Rachel Lee - The Final Mission

The Final Mission

Rachel Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cover

Title Page The Final Mission Rachel Lee www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author About the Author RACHEL LEE was hooked on writing by the age of twelve, and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time. Her bestselling CONARD COUNTY series (see www.conardcounty.com) has won the hearts of readers worldwide, and it’s no wonder, given her own approach to life and love. As she says, “Life is the biggest romantic adventure of all—and if you’re open and aware, the most marvellous things are just waiting to be discovered.” Readers can e-mail Rachel at RachelLee@ConardCounty.com.

Dedication For FarWestGirl, a dear friend who helped with all her horse experience to bring this story to life. The mistakes are mine, but I made a lot fewer of them because of you, dear FarWestGirl. This one is for you.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Copyright

RACHEL LEEwas hooked on writing by the age of twelve, and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.

Her bestselling CONARD COUNTY series (see www.conardcounty.com) has won the hearts of readers worldwide, and it’s no wonder, given her own approach to life and love. As she says, “Life is the biggest romantic adventure of all—and if you’re open and aware, the most marvellous things are just waiting to be discovered.” Readers can e-mail Rachel at RachelLee@ConardCounty.com.

For FarWestGirl, a dear friend who helped with all

her horse experience to bring this story to life. The

mistakes are mine, but I made a lot fewer of them

because of you, dear FarWestGirl. This one is for you.

Dominic Mason stood behind his house, staring out over expansive pastures. The night held an autumn nip that warned of coming frost even though it shouldn’t happen for another month or so. Regardless, he was nearly ready for the change in seasons.

He’d already brought most of his horses in from summer pasture. Only a few still needed to be gathered up. The hay had been mown and moved into the drying sheds that would protect it from most of the winter snows and make it easy to feed his herd over the long approaching winter.

Next month he’d sell a lot of his stock to ranchers, rodeos and breeders. His announcement of his annual sale had drawn a larger than usual amount of interest. Apparently his reputation for quality was growing.

He could see the dark shapes of his horses scattered around, quiet in the moonlight, not moving much. There was still plenty of ground forage for them, as he’d mowed early enough to allow for some regrowth, but at the moment they seemed more intent on resting. Even the dogs were invisible right now, probably quietly lying among the herd they watched over.

Just as his two young sons slept in the house behind him. Seven-year-old twin boys, the light of his life, and his agony, too, since their mother had been killed.

Annoyed with the direction of his thoughts, he gave his head an angry shake, then reached up to resettle his battered Stetson.

Another winter coming. Another winter alone. At least the rest of the year he could keep himself busy enough for three men, keep so busy he couldn’t do much thinking. But once the snow flew, life would narrow. The outdoor activities that kept him so busy, the kids being off school, all that would give way to intensive training in the enclosed, battered arena off behind the barn.

But not yet. A chilly autumn night was a far cry from the blows of winter. And he had the sale next month to get ready for, the horses to choose to show.

He thought he heard a car coming up his drive, but sounds were deceptive at night, especially this close to the mountains. He couldn’t imagine a single reason why anyone would be coming out here so late. All the reasons for such a visit were safely indoors or already dead. Well, except for Mary’s parents, and they were about as hale and hardy as any sixty-somethings he’d ever known.

He turned anyway, because the boys were sleeping in their beds and he didn’t like them to be alone long. Not anymore. Not since the illusion of security had been stripped from him two years ago.

The dirt and gravel crunched beneath his feet. Moonlight reminded him he still needed to till the summer’s garden, now mostly a mess of weeds and stalks of dead plants, their bounty gone for the year.

With Mary, he’d enjoyed the winters. More time for them to spend together, fewer other demands. He’d been like one happy bear, burrowing into his den, venturing out only to look after his stock, work on training or to make an occasional supply trip to town.

Those trips lingered brightly in his memory. They’d always made a good time of the shopping, treated themselves to a meal at the diner, sometimes even sprang for a movie. But the long winter nights also remained bright in his mind—nights of playing games, laughing, reading, loving, just being together.

Now only desolation remained, and two little boys that he loved more than life. Two little boys he couldn’t see without experiencing a pang for all they had lost, for all he had lost.

“Boss?”

He looked around to see his foreman, Ted Walking Bear, coming his way from the bunkhouse behind the barn.

“Yeah?”

“A car just drove up.”

“I thought I heard one. I’ll take care of it. Probably somebody’s lost. Good night.”

Ted touched the brim of his cowboy hat and headed back for the bunkhouse.

Quickening his pace, thinking of his boys, Dom hurried around the outside of the two-story frame house, rather than entering through the back mud porch as usual.

Sure enough, as he rounded the corner, he saw a vehicle pulled up in front. One he didn’t recognize. The brilliance of the moonlight had kept him from seeing the headlights as the car approached, he guessed. They were off now, though.

Unease pricked at him a bit, but he tamped it down, telling himself it arose only because one time when strangers had driven up to his door it had been to tell him his wife was gone.

Other strangers had come since, but not at night. To buy horses. To sell him things. To try to convert him. To save his soul. The last always made him want to laugh. He figured any soul he had left had pretty much shriveled from grief and anger.

A sound drew his attention to the porch. He looked, and even though the roof cast deep shadows on the wide veranda, he could see a woman in a long, dark coat standing there.

“Can I help you?” he asked. Automatic courtesy.

“Mr. Mason?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Courtney Tyson. I knew your wife.”

He’d had other visits from Mary’s friends from the National Guard. Even so, his heart slammed a bit. When those friends wanted to visit, they called first, gave him a warning of what was coming, even gave him an out if he just couldn’t bear it.

This one had come without either courtesy. “A call would have been nice.” He hated the unfriendly edge to his tone, but anger had stirred in him. Showing up like this without warning didn’t seem either thoughtful or friendly.