The Omega Team: Spurs (Kindle Worlds Novella) (7 page)

He stroked her hair back from her sweaty cheeks. “I would if I could.”

He knew the truth, too. They couldn’t stop time. Couldn’t even slow it down. In a few hours, the sun would rise and they would try to deal with the problem on the ranch and then their own problems individually. She’d check out and go home. He’d continue to heal.
Please, please let him heal.
She didn’t want him back under fire, but the alternative didn’t bear thinking of. This magnificent man damaged so much, he’d be a stranger. He wouldn’t be a soldier. Might not even be able to be a rancher with his system poisoned by the wound. That damn evil weapon and its makers needed to pay for what they did to him and to the rest of their victims.

Withdrawing from her, he rose to his knees and untied first her legs then her arms. “I have to get rid of this thing.” Tying a knot in the condom, he stood and headed for the bathroom. She watched him go.

He limped a bit more, again. What had pumping into her like a maniac cost him? She shouldn’t have let it happen. How incredibly thoughtless of her. She didn’t deserve him. He needed his career and, if he did end up disabled, he’d need a woman with a much bigger heart. One who would always put him and his welfare first instead of indulging in pleasure.

Ryder returned with a warm, wet washcloth and gently cleaned her, his consideration bringing tears to her eyes. She never cried. Not until tonight when she was a veritable waterfall of girly emotions. If she’d behaved this way in the organization, she’d never have lasted. Was that the solution to her problem? Call Gordon and weep like a helpless female? Nah, he’d known her too long. He’d never buy it. Even if it was 100 percent sincere.

Ryder left again and returned to bed. He got her to lift up and pulled the covers down and then up over both of them. Gathering her in his arms, he spooned her, his spent penis nestled against her thigh. So intimate, so open to her. His skin was almost as smooth as hers, with light body hair, and, despite the washing, the scent of their lovemaking permeated the bedclothes. She breathed it in, wanting to remember it forever.

No man had penetrated her shields before. Not like this. A woman in her line of work had to be careful, keep her emotions in check. If she could escape, convince Gordon she meant it, she was done, there would be no more “just one mores” for her. Could she free herself to have a real relationship?

Down the line maybe?

But she’d never be the woman for him. Ryder deserved better. Someone prettier and more giving, like one of those country girls from the farmer matchmaking site advertised on TV. All willowy, cute blonde with lots of teeth and her own horse.

“Isbet?” he asked, nuzzling her neck. “You asleep?”

“No,” she said, not sure she shouldn’t have pretended. “I’m awake.”

“That was extraordinary.”

“Yeah, it was.” In so many ways. “I really loved the Wartenberg wheel. I didn’t see that in the drawer.”

“The what wheel?” He yawned. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve read about it in romance novels. You know, the sharp thing you used on me, all over me.” Just the memory woke her body again, despite its extreme fatigue.

“Darlin’, I don’t know what that waterburg wheel thing is, but I don’t have one.”

“Wartenberg wheel. At least I think that’s what it’s called. Maybe you cowboys call it something else?” Her eyelids closed.

He chuckled. “I think you mean this.” She opened her eyes to see him holding something in front of her.

“A spur?”

“Yep. We didn’t have a lot of fancy toys growing up. We played with what we had handy on the ranch. For the most part, I keep to that, although I do have few specialty items now.” He tossed the spur and its leather strap onto the night table and wrapped his arm around her. “Glad you liked it.”

“I loved it.”

“Good.” He burrowed his face into her hair. “I aim to please.”

Isbet listened to his breathing become slow and regular. She didn’t want to fall asleep herself. She wanted to remember every moment of this night as the gift it was. What an extraordinary man. She’d do her damnedest to help protect his family ranch. It was the least she could do before slipping out of his life and into the emptiness of hers.

Ryder rolled to his feet in the last darkness before dawn. He’d not had much sleep, but he needed to get a cup of coffee and think. Like Isbet, he wasn’t one to jump into bed with just anyone and their night together had been extraordinary.

Making his way down the stairs, he winced. In the past twenty-four hours, actually less, he’d put more strain on the leg than he should have, but that wasn’t why it hurt so much. He’d witnessed what was happening with him before, in South America. It just hadn’t taken so long. The Vibora’s poison had finally started to work its way through his system, and, soon, his status as the only survivor of its bite would end. He couldn’t tell Isbet, or his brother or Carson, though. Not only was the item classified, but he didn’t want to get them all wound up because there was not a thing any of them could do.

Even if the lab girl managed to break down the weapon so someone could figure out an antidote, it wouldn’t be soon enough to save him. He’d seen the progression before and recognized the signs. No point in even going to the doctor on the local base or to a hospital. He would enjoy the time he had left and say good-bye with grace when the time came.

Only the light over the stove was on in the kitchen. Sarge would be down shortly to start breakfast for their guests, but Ryder had a little time to himself. He reached into the back of the refrigerator and found the bag of premium coffee Andrew hid for himself. It was too early to flip the switch on the big pot Sarge would have prepared the night before. None of the guests would be up for a while. So Ryder poured some of the dark, luscious beans in the espresso machine, and the device growled low as it ground the beans. In a few minutes, a stream of the best coffee available filled his cup. He considered steaming some milk, but his brother’s single indulgence was too good to adulterate. Instead, he grabbed a pastry from a covered tray on the counter and carried it and the espresso to the breakfast bar.

Outside the window, the sky was pitch black. The moon had set. Still, he didn’t turn on a stronger light. He loved the sunrise and would just wait to watch the colorful show. The cherry, cream cheese pastry melted in his mouth, leaving him unsure if it had any liquor in it at all, and he washed it down with the coffee, his mind turning over the events of the previous day.

He was only temporarily sated; if Isbet came down here, he’d want her all over again. He was already too close to her. Her one-night proclamation, while not something he wanted to hear, offered the easiest way out. She’d leave as soon as they resolved the problem on the ranch, maybe sooner, and never even know he died a week later. Or less. Did have a week? At the thought, his leg ached even deeper, as if the poison seeped into the bones.

He might never see another sunrise , but he couldn’t die and leave his brother under the shadow of mysterious weapons dealers who landed right on their pasture and left behind deadly barbs of poison.

Two things had to happen. First, they needed the lab to figure out an antidote so nobody else would die. Maybe even something to counteract the poison before it caused the victims severe neurological damage. Who knew how long that would take, though.

And, second, they had to do something to stop the landings on the property. Even if they didn’t rustle the cattle, the criminal presence was upsetting to the animals, and how long before one got hurt? This was in his wheelhouse. They had to either capture the interlopers or, at the very least, make their stops uncomfortable enough they would go elsewhere.

Preferably not in the United States.

The stairs creaked, and Sarge arrived and set right to work. In a short time, he had the rolls baking off and a tray of individual quiches in the oven. Ryder had never seen the quiches on the menu before. Another dish Sarge learned watching one of his Food Network “sweeties.” Ryder was going to try to get the old guy on one of the competitions on there one day. Of course, he always added his own special touches. The quiches probably had white wine in them or something.

He stood, stretching, and rubbed at the skin near the wound.

“Still bothers you, huh, Ryder?” The old cook poured a cup of coffee and took a seat on the stool next to his. “Sit down and talk to me a minute.”

He’d always respected the old guy, so he did as asked and took his place again. “Sure, Sarge. What’s up?”

“What’s bothering you?”

Ryder didn’t want to get into it with anyone right now. If he told him he was dying, there’d be an ambulance at the door in two minutes flat. Pointless. “Just thinking about things.”
Keep it vague.

“Thinking about your leg or the pretty lady upstairs in your room?”

“About the creeps who’ve invaded the ranch.” Only partly true, but it worked.

“If I get my hands on them, I’ll put them under a pot pie cover for lunch.” Sarge got up from the counter and grabbed a cleaver. “We’ll have them out of here in no time, and you and Miss Isbet can get on with your lives. She’d make a good wife for you when you get back permanently.”

“There is still a chance they’ll take me.” He was kidding himself, making believe his injury wasn’t killing him.

“Of course there is, son. But you’ve put your time in. Are you sure you don’t want to call it?”

He was aghast. Sarge? Advocating leaving the military? The older man told stories all day and night to anyone who would listen about his adventures around the world. It made Ryder uncomfortable to hear him suggest leaving before his tour was up. “No, why would I?” he asked in what he hoped came out as an even tone.

“No reason,” said Sarge, bringing out a big cutting board and bigger bowl and a bag of stone fruit. He laid the apricots, cherries, and peaches on the butcher block and began to chop them into big chunks. “But there comes a time when nature tells you it’s over. And if the commanders think you should muster out, then maybe that’s what you should do.”

“Nature? It’s not like I caught measles or have a heart condition. This was incurred in the line of duty, and until I am told I’m done, I’m going back.” But did he really believe his destiny lay there anymore?

He wasn’t positive.

Sarge tipped the fruit into the bowl and added some sugar and a healthy dollop of rum. “Whatever you think best. Nobody can tell a man what to do with his life. I need to get this in the refrigerator to chill before the guests wake up. It’s always a hit.”

“That’s fruit salad for breakfast? No wonder our customers are so happy to stick around.” Like Isbet…. Grabbing a cherry, he popped it in his mouth. “Holy cow, what a lot of rum. I’m not sure the dudes—the guests—should be riding the horses after breakfast.”

“If you want to make the food, I’ll retire right now.” Sarge, clutching the cleaver again, made for an intimidating sight. “Lots of places would be happy to have me.”

Ryder shut up. Their grizzled cook kept the guests happy with his eclectic mix of food garnered from his history in the army and the pretty ladies he followed on the Food Network. So what if he added a little liquor to almost everything he cooked? He never drank…unless eating his food counted.

If he quit, Andrew would kill him sooner than the Vibora could.

And after Ryder was gone, whether it took weeks or months, Andrew would be the sole owner of Carmichael Ranch. What a shame Isbet hadn’t liked his brother better than him. Andrew, unlike him, had a long and happy future waiting.

Sarge put the fruit away and pulled a loaf cake out of the cupboard. He poked holes all over its surface with a toothpick and then went back to the pantry and returned with a bottle of limoncello. “That purty Italian girl on the Network”—his name for his favorite channel—“says this makes for a real flavorful cake.” Ryder watched him pour almost half the bottle over the cake, a puddle forming around it. “It will soak it up in a while. Then I’ll frost it with cream cheese icing.”

“With more limoncello in it?” He winced.

“Yeah, it’ll be great.” Sarge barked loud, but he forgave quickly. Humming, he pulled out a half dozen pans and set them on the stainless steel commercial stove they’d bought with the first guest money. “I got to get some bacon and eggs cooking. The hands’ll be hungry. Half of ’em were out on the land all night. I never seen the like.”

Ryder poured a fresh up of coffee from the pot Sarge had started at some point in their conversation and made his getaway. Grabbing a jacket from the row of hooks by the door, he headed out the onto the porch and strolled around to the front of the house. A row of white rocking chairs lined the wall. In a couple of hours, they’d be full of guests gabbing or just relaxing and enjoying the “ranch experience.” Sitting in one near the door, he eased his leg up onto the railing and lay back, watching the sky lighten over the mountains to the east. The sun finally made its appearance, and soon guests would as well, with their noisy chatter.

Would the weapons dealers, if that’s what they were, return today? They couldn’t be anything else, not with Vibora on board. The barb itself caused no more than minor damage to the body it lodged in before exploding. And even that did not kill unless it struck an artery. In his case, it had missed doing that by millimeters. No, the death was in the venom the force of the concussion released. The ugly yellow neon substance that ate the victim’s body away. A slow, painful death. One he faced.

His buddies had acted so quickly they’d bought him time. Time to watch the birds fly from tree to tree, a hawk soar overhead. To see his brother and the ranch. To meet Isbet and have the most incredible night of his life.

But nobody could save him.

Until now. His team only had fragments of the barb and a rapidly changing chemical that their techs couldn’t do anything with.

Now, those bastards had brought the damn evilness of it onto American soil. And they’d left one behind. He hoped they hadn’t made a big mistake in giving it to the tech in Reno. If she screwed up, they’d lose the only chance they might have to make the Vibora into a non-issue. He wouldn’t have to worry about his career in that case. He’d spend his last days in military prison.

“Good morning, Ryder.” Despite his worries, he felt a little lighter at the sound of Isbet’s voice. “Have you eaten?” She pushed open the screen door and joined him outside.

“Yeah.” Setting his mug of cooling coffee on the porch floor, he reached for her hand and drew her onto his good leg. “How about you?”

She smiled at him, her curly hair damp from another shower, fresh as a daisy when he probably looked like a cast member from
The Walking Dead.

“No, but I never eat breakfast. Besides, you can get drunk on it around here. Did you realize that?” She sniffed his breath. “Pastry, huh?”

“Sarge does have a flare for cooking. Sleep well?”

“I did. For a few hours, anyway. Any plans for today?”

He stood and set her on her feet. Linking their fingers, relieved she didn’t reject him after her insistence on one night only, he drew her to the outside railing. “Up there, where we were yesterday, there might still be more clues.” He pointed to the south. “I think the plane had to come from that direction.”

“Probably, it landed facing north, right? I— What’s that?”

Again, her better ears beat him to the punch, but this time he didn’t have to strain to hear the whine of a single engine plane. “Are you freaking kidding me?” He opened the screen door and hollered inside. “Andrew! Carson! They’re back.”