Chapter One
“When are you going to tell her?”
U.S. Marshal Ben Justiss ignored his brother’s question, clenched his jaw, and braced for the pain. The second set of reps with a weight he used to be able to lift with two fingers pulled and stretched muscles and tendons damaged by sniper fire. The hostage situation—three months and four surgeries ago—went FUBAR three seconds in.
Matt swore and laid his brother’s phone on the table by the door. “Your choice to shut Peggy McCormack out of your life. Your mistake if you don’t call her; talk to her. She deserves at least that much from you.”
When Ben grunted in response, his brother swore. “I won’t screen your calls anymore. Talk to Mom and Dad when they call. I’m done making excuses for you.”
Ben wanted to unburden the weight of the decisions he made. His brother would listen to him and understand his reasoning—maybe.
But the longer he held back, the harder it was to talk about it. In his gut he acknowledged the fear that another surgery wouldn’t do a damn bit of good.
All he had left was the rigid control that kept him sane. If he lost that…he’d have lost everything.
“When it rings this time, answer your own damn phone.”
Relief speared through Ben when his brother stalked out of the room. He’d rather have his brother mad at him than feeling sorry for him. He lowered the free weights. “Peggy’s better off with that celebrity chef.”
The latest photo splashed across the internet showed the woman he’d fallen for embracing a dark-haired pretty boy in a chef’s coat—with his name embroidered over his heart.
“Big deal, TV chef,” he grumbled.
Lifting the hem of his tattered gray t-shirt, he wiped the sweat off his face and reached for the weights. “Last set.”
Working through the pain in his arm kept his mind off the fact that he hadn’t just lost the woman—hell, he’d shoved her out of the door and his life.
“Three freaking months isn’t that long.”
He’d wondered why she hadn’t called him again after those first few calls. In his heart, he knew the reason. He’d been a bastard the last time they’d talked. He’d lied to her about not needing any entanglements in his life. Brushed her off like an annoying fly instead of treating her as if she mattered. He didn’t deserve her.
After the night they’d spent together in Las Vegas making heart-pumping, soul-searing love hot enough to brand their names on one another’s hearts, he could see the whole of his life mapped out with Peggy McCormack at the center of it.
Six hours later, duty called and he was a thousand miles away, walking into an explosive hostage situation. Three seconds in, all hell broke loose.
“She’s better off with the TV cook than a broken down, former U.S. Marshal.”
His phone rang and his brother’s warning echoed in his head. With an angry shove, he rolled over to the table, bumping it with his wheelchair—a daily reminder he still couldn’t run, walk, or stand.
Relief filled him as he read the number displayed—not his mother. He’d dodged her latest attempt to have him move out to the family ranch. But she could be tenacious and sneaky, calling on any one of his cousins to help convince him.
Armed and ready to refuse, he answered, “Justiss.”
The deep chuckle on the other end loosened one of the knots tangled in his gut. “No such thing if my favorite cousin refuses to answer a challenge.”
“Hell, Tyler, you know if Matt and I fly out there for the annual Take Pride in Pleasure Day some idiot with a cell phone will take a picture and post it on social media. Your neighbors in Pleasure, Texas have a warped sense of humor.”
This time his cousin, Tyler Garahan, snorted to cover his laughter. “We got a lot of mileage and donations with that picture of the seven of us on stage—shirtless, sporting Kelly green shamrocks tattooed over our hearts.”
“Imagine how much more we could raise,” Tyler continued, “if all nine of us—the Texas Garahans, New York City firefighting branch and the Justiss brothers—got up on stage this year.”
“I know Take Pride in Pleasure Day is all about helping your fellow ranchers and neighbors. It’s for a good cause, raising money for local ranchers down on their luck,” Ben said, “but don’t count on me—I’m stuck in this chair.”
“We still have a few months; a lot could happen between now and then. Besides, another picture might boost donations. Think of it,” Tyler urged, “two blond-haired, blue-eyed pretty boys decked out in your usual…white Stetsons, work shirts, boots and jeans with Matt pushing your wheelchair. Ought to spark someone’s interest wondering if you two cowboys were lovers.”
“Shut the hell up,” Ben grumbled, without any heat.
His cousin fell silent and the hair on the back of Ben’s neck stood up.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Emily and the baby okay?”
“Yeah,” his cousin said. “I just wish Em didn’t faint at the drop of a hat.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“It’s normal, but usually disappears by the second trimester.”
“Good to know. Give her my best and keep me posted.”
“Ben, wait—”
He had to finish the grueling exercise routine his cousin’s call interrupted. “I have to get back to my workout, Tyler.”
Before he could disconnect another voice came on the line, “Hey, Ben.”
He sighed. “Jesse. How are Danielle and little Lacy?”
“Fine, and before you ask, Dylan’s Ronnie and the twins are great. He’s over the moon being a dad.”
Ben pictured the Texas branch of the family as he’d last seen them at their cousin Pat Garahan’s wedding in Apple Grove, Ohio, and smiled. “Is there a problem at the ranch?”
“We need a favor,” Jesse told him, “a big one.”
Ben scrubbed a hand over his face. He wanted to say yes immediately, but hesitated remembering the price he’d paid the last time he’d put himself on the line for someone. It hadn’t been family, and not quite the same, but the results had been disastrous.
While his cousin talked about the ranch, giving him time to answer, Ben’s mind replayed his last assignment and what led to his being wheelchair bound.
He’d cursed his bad fortune to have been the sacrificial lawman his boss tossed into an untenable situation. He knew it going in, but a Justiss never backed down from an assignment or challenge—ever. They’d needed a body to distract the sniper.
Given his reputation under fire, he had been the first choice. Recuperating from his injuries, he’d had time to analyze the situation. The startling conclusion he’d drawn was highly probable. His file was filled with commendations for bravery and exemplary conduct. Add in five generations of legendary Justiss lawmen and it made sense, given the rumors his immediate supervisor’s family had historic ties to organized crime. But would his boss put his own job on the line to take Ben out of commission?
He’d nearly bled out, but he’d survived, and just like the nursery rhyme his mom loved to read to him and Matt when they were little, they’d put him back together again.
“Family first, man. What do you need?”
“The part-time hands who help move the herd are already booked helping another rancher.”
“Jesse, you know I’m out of commission,” Ben reminded him. “If my shooting arm hadn’t been hit, too, I’d be on crutches by now. Ask Matt.”
“Already did, said he can’t leave you alone or you’ll undo all of the progress you’ve made so far and start hitting the Irish again.”
Ben fell silent. What could he say? It was true, whiskey was his devil and his darlin’. Without his brother cracking the whip and nagging the hell out of him, he wouldn’t keep up with his physical therapy exercises—wouldn’t get out of bed.
“I’ve already lined up two of the New York City Garahans—Tom and John—Mike can’t take the time off right now. I’m waiting for a call back from Pat.”
“With two of our FDNY cousins lined up, you should be good.”
“Yeah, if the barn or house was on fire, but they weren’t riding before they could walk like you and Matt. Moving the herd isn’t like a week on a dude ranch.”
Jesse had him there, but he still hesitated at the image of one or both of the New York City Garahans helping him mount his horse—or worse, having the Texas branch and their wives watching him try.
“Will you come?”
Ben was torn between not wanting to show up to the Circle G in a wheelchair and not wanting to turn down a call for help from family.
He’d never be able to live with himself if he said no. But he hated the thought of his cousins—or their wives—feeling sorry for him.
Resigned, he asked, “When do you need us?”
“Two weeks?”
“We’ll be there.”
“Thanks. Oh and hey, Ben?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you and Matt have your saddles handy?”
“Always. Never know when you’re going to need them. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of room in the truck bed for our duffles and two saddles.”
“Great! Thanks, Ben. We owe you.”
“See you in two weeks.”
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