Reminding The SEAL (Navy SEAL Military Romance) (7 page)

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Milena Fenmore is a small business owner who lives in the world of the paranormal. Deeply interested in all things supernatural and a hopeless romantic, she has found her true passion as an indie author of paranormal romance.  Knowing what a true romance reader wants, Milena is intent on helping her readers experience love and passion through her writing, creating a mystical world they can revel in.

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Rescuing the

Cowboy Navy SEAL

By: Milena Fenmore

Chapter One

Matthew folded the letter and replaced it in the white and blue envelope. The address was a California address, which meant that Leah Harris was a city girl. He knew that California was much different from Arizona. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he needed help in reviving the ranch, returning it to what it once was. She claimed to be able to ride a horse and that she worked as an office manager for a few years. That’s all Matthew needed to know.

He placed the envelope on the dusty side table in the small living room. The lamp rocked precariously, and he steadied it to keep it from toppling over. It was an old rooster lamp his mother loved dearly, one of the few things that remained of his childhood.

This wasn’t what his return home should be like. By now, he should have been making preparations for a wedding to his long time sweetheart, Mary. They’d known each other most of their lives and would have married a long time ago if she was bent on waiting. Now, he knew why. She’d found someone better, with money and a better ranch. What hurt the most was that she didn’t have the guts to tell him she was marrying another man, and kept him hoping that when he returned, they’d be together.

He opened the single drawer of the little table. Dust soiled his hand, but he ignored it. With a lump in his throat, he pulled a black velvet box out and opened it. There sat in it a solitaire diamond ring and matching bands; a trio ring set. A soft light glinted off the single stone and he moved the box at an angle. He should have been walking down the aisle soon, but he may have to return the rings. Matthew snapped the box shut and clenched his jaw, shoving the ring back into the drawer and closing it.

He pushed Mary from his mind and thought of his own problems. The ranch should have been thriving and he would not have to be looking for a bride through the mail. This was the last thing he wanted, but the only choice he had at the moment to return things to what they were supposed to be. He needed someone to run the office once he gathered the herds, brought in new animals, and made the farm what it used to be. Right now, he had no one, and Leah would fill that void.

Matthew lifted a calloused hand and ran it through his brown hair. Everything was in shambles. The windows on the house needed repairs. He also suspected that the roof needed new shingles. He spent the last week fixing the fence around the fifty acre property. Now, he looked through the broken glass window overlooking the yard and worried about the barn, one side seemed ready to collapse. There were exactly three horses remaining, the others roaming free on the range beyond his land. He hoped against all hopes that the weather would hold long enough to for him to at least take care of that.

He also needed to muster the remaining cattle that were left to roam free in the pastures beyond his ranch. The number of animals remaining, he wasn’t sure. He figured there were at least two dozen at the most. In any case, they would bear the McCrery tag on their ears. He’d made sure his father stopped branding the animals with a hot iron as in olden days, and tagged them instead. It was more humane and easier to handle.

A dusty double cab truck was coming up the drive and he walked to the front door, then stepping onto the porch. A cocoon of southwestern Arizona dust surrounded the truck and he had to squint his blue eyes to see who it was. The vehicle came to a halt a few feet away and a man in a Stetson and dark gray suit alighted the vehicle.

Matthew was a flannel shirt man himself, when he wasn’t on duty. He now rolled up the sleeves and stepped into his brown leather roper boots that were by the front door. He made the three steps down from the porch into the yard and looked on with interest as the man surveyed the mountain and the pastures surrounding the ranch.

“Can I help you?” Matthew’s deep drawl questioned the stranger.

The man’s head whipped around to face him with a broad smile. “Hello, I’m Myles… Myles Connor,” he reached his hand out for Matthew to take. “I heard this ranch was fer sale.”

Matthew looked at the hand and back at the man. Their eyes met and Myles steely gray eyes blinked nervously. “You’ve got the wrong property,” he said in an easy low tone.

“I don’t think so. They said I should look fer the windmill on the little hill,” Myles pointed to the windmill. “That there is the windmill.” He turned back to Matthew, “Are you the owner?” Matthew had turned and started walking away. “I’ll pay you a fair price. How about one million?”

Matthew halted, turned slowly, and looked the man up and down. His brows knitted into a confused frown, “Now, why on earth would you want to pay that much for a broken down ranch?”

The man shuffled and cleared his throat. Matthew couldn’t help noticing how the man could not hold his gaze. Myles Connor’s whole body reeked of something suspicious. Now, he wanted to buy his ranch for a whole million dollars? A ranch that wasn’t worth a buck? The repairs alone would run nearly a hundred thousand, money which Matthew didn’t have. But there was no way in hell he was selling his childhood home.

Myles cleared his throat. “Are you selling or not?”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Matthew’s deep voice was deathly calm, but Myles’ eyes darted to his face and widened.

“I...I… my company would like to purchase the land and surrounding areas,” he felt around his breast pocket and plucked a business card, handing it to Matthew.

Matthew ignored the outstretched hand and locked eyes with the man, who seemed a little scared. Was he that intimidating? Yes, he towered Myles by, perhaps a whole six inches being six feet three inches. Whereas the stranger was thin, he was athletically built, with broad shoulders. However, he doubted that was what intimidated the man. It was his demeanor, his stance, and that something was what made him a navy seal.

He took a timely step forward, his eyes never leaving the fellow. “You’d better get back in that truck of yours and start drivin’.” He took two more steps, at which Myles stepped back, almost stumbling.

“Listen, that old man, he was going to sell it before he died.”

That got Matthew’s attention. He halted, a frown slowly forming on his face. “What did you say?”

“My colleague met him a few times. He was positive he would sell.”

“Well, he was wrong. Now go, before I do something we’ll both regret.”

Myles Connor managed to scramble to his truck, almost falling once. His hand shook as it fumbled with the lock. When the door finally opened after some seconds, he hopped in. It seemed he also had trouble putting the key in the ignition. Matthew could see beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, right down to the nose bridge, and finally settling on the tip of his thin nose.

Matthew started walking towards the barn, located about a hundred yards towards the left side of the house.  His own truck was parked nearby, a fairly new Nissan Frontier, making the barn stand out like a sore thumb. The closer he got, the more he saw the dilapidated state of the building. The loose zincs on the roof. The broken boards on the wooden wall. The right side was lopsided, with the roof slanting downwards. The white paint that had been on it for decades was now a dirty gray, peeling in many places, revealing the darkness of the wood. Surrounding the building was grass that badly needed cutting, but most of the yard was just plain dirt.

He sighed as he heard the truck engine start, then the wheels skidded, and finally, the engine was rolling down the dirt drive. Matthew turned back to the house, looking at the faded blue paint on the wooden walls. His eyes lifted to the roof. He could not tell how bad it was since he hadn’t yet gotten a chance to get up there.

He remembered the day he left home twenty two years ago. He’d just turned eighteen and was recruited by the US Navy. His father Jacob McCrery had been proud and his mother scared. Being an only child, Hannah was scared that he might not return home. He did. But on his third visit back after four years, she had taken ill.

“Ma,” his voiced had cracked as he took her frail hand in his. “Everything is going to be fine, Ma.”

She had looked at him with a smile. Her face was sallow, and her blue eyes were so pale that they looked grayish. With those eyes, which moistened at the corners, she looked at him adoringly. Her voice sounded thin and weak.

“Yes, my son, it will be fine.
You
will be fine,” she inhaled a shaky breath and stared at him for a long time, her eyes seemed distant. It took him a while to realize that it was her last breath she had taken.

The pain that sliced through him made him double up on the bed beside her. There he remained until someone with large, strong hands pulled him away. When he felt the familiar hands, he’d unfolded himself and looked into the face of his father. There was a pained expression in his eyes as streams of tears rolled down his cheeks. He wrapped his arms around the man and they clung to each other for a long time, both trying to be strong for each other, but knowing that it was okay to let go.

Another stab of pain shot through his chest and belly at the most recent memory. He could still see his father’s face as if he was smiling, as he lay in the casket a week ago. There was nothing different from when the man was sleeping, except for his ashen complexion. He looked so peaceful that Matthew was afraid he’d be disturbed.

His father’s death was only one of the many sorrows he had to deal with in the last month or so. Being honorably discharged from the Navy was not what he had expected. That discharge came with the condition of his post-traumatic stress disorder, PSTD. There were no frills or welcoming party. No recognition from the state, only a referral letter to a psychiatrist, a small medal, and the discharge letter. The state offered to pay for the therapy with the promise of pension when he reached a certain age. Until then, he had to fend for himself.

With all that Matthew had to face, saying goodbye to his father and hero was the hardest of all. It’s not like the man was sick. One minute he was reading a letter Jacob had sent to him about needing to repair the barn, and the next, he was getting a call from the hospital that his father had suffered a heart attack.

A gust of wind kicking up a ball of dust on the dry ground reminded him that he was still standing in the yard. Matthew turned and walked to the back door, leading into the kitchen. The memory of his mother’s cooking was so strong he could smell the fresh baked apples and cinnamon pie.

He grimaced and opened a cupboard over the sink, near the only window in the room. There was a can of coffee grounds and he took it down. The lower cupboard under the sink held all the pots and pans. He pulled one out, filled it halfway with water, and set it on the small gas burner.

He scanned the kitchen while he waited for the water to boil. How would a city girl fit in? He wondered. The kitchen was as old as the rest of the house. The old refrigerator made a loud purring sound, and when it needed cleaning, you had to set a pot of hot water in the freezer, and then use a spatula to remove the ice. Absently, he ran his hand through his hair, a habit of his when nervous. He had to admit that having a strange woman come into his world was going to be a challenge. She was arriving in three days and the repairs weren’t even half way through. One thing was for sure, he had to get rid of most of the house dust before she got there.

Steam was rising from the pot and he spooned coffee in, turned the flame off and waited the few minutes for it to brew. Another item on his list would be to get a coffee maker. City people liked those and he was sure Leah would too.

Briefly, he wondered what she looked like, but quickly got rid of the thought. Her looks didn’t matter at this point. All he needed was someone to help him take care of things, a wife of sorts. If Mary hadn’t broken their engagement, he would never have had to resort to such drastic measures; however, he refused to think about her and pushed her from his thoughts once more.

The coffee was ready. He poured himself a mug and walked to the living room. As he sat, the sofa seat, which puffed up some dust, caused him to turn his nose up. He rested the mug on the small center table and looked around the room. His father's special chair by the window was still. It was where the old man used to sit with his pie and look across the yard. Beside that was his mother’s rocking chair, given to her by his grandfather. She used to sit it in and sew his father’s work clothes.

Matthew got up and walked over to the side table where he’d place the envelope and picked it up. He pulled out the folded piece of pink stationery and read it once more, with an attempt to memorize its contents. A faint scent of rose wafted up to his nostrils and he brought the letter to his nose.

“Ha, how odd,” he chuckled. He never noticed the scent before. Perhaps he’d been too preoccupied to take note of it earlier. “I sense trouble,” he shook his head while folding the letter, and then replaced it in the envelope. “Real female trouble.”