Chapter One

Ivy thanked the food vendor in the French accent she'd spent months perfecting and accepted her favorite sausage wrapped in a crepe. The rich scent of spices wafted from the food as she brought it to her lips.

She inwardly groaned at the first bite. No amount of home cooking back in Montana could top good French street food. Or any food in Europe, for that matter. In the more than half a year that she'd been wandering the continent, she learned all the best spots.

Moving down the cobbled street to the light throb of French pop music coming from a local shop, she ate her food and drank in her surroundings.

As she passed a stall selling beautiful flowers, the vendor plucked one from a metal pail and held it out for her.

She laughed and shook her head, telling him she had no place to put a flower to keep it alive.

He stepped up to her, dark eyes glinting with a smile. He stuck it in his teeth, making her laugh again. Then he broke off the stem and reached for her.

Ivy stilled, the food in her hand forgotten. As he tucked the pink bloom behind her ear, she wasn't afraid. During her time in France, she'd learned which people were safe and which ones to avoid. This harmless young man was all show.

He let a tendril of her hair fall from his fingertips and stepped back to lean against his wooden stall again, clutching his heart as if she'd robbed him of it.

"Merci!" she called to him and continued making her way down the street.

Her travels were filled with stories just like this. Since she was traveling alone, with no one to share her adventures with, she'd started a video blog.

Lifting her phone, she swiped her screen to start a video recording. When she saw her face onscreen, her pink cheeks matched the flower the flirtatious man had tucked behind her ear.

"Day two hundred seventy, friends. Today I'm in a tiny village in the South of France. Behind me you can see the quaint street and shops lining it. The food scene"—she lifted the sausage crepe in her hand to show it to her vlog viewers—"is amazing." She took a bite. The delicious fats of the meat and spices burst on her taste buds. "Mmm!"

Chewing for a moment, she videoed her surroundings, panning to the sign of a chocolate shop settled beside a place that sold bed linens. "If you're thinking of visiting this region, I highly recommend staying at the small hotel where I'm staying. Not only do they have the most comfortable beds that feel like you're sleeping on a cloud, but the people are so hospitable and welcoming."

Ivy rambled on for a few more moments before uploading the video to her social media. When she took off for Europe, vlogging her adventures on social media had never entered her mind.

Her only thought had been to escape the gutting pain after her brother was killed in action.

She'd spent so much time alone, there was no escaping her emotions. It took almost every day of her two hundred seventy to work through Forest's loss, but she never thought it would bring the death of her mother—many years prior—bobbing to the surface as well.

Too many hard losses in the Gracey family. Out of five members, only three of them were left standing. And she hadn't set eyes on her sister or father for so long.

She reached the end of the street and turned just past a vendor selling bright red, vine-ripened tomatoes and dark purple eggplants, and started toward her hotel. The stone structure had a lot of history that she meant to share with her viewers throughout her stay.

When she reached the front lobby, the woman waved her over. While her grasp of the French language had improved drastically, she still trusted her English more for business.

"Bonjour, Miss Gracey." The woman offered a smile.

"Bonjour."

"Will you take a moment to settle the bill for your stay the past few nights?"

Ivy blinked at her. "I gave you my credit card upon arrival."

The woman compressed her lips and lowered her gaze almost in embarrassment. "I'm afraid the charge was declined."

Declined? That wasn't possible—it was her father's card he'd given it to her. Up until this point, she'd never had an issue with it.

"Just a moment." She unzipped her purse that hung on a long strap across her body and took out the card. As she slid it across the desk to the clerk, she offered her another smile, hoping it didn't mirror the nerves suddenly pinging around inside her.

"Please try the card again."

But after another two tries, it was still declined.

She dug out another card. "Try this one."

Her father insisted that she take a backup, and she hugged him hard and thanked him before she boarded the plane bound for Europe.

With an apologetic shake of her head, the woman slid the card back to her. "I'm sorry. That isn't working either."

"Please excuse me while I step out and make a phone call." Ivy stowed the cards in her purse and walked out of the hotel. The wide veranda was the perfect quiet spot to call her father. But before she could even dial the number, another call came through.

The name on the screen left Ivy feeling a little shaky as she raised the phone to her ear. "Meadow."

Her sister's voice filtered into her ear. "Ivy! Thank god you answered." The edge of panic in her big sister's voice sent her heart into a quicker pace.

"What's going on?"

"It's Daddy. He had a heart attack."

Her own heart gripped. "Oh god! Is he all right?"

"They took him straight to surgery. He's been in the ICU for days."

"Why are you just now calling me?"

"I tried to get in touch with you, but my calls weren't going through."

Instant tears swam at the back of her eyes. She held her eyes wide, staring at the old stone wall of the hotel but seeing her father as he looked when they were last together. Saying their farewells. The entire family devastated, crippled by grief over Forest. Yet her father gave her that small tilt of his lips that was the only smile she'd ever seen him wear since their mother's death.

"But he's alive? He's going to make it?"

A beat of silence met her question. "Ivy, I wish I could tell you that he will be okay, but I don't know that for sure. I think it's time for you to come home."

Her mind backpedaled to a few minutes before when her cards got declined.

Her only two sources of money.

How was she supposed to get home without funds?

"I'll book a flight as soon as I can. Today," she said with determination. Her brain was going haywire, though. She did possess a small chunk of money, but had no access to it.

When she began her social media vlog, she started earning pretty quickly. Problem was, the money was in an online account, and since she didn't have the physical card in her hand—it was sent to her home address of Montana—she had no way of verifying she was the owner of the account. Therefore, she had no access.

Meadow sounded so frazzled. After all their family had been through, Ivy wasn't going to add to her sister's stress.

"I'll be in touch with the details, Meadow."

"I'll pick you up at the airport. Call me, sis."

"I will. Give Daddy kisses from me."

"Of course."

"And Meadow—"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"Love you too. Get here safe."

After the call ended, she stood there for a long minute, mind blank. Then all at once, she realized what she could do to get that money.

She had collected some amazing items on her travels through Europe—vintage clothes and jewelry, all designer. She could hock those for enough cash to get home.

And enough to pay the bill for my hotel stay.

Quickly, she rushed through the lobby, sailing past the desk, headed to her room. There, she dumped her bags on the bed and began to rummage through them, picking out items to sell.

She had to get home…but the thought of yet another funeral for a beloved family member had her biting back tears.

* * * * *

Hunter Hart leaned back in his seat at the German pub and stretched out his long legs. His right thigh still twinged with pain when he moved. The injuries he sustained in that last op with his SEAL squadron really fucked up his body.

And his mind.

The latter he never admitted to the doctors or nurses who prodded him about his mental state…or even himself. But Operation Nicklaus had wiped out almost his entire squadron.

The blast that landed him in a German hospital almost ended his life too. Sometimes he thought it would have been better if it did.

The dark wood-paneled walls of the pub mirrored the constant thundercloud that was Hunter's mood. The glass of whiskey in front of him provided his only haven for the even darker memories that bombarded him.

So many friends lost over the years. The last op was the worst, though.

Even if he didn't damn near lose his leg, he didn't have the heart for battle anymore.

He'd been granted honorable discharge. He was a free man, but that came with a steep price—it meant leaving the only family he really ever knew. His brothers-in-arms were the people he relied on. Turned to.

Now all that was lost.

He raised the whiskey glass to his lips. The burn of alcohol in his nostrils disgusted him. He set down the drink and pushed it away.

Maybe it was time to stop sinking into the bottom of a bottle. Time to get his life together.

What pieces were left of it.

Hunter reached into the inside pocket of his worn leather jacket and extracted his phone.

He could hardly bear to look at the photo on his lock screen. Why had he ever used that picture of him, Colton, Forest and a few other guys he fought with? Three of them were dead….

But Hunter had lost his soul. Even digging deep, he struggled to figure out what the hell purpose he had left.

A week earlier, Colton contacted him. Hunter skimmed the message but had been too drunk to really process the words. Since then, he'd read over his buddy's message several more times.

It was time to make a move.

When he put the call through to Colton, he battled the urge to hang up. To reach for his glass of whiskey again.

He held his ground like the goddamn warrior he was trained to be.

"Hey, Nox."

A beat of silence followed. "Jesus. Hart. I'm damn glad to hear from you."

Hunter's throat closed off. Any words he'd say were lost in the thick emotion he refused to release.

"You too, man. I'm calling because of your text."

"My offer stands. I need you here. The ranch needs you."

After Colton left the Navy SEALs, he took off for a ranch in Montana. It happened to be the place where their mutual brother-in-arms, Forest, had grown up. As his last request, he asked Colton to go to his home, to help his father and watch over his sister.

Colton hadn't hesitated to fulfill that promise to Forest—he was a much better man than Hunter.

He had made no such promise, and he couldn't believe that he was entertaining the thought of trading his battle gear for a cowboy hat.

"I think it's time for me to move on with my life." His voice sounded like he drank an entire bottle of whiskey—well, damn close. Regardless of how much alcohol filled his veins, he knew what he was committing to.

"You've been recovering. In a hospital." Colton's excuse for him was true, but it still didn't shed light on the reality of the situation.

Survivor's guilt had been swallowing him for months. "I missed the funeral."

"We all did. There was no chance of getting there, man. Look. I know that abyss you're sitting in right now. A month ago, I was in the same goddamn spot."

"And you're not now?" How could things have changed so much for his friend?

Hunter scrubbed a knuckle over his jaw, over the thick, untamed beard he'd let go since his days as a SEAL.

"Things have changed for me, Hart. They're looking up. But there's trouble on the ranch with security. I could use you on watch."

Orders he could take. Military tactics he could handle.

"We're shorthanded on the ranch too, so be prepared for manual labor. But man…there's something therapeutic about this place."

Having grown up in inner city New Jersey, Hunter couldn't even picture what the ranch might look like. He'd seen photos of Montana. If he took this leap, he'd be seeing the land firsthand.

"I'm grateful, Nox. And I look forward to it."

"When can you fly?"

He glanced at the amber liquid in his glass. He needed out of this slump—now.

"The sooner the better."

"Good—I'll make the arrangements and be in touch."

When he ended the call, he sat there for a long time, not drinking, not drowning in the dark memories of that horrible day when he damn near lost his leg and his friends suffered a worse fate.

He envisioned sprawling green fields dotted with cattle and the sun's golden light washing over the land.

He didn't hold any hope at all for his future, but a change of scenery would be good.

A ranch, even with security issues, was a far departure from battle. He might be able to rest.

To find some level ground again.