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He’d heard stories in fragments from some of the other candidates in the training program about how all the Malones came home to the ranch with the same lost feeling that ate at a lot of veterans once the uniform came off.
They’d started the therapy program for the love of the brotherhood, and the security business gave them a new goal as they protected the same kind of people they’d once been sworn to protect overseas.
The training facility came later, as they shared their land and knowledge with people like him.
This was what Wyatt always longed for. The honor. The respect.
Carson walked in with half a dozen men behind him.
Wyatt was on his feet in a blink, meeting every eye with the respect they deserved. They were faces he’d seen in passing and names he heard on the training field whenever one of the Malones would walk by.
Wyatt had crossed paths a few times with one guy, Decker Jansen, though everyone called him by his nickname, Dutch. Usually he was accompanied by the Malones’ only sister Willow whenever he came through the facility.
Wyatt offered him a nod and received one in return. Then Gabe walked in, and Wyatt could hardly make eye contact with his trainer.
The men settled around the table, leaving Wyatt feeling like the odd man out.
“You left your team,” Carson said without preamble. “You know the rule, Rhodes. You never leave your team.”
Wyatt slid a mask into place even as a tearing sensation ripped through his chest. “I didn’t abandon them. I had to get her out of there. You saw the condition she’s in—she wouldn’t have lasted two more hours up there.” His jaw tightened. “I left the team all my supplies. I can make it up to my team. Send me back up.”
From the corner of his eye, Wyatt saw Gabe give a slow, final shake of his head. “Not this time. We have to pull you from the program.”
The words struck, a door slamming behind his ribs. He’d busted his ass for six weeks, fighting so much doubt—the other candidates’, Reno’s, hell, even his own. He battled the fucking manuals, running on damn near no sleep.
Now it was over. Just like that.
And he was back to being a ranger with nothing to show for it but a story he was too ashamed to share with anybody.
He swallowed hard and took the consequences of his actions wordlessly. He ran his thumbnail over a gouge on the edge of the table.
“Not out entirely.”
He jerked his head up to Carson. “Sir?”
“You’re staying here on the ranch. We’ll put you to work, and you’ll join the next group of trainees at the BHTTF.”
His face almost collapsed with the emotion surging through him. Heat crept up his neck.
He wasn’t going back to the mountain, not this time. But he wasn’t completely out.
Stay on the ranch and work? He’d happily mop floors and clean the barn if it kept him on the ranch and in the program.
The sound of footsteps made them all turn to the door. Denver Malone strode in and dropped to an empty chair without ceremony. “You’re not gonna believe this,” he addressed the table, “but when I cracked the boyfriend’s financials, we found he’s been working with Talon Group.”
Every man at the table exchanged a look, but Wyatt had no knowledge of that name.
“No wonder our mountain refugee didn’t trust us,” Carson muttered with a glance at Wyatt. “Talon Group is as good as a mercenary group. We had a run-in with them a few months back.” He ran a fingertip along a scar on his forearm, long and jagged, healed but still light pink.
Denver glowered at the mention of the group he’d obviously met with too. “There’s more. The missing ATF agent was working undercover.” Denver tapped a blunt fingertip on the table. “Guess who he was building a case against.”
“Talon Group,” Carson filled in the blank.
The pieces fell into place with the force of a tectonic plate shifting.
Gabe turned to him. “How did you find her exactly?”
Wyatt walked them through it—the flower stems, the lean-to with branches too fresh to be from the last mountain expedition, the red tent with a container of homemade soap left by the stream.
