,” he tells me. “I’ll whip us up something quick.”
I settle into the high counter chair and watch as Boone moves around the kitchen with competent
ease. He mixes pancake batter, whips eggs, and soon there is bacon sizzling in a pan. It all smells
amazing, and my stomach begins to rumble with anticipation. Within fifteen minutes, he’s plating food
and jerking his head toward a small table tucked into the corner. I grab the pot of coffee and bring it
with me so I can top off our cups.
We talk as we eat, mostly small chit-chat things, but he makes me laugh. I make him laugh, and that
feels good. It’s been a while since I’ve sat at a table, shared a good meal with a man, and enjoyed
myself. As I shove a last bite of pancake in my mouth, Boone tilts his head at me.
“Why is a woman like you single?”
I chew a moment, trying to think of a clever comeback. Only I don’t have one, and I think honesty
is the best policy anyway. “I’m divorced,” I say quietly. “My husband . . . my ex-husband,” I correct
myself, “and I separated a year and a half ago. He left me. The divorce was final six months ago.” I
wait for a beat and then another, but Boone remains silent. “What?” I ask laughingly. “Aren’t you
going to tell me you’re sorry to hear that like everyone else does?”
“No,” Boone replies in his deep whiskey whisper voice, “I’m not because I’m not sorry to hear
that. His loss is my gain, baby doll, and I’m damn glad you’re here right now.”
 I fiddle with my coffee cup for a moment before looking into his eyes. “So am I,” I admit.
Boone drums his fingers against the table for a couple of seconds, then speaks again. “Listen,
baby doll, I called around about the part for your car. It’s going to take a week or so before it gets
here, what with the storms and all. We can hope for sooner and hope it’s not later, but that’s the best I
can do. You’re welcome to stay here whether you keep sharing my bed or not, and we’ll help you all
we can.”
I absorb the information, letting it sink in. I nod slowly. “I get it, I get it. We can’t magically make
the part appear. But it seriously bums, Boone. Stephanie needs me.” I sigh and prop my hand on my
fist. “I like it here, so far.” When Boone grins, I laugh. “I like more than just what happened last night,
gutter brain. I like the feel of the place. I’d like to stay here for the time being if you’re sure it’s not a
problem.”
“It’s not a problem at all, baby doll. The phone’s over there.” He jerked his thumb over his
shoulder. “I’ll give you some privacy so you can call your sister. I’ll be in the main room when you’re
done.”
I nod, and he leaves. Then I cross over to the phone and dial Stephanie’s number. Her cheerful
hello turns into puzzled concern when she hears my voice.
“Hey, hey, are you all right? It’s barely nine in the morning. Why are you calling so early?”
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “Just fine. I’ve had a bit of car trouble, so I wanted to call and let you
know what’s going on.”
“Car trouble? Where are you?”
“Close to Billings, Montana. I lucked out, I guess, because the car decided to go out on me right
near a club of some sort. Motorcycle club, I think. Anyway, the people here are nice, and Boone
checked into ordering the part I need for the car. But it’s going to take a week or so to get here, so it’ll
be a couple of weeks, maybe, before I get out to you. I’m so sorry, Stephanie.”
“No, it’s fine. As long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters. I hate it about your car, but you’ll get
here when you can. You are safe, aren’t you?”
I smile at her worried tone. “Yes, I am safe.” I realize it’s true. I feel safer here with Boone than I
ever did in Durham, but that’s a thought to tuck away to examine later. “I’ll check in with you
regularly, and I want you to call me here if there are any problems. All right?”
“Sure, all right. Just be careful, okay? I love you, sis.”
“I love you, too. Talk to you soon.” I hang up the phone, take care of the breakfast dishes, and then
find Boone in the living room. He’s sitting on a sofa, talking to one of the men I saw last night.
Looking at them side by side, it’s easy to tell they’re father and son. Both are ruggedly handsome, but
Boone has those fine lines and age on him that make him yummy. My stomach tightens as he throws
back his head and laughs.
I smile when he spots me and waves me forward to join them. Feeling surprisingly at home, I
cross the floor and let myself be pulled down to sit on Boone’s lap. Well, this is a first.
 6

BOONE
Miranda’s keeping herself busy around the clubhouse. She asked if she could do anything to help
since I ordered the part for her car, and the clubwhores have been slacking on keeping the club as tidy
as they could, so I said she could do that. She offered without hesitating in the slightest bit and then
hopped right to it, which was a relief to me.
I’m having a family meeting with my two sons, Fist and Cracker, as well as Fist’s ol’ lady, Mindi.
It’s been planned for a few days now, and as the days keep passing, the pressure we’re under to
actually sit down and discuss this whole thing is only growing.
Cracker knocked up a clubwhore, and she gave birth to two twin boys, Zane and Kade. As of right
now, no one knows that Cracker is their biological father. I don’t think anyone will ever know, even
when the boys are older. It would be too dangerous for them, and seeing as these boys are my
grandchildren, it’s my duty to ensure no harm comes to them.
Cracker didn’t know the boys were his until not too long ago, and the boys are five years old. Just
looking at them, you can tell they have Monroe blood flowing through their veins, but there were
rumors that another man fathered the children. Only we know that isn’t true. However, the rest of my
club doesn’t, and they never will.
The clubwhore wasn’t just any woman. She was not only the black sheep of her family but the
bastard daughter of a man who ran an organization that held power everywhere. They’re in every
shadow, around every corner, and can completely destroy multi-million-dollar organizations with the
snap of a finger. Her father and my son shared words a long time ago, and he swore that if he ever got
close to her or knocked her up, he’d kill the child himself. Now, in most situations, my club is
prepared to do whatever it takes to protect our own, but to go against this man and his legion of
warriors in the shadows would very well be suicide. Therefore, the only option that keeps my family
safe is what we’re going to discuss today.
I’m sitting at my kitchen table, and Cracker got here a few minutes ago. We’re still waiting on
Mindi and Fist to arrive, but I’m certain they’ll be here momentarily.
“How are you feelin’ about today, son?” I know his head is probably fucked up, but mine would
be, too, if I was having this conversation. Then again, it would totally fuck with me that my sons
couldn’t ever know who their real daddy was. We all know what we’re about to discuss is the best
choice, but it doesn’t mean that it isn’t a difficult one to make.
“I’m angry, Dad. I want these boys to know who I am, but because of that miserable old fuck they
never will. It should be my right to have them with me . . . but because she went to the fucking
hospital to have them, it’s on record that she’s their mother, and . . .” Cracker pauses, taking in a deep,
stress-filled breath. “Her father will put two-and-two together. He’s a powerful son of a bitch who I
think gets off on fucking other people’s lives up, but he isn’t the type to break his word. He’ll kill my
boys, and I don’t have a doubt about it.” Cracker’s eyes drift down to the table, and I see the pain in
his eyes. He’s being forced to make a decision he doesn’t want to make, but it will keep Zane and
Kade safe.
There are no words for how I feel right now. For Cracker to be doing this is completely selfless,
and he’s truly showing us all how much he cares about his sons. He’s willing to live life without them
knowing the truth, and if that doesn’t show the love or dedication a father has for his children, I don’t
know what else does.
Sure enough, my storm door creaks open, and then Fist and Mindi walk on through. Mindi has my
granddaughter, Ashley, in her arms, but we don’t have to worry about Ashley repeating anything since
she’s just a babe. Fist shuts the door behind him, and they both walk over and take a seat at the table.
Fist and Mindi look over to Cracker, and I’m sure they know how much he’s struggling with making
this decision.
“So, have you decided how you want to handle this?” Fist asks his brother.
Cracker nods. “Yeah, because I don’t really have another option right now. Hell, what am I
saying? That’s a lie. The only other option will put everyone sitting here at this table at risk, and
possibly the club too. I can’t make that choice. I can’t say let’s fight these people, because I know I
can’t. I can sure as hell try, but they’ll only end up hurting us worse. The only thing that keeps those
boys safe is by you two adopting them. She didn’t put my name on the birth certificate, and as far as
the state’s concerned, they don’t have a parent right now. You two have managed to jump through the
hoops to foster them in the meantime, and I’m eternally grateful for that, but I don’t want my boys to
be out of this family. They’re Monroes, and we need them to stay Monroes.” Cracker looks at his
brother and then over to Mindi.
“We’re going to take them in as our own. You have my word,” Fist promises Cracker, and I can
rest a little easier. I didn’t have any doubts that Fist and Mindi wouldn’t step up to the plate. They’re
good people, and above all else, their family comes first.
“I’m going to love those two boys like they’re my own, Cracker,” Mindi tells him, and Cracker
nods.
For the first time in years, I’m seeing my son cry, and it’s a defeated one. He wants to be able to
keep the boys, to say he’s their father, but he knows it will only mean they’re in danger, and he won’t
jeopardize that. He loves those boys more than anything else, and we can all see it.
“I’m sure you’re both going to be great parents to them,” Cracker says, trying to keep the emotion
out of his voice.
“We all are. You might not be their father on paper, but all of us here know who you are and the
significance of it,” Mindi speaks up, trying to make Cracker feel better about this whole situation. It
won’t, but I appreciate that she’s trying.
“Are we ever going to tell the boys when they’re older?” I ask the million-dollar question,
praying that one day when the boys are old enough to understand, we can tell them the truth.
Everyone at the table looks at each other, and we all pause, waiting a few moments in our own
silence. “I don’t know if it would be smart. They’re just children now, but knowing how angry us
Monroes can get, I’d imagine they’d want to go after their other grandfather someday. It would still
put them at risk, and that’s what I don’t want. I don’t want them to ever be at risk,” Cracker states,
making his desires crystal clear.
“I agree, but I do think . . . if we were to pass away, they should know. It isn’t fair to keep them
completely in the dark,” Fist speaks up.
“All right, then, let’s make a vow not to tell them unless it has something to do with one of our
deaths,” Cracker agrees to Fist’s suggestion.
“Perfect,” Mindi says with a smile, and she looks back down at her little girl.
“Thank you both for doing this. You have no idea how grateful I am to both of you,” Cracker says.
“There’s no need to thank us for this. If it were us, we know you’d do the same. Now, while
we’re all here, I have to find out about this woman. What’s her name, Miranda?” Fist says, looking
right at me.
“Yep. She’s just a woman staying here for a few days. Nothing more. Nothing less.” I’m already
expecting some sort of lecture from my son, but he doesn’t get to give me any.
“If you say so, just don’t go and get attached to her. We all know what your track record with
women is,” Fist states, then looks to his brother.
Trust me, they don’t have to tell me shit. I know what happens every time I get close to a woman
—they leave.
 7

M IRANDA
I can’t believe I’ve been here this long. It’s New Year’s Eve, for Christ’s sake, and I’m still
waiting on the part for my car to come in. But other than that, I really can’t complain. My time here
has been wonderful so far. Everyone, men and women, has been nothing but friendly. Some of the
women, the ones classified as clubwhores, are cautiously friendly, whereas the ones who are ol’
ladies are completely open and welcoming. And the men all treat me with a mixture of respect and
friendliness that I find enduring. The clubhouse itself is charming, and the bond between the people
here is almost palpable.
I’m learning the ropes, so to speak. I know Boone is the club president, and he’s a firm ruler but a
well-respected one. He’s easy to laugh, willing to listen and help, and always there when someone
needs him.
Tonight there’s going to be a bonfire. The guys decided earlier in the afternoon to have one in
celebration of the coming new year, and God knows it’s cold enough. They’ve been in and out all day,
gathering wood, putting beer in coolers filled with ice, and cajoling the women into making enough
food to feed an army. In fact, all the people here make up a small army.
I’ve been helping where I can, making up potato salad, baking fresh oatmeal and chocolate chip
cookies, marinating chicken and steak, and locating all the supplies needed for s’mores in the huge
walk-in pantry.
As far as everyone is concerned, tonight is for eating and drinking and having a good time. I’m
down with that. I called Stephanie earlier, and she was in good spirits, so everything is going pretty
well right now.
I glance around for a moment, surprised at how quiet it suddenly is. I look at the clock and then
outside and realize how late it is. People are outside already, doing the final preparations for the
night’s festivities.
Boone walks into the kitchen where I am, carrying two long-neck bottles of beer. He hands me
one, and I take a sip, letting the cold liquid frost my throat. We settle in at the table to enjoy a little
quiet time together.
He speaks first. “Thank you for helping out today, baby doll. It meant a lot to me, having you pitch
in like you did.”
“I enjoyed it,” I reply honestly. “I’ve told you several times that I like it here, and that includes the
people. Even,” and here I send him a sly smile, “Cracker and Fist. I know they’re your sons, Boone.
The resemblance is simply too strong for any other explanation.”
He looks sheepishly at me. “You’re not mad at me for not telling you before?”
 I shake my head. “Of course not. You don’t owe me any explanations, Boone. Can I ask you where
their mother is?”
Boone just shrugs. “I have no idea. She ran off and started a new life with someone else like we
didn’t matter to her anymore. Me or the boys.”
I reach over and lightly lay my hand over his. “I’m sorry, Boone. I didn’t mean to stir up painful
memories.”
He shrugs again. “They’re not really painful anymore. It was years ago when the boys were little.
Now, I guess I’m just baffled by it all. It’s not like I was mean or abusive to her. Hell, I treated her
like a queen. Guess she just wanted something different.”
I nod, even though I still feel bad for bringing it up at all. I can’t imagine a woman leaving a man
like Boone. From what I’ve seen and know of him, he would indeed treat a woman like a queen. I
think any woman would be foolish to leave a good man—and two children—behind.
My fingers trace patterns on the tabletop as my mind drifts to how Gerald treated me when Joshua
was in the hospital. He refused to look at me, let alone offer any semblance of support. All he’d do
was stare with cold eyes around Joshua’s hospital room, avoiding the bed where Joshua’s tiny body
lay like he couldn’t wait to get out of there. Like he knew Joshua was already dead. And the moment
the doctors pronounced our son dead, Gerald stopped . . . everything. Touching me, caring for me, just
everything. And even now, after all this time, it doesn’t seem real. It doesn’t seem fair that I’m living
and my son isn’t.
“Hey.” Boone’s quiet voice breaks my reverie, and I look up. I know my eyes are damp, and I try
to look anywhere but at him. But Boone’s not having it. He speaks again, using my name this time.
“Miranda. Where did you go?”
“I . . . it’s nothing.”
“Nothing wouldn’t make your eyes tear up. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s pretty dark stuff, Boone. Heavy life shit and I don’t want to burden you with my problems.
Not after everything you’ve already done for me.”
He shifts in his chair like he’s settling in and getting more comfortable. I hesitate for a long
moment, wondering if I should really tell him. And then I realize I need to get it off my chest, and
Boone is a good listener.
I take a deep breath and begin. “I had a son. His name was Joshua.”
“Had? He’s passed?”
I nod, knuckling a tear from my eye. “Yes. Joshua was five, just the sweetest little boy you can
imagine. Bright and funny and loving. He had some friends in the neighborhood, and they all went
from house to house, playing with each other. It was summer and so hot outside. I’ll always remember
how hot it was that day. And Joshua and his friends were riding their bikes in the street. We lived in a
safe neighborhood, and nothing ever really happened.
“Anyway, they were all riding their bikes in the street. All four of them, Joshua and three of his
friends. And I was on the porch watching them. And then . . . then, it all happened so fast. I heard the
car screaming down the street before I saw it, and I thought it was on another street over. I remember
thinking, oh my God, who would speed like that in a residential area. And then I saw it. It was like a
silver shimmer. You know how the air sort of blurs when it’s so hot, and it all goes hazy for a
moment?”
When Boone nods, I take another hitching breath. My fingers are lacing and unlacing together on
the table. “It was like that, then the shimmer fell into focus, and I realized it was a car speeding
toward the children. I yelled. I screamed at them all to come back, come back to the sidewalk. The
yard. God, God, anywhere but the street. And I was running, running toward them. The kids heard me
because they all started heading in, coming back to the sidewalk. Only the car was going too fast, and
I was too late, and it happened almost before you could blink.
“The sound was hideous. A slamming, thumping sound. Then . . . then the sound of the car
speeding off as the driver kept going. Who does that? Who hits someone with their car and keeps
going?”
“Joshua was hit by the car.” Boone doesn’t phrase it like a question.
I nod. “Yes. Yes. My baby, my poor Joshua. The car caught the rear tire of his bike, and Joshua
was thrown in the air and then hit the pavement right in front of the car. And then the car just drove
over him. God, God, God. It was horrible. The kids were screaming, I was crying, and other people
were coming out to see what was going on. Someone called for help. All I could do was hold my
baby and pray that he was okay. Even though I knew he wasn’t. How could he be? His little body was
smashed and broken, and it was all my fault.”
I bury my face in my hands, and hard sobs wrack my body. Boone offers silent support by rubbing
my shoulder until I regain control. Finally, I suck in a huge breath and release it before going on with
my painful story.
“We got to the hospital—I rode in the back with Joshua—and they rushed him into surgery. I
called Gerald, my husband and Joshua’s father, at work, and he came straight there. By then, the
police were there asking questions, and I was trying to remember and tell them everything, and it was
all kind of a blur because I was so worried about Joshua.
“And then the police left, and Gerald and I were waiting together in this little room, waiting for
someone to come in and give us an update on Joshua. Gerald wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t speak to
me no matter what I said or did. After a couple of hours, the doctor came in and just sat down. I knew
then it was going to be bad. He told us the injuries were just too severe, that Joshua’s little body just
couldn’t handle the trauma. That the only thing keeping him alive was a machine.
“That was the only time Gerald showed any emotion, at least in my presence. He fell to his knees
and sobbed. I was crying, too, and tried to hold my husband so we could grieve together. But he shook
me off, pushed me away. So I left him there, in that room, and went to sit with Joshua. We gave it
three days. Three days of watching a machine breathe for my child until we couldn’t take it any
longer. We told the doctor to end it, to stop the machine. Joshua was already gone anyway. So they
did, and Gerald and I waited a couple of more hours before Joshua was officially pronounced dead. I
went home and cried. I don’t know where Gerald went.”
I take a shuddering breath and rub my hands over my face, then finish it out while Boone listens.
“Three days later, we buried our child. Gerald moved out of our home and into a hotel the same day.
A month after that, I was served divorce papers. Gerald was generous, giving me the house, but I
never really wanted it. I signed the papers and got drunk. I haven’t seen Gerald since. He never
touched me after he pushed me away when the doctor was talking to us. Not a hug, not a brush of his
hand against mine in comfort, nothing. And if he looked at me, he looked at me like I was a stranger.
Cold eyes and nothing more. So I guess I was glad that he was gone, even though I was brutally
lonely. I kept Joshua’s room just like it was on the day of the accident. Like some kind of morbid
shrine. And I was sinking, sinking into the kind of depression it’s so hard to pull out of.
“Then Stephanie called me and told me about her husband dying overseas. She asked if I’d come
help her. We’re the only family each other has now, so of course, I said yes. I sold the house, packed
up the precious few things I wanted to bring with me, and headed out. I landed on your doorstep the
other night, and now you’re all caught up with the sad life of Miranda.”
 Boone just looks at me before taking my hands in his. His thumbs caress my palms. “Did they ever
catch the bastard who hit Joshua?”
“No. They never found the car or who was driving.” My voice is rusty from tears, so I clear my
throat. “I’m sorry for dumping all of that on you.”
“Baby girl, never apologize to me for things like that. I’ve known pain of my own, and I know it
helps to get it out. You’re amazingly strong and resilient. I hope you know that. And I hope you know
Gerald is a dick for treating you like that.”
“It was my fault.”
“It was not your fault. It was an accident that resulted in a tragic loss for you, but it wasn’t your
fault. The fault lies with the driver of that car and with Gerald for not being there for you in your
greatest hour of need.”
I sniffle. “Thank you, Boone. Thank you for being so understanding. I think I’m going to go
shower, then put on fresh makeup to hide the signs of a crying jag.” I stand and give him a long, slow
kiss. Then I head for the bathroom, my emotions tumbling over each other as I try to understand my
feelings for this man I just poured my heart out to.
 8

BOONE
This isn’t the news I want to tell Miranda, but I don’t have another choice. I just got a call from
the supplier where I ordered the part for her car, and because of inclement weather, shipping is being
delayed. It’s not even like it’s being delayed a few days. Nope, it’s being delayed by at least two
weeks.
Miranda’s been staying with me in my house versus the clubhouse, even though I have a room in
there for her that she can use. I think we just enjoy one another’s company so much that we’ve been
shacking up together, so to speak. I’m trying not to get attached, but there are times when I think I’m
really going to miss Miranda’s company. She’s not really like any other woman I’ve been with in the
past. Quite the contrary. She’s laid back, and she’s been through some intense shit in her life.
I don’t think the shit I’ve endured through the years comes anywhere close to what Miranda has
gone through, but it was nice for her to open up to me the way she did. Sometimes, I have a hard time
remembering we haven’t known each other for years because it feels that way. It’s only been days, but
something about her makes it feel like longer. Maybe it’s the way we connect. Maybe it isn’t. Who
knows. All I do know is that I’m beginning to like her more and more, and when she ends up staying
in Idaho, I’m going to miss her.
I walk away from the landline in the kitchen and find Miranda in the basement, tidying up the
place. That’s what she’s been doing as a way of repaying me for letting her stay here. I don’t really
need her to tidy up, but if she wants to clean, I’m not going to argue with her. Hell, it’s looked better
here since she’s been around than it has in years.
“Miranda,” I call her name while she’s running a rag over the top of the fireplace, likely brushing
away the dust that’s built up over the years.
“Yeah?” She turns to face me.
“I have some news.”
“All right, but just so you know, when you say it like that, it’ll make anyone worry. What’s going
on?” Miranda stops cleaning completely and crosses the distance between us.
“I called the supplier to see how things were looking for your part. I was told there have been
some shipping delays due to inclement weather. They said it’s going to take a bit longer, but I don’t
think you have that extra time.”
“How much longer?” There’s the million-dollar question.
“At least two weeks.” Her sister is due practically any day, so there’s a lot of pressure on
Miranda to get to Idaho.
“There’s no way I can wait that long,” Miranda says, bringing her fingers up to her chin. She taps
along it. She’s probably trying to come up with something to say or a way out of this mess. “I don’t
want her to be alone when she has the baby. She’s been alone long enough, you know?”
“I agree, and it’s why I’m prepared to drive you out to Idaho myself. You can’t miss your niece or
nephew’s birth, and like you said, you need to be there for your sister.”
“Boone, I can’t possibly ask you to do something like that.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering to do it, and I have family not too far away.
While you’re with your sister, I can make myself scarce and stop in to see my family.” I have distant
cousins, but I don’t know that I’ll actually stop in to see them. I’m bringing it up to make Miranda feel
better like I’m not just making this trip for her.
Miranda swallows hard, licks her bottom lip, and looks right at me. “You’re certain I’m not
putting you out or causing any sort of disturbance by you driving me out there?”
I shake my head. “You’re not, and I can see family. It’s a win-win for us both, so call your sister
up and get your stuff packed. We can leave within a couple of hours. I just need to pack a bag and let
my VP know I’ll be gone for a few days.”
“Okay, I’ll get my stuff together,” Miranda says, and I head back upstairs to the main area of my
house. I throw on a winter jacket and head outside, walk down to the clubhouse, and head in through
the front door. I search the area for my VP, Fisher, and find him sitting on a couch. He has cards
spread out in front of him, and it looks like he’s deep into a game of solitaire.
“Fisher, I need to take Miranda out to Idaho before her sister has the baby. You’re going to be
acting Prez until I get back.”
Fisher looks up at me from the cards in front of him. “No shit. Did her part get delayed?”
“Yep, there are some storms screwing up everyone’s shipping times. Her sister is quickly
approaching her due date, so I don’t have much of a choice.”
A shit-eating grin crosses Fisher’s face. “Man, you have a choice. You could tell her so sad, too
bad, but instead, you’re willin’ to drive the woman out there. You’re bein’ a solid dude, and I’m sure
Miranda will show you some appreciation for it.”
I smirk at my brother and nod, certain she will. Hell, she’s had no problem doing it thus far. Then
again, we haven’t really been keeping our hands to ourselves very much since we met. I guess we
have one hell of an intense sexual connection. “You’re gonna be square while I’m away, right?”
We have some troubles with the Bears MC, who is one of our big rivals in the area. Their Prez,
Grizzly, just can’t seem to let shit slide, ever. He’s always going to be coming after us, and if push
comes to shove, I’ll have no problem putting him in the ground. If you ask me, he likes stirring mud in
the water with our club, but I don’t think he’ll ever make us his public enemy number one. Grizzly’s
around my boys’ age, which means he doesn’t think shit through all the time. Men in that stage of their
life always think they’re right, but I think he just feels like he has something to prove. He’s not a real
threat to my club or me. At least not yet.
“I’ll be fine, and if anything comes up, I’ll call you. Just be sure to give me a ring whenever you
get settled. This way, we can communicate if we have to.”
“Sure thing. I’m gonna head on out. I’ll call and check in when we stop at a motel in a few hours.”
I quickly say my goodbyes to everyone in the club, letting them know I’ll be back in a few days,
and then I head back to my farmhouse. I head up into my bedroom, throw some clothes in a duffel bag,
and by the time I’m downstairs, Miranda’s in the living room waiting on me. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah, and I already called Stephanie to let her know we’ll be heading out that way.”
“Okay, good. Come on, I want to head out while it’s still daylight and get a few hours of driving
under our belt,” I tell her, and we walk out of my house and head down to my truck. I don’t want to
drive my bike that far this time of year. You can never tell what the weather is going to be like these
days, especially since we’re in the dead of winter, and the last thing I want to do is get caught in some
sort of snowstorm. So, we’re taking my handy truck.
I throw our duffel bags in the second row, behind our seats, and we both proceed to get in. “It’s
about nine hour’s drive from here,” Miranda tells me.
I nod. “Yeah, but it could be longer, depending on the road conditions. I say we’ll drive five,
maybe six, and then check into a hotel. From that point, at least we’ll have a shorter drive tomorrow
morning.”
“Okay, that sounds great, Boone. Thank you so much for offering to drive me out there. You have
no idea how much I appreciate it, truly.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’m just glad I could be of some assistance, you know?” I say as I start the truck
up, and then we head on our way.
We make it a little over six hours before we have to stop. My ass is asleep, and we really need
some food. Luckily for us, there’s a motel with a restaurant across the street right off the interstate, so
we opt to stay there for the night. We check in, toss our bags in our room, and grab a quick dinner
across the street before coming back into the motel room.
I know we’re both exhausted as can be, so I plop down on the bed, and then Miranda comes
moseying on over to me. She rolls onto the bed and snuggles up against my side, pressing soft kisses
against my neck.
It really feels like I’ve known this woman for years, especially with the way she keeps loving on
me. I turn my neck to the left and bring my lips down to hers, kissing her long and passionately,
knowing very well where this night is going to take us. The same place it always does.
 9

M IRANDA
God, this is so much more everything than I thought it would be. More fun. More exciting. Colder.
Sexier. Nerve-wracking.
I’m having the time of my life.
I grin as we’re riding on the open road. Boone and I rolled the windows down a few minutes ago,
waking the two of us up a bit and I love it.
Soon, we’re cruising through the town and then into the military base. Boone gives the guard at the
gate our names and Stephanie’s name, and he asks a few questions before he gives us vistors’ passes
and lets us pass. I glimpse rows of base housing as we slowly make our way to Stephanie’s tiny
house.
She’s waiting on the porch, and as soon as Boone kills the engine, I’m out of the truck and running
into my sister’s open arms. I pull her as tight against me as I can, given her burgeoning belly, and
laugh as I hug her.
“You’re enormous!” I exclaim. “Gorgeous but enormous.”
“You’re as thin as ever and just as beautiful,” she replies as we release each other and take a step
back. “I’m so glad you’re finally here!”
I gesture toward Boone, who’s standing a couple of feet away, a huge grin on his face. “We have
Boone to thank for that. He’s done so much for me, Stephanie, and I want you to meet him.”
“Boone.” She holds out her hands, and he takes them gently. “Thank you for taking care of my
sister. I’m in your debt. Would you like to come in for some coffee?”
“I appreciate that very much, but I’ll let you two ladies be alone and catch up. Miranda, I can
either come back in a couple of weeks with your car, or we can stay here for a few days, then you can
come back to Billings with me and drive back when your car is ready.”
“Oh, um.” I shoot Stephanie a glance, then look back at Boone. “I’d like to go back to Billings
with you if you’re sure it’s no trouble.”
“No trouble at all. I’ll book a room at the Days Inn we passed right before we hit the base, and
we can head back in a few days.”
“That sounds great. I’ll meet you over at the hotel later, all right?”
He nods. “Fine. Stephanie, it was lovely to meet you, and I hope to see you again soon.”
“Likewise, Boone. Come to dinner one night before you head back.”
Boone gives me a quick kiss on the lips and then gets back in his truck and drives off. Stephanie
wiggles her eyebrows at me, mouths WOW, and then leads me inside with a giggle.
“I’ll show you the rest of the house in a minute,” she tells me as she leads me down a short
hallway. “I want to show you the baby’s room first.” I nod, and she opens a door on the left side of the
hall.
I walk in and absorb the sight. The walls are a pale cream, light green curtains flutter at the
windows, and a white crib with light green bedding sits against the far wall. Stuffed animals and
books fill a bookshelf, and a rocking chair sits beside a changing table. It’s all so fresh and pretty and
welcoming . . . and my breath catches in my throat as tears explode from my eyes.
I drop to my knees and wail as grief rushes up, just as ripe as the day I put Joshua into the ground.
Stephanie kneels beside me, gathering me close and rocking me as I cry. She murmurs soothing words
and strokes my hair until my sobs click down to shuddering breaths.
“Jesus, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Stephanie. I didn’t think seeing this would trigger that kind of
reaction.”
She brushes back my tangled hair. “No, Miranda, I’m sorry. I never thought it would hurt you like
this. It’s hard. I can only imagine how hard it is for you. Come on, can you get up? We’ll go have
some coffee and settle down.”
I take a quick detour to the bathroom to wash my face. Stephanie chose pale peaches and blues for
this room, and I have to admit that it’s a charming little bathroom. I follow the scent of fresh coffee to
a kitchen decorated with bright red tiles and white Formica counters. Stephanie has been busy, and
there are two plates with thick slices of her famous lemon pound cake on the table. She brings over
two cups of coffee, and we sit down. I reach over and take her hand.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “You worked hard, and the room is pretty and fresh. I like it. I really do. I
love the cream and green together.”
Stephanie fiddles with her fork. “Since we don’t know if it’s a boy or girl, I wanted something
that would work for either one. And the toys and books came from some of the other moms on base,
whose kids have outgrown them. Miranda, I’m sorry. You’re still grieving, and I should have known
better than to spring that on you first thing.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I know part of me will always grieve, but I didn’t think seeing a baby’s
room would drive me to my knees. But it’s over and done, and I’ll be able to handle it from now on.
Now. Moving on.”
“Moving on,” Stephanie agrees, then shoots me a sly grin. “Tell me more about Boone.”
My eyes widen. “What . . . what about Boone?”
“Miranda. If you haven’t slept with him, then I’m a size zero.”
At Stephanie’s bland remark, my laughter bursts free. “All right, I won’t lie about it. I have been
sleeping with him.”
Stephanie hoots and toasts me with her coffee cup. “Excellent. He’s a hunk. And I’m glad to see
you out here living your life again, Miranda. You look . . . happy,” she decides. “You have a little
glow about you again.”
“He’s a good man, Stephanie. I know I haven’t known him that long, but I know he’s a good man. I
told him about Joshua and Gerald.”
“Oh, wow. Wow. That was a big step, Miranda.”
I nod. “I know. I didn’t plan on it, but Boone has a way of drawing things out of you, of really
listening and making you feel like you matter. I haven’t felt like I’ve mattered to someone in a long
time.”
Stephanie gives me a sympathetic look. “I understand that. And, like I said, I’m glad you’re finally
living your life again.”
I fork up another bite of lemon pound cake while Stephanie tops off our cups with coffee. “I like
the house.”
She sips. “Thanks. It’s tiny, but it would’ve been the perfect size for a family. Me, my husband,
and my child. Now everything will be different for me too. Has been different since they told me I’m
a widow and my child will never know its father,” she sighs and rubs circles on her stomach. “Ah,
well. We’ll make a new beginning, won’t we?”
I reach over and grasp her hand. “How are you holding up, Stephanie, and getting through? What
can I do?”
Her hand trembles in mine. “This baby is the only thing that’s keeping me sane, Miranda. I swear
to God, if I wasn’t pregnant, I’d have died from grief. I’m glad you’re here, gladder than I can tell
you. I’m scared,” her voice breaks, and tears slide down her cheeks.
I stand and make my way around the table. This time, it’s me who holds her as she cries. “I know,
honey, I know how you feel. Husband and child, we both lost them too soon. But I’m here now, I’m
here, and we’ll be all right.” I touch her stomach. “All three of us.”
We cling together, two women who have lost so much, connected by both the bond of sisterhood
and the bond of unbearable grief. And as sad as we are, I know we both feel the comfort of being
together once again.
 10

BOONE
I’m lying down on the bed in my motel room when there’s a knock at the door. I furrow my brows,
wondering if there’s something wrong. I haven’t been smoking in this room, and I’m not being noisy
by any means. I rise from my bed, throw on a shirt and walk over to the door. I unlatch the hook, open
it, and I’m a bit surprised to see Miranda.
“How did you get back here, baby doll? I thought I told you I’d come pick you up.”
“Yeah, you did, but I didn’t want to put you out. So, Stephanie drove me over here.”
I shake my head, knowing damn well I told her to call me when she was ready. I told her the hotel
I was staying at and everything, so she could’ve looked it up in the phone book and told me she was
ready for me to come back out that way. I guess she didn’t want to bother me, but Miranda needs to
realize she isn’t bothering me in the least bit.
Miranda walks into the hotel room, and I shut the door behind her, locking the latch the way it was
a few moments ago.
“How was the visit with your sister?”
Miranda turns, and there’s an odd expression on her face. It’s not joy, but it isn’t sorrow, either.
“It was good. She showed me the baby’s room, and I got a little emotional. I think it made me reflect
back on my time when Joshua was a wee little one, and it took me down memory lane. I . . . I don’t
always remember the bad things, but I do get sad. That’s where I’m at right now. I’m sad. I just miss
him so much, and there are times when the grief doesn’t hit me, but today it hit me really hard.”
I walk up to Miranda and wrap my arms around her, wanting nothing more than to show her I’m
here for her. “I can’t imagine the pain you’re going through. I have a couple of daughters I don’t see,
but I at least know they’re out there living their lives. If I had to wake up and know that my daughters
were gone . . . every day . . . I’m sure it would slowly eat away at me. Just know you’re a strong
woman, and getting through every day is a testament to that.”
“You know, I’ve heard that so many times. You’re a strong woman. It’s almost like after he passed
away, people were trying to be encouraging and reassuring, but they only pissed me off. It only made
me mad that they kept saying it, but in hindsight, I know now just how strong I am. I don’t know many
women who could’ve endured losing their only child and still be here today.”
“Because not many people could handle it. A lot of parents would’ve lost themselves, mother or
father, you know?”
She nods. “I know all too well.”
“Otherwise, did the visit go okay?”
“Yeah, we caught up. The nursery is absolutely beautiful. She doesn’t know the gender of the
baby, so she made everything neutral.”
“Really? How’d she decorate it?” I’m not just acting like I’m interested. I am actually curious
because it’s important to Miranda, and she’s quickly becoming important to me. Even if she ends up
living here in Idaho with her sister for years and years after the baby is born, I think I’d make it a
point to come out once every couple of weeks to see her if she’d be okay with that. But I remember
she told Stephanie she wanted to go back to Billings with me, which was the first time I’d heard that
from her.
“The walls are pale cream, and there are light green curtains and a white crib with light green
bedding. She got a lot of stuff from the other mothers on base, like stuffed animals and books. It’s so
cute, and I’m so, so happy for her. But I feel sad for her at the same time. You know, she ended up
telling me that the only reason she made it through after she lost her husband was because of this baby.
I’ve been thinking she’s alone, doing this all, you know? The reality is that she isn’t alone because the
baby is right there with her.”
I nod, understanding where she’s coming from. “That makes sense. I think you two are very strong
women, and I’m not just saying that. To have made it through things like the two of you have is mind-
blowing, and I’m certain that you both can overcome anything life throws at you.” My words are
coming out extremely uplifting and supportive, and I’m not mad about it. In the past, I’ve never been
overly supportive with my exes, but maybe that was part of my problem. I mean, I blame them for
leaving me because it’s not like I treated them badly. I didn’t treat them badly at all. I worshipped the
fucking ground they walked on, but I do think I’ve learned a thing or two over the years.
“I . . . I don’t know where you’ve been all my life, Boone.” Miranda looks up at me with glassy
eyes, almost like she’s holding back tears. “You always seem to know the right thing to say exactly
when I need to hear it. I’ve never had anything like that before.”
I don’t know what Miranda is trying to say, but I can read between the lines a little bit here. She’s
attracted to me, obviously, and there’s an intense connection here between the two of us. An intense
emotional connection that neither one of us can ignore at this point.
“Miranda, I have to ask you something.” I need to address the elephant in the room. I know the
circumstances of what we were discussing are that we’d stay here for a few days, and then she could
drive back here with her car, but I didn’t get the impression that she wanted to drive back out here. I
could be crazy, or maybe I’m putting myself on some pedestal, but I have to know. I have to
understand where her head is at here.
“Okay, what is it?”
“What’s going on here? I . . . I know you’re staying with your sister once the baby is born, but I
can’t help feeling like there’s something between us. Some connection.”
Miranda nods. “There is something here, but I’m . . . I’m not sure what that means. I stumbled
upon you by accident, my guardian angel, I guess. I . . . I don’t know how this would work, Boone, but
I’m attracted to you, and I’d like to see where things go if it’s possible.”
I’m certain that the two of us can make this work, whether it’s a relationship across state lines or
whatnot.
“I’d like that too.” There goes every bit of me not getting attached to her, but wouldn’t I be a fool
for letting a woman like this pass me by? I sure as fuck think so.
The landline in the hotel room rings, interrupting the conversation between Miranda and me. I go
over to the phone and pick it up, pressing it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hey, Prez.” Fisher’s voice rings through the line.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
 There’s a slight laugh on Fisher’s end, but it’s not an amused one. “Grizzly is being a complete
pain in our asses. I’m tryin’ to handle this shit on my own, but I’ll be honest, he’s being a bigger
headache than normal, and I could use some help handlin’ his delusional ass.”
“What’s he doing?” I question, knowing it has to be bad if Fisher is asking me to come back.
“I’d rather not tell you over the phone. It’s only gonna piss you off, and I know you have a hell of
a ride back home.”
As much as I want to force my VP to tell me everything he knows, I won’t. I understand why he’s
doing what he’s doing. He wants me to be clearheaded on my trek back home, and if that doesn’t
show he gives a shit about my well-being, I don’t know what does. “Fine, I’ll head out in the morning.
Grizzly is gonna have hell to pay, Fisher.”
“I figured he would,” Fisher tells me and then hangs up the phone.
“What’s going on?” Miranda questions as soon as I’m off the phone.
“Something is going on with the club, so I need to head back to Billings. If you’re okay with it, I
can be back here in a week at the latest? I’m sorry, I just have to go home and see what the fuck is
going on.”
Miranda nods like she understands. “Okay, um . . . be careful, and drive safe.”
“I will,” I tell her as I head back over to her, wrapping my arms around her frail body. “In the
meantime, stay with your sister? I’d feel more comfortable if you do.”
“Okay, I’ll ask her about it.”
 11

M IRANDA
I’m up and moving early, knowing Boone will want to get on the road as soon as possible. While
he’s still sleeping, I take a quick shower and then run across the street for some coffee and donuts. I
also buy an egg and bacon sandwich because I want Boone to have a good breakfast before he hits the
road.
When I get back, Boone is just stepping out of the bathroom. He nods appreciatively at the food
and coffee in my hands. “Thanks for that.”
We settle onto the bed, my legs crossed, and eat. Well, Boone eats. Three donuts and the entire
sandwich. I nibble at a donut and sip my coffee, but it all feels like lead in my belly.
I don’t want him to leave. I know he has to, that he has important business he has to take care of.
The feelings I have for Boone are . . . complicated, to say the least. A part of me says it’s love, real
love. But another part of me, the rational part, says that’s ridiculous.
It’s only been a couple of weeks. I shouldn’t feel this strongly about a man I’ve only known for
two weeks. Sure, the sex is phenomenal. Yes, we click on so many levels—books, movies, music,
values, and more. I never thought I’d feel this way about another man, not after things went so sour
with Gerald. I never thought I’d have it in me to trust again, but I do trust Boone. Something tells me I
can trust him with my life and my heart, but I try to stamp those feelings down.
I don’t need them right now, and neither does Boone. Not when he has all that trouble brewing that
he has to take care of. I don’t need him to worry about me and my feelings when he has to have all his
attention focused on more important things. And besides, I don’t know how he really feels about me,
if he feels the connection like I do, or if it’s more of a casual thing for him. And now is not the time to
ask.
Boone finishes his coffee and stands to throw all the trash away. Then he pulls me to my feet and
gives me a long, slow kiss. His fingers tangle in my hair, and I press against him as tightly as I can,
knowing this will be the last time I’ll see him for a week.
When we finally break apart, he traces my cheekbones with his thumb. “Are you all right?”
I nod. “I’ll just miss you.”
He presses a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll miss you, too, baby doll. But I’ll be back in about a week.
You’re going to talk to your sister about staying with her, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll talk to Stephanie.”
“Good. Good. I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe there with her—and that she’s safe there with
you.” He drops another kiss, a quick one, on my lips. “I have to go, baby doll. Get on the road while
it’s still early enough to make good time.”
 “I know. Be careful, okay?”
He gives me a cocky grin and a wink. “Always.”
We walk downstairs, and I watch as he gets in his truck. He throws me a wave, and I wave back.
Then within a few moments, he’s turned over his engine, and he’s on the road. I keep my gaze on him
until he’s out of sight, then I walk back inside and ask the man at the lobby desk to call me a taxi. I
know Boone would have taken me to Stephanie’s if I’d asked, but I didn’t want to delay him any.
Besides, it wouldn’t cost that much for a taxi to drive me less than ten minutes.
When I get to Stephanie’s, she lets me in, and we sit on the sofa in her pretty living room. It’s done
in her favorite colors of navy and gray, and she’s brought in cups of mint tea for us to enjoy.
I sip, then ask, “You’re sure it’s all right for me to stay with you while Boone is gone?”
Stephanie laughs and flops back onto the sofa and props her feet on the coffee table. “Of course. It
was our original plan anyway, remember? Goofy.”
I snicker. “Yeah, well, plans change sometimes.” I fall back against the back of the couch beside
her and let out a huge breath. “God, Stephanie, he’ll be gone for a week, and it’s stupid how much I’ll
miss him. How much I already miss him. But let’s talk about something else? We said plans change.
What about your plans? Still planning to stay in Idaho?”
She sighs now. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know. My only solid plan at the moment is to have
this baby. After that, I guess I can go damn near anywhere I want to. Why are you asking?” She
wiggles her eyebrows at me in a suggestive manner. “Are you asking me to move back to Montana,
where you’ll be living with your sexy biker man?”
I let out a rolling laugh at the leer on her face. “You idiot. Come on, let me haul your bulk up and
go into the kitchen. I have a yen for some kitchen sink soup. I’ll make it while you make some of those
pretty crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I like so much.”
“Deal. That sounds like a fabulous lunch.”
We make idle talk as we gather ingredients, and I roughly chop all of the vegetables. Once it’s
simmering on the stove, I join Stephanie at the counter, where she’s busily making the sandwiches. I
snatch one and bite into it before speaking. “I like Boone.”
“Well, duh.”
I nudge her with my elbow. “I mean, I really like him, Stephanie. Enough to move there if he asks
me to. And I like the Reapers Rejects. That’s the name of their motorcycle club,” I explain. “And the
place is beautiful. So, yeah, I might move there. It’s just something to think about.”
Stephanie nods and sniffs the air, already going fragrant from the smell of the soup. “When will
that be done?”
“Another thirty minutes or so. I figure we can have a bowl and some sandwiches for lunch, then
more for supper. And freeze the rest. It made a big pot.”
“Sounds delicious. What do you want to do after lunch?”
We share a look, and a grin crosses our faces at the same time. “Shopping!” we exclaim in unison.
“Baby clothes,” Stephanie says with glee. “Books. Maybe a new lipstick for me.”
“Baby clothes,” I confirm. “Definitely books. And maybe something sexy for me to welcome
Boone back in.”
“Now, who’s the gutter brain?”
I hip-bump her and laugh before I walk back over to stir the soup. My heart is lighter now that
I’ve talked to my sister, and I can’t wait to hit the shopping center with her.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 THEIR DRIVERS WERE UNABLE TO RESTRAIN THEM.

The old trail ran along up the valley of the Cimarron several
days’ drive. A singular stream was the Cimarron; for the most part of
the bed of the stream was sand, perfectly dry, but now and then,
every mile or two, we found a hole of clear good water, except that it
was slightly tinctured with alkali, a brackish, but not unpleasant taste.
There were three fairly good springs along the road near the
Cimarron, designated as the lower, middle and upper spring, and we
camped near each of them as we passed. As we traveled up the
valley squads of antelope could be seen viewing the train from the
heights on either side of the valley.
Captain Chiles had along with him two shotguns, the smaller he
had been using on buffalo, the other, an unusually large, double
barrel, number 8 bore, very long in barrel and heavy, carrying easily
twenty buck shot in each barrel. Armed with that big gun I would ride
in the direction of the antelope, but at an angle indicating that I would
pass them. Usually when I had gotten within three or four hundred
yards of them they would quietly withdraw from view behind the
ridge, whereat, I would turn the course of my horse and gallop as
fast as I could, keeping the ridge between them and me until I had
gotten within a short distance of the point of their disappearance.
Then dismounting, I hastily followed them on foot. Often they would
be found to have moved not out of the range of that big gun, and
with it I killed many of them. That was the only plan of killing
antelope by which I gained success. During this part of the journey
we saw many wolves, and of many varieties, from the little coyote to
the great gray wolf. They were all very shy, however, and difficult to
approach within gun shot.
On the Cimarron we were overtaken by the mail coach, one of
the monthly lines then operated by Waldo & Co. of Independence,
Mo. The coach had left Westport five days later than our train. The
driver, guards and passengers were all “loaded to the guards” (to
use a steamboat phrase) with guns and pistols.
While the train was under headway one morning Captain Chiles
rode along the length of the train inquiring for “Skeesicks,” but
“Skeesicks” did not answer, and no one could tell anything about
him. The captain ordered the train stopped and a search to be made
of each wagon, but the searchers failed to find any sign of
“Skeesicks.” Further inquiry developed the fact that he had started
out as one of the guards at midnight to protect the herd of cattle,
they being off a mile or more from the corral, where grass was found,
and no one had seen him since. Captain Chiles declared that he
could not afford to stop for so worthless a fellow as “Skeesicks,” and
thereupon the orders were given for the train to proceed.
 Having traveled ten or twelve miles, a camp was located at the
foot of a mound which overlooked the road we had been traveling for
nearly the whole distance of the morning’s drive.
At dinner, the propriety of laying by for a day or two, or long
enough to make a proper search for our lost comrade, was
discussed; but the teamsters all realized that no captain of a ship at
sea ever wielded more absolute authority than Captain Chiles. He
could brook no opposition, and little criticism of his course or
conduct. Any disobedience of his orders he regarded as equal to
mutiny and was punished accordingly. About the entire camp a
sullen silence prevailed. Suddenly some one cried out that an object
could be seen away down the road that might be “Skeesicks,” but
just then, no one could discern whether a man or a horse or an
Indian.
The entire party assembled outside the corral to watch the
approaching object, and after a while our lost “Skeesicks” walked up,
covered with dust and worn out with fatigue of constant walking for
over twelve hours, without food or water.
 “SKEESICKS” WALKED UP.

He was soon revived by a comforting dinner. He said he had

been aroused at midnight from a sound sleep to assume his turn as
cattle guard, and on his way from the corral to the herd, he had
wandered apart from his companion guard, soon becoming
bewildered and completely lost. He wandered about during the entire
night, not knowing in what direction he was going, and was all the
while afraid to stop for fear of the wolves that were howling around
him continually. After daylight he accidentally found the road, and
although bewildered, he had sense enough remaining to follow it to
the west, whence he had overtaken us.
As the cattle were being yoked, Captain Chiles called up “Little
Breech” and directed him to get the large cow bell he had brought
along to put on the black steer that was in the habit of wandering
from the herd at night. The wagonmaster, with the bell in hand,
walked up to “Skeesicks,” who was sitting on a wagon tongue resting
his weary legs, and said, “‘Skeesicks,’ I am determined not to lose
you again, and am going to take no chances.” Then he buckled the
strap attached to the bell around “Skeesick’s” neck. Turning to “Little
Breech” he gave him particular orders to drive “Skeesicks” in the
cavayard and in no event to allow him to wander away again.
All that afternoon “Skeesicks” plodded along with the lame cattle
in the cavayard, at the rear of the train, the bell ringing at every step.
In the evening, after we had corralled, he went to Captain Chiles and
plaintively beseeched him to remove the bell. The captain gently
unbuckled the strap, but again charged “Little Breech” to keep his
eye on “Skeesicks” and not permit him to wander from the train.
HE PLODDED ALONG WITH THE LAME CATTLE.
 IX.
A Kicking Gun and a Bucking Mule.

Here for some days we were traversing a continuous level plain,

treeless and trackless, except for the road we traveled, covered with
buffalo grass, then turned a beautiful straw color by the sun and dry
weather, but still affording excellent pasturage. Not a tree had we
seen, none since we crossed the Arkansas.
We were slowly but regularly leaving behind us the monotonous
plain, to enter upon a region of great natural beauty and
attractiveness. On a beautiful morning after the train had been
moving for a short time, the Rabbit Ear mounds were seen, peering
up in the distance, through the hazy atmosphere. Yet we were a
day’s journey from them. These twin diminutive sentinels of the
Rockies, stationed here to the left of our road, could not have been
more appropriately named, their resemblance to the ears of a jack-
rabbit being strikingly obvious.
A day or two after passing the Rabbit Ears we were fortunate in
the beauty and attractiveness of the location of our corral.
Immediately west of us the view was limited to a mile or two, shut off
by the bluff rim of a stretch of table-land, rising perhaps a hundred
feet above our level, the face of the elevation extending north and
south, the road we were traveling passing around the base of its
southern extremity. About midway of the rim of this plateau of table-
land there was a small mound of regular sugar-loaf shape, rising to
perhaps the height of twenty feet, on the top pinnacle of which stood
a single buck antelope looking at the train as it was starting out just
at sunrise. There he stood for some time stock still gazing at us. The
morning was absolutely glorious, the perfect weather of New Mexico.
I determined to give this solitary buck antelope a trial.
 Procuring the big double-barreled shotgun belonging to Captain
Chiles, I mounted my horse, riding in almost the opposite direction to
that in which the train was moving. The buck held his position until I
had ridden nearly opposite him, my course, leaving him nearly half a
mile to the left, when he suddenly retired behind the mound.
Immediately turning my horse I galloped over the ascending ground
until I got within a hundred yards of the base of the mound,
dismounted quickly, walked rapidly up to it; then I crawled as quietly
as possible nearly to the top. Peeping around so as to get a view of
the opposite side, I beheld, forty yards from me, that fine buck,
looking intently toward me, with four or five of his companions lying
down near him, so close together that I could almost have covered
them all with the big shotgun.
Holding the gun in the right hand—it was so heavy that I could
scarcely handle it—cocking both barrels, I pushed it out in front of
me, and just as I was in the act of placing the breech of the gun
against my shoulder, but before I had gotten it fairly in place, off it
went, both barrels simultaneously, sounding like a cannon, and
kicking me with such force as to turn me over and over, rolling me
down nearly to the foot of the mound. The gun struck my face,
bruising it badly, making my nose bleed profusely and stunning me,
but not so badly but that I noticed the bunch of fine antelope
scampering off, frightened, but untouched. My horse stood quietly
where I had left him picketed.
Our real character, “Little Breeches,” antedated the poetical child
of the fancy of Colonel John Hay, introduced to the public some thirty
years ago. Whether this distinguished gentleman had any knowledge
of our cavayard driver, I do not know, but in truth the two “Little
Breeches” had similar characteristics, both “chawing tebacker” at an
early age, and our “Little Breeches” had the additional
accomplishment of swearing with emphasis, and articulation
unexcelled or unequaled by any of the older and more hardened
“bull-whackers” of our train.
 HE JUMPED AND KICKED.

“Little Breech” rode a pony mule, a small animal of most perfect

shape, with activity to correspond. The noon day camp was breaking
up, the cattle were all yoked and hitched to the wagons. “Little
Breech” had mounted his mule, preparing to round up his cavayard.
At the moment the reins were lying loose on the mule’s neck, while
“Little Breech” had both hands employed in adjusting his belt.
Impulse dictated so, walking towards him unobserved, I picked up a
stick, raised the mule’s tail and gently placed the stick under it. The
mule instantly clasped it tight with his tail, commencing, before “Little
Breech” could seize the bridle reins, the worst spell of bucking I had
witnessed on the journey. He jumped and kicked and kicked and
jumped for a hundred yards, describing a semi-circle in his gyrations.
I was alarmed, fearing the boy’s neck would surely be broken. But
failing to get hold of the bridle reins, he clamped the horn of the
Spanish saddle, and, retaining his seat to the end, all the while
swearing at me with as great force as he could command, his
volubility being very much restricted by the prolonged bucking.
 X.
A Gray Wolf.

It is difficult, if not impossible, to find the derivation of some of

the Spanish or Mexican words and phrases then in use by the Santa
Fé traders. For instance, the word “cavayard,” I have used and
spelled as it was pronounced by these unlettered plainsmen and as
applied by them to the bunch of loose cattle and horses driven
behind the train. The pure Castilian has undoubtedly suffered many
changes in New Mexico, among the lower classes particularly. The
Spanish words used by these plainsmen had been both Mexicanized
and then Missourianized until so changed and corrupted as to be
hardly recognizable at all. This word “cavayard,” they declared, was
of Spanish origin; if so it must have been a corruption of “caballar”—
pronounced “cavallyar,” meaning an attendant on horses. The
derivation of the word “hornada,” which we found given to the dry
stretch between the Arkansas and Cimarron is equally obscure.
Among the teamsters was a Mexican, whose name I have
forgotten. One morning Captain Chiles got up earlier than usual, at
break of day, in fact, and, while waking up the men he discovered
this Mexican beating one of his oxen severely with bow of the ox
yoke. This was a gross violation of the rules, but when Captain
Chiles censured him in pretty strong language he talked back to him
in a threatening manner. Thereupon the captain, drawing one of the
two navy pistols swinging to a belt around his waist, holding it in one
hand, and with a heavy blacksnake whip in the other, advanced upon
him and proceeded to give him a severe flogging with the whip. The
Mexican was held fast by the threatening aspects of the navy pistol
pointed at him all the while until he had received a very severe
flogging. The following night the Mexican “skipped out,” and was
never seen by us afterwards, but no doubt made his way to the
settlements of New Mexico, then not more than 200 miles distant.
Hunting game, other than buffalo, along the Santa Fé trail at that
date was, to one attached to a train and dependent upon its
movements, necessarily confined to a narrow scope of country on
either side of the road, within a mile or two. It was impossible to
know at what moment one might meet with Indians and be attacked
by them. At that time of the year the game was kept back from the
highway by the frequent passage of trains, while a few miles off from
the road there was no trouble to find antelope and white-tail deer. I
was compelled to hunt alone or not at all. My friend Reece had
become too much worn out by the travel and his continued ill health
to take much interest in hunting, while Captain Chiles was kept busy
with his duties about the train. But I was continually on the lookout
for game; I rarely traveled the road, but would ride a mile or so from
it on one side or the other, always carrying my holster pistols, and
usually, in addition the big shotgun belonging to Captain Chiles.
My buffalo horse seemed to have a very clear understanding of
travel over the plains, having, as before stated, the experience of a
journey from California to Missouri the previous year. He seemed to
have an instinctive idea of the locality of the train, even when it was
traveling, and often when riding him a mile or more from the road
and completely out of sight, when given the rein he would instantly
change his course in the proper direction to intercept the train.
Riding thus alone on one occasion, some distance ahead of the
train, I saw a large gray wolf galloping across my course, going
towards the road. I determined to give him a chase, and after him I
went. The wolf increased his speed, and, urging my horse to his
best, we went flying across the road 100 yards in front of the train
and in full view of it. As we flew by, the entire company of teamsters
gave us an encouraging whoop, but whether designed for me or the
wolf I was not able to determine. I had followed the big fellow closely
for a mile, emptying at him, if not in him, the entire twelve chambers
of my revolvers. At one time I got within twenty feet of him, but not
having any ammunition for reloading with me, nor time for recharging
my pistols if I had, he disappeared over the ridge and I saw nothing
more of him.
Many days passed and many weary miles were traveled of
which I have no remembrance whatever and I am only attempting to
relate such adventures as were indelibly impressed upon my
memory, the frosts of forty-three winters having passed over my
head since this journey was made. I cannot recollect what I thought
of the probability of those vast plains ever being occupied or
cultivated as homes for white people.
Whetstone creek, which the road crossed near the boundary of
New Mexico, was one of the localities of special interest to me. Back
on my father’s farm in Missouri I had often whetted my pocketknife
on a stone belonging to my old overseer friend who said he had
obtained it on this creek. But none of our trainmen were familiar with
the route or the locality, or could tell me where the whetstone quarry
was to be found, and I was disappointed in not being able to
discover it after making a diligent search for it. And now the spurs of
the Raton mountains loomed up in the distance ahead of us, a novel
and interesting sight to many of the company, some of whom had
never seen any greater elevation than the big hills of Western
Missouri, and the drivers swore and cracked their whips with
renewed vigor and animation.
 XI.
Arrival at Las Vegas.

Crossing the Ocata on the dry bed of it we were approaching

Apache hill, on the branch of the road leading to Fort Union, the
ascent of which was quite difficult to heavily loaded wagons. The hill
was barely visible in the distance and the hour nearly noon when we
first came in sight of it. It was quite hot under the noonday sun and
we could see the white sheets of a train of wagons descending the
hill. Soon afterwards Captain Chiles and I, riding ahead of our train,
met the wagonmaster of this train, a sandy-haired, red-faced fellow,
sullen, morose and non-communicative. He seemed inclined to pass
us without speaking, but Captain Chiles saluted him, and he halted
for a few moments. The man appeared to be sick, and as Captain
Chiles afterwards said he could scarcely “pull a word out of him with
a log chain.”
The captain asked him, “How is the grass about the foot of
Apache hill?” when he answered, “Well, sir, it’s damned scase.”
Ten miles before reaching Fort Union we stopped at a ranch,
where we found an abundance of good milk and butter, kept in a well
arranged spring house, supplied with water by a cold and bold spring
running out of the foot of the mountain. The milk was kept in large
open tin pans, set in a ditch extending around the room, constructed
so as to allow a continual flow of cool water about the pans. The
spring house was built of adobe or sod bricks. This ranch supplied
the fort with milk and butter.
Fort Union had no appearance of a fortified place then; there
was nothing more than substantial and comfortable barracks, stores
and warehouses. But the place had a look of military precision,
neatness and cleanliness about it not seen elsewhere in New
Mexico.
At this place our train was cut in twain; one-half of it, under the
command of Captain Chiles, went on to Mora, the other half was
sent to Las Vegas, in charge of the assistant wagonmaster, Rice.
Reece and I decided to accompany that part going to Las Vegas.
On the route to Las Vegas we found a large adobe ranch house,
probably a hundred feet square and sixteen feet high, the solid walls
being without openings on the outside, except two large doors. The
ventilation and light were secured through the openings inside the
hollow square. There was an extensive buckskin tailoring
establishment there, where they were manufacturing quantities of
buckskin clothes of various patterns, and I was surprised at the skill
displayed in making the garments. The clothes were made to fit with
tailor-like precision and exactness. Clothes of buckskin were
generally worn at that time by the inhabitants of New Mexico, by the
natives especially.
As we drew near Las Vegas we noted that the “bottoms” of the
little creek running near the town were cultivated in corn, with
occasional patches of vegetables, the land uninclosed by fences, but
flanked by irrigating ditches supplying the necessary water, and the
crops were looking remarkably well, although the weather had been
dry for some weeks. We found it necessary to have a close watch
kept on our cattle while we were near these cultivated and unfenced
fields. Las Vegas was a compactly built little town of probably two or
three hundred inhabitants, the houses for the most part built of
adobe bricks or tufts of sod, with a corral in the rear. The herds of
sheep, goats and burros were driven in about sunset and fastened
up for the night in these corrals, from which they were driven out
early in the morning to graze during the day, under the constant eye
of the herder, who accompanied each band.
We remained one day only at Las Vegas. The wagons were
unloaded, the freight being delivered to the consignees, and we
turned about and started on our homeward journey.
 While at Las Vegas Reece purchased three goats, thinking that
their milk would be beneficial to him. They furnished a bountiful
supply of milk, and very rich milk it was, too, though of a rather
strong and disagreeable taste and odor. He failed, however, to
realize any great benefit from its use, so far as I remember.
Our first noonday camp after we left Las Vegas was near a
ranch, and as we were resting under the shade of the wagons after
dinner, the owner of the ranch, a native New Mexican, visited us,
with a good looking shepherd dog following him. Reece expressed
admiration for this dog, which, the Mexican declared, was excellently
well trained for herding, easily controlled and a valuable animal in
other respects. After considerable negotiation, the Mexican agreed
to sell the dog to Reece for two plugs of tobacco. Reece procured a
rope, and the Mexican tied the dog to the rear axle of one of the
freight wagons, soon afterward taking his departure for his ranch a
mile or more distant. Shortly the dog became restless and made
efforts to get loose.
The teamsters began to laugh at Reece about the uncertain
character of his newly acquired property, saying that the Mexican
well knew that he could not keep the dog, and that he would soon
make his escape to return home. Reece declared that he would
prevent this at least and went to a wagon and brought forth a gun.
Standing the gun against the wagon under which the dog was
fastened, Reece resumed his efforts to enjoy a noonday siesta under
a neighboring wagon. He was aroused by one of the drivers, who
shouted to him that his dog was running off in the direction of his
home. The dog had gotten two or three hundred yards away,
ascending a ridge in a gallop when Reece jumped up, seized the
gun, leveled it at the dog and fired. To his surprise, no less than ours,
the dog fell dead.
We rejoined the other part of the train at a camp near Fort Union,
and here in this camp we remained for several days.
Captain Chiles was desirous of selling a part of the cattle, as the
whole were not needed to convey the empty wagons on the return
journey, and made frequent visits to the fort in his efforts to dispose
of the cattle. One evening he announced that he had made a sale of
about one-half of the cattle. The following morning a prosperous
looking gentleman of consequential air and mien rode up to our
camp and was introduced as the purchaser of our cattle. He was
riding a fine horse, with saddle and other equipment to correspond.
Among his other attractive features, I can recollect a large flask of
brandy which he carried lashed to the front of his saddle, the flask
being protected by a wicker jacket. Generous gentleman, as he
proved, the first thing he said after the usual salutation was an
invitation to sample the contents of this flask, and this invitation the
common politeness of the plains prevented us from declining. We
found his brandy excellent, and its effect produced a lasting
remembrance of the personality of the gentleman himself.
The cattle purchased by him were cut out and separated from
the others. The owner said he intended driving them to some point in
New Mexico, a considerable distance from there. On inquiring for
some hands whom he could employ to drive them to their
destination, one or two were found in the party who would accept the
service offered, and then some one suggested that a job of this sort
would suit “Skeesicks,” who was still hanging to the train.
“Skeesicks,” with apparent reluctance, accepted the service and
wages offered, and in a few moments afterwards left us forever. I
could not avoid feeling sorry for him, as he slowly passed from our
view, trudging along on foot behind the herd of cattle. We never
heard of him afterwards.
While at this camp a Mexican youth, about 16 years of age,
came to the train and asked permission to accompany us to the
“States.” He was a bright, active boy, able to understand and speak
English in some degree, appearing immensely pleased when
Captain Chiles told him that he might come along with us if he
desired.
During the night some of the trainmen ascertained that he was a
“peon,” consequently having no right to leave the territory. When the
train started the next morning, at the suggestion of the men, he
secreted himself in one of the covered wagons. Before noon,
however, two horsemen were seen following us, coming on in a fast
gallop. They were officers of the law, armed with pistols and a writ for
the arrest of the boy. The trainmen pretended to be ignorant of his
presence with the train, but the officers said they knew he was with
the train, demanding of Captain Chiles that he stop the train so they
might search for him. In order to avoid being subjected to the charge
of resisting the officers, the captain ordered a halt. The officers soon
discovered the boy concealed beneath some bedding, dragged him
out and put him on one of their horses. The poor boy protested with
all his might against being taken back, crying all the while in a
distressing manner, arousing the feelings of the trainmen until they
were about to declare war on the officers, but Captain Chiles said it
would not do to resist the civil authorities. So the little fellow was
carried back to his condition of slavery or peonage as it was called
by the officers.
 THE OFFICERS DRAGGED HIM OUT.

At noon that day our camp was near the base of a mound of
broken rock, perhaps a hundred feet high, rounded to a sharp
pinnacle at its apex. The mound supported hardly a bit of vegetation
on its sides, which were nearly inaccessible. The goats purchased
by Reece had been driven along in the cavayard, apparently
reconciled to their new mode of life and daily travel. That day, as the
wagons were moving out of corral, Reece missed his goats. I joined
him in a search for them, riding about over the plain, and we had
about reached the conclusion that they had run away. Just then as
the wagons were moving from the corral one of the teamsters
shouted to Reece, “There are your goats!” pointing to the summit of
the steep mound of rock.
Sure enough, there were the three goats, standing in a row on
the topmost rock, looking at us with the utmost satisfaction and
composure. Nothing but a goat could either ascend or descend the
declivity, so Reece and I remained until they thought proper to come
down. This they did in the course of an hour, when we drove them
on, overtaking the train as it went into camp at nightfall.