Kickin' Up Dust: Operation Cowboy, Book 1

This Marine follows the rules. This cowgirl is all about breaking them.

Operation Cowboy
, Book 1

After losing his best friend and CO, Matt, in combat, Brodie Bell didn’t think his spirits could sink any lower. He was wrong. One look at his and Matt’s storm-flattened hometown nearly levels him.

Los Vista needs a leader, and as Brodie takes the weight of the world on his shoulders, he comes up with a plan. Merge the two ranches left standing, pray for a good calving season…and keep his hands too busy to get busy with Matt’s sexy little sister.

Danica was in pigtails when Brodie and Matt went off chasing glory. Now she’s a woman with a broken heart, but if Matt knew of the depraved cravings Brodie ignites in her body, he’d haunt her from the grave.

As they work to mend miles of broken fences, Brodie fights to ignore Danica’s tiny cutoff shorts and mile-long legs—and to ignore the “weapon” that’s locked and loaded in his Levis. Because the last thing he wants is to dishonor his friend’s memory by ravishing the sweetest little cowgirl he’s ever laid eyes on.

Warning: Involves a sweet and sassy ranch girl who knows her way around a rope, and a Marine turned cowboy who’d like to tie her down and spank her until she begs for more.

Kickin’ Up Dust

Em Petrova

Dedication

To the men and women who serve our country and give up so much so we may have freedom. Thank you all.

Chapter One

“First thing I’m going to do is hug my momma and ask if she’s made any biscuits.” Brodie rubbed a hand over his stomach, sliding his Marine Corps T-shirt over his hard abs. “My gut’s been growling for three tours.”

In his early years as a Marine, he’d dreamt of Momma’s light, fluffy biscuits going down with homemade peach jam. It was one of the only things from his past that hadn’t faded. He couldn’t quite remember how his momma’s face looked, but he did recall the stern lines between his father’s brows. He’d seen those twin creases enough growing up. They were etched into his brain.

“I haven’t been dreaming about biscuits for three tours,” Wydell drawled.

“He’s been dreamin’ about your momma,” Garrett quipped.

“You should hear how loud he is,” Boyd added.

The laughter of his three childhood buddies filled the car. They’d crawled alongside him in the desert sands of Afghanistan, and then through two more tours in Iraq. But the car had a hole where Matt would have sat.

While they fired off more jokes about who was noisiest in his bunk, Brodie stared at the gray ribbon of road stretching ahead. All four windows of the old Ford were rolled down, and he dragged in a huge breath of Texas air. Home was near. He could smell it.

Garrett, in shotgun, nudged Brodie with his elbow. “The old Ford’s gotten us here.”

“Yeah, she’s done well.” Brodie swiped his fingers through the dust on the dashboard. The plastic was cracked after being baked in the Texas sun for the past eighteen years. Yeah, she was nothing to look at but would get them to the end of the line—Los Vista, Texas. And on their pooled budget of $998.

As astute as always, Garrett picked up on Brodie’s mood. Brodie forced a smile. He felt his eyes crinkle with it, but his chest was devoid of happiness. “I don’t know why they’re talking about my momma. It’s yours we all dreamed of as teens.”

Garrett groaned. “God, don’t talk about my mother.”

Brodie laughed, this time for real. They’d all discussed Mrs. Gentry’s toned figure enough times to know Garrett didn’t appreciate it. Eventually he’d taken to tackling whoever mentioned her tits.

Brodie’s amusement faded as they passed a road sign for a town just outside of Los Vista. His homecoming was darkened by what he was bringing back with him—the belongings of one Sergeant Matt Pope. Best friend, platoon leader.

The familiar knot clogged Brodie’s throat at the thought of all the townsfolk who’d waved them off with a parade years ago. He’d only returned a few times in the first year or two, but Matt had come more often to see his family between tours of duty.

Now Matt wouldn’t come back at all, and Brodie was the most logical person to deliver the folded flag and dog tags to his family.

“Damn,” he murmured, but nobody heard. The wind carried his curse away, though the whole car seemed to take on Brodie’s state of mind. In the back, the guys settled. Garrett looked out his window.

Even the enormous Texas sky seemed too low right then. It didn’t leave Brodie a lot of breathing room, and his chest started to burn.

He counted to fifty. Then backward. By fives and tens. His method of dealing with panic attacks hardly worked, but at least it distracted him for the last twenty miles of their drive.

By the time they reached the county line, his anxiety transformed to a lurch of excitement.
Home.
Miles of fields dotted with cattle. The familiar gates of the ranch that had been in his family for two generations.

Garrett leaned forward and moved his face closer to the windshield. “Where the hell is it? We shoulda been passing DeLoe’s Farm Supply by now.”

Brodie swung his head left and right, searching for landmarks, but the sides of the road were empty, save for some paved lots.

Then he saw it—a wooden structure caved in on itself. He blinked as he drove past, and the guys stretched their necks to see too.

“What the fuck was that?” Brodie asked.

“I think it was…Marley’s Insurance office?”

“Nah, couldn’t be. It’s up the road a ways.” Brodie strained to see farther ahead. Strange how the road was empty too. They hadn’t passed a single car coming out of Los Vista. Their hometown wasn’t exactly big, but it was always busy. There wasn’t a lazy or idle person in Los Vista.

“No, man, I saw the sign,” Garrett said.

Brodie threw a look in the side mirror but couldn’t make out what Garrett meant. All he saw was a heap of fallen wood.

Realization slammed him smack in the forehead. The place was just…gone. “Holy. Fuck.” The words came out of Brodie like a prayer—a prayer for him to be hallucinating. Surely what he was seeing wasn’t real.

Their town—leveled. The school a jumble of bricks and glass. Cars twisted and upside down. Trees snapped off like toothpicks. The few restaurants in ruins.

Beyond that, nothing. He couldn’t see a barn or silo for miles.

“Jesus Christ, what happened?” he breathed. He’d been in range of a couple grenade blasts during his time as a Marine, and the concussions had rattled him though they had done no damage. He felt the same way now—as if he’d been thrown by a blast.

“It’s fucking gone. The town’s gone. Either there was a war here or a tornado.”

“But…nobody said anything to me. My parents didn’t say anything about a tornado,” Garrett said.

Brodie slowed the car and stopped in the middle of the road. There was no risk—they were totally alone.

For long seconds, nobody spoke. He had a crawling sensation that he was back in combat, looking at the devastation their team had wrought. But no, this was definitely natural. The trees weren’t lopped off from bombs. They were snapped and twisted from high winds.

“Where the fuck’s my barn?” Garrett’s voice raised as he thrust a finger toward the place his ranch should be in the distance. “It should be there.”

Brodie exchanged a glance with him and then stomped on the gas. As they thundered up the road at eighty miles an hour, he had a distinct feeling of being in an apocalypse movie. The wild birds of panic flapped in his chest again, but no amount of counting would distract him this time.

* * * * *

“Garrett’s family’s living in a lean-to on their property. Their cattle are all gone with the rest of the ranch.” Brodie’s father eyed him from the head of the table. Between them were roast beef, mashed potatoes, corn, and those light, fluffy biscuits he’d been dreaming of.

But now they were untouched.

Brodie shook his head. “How’d the tornado miss us?”

His momma lifted a shoulder in a depressed shrug. Guilt reflected in her deep brown eyes. Their four walls were still standing, if a little battered. They hadn’t lost many head of cattle, while their neighbors and friends had lost everything. Momma had survivor’s guilt.

Boy, did he know all about that.

“The only other property that didn’t take a big hit is the Pope Ranch.”

Brodie’s head snapped up at his father’s words. Suddenly, there was no way he could eat those biscuits or anything else on the table.

He felt himself nod. “That’s good. They’ve…lost enough.”

Of course the family had been informed of Matt’s death. They hadn’t traveled to Arlington Cemetery to see him buried, which was how Brodie came to possess the flag that had covered his coffin. The coffin he and his buddies had carried.

He shook himself and snagged a biscuit. The sooner he visited the Popes, the better. Then he could let his past go, stop being a Marine and start being a cowboy. They all shared this dream, but it looked as though his friends would have a harder time, seeing how they no longer had ranches.

“And the people just lost heart,” Momma said, pushing the crock of jam in his direction.

“They left?”

“Almost all moved to surrounding towns.”

“But the ranches…their land. How can they just leave it?”

“Many are taking insurance payouts and putting their acreage up for sale. Rebuilding is a huge undertaking. Many aren’t up to the challenge. The Popes still have their place, though.” His pa forked potatoes into his mouth.

What a fucked-up mess.
Coming home to find they didn’t have a town? And only Brodie had a home—the other guys were camping out in Garrett’s family lean-to.

“How much cattle you running?” Brodie looked at his father. Now that he was back, he realized his memories of his pa’s face weren’t really perfect. Either that or his father had changed. Aged.

Hell, I have too.
What were his parents seeing on his face? Lines from squinting into a scope all day, waiting to snipe some general before their whole platoon was killed. Brodie’s skin had been tanned to leather, and he bore a jagged scar down the side of his face.

But all these changes might have taken place if he’d stayed in Los Vista and cowboy’d. The lines and tan naturally occurring from the sun, the scar from being kicked by a bull. It happened.

“Just a hundred.” His father said the word like
hunnerd
.

Brodie gaped. A hundred head of cattle? Back in the day, they ran triple that. “I guess that means you don’t have any ranch hands.”

“Nope. And the bulls? Gone. I had them separated in the west pasture when the storm came through.”

Shhhit. No bulls?
What kind of ranch survived without bulls? And why hadn’t Pa bought more at auction?

“Times have changed, son. The money’s stretched so thin we can’t rescue the ranch. We’re clinging on here. Don’t rightly know for how long.”

Brodie set his fork and knife down with a clatter and stared between his parents. “Are you thinking about pulling out too?”

Momma reached across the table and rested a hand on his forearm. The touch felt foreign as hell—when was the last time he’d had a woman’s touch, even his mother’s?

“It’s hard, honey. We never realized how much support we had from the neighbors. And your pa and I aren’t getting any younger. We can’t use what little savings we have to buy more cattle.”

“What about calves? It’s time to breed so we have calves.” Brodie’s appetite was gone, even though he stared longingly at his plate. The home-cooked meal should have topped off a wonderful homecoming. But he still had to visit the Popes.

His father polished off a biscuit. “I don’t see us having any calves, Brodie.”

“Shit.” He pushed away from the table.

“Brodie, where are you going?” His mother’s voice pitched higher as he strode from the kitchen.

“Over to the Popes’. I’ll be back by dark.” He grabbed the paper bag and headed out on foot. Garrett and the other guys had the car because Boyd and Wydell had tracked down their parents to the neighboring town. Tomorrow they’d drive over and have their reunion. Brodie didn’t mind walking. Besides, the Popes’ place bordered theirs.

Tall grasses swished against his legs as he crossed the field. It was high time to make hay. Why hadn’t his pa cut it at least? And surely there was a guy or two left in Los Vista to hire for a couple days’ work.

As he crested the hill and set eyes on the Popes’ ranch house, a knife of regret sliced through his chest. He issued a ragged breath and fought the memory of Matt’s final moments. Cradled in Brodie’s arms, blood trickling from his mouth.

Take care of yourself, Pup
. Those were his last words before his eyes had glazed over and he’d stared sightlessly at the sky. The wrong sky—not a Texas sky.

They were all supposed to grow old together, get together once a week for poker games and to shoot the shit. But Matt had bugged out early, and now it was up to Brodie to hold the group together.

Only they couldn’t possibly all stay in Los Vista. Not without a miracle.

A dog barked, and he searched the land for a glimpse of the animal. When he saw the black hound bounce above the grasses, ears flopping, Brodie’s heart lurched. His eyes blurred as a total sense of joy overcame him.

The dog rushed him. Hit him square in the chest with his enormous paws, rocking Brodie back. He laughed and hooked the dog around the neck. “Hey, Crow. How are ya, boy?”

Crow wagged not only his tail but his whole body. He snaked his pink tongue out and licked Brodie’s nose.

It had been Matt’s idea to name the stray puppy Crow, partly because of its coloring and partly because they’d found him near the ruins. On the outskirts of town, a cave was hidden in the land, but most of the residents of Los Vista knew about it and had visited it at some point. The guys had taken plenty of girls there, knowing they’d be spooked enough to want the boys arms around them.

Nobody knew what Indian tribe had inhabited the cave, but there were plenty of drawings and some artifacts. The dog had been found near enough the cave that Matt had called it an Indian pup, and it had become Old Crow. Just Crow for short.

He patted the dog on the back and it dropped to all fours. Together they walked the rest of the way to the long ranch house. Each step felt weightier. Crow stopped wagging his tail and paced slowly alongside him.

The house was unchanged, bar a few shingles that had been torn off the roof during the storm. Of course, the miles of fence running between properties was ripped up or the posts were slanted.

Brodie stepped onto the low, wooden porch. Here they’d played cowboys and Indians as boys. They’d sat on the steps and had their first stolen sips of beer.

When he pulled open the screen door, it still gave a pleasant creak. He rapped on the familiar wood while Crow panted at his side. He tried not to think of his reason for being there or what he was going to say. There were no words for this occasion. He’d do what he’d always done in times like this—he’d wing it.

Footsteps sounded inside, and his heart began to race. The throb spread until his temples ached and his eyeballs felt as if they were bulging.

Fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight…

The door opened, and he found himself staring at slim bare feet with red painted toenails. He followed them up to narrow ankles, curvy calves, thighs the warm, smooth color of a brown egg. He let his gaze rush the rest of the way up to the woman’s face.

His jaw dropped.

Her full, ripe lips fell open.