Resurrection River: Men of Mercy, Book 2 (2 page)

Bang. Another round. Fire seared through her chest, like the bullets had lodged in her heart.

Bang. The last round of the twenty-one-gun salute blasted with finality. Tears she had fought hard to contain slipped free.

Was a gunshot the last sound Shane heard before he died?

A lone soldier raised a horn to his lips, the mournful sound of Taps filled the cemetery.

Hunter walked toward Ranger, folding the flag corner to corner into a tight triangle. They took their time. Made it perfect.

Then Ranger took the flag and Hunter saluted. His white gloves stark against tanned skin. Both of them stood tall. Stiff.

Amy started praying.

Ranger knelt at her feet, head bowed.

No. No. No.

He raised his head, his blue eyes red-rimmed and staring at her like a dark bruise. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t reach out and take that flag.

She kept her hands clasped in her lap, white knuckle tight. Ranger pried them apart and laid her right palm open. He placed the flag in her hand. Pulled her left hand down on top of the smooth triangle.

Her heart hit hard and fast, like a train speeding out of control. About to go off track and kill anything within striking distance.

“People die all the time, honey. If I die, I’ll die for a worthy cause.” Shane’s words whispered through her mind.

She clutched the flag to her chest, clutched it for everything she was worth. She held on to the one thing her husband had believed in with all his soul.

A
my soared
. Just her, the sky and the sixty-acre stretch of soybeans below. She pulled up her Air Tractor crop duster at the end of the field, swooped out right, turned back left and lined up for the next round.

Long straight rows stretched out in front of her in GPS mapped perfection. She pushed the control stick forward, swooped down at a smooth one hundred forty miles per hour and hit the chemical release button. The plane hovered five feet above the crops. She’d already sprayed ten fields today, but her stomach flew up into her throat with each dive. Adrenaline zinged through her limbs from the rush of crops coming at her at high speed.

Hardwood trees running perpendicular to the field grew bigger by the nanosecond. She held straight and steady. The flow of chemicals had to be maintained until the last minute or she’d waste precious herbicide. And money.

When the trees got up close and high-def she eased back, missing the tops by a good four feet. Her stomach plopped back down from her throat, leaving a tingling tickle in its wake. Her hand loosened on the control, the thrill made her feel as weightless as the fluffy white cumulus clouds above her.

She didn’t need drugs. Nor alcohol. No, those were too slow. She needed air speeds over two hundred mph, mere feet from the ground. She needed to zip beneath power lines with almost zero clearance. She needed to tempt death to feel alive.

And damn if she wasn’t addicted.

Amy banked into a wide turn. The sun would set in two hours. She had at least another good hour of flying. And she wanted every second she could steal.

Because when she was up here, she wasn’t thinking about her dead husband. She wasn’t thinking about his best friend. She wasn’t thinking about anything except the rush.

Amy dropped the plane for her fifth pass at Smith’s field. Fat and skinny shadows broke up the earth as she sped past. The sun painted shades of apple green to evergreen.

Next pass, she saw him. His bright red four by four truck pulled over at the other end of the field. She swooped down and her heart jumped. But not from the drop in altitude.

Ranger James.

That truck might as well have a flashing neon sign – warning hot male will make panties drop.

She’d warned him to stay away.

Her response to Ranger was as natural and hot as lava erupting from Mt. Everest.

Reckless rage followed the trill of anticipation coursing through her veins. She flew closer. Ranger leaned against his truck, long jean clad legs crossed ankle over ankle. That gleaming head of blond hair. Her mouth watered. She could see his biceps from here.

Power lines. Oh shit. Amy whipped beneath them at the last second, buzzing within feet of her own version of regret. Get it together. Mistakes. Distractions. Death sentence.

Her entire body hummed with energy. Fury. And unmistakable lust. Amy gritted her teeth. Any southerner with half a cylinder firing knew the people of Mercy would shred her reputation like a John Deere tractor shredded grass.

A widow only eight months after the funeral wasn’t allowed to date. It wouldn’t matter that her bed was as empty as her bank account.

And had been empty way before he left.

Her bank account was in desperate need of funds. She’d bet all her money on the farm. Literally. Ranger and his too tempting lips could sink her fast.

If she didn’t fly, she and her daughter didn’t eat.

Two more passes. That’s all she had to do. Two more. Keep it level. Precise. Her plane shook, metal rattled but she kept going. Grandpa Silo promised her his fifty-year-old plane could get the job done.

She made the wide turn, slowed a split second and took a breath. Ranger was just a man. Just a man. Just a man.

A man she’d been secretly in love with since high school.

Calm was definitely not on her radar. She pushed down, increased speed, wanting to rip a little hair off his head as she whipped past. The ground rushed up. Her muscles contracted. She gripped the stick. Hard.

She hit the chemical release button too early and gave Ranger a bath in herbicide.

That would teach the man not to show up at Smith’s field. On her time clock.

She finished this pass going ten miles an hour faster and barely yanked up in time. The treetops slapped her wheels. Then she was flying toward the clouds. Last round. Forget another hour of work.

She couldn’t stop the flash of images in her mind. Her fight with Shane. Her dreams about Ranger. Her husband’s coffin. Her heart squeezed tight. She leveled out too close to the field but didn't care. She hit the release.

Ranger wasn’t leaning against his truck anymore. He was waving his arms like a mad man and yelling. She didn’t have to get close to know he was cursing.

Amy flew so low she risked taking the tops off the soybeans. She lined up. A few feet behind Ranger’s truck. Throttled the engine. The crop duster groaned, shimmied, but held together. One hundred twenty mph. She kept a careful eye to make sure her spray speeds didn’t saturate the plants. One hundred mph.

Ranger stopped doing the angry dance and backed up to his truck. Amy let go of the chemical button. Skimmed beneath the power lines and lifted her hand to Ranger in a salute that conveyed every emotion in her body.

And she did it with a smile.

S
he flipped him the bird
.

Shock rooted Ranger’s boots in the gravel as good as instant cement. Anger struck up a strong beat in his chest. Amy Carter had lost her ever-loving mind.

His eyes stung, watered. He ran to his truck and grabbed a towel from the back seat. Scrubbing his face with the cloth made the sting worse. His arms and legs prickled.

Ranger stripped to his boxers like fire ants invaded his pants. Then he threw his soaked clothes in the back and grabbed a fresh pair of jeans from his duffle. At least she was spraying herbicide today. That particular chemical wasn’t poisonous.

He’d been on his way to a new undercover op. One that required some overnighters. And he’d wanted to see Amy before he left. Make sure she was okay. Even if she’d told him to stop coming around. He just couldn’t get the woman off his mind.

The chemical bath made her opinion all too clear. She wasn’t just scared of a relationship, she was angry. And he hadn’t done a damn thing to deserve it. But he sure as hell wasn’t about to tuck tail like a whipped puppy.

He heard a car coming and ran behind his truck. Gravel crunched. Ranger spun around just as a little black sports car stopped right next to him. He clutched his jeans in front of his boxer briefs.

“My, my. If I knew I’d get this kind of show I’d a done my hair.” The sweet southern drawl had too much Georgia in it for Mississippi. Like she’d put two cups of sugar in her tea instead of one.

Ranger cringed, unable to stop the instinctive response. Tonya Lee Swopes, Mercy’s second hairdresser and first-rate gossip. Ranger had made the mistake of kissing her after high school graduation and she’d been after him non-stop ever since.

“Tonya.”

Fate must have it out for him.

Her black hair seemed too black. Almost blue. Her eye make-up more along drag queen lines than southern belle.

Tonya took her time, her mud brown eyes trailed him from top to bottom. “Come on over here and let’s have a taste.”

“Listen, I’m running late for a date. Sorry, but I don’t have time to visit. Maybe later.” Almost to his door.

“Oh yeah, and just who is this hot date?”

“Amy. She’s waiting right now.” Liar. He wanted a date with Amy. Right after he tanned her ass for her little prank.

“That grease monkey? You want her when you can have this?” Tonya flicked her hair and gave him a look that clearly indicated she thought he’d lost his mind.

“Not every woman needs makeup to be attractive.” Oh shit. Shoulda kept his mouth shut. His father, Hank James, always said his lack of filter between brain and mouth would get him in trouble.

“And I do?” Tonya’s voice rose, part of her accent disappearing into a shriek.

Ranger jumped in his truck. The hot leather burned his ass and bare thighs but he didn’t stop to curse the pain. “Sorry,” Ranger yelled through the open window. “Gotta go.”

He cranked the engine, but the roar wasn’t loud enough to mask out her voice. “You can’t run forever, Ranger James.”

He slammed the gas pedal to the floor, spinning out in his haste to escape. Ranger spared one last look in the rearview. Tonya stuck her hand through her window and flipped him off.

Two times in one day. Great. Today was turning out to be his record for pissing off females.

Ranger sped down Smith’s Road, hung a sharp right onto the highway and squealed tires when his truck spun from gravel to pavement. He was late for a self-imposed date with a redhead whose temper outranked his commander’s.

Fields of soybeans, cotton, rice, and corn blew by in a blur. He took Deadman’s curve going seventy. A feat in itself. A few minutes later, Amy’s drive appeared on the left and he turned between the two rows of pear trees lining her driveway. He didn’t stop at the white farmhouse though. He sped past to the airplane hangar a few hundred feet behind.

By the time he parked in front of the tan metal building, sweat dripped down his naked back and soaked his seat.

Ranger jumped out, not bothering to dress. She’d put him in this state. She could deal. He stomped through the open hangar door, bare-foot and half-naked, with every intention of cuttin’ loose on the woman who haunted his daydreams.

Ranger entered the airplane hangar and crossed the concrete floor tattooed with oil stains. A small breeze swirled dust and stirred up the summer heat. A heat matched by his boiling temper and simmering blood.

The source of his frustration climbed a ladder to the nose of the airplane, popped the hood and stuck her head down into the engine compartment. Ranger stopped, his visual field shrinking to one perfectly rounded ass in serious need of a spanking.

Amy kicked a booted foot into the air. Metal clanked on metal and a wrench flew over her shoulder at Ranger’s feet. “Come on, baby. Come on. I’m sorry I pushed you so hard. I shouldn’t expect so much out of you.” Amy’s voice echoed, her head and torso hidden in the open nose of the small plane.

“Please, I promise I’ll never do that again if you just give me another chance,” she pleaded with the archaic plane like it could do anything but fall apart.

Ranger’s mouth went dry like he’d swallowed every dust particle in the air. Her curves baited him, drew him in. Dazed, he walked forward, his anger merging with lust.

Something banged, she jerked, and then a panel from the belly of the plane clanged to the ground. “Please don’t do this.” Amy pushed up out of the plane and climbed down the ladder. Her gasp when she saw the missing panel filled up the entire hangar.

Ranger smiled, crossed his arms over his chest, enjoying her distress. She deserved it for her stunt. And for the months of frustration she’d put him through. If he had his prayers answered, her Amelia-Earhart-era-airplane would never fly again.

But then she leaned her head sideways and rested it on the side of the plane. Her eyes drifted shut and the look of utter hopelessness filled her features.

His anger melted. “You know, beating the engine with a wrench isn’t a good way to get it to work.”

Amy spun around, the yellow airplane a perfect backdrop to her beautiful face. “What are you doing here?”

Ranger let his gaze travel from her scruffy boots, torn jeans and gloriously figure hugging tank, to the top of her dark red head. Her pink cheeks flushed.

“Like what you see?”

Ranger approached, her dark brown gaze turned wary. Good. She should be worried. She’d doused him in chemicals. His skin still itched. He reached forward, plucked an oil stick from her ponytail and sent her hair spilling to her shoulders. He caught the brief scent of flowers and oil.

Amy grabbed her hair, lips parted. Angry. Stubborn. Sexy.

He held up the stick right in front of her face. “Oil stick.”

Amy snatched it from his fingers and tossed it across the room. “I told you to stay away from me.”

Ranger shrugged, his brain still caught on the image of her jean-clad ass hanging out of that airplane. Forget
Sports Illustrated
. He had farm fucking fantastic right here.

"Don't you think dropping that all-natural excuse for chemicals on me is a bit dramatic? If you want to get me naked all you had to do is ask." Ranger gestured to himself, sweeping his hand from his head down to his torso, Amy's eyes followed.

That definitely wasn't desperation or anger in her gaze.

The desire he’d been trying to hold in check for months reared up inside him.

"You think I want to see you naked?” Amy snorted, lifted her chin. “Besides, I figured anything would be an improvement to your normal smell.” So much for her vulnerability.

The wind picked up, blew into the hangar. Ranger shifted, praying the wind wouldn’t open the fly on his boxers, and almost covered himself. Almost. Until he remembered she was the reason for his stench. Instead, he stood tall. “You’ve never had a problem with the way I smelled before.”

“My manners were just too good to say anything.” She strode past him, punishing him with the sexy sway of her hips.

Dammit, he was so hard up for her, even her walk had his mind blanking. He stood there, nearly naked, and drenched in herbicide, and she walked past him like a stranger on a sidewalk.

Running from him. Again.

“Amy Ann.” He didn’t yell, but she stopped mid-stride. Turned. Lips parted.

“You did that on purpose,” Ranger said. She’d been hard headed even in high school, when he tried to break up with her, explaining that he needed a little space to see if life in Mercy was what he really wanted. Jumping on the marriage and kids bandwagon at eighteen years old had scared the shit out of him. But he’d obliterated any chance for reconnecting with Amy when she’d seen him making out with Tonya at the football game senior year.

He hadn’t thought that leaving her to sow the wild oats of his youth would be a self-fulfilling prophecy of regret. Or that his best friend would move in on Amy so fast and fill the void that Ranger had left in her heart.

“You bet your ass I did.”

“What the hell for?” He couldn’t get her smell, her taste, her touch out of his head. But she’d dumped shit on him for the last time.

Her eyes narrowed and her lips flattened. “I warned you.”

Yeah, she’d warned him to stay away from her. He’d stayed with her for weeks, helping her after the funeral. She’d healed physically, but remained an emotional tomb.

“I promised Shane, if anything ever happened to him, I’d look out for you.” He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss that angry expression right off her face. He’d wanted her since high school, but when she’d married Shane, he’d vowed to put those feelings away. Forever. But the attraction hadn’t disappeared. And he knew it never would. “I know the chemistry between us is weird. Scary. But dammit it’s real and it’s here and now. You’re just flying through the clouds because you don’t want to see what’s on the ground right in front of you.”

If he hadn’t been studying every minute expression on her face he would have missed the brief flash of vulnerability in her gaze. Then her anger slid back in place. “The only thing I feel is annoyance. Are you so desperate that you have to chase after what you can’t have? You dumped me first, remember?”

Him? Desperate? No. He’d never had a problem getting women. Until Amy.

If he hadn’t been so young and stupid he would have been the one she’d married. Not Shane.

Now all he could think, all he could see, was the small sprinkle of freckles across her pert nose. He could be on a mission in a third world country or down the road. It didn’t matter. She affected him.

He had an all-consuming need for his best friend’s wife. He hadn’t counted on lust eating him alive.

But he had honor. He had loyalty. Ranger had vowed over Shane’s grave to take care of Amy. “Do you have a death wish?”

“A what?”

“You could have tangled in those electric wires today. You touched the goddamn treetops. Are you trying to commit suicide by plane and join Shane in the ground?”

Fury flashed across her gaze. Fury and something else. Something like pain and fear. “How I do my business is none of your business.”

“It is my business if you’re endangering yourself.” He ground the words through clenched teeth.

“No. It’s not. It used to be Shane’s business. But he’s dead.” Her voice rose with each word and cracked on the last.

“Shane may be dead, but you’re not. Chloe’s not.” Ranger moved closer, took her hand and placed it on his chest. “I’m here, Amy. I’m standing right in front of you. Can you not see me? Feel me?”

Her breathing increased, sharp, short and fast. She wasn’t immune to him, he knew it in his bones. He just had to convince her.

He held her gaze and stepped closer. Her eyes widened a fraction. Satisfaction rolled through him. She wanted him. He could see it in the parting of her lips, the pulse racing at the hollow of her throat. “You’re scared. Admit it.”

Unable to help himself, Ranger pulled her to him. The air around them sparked. If they stood any closer to the gas tank, the whole place would go up in flames.

“Afraid? Of you?” Her voice was breathy.

“Yes. You’re afraid of me.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of losing my business. My farm. My respect in this town.”

“There’s no way I’d ever disrespect you. I’m not looking for a one night stand.” Ranger cupped her cheek, his gaze drawn to her plump lips, surprised at the tremble he saw there. “I want all of you.”

He spoke slow, careful not to scare her away. But his heart pounded so fast he was afraid it would punch out of his chest. He had gone too long without tasting those lips.

“You can’t stop people from gossiping. And even if most don’t say anything, my mother-in-law will eviscerate me. I’ll be ruined,” Amy said.

He wanted to squeeze her, tell her everything would be fine. He’d shut the mother-in-law’s mouth, permanently, if he had to. He wanted Amy enough to sacrifice everything. But he couldn’t stand the fear in her gaze. “You aren’t married anymore. You are free to date whoever you want.”
Free to be with me.

Amy grabbed his hand, turned into his palm and kissed him there. That small touch shooting electric currents straight to his chest. “But I’m not free. Not yet.”

He lowered his head, his need for her overtaking every other cell in his brain. Amy. Her smile. Her laugh. Her heart.

“Let me go.”

“Never. Someone's got to put a stop to this. To you being so scared of the townspeople that you risk death in that crop duster, instead of facing what you really want.”

"Scared? When Rand Carter owns Mercy Chemical? You think Mavis will let her new husband continue to supply my business if she finds out about us?”

Ranger was beginning to hate hearing the name Mavis. The woman was pure evil. And she had an undeniable power position in Mercy. She all but controlled the congregation at the First Baptist Church. She basically owned her group of gossip cronies. Now that she had a hand in Mercy Chemical, she could manipulate her daughter-in-law.

But Ranger could take care of Amy and Chloe. “You have to stop before you get hurt.”

“The only person that had the right to tell me what to do was my husband. Not you. I didn't choose you." Amy's voice dropped low, but her words burned into his chest with the accuracy of a sniper’s bullet.