“It’s our turn to swing.”
Cougar tugged on her hand.
She saw the wide plank seat on the huge, dark, hulking tree and realized what kind of swinging he had in mind.
He caught her at the waist with a long shepherd’s crook of an arm. “Come sit on my lap and let’s ride double. This is a two-passenger swing. They don’t make ‘em like this anymore.”
She took a rope in each hand, kicked off her shoes and lowered herself onto his lap.
He took his hat off and tossed it in the grass, pushed off the ground with his booted feet just as she stretched her legs out behind his back. They were flying low, chasing evening shadows with bright smiles.
She leaned back on the upswing. “This is crazy!” His first kiss came mid-fight…
Dear Reader,
Nothing stirs this air force brat quite like a marching band and a formation of men and women in uniform parading before me. Military service goes way back on my side of the family, and many of my forebears rest at Arlington National Cemetery. And I married a man in uniform. My husband shipped out thirty days after our wedding. His people, the Lakota Sioux, have, like most American Indians, proudly served in the US military in great numbers for well over a hundred years.
Cougar—”just Cougar”—is such a man. He’s served gallantly, and he has the scars to prove it. He carries most of them on the inside. Little does he know that he wears his heart on his sleeve, where it’s easily stolen by a boy with special needs and a woman with love to give.
Once again, those magnificent wild horses from the Double D Sanctuary have a way of bringing people together.
All my best,
Kathleen Eagle
About the Author
KATHLEEN EAGLE published her first book, a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award winner, with Mills & Boon in 1984. Since then, she has published more than forty books, including historical and contemporary, series and single titles, earning her nearly every award in the industry. Her books have consistently appeared on regional and national bestseller lists, including the USA TODAY list and the New York Times extended bestseller list.
Kathleen lives in Minnesota with her husband, who is Lakota Sioux. They have three grown children and three lively grandchildren.
One Brave
Cowboy
Kathleen Eagle
Remembering Daddy
Honoring the American soldier
Chapter One
The driver of the black pickup was himself driven, fixed on the hulking two-story white house at the end of the road. It was an old house in need of a coat of paint with a brand new, freshly painted sign affixed to the porch railing.
Office
Double D Wild Horse Sanctuary
It was the kind of incongruence that automatically drew his eye and raised the hackles he’d been working hard to tame. He was back in the States, for God’s sake. South Dakota. Land of the granite chiefs and home of the original braves. Just because something was a little off in a place that seemed too quiet didn’t mean Cougar needed to crouch and prepare to pounce. He was there on a tip from a fellow soldier. About the only people he trusted these days were guys he’d served with, and Sergeant Mary Tutan was one of the most standup “guys” he knew.
She couldn’t pull rank on him anymore, but she’d tracked him down, got him on the phone and talked like she could. Get your ass in gear, soldier! Go check out the wild horse training competition my friend Sally Drexler is running. It’s just what the VA docs ordered. She’d corrected herself—Sally Night Horse—and explained that Sally had married an Indian guy. Did he know Hank Night Horse? How about Logan Wolf Track?
As if Indian country was that damn small.
Cougar wasn’t interested in the sergeant’s social life, but the mention of horses got his attention. Training competition and cash prize sounded pretty attractive, too. He’d been away from horses too long. The one he could see loping across the pasture a good half mile away made him smile. Nice bay with a big spotted colt in tow. He could almost smell their earthy sweat on the hot South Dakota wind blowing through the pickup cab.
His nose welcomed horse sweat, buffalo grass and the clay dust kicked up by the oversize tires on his “tricked out” ride, compliments of his brother, Eddie. He could have done without the tires. Could have done without any of the surprises he’d come home to, but he didn’t want to do without his brother, and Eddie would have pouted indefinitely if Cougar had said anything about how many miles his brother had racked up on the vehicle in Cougar’s absence.
The house looked pretty quiet for the “headquarters” of what was billed as the biggest privately maintained wild animal reserve in the Dakotas. Cougar didn’t care how big it was as long as it was legitimate. He’d been down too many dead-end roads lately. The end of this one seemed pretty dead as far as human activity was concerned, but one by one the horses were silently materializing, rising from the ebb and flow of tall grass. They kept their distance, but they were watchful, aware of everything that moved.
As was Cougar. His instinct for self-preservation wasn’t quite as sharp as the horses’, but it surpassed that of any man, woman or…
… child.
Cougar hit the brake. He saw nothing, heard nothing, but eyes and ears were limited. Cougar knew things. Men and women were on their own, but kids were like foals. Always vulnerable. They gave off signals, and Cougar was a gut-level receptor. Which was a damn good thing. If it hadn’t been for his gut, he would have done nothing.
And if it hadn’t been for the red baseball cap, he would have thought he was going crazy again, and he might have slid his boot back over the accelerator. But the red cap saved both kid and driver.
And the goat.
Cougar’s pulse pounded behind his staring eyeballs. The goat took off, and a small hand stretched out, barely visible beyond a desert camo armored fender.
Don’t stop for anything, sergeant. That kid’s coming for us. You slow down, he takes us out. Do. Not. Stop.
Cougar closed his eyes, took a breath, shifted into reverse as he took a look back, gunned the engine, and nearly jackknifed his trailer. When he turned, there was no goat. He saw a light-haired kid in blue jeans, stretched out on his belly. He saw the front end of his black pickup. He saw a red and white barn, sparsely graveled road and South Dakota sod. He secured the pickup and threw the door open simultaneously. His boots hit the ground just as the kid pushed himself up on hands and knees. He looked up at Cougar, eyes filled with terror, but no tears.
And he was up. Thank you, Jesus.
Cougar’s shadow fell across the boy like a blanket dropped from a top bunk. His own knees wouldn’t bend. “You okay?”
The boy stared at him.
“I didn’t see you,” Cougar said, willing the boy to stand on his own, to be able to get up all the way. “Are you hurt?”
The boy stretched out his arm, pointed across the road and smiled. Cougar swung his head around and saw a gray cat.
“Was that it?” He looked down at the boy. “A damn cat? For a second I thought I’d…”