Page 4 of Cowboy’s Last Stand (His to Protect #1)

O ne hundred and eighteen days.

It was roughly two thousand miles from his starting point in Montana to his destination in Texas.

He’d logged over a million steps on the Continental Divide Trail, a long-distance route that went from the Canadian border all the way to Mexico.

Of the “Big Three” hikes in the United States, the Continental was the least traveled, which suited Jason just fine.

He’d wanted to be alone as much as possible.

In New Mexico, he’d switched over to the Grand Enchantment Trail.

When that trail ended, he’d walked on the side of the road.

He’d trudged along the highway, breathing a mixture of road dust and gas fumes, for almost two weeks.

West Texas boasted wide, open spaces of flat terrain.

The vast lowlands on all sides had given him the unnerving impression of moving without getting anywhere.

Even so, it was pretty country, the fall weather had been mild, and he felt damned lucky to be alive after multiple tours overseas.

Now that he’d arrived, however, the finality of his mission struck him.

This wasn’t a pleasant errand. He’d taken the slowest, most labor-intensive route for a reason: he hadn’t wanted to come.

The urge to pass through town and keep on moving without fulfilling the promise he’d made to a dying man was hard to resist. Perhaps that was why he’d gone into the bar tonight.

It was part reconnaissance, part procrastination.

He’d wanted to scope out his target in a neutral environment and maybe bolster his courage with some manly suds.

As soon as he entered the place, he’d realized his mistake.

But had he made a quick detour? No, he hadn’t.

He’d doubled down on his decision, and now he was stuck.

He shouldn’t have shown up unannounced, without a single phone call or letter. He shouldn’t have come at all.

The Night Owl looked like a dive from the outside.

The whitewashed brick exterior and posters advertising cheap beer didn’t inspire confidence.

Inside, it was downright cozy, with twinkling starlights and a country-western theme.

He’d grown up on a ranch in Montana, so he wasn’t immune to this aesthetic.

He wasn’t immune to the charms of a pretty waitress either.

Natalie had outshone every other woman in the room without even trying.

She was beautiful, with her luminous brown eyes and soft, dark curls.

She’d caught his interest and held it. He liked the way she’d spoken to him and the genuine warmth in her tone.

He hadn’t planned to ask her out. He’d been trying to have a friendly conversation with her, and his words had gotten tangled up.

Four months in the woods hadn’t improved his social skills.

The time alone had made him hungry for a woman, but not any woman.

He’d felt nothing for the blonde with the icy finger.

His reaction to Natalie was different. His mind conjured every detail of her appearance, memorized on instinct.

She had a dancer’s figure, slender and compact.

Her basic black T-shirt had been tucked into dark blue jeans that fit her body like a glove.

She’d worn shoes without socks, which was unfathomable to him after all the miles he’d traveled on foot.

He’d stared at her bare ankles in fascination, struck by the novelty.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so enthralled by a woman.

She was beautiful, but he’d seen beautiful women before.

He’d dated a number of them. He didn’t get fixated, or assign himself protective duty, after one conversation.

He hadn’t gone so far off the deep end that he couldn’t recognize his own strange behavior.

Right now, for example, he was lurking at the edge of the parking lot, thinking about her. It was creepy as hell.

He rose from the curb he’d been sitting on, determined to leave the area. Then three men walked out of the bar. It was Billy, the guy Jason had almost rumbled with, and his two friends. Jason watched them from a distance.

Billy wasn’t a big man, and he didn’t cut an intimidating figure.

He wore black motorcycle boots, a baggy T-shirt, and blue jeans with a chain wallet.

His shoulders were drawn back in a cocky stance, accentuating his soft midsection.

A spray of blond hair gave him an unfortunate resemblance to a rooster.

Billy’s two friends, while larger, had none of Billy’s natural swagger.

Their slogging footsteps suggested clumsiness, dull wits, or inebriation. Perhaps a combination of the three.

Anger welled up within Jason at the sight of Billy and his entourage. The man had insulted Natalie. He’d insulted Jason too. Jason didn’t appreciate being treated like a bum just because he was traveling on foot. He was a war veteran on paid leave, not some drifter looking for a handout.

Jason stayed very still while the trio climbed into a souped-up Pontiac Firebird. They drove away in a squeal of tires.

Jason lifted his backpack from the ground and settled it on his shoulders. The threat to Natalie’s safety was over. The men who’d heckled her were gone. Jason had no reason to stay. He needed to walk away and clear his head.

He’d already scoped out a place to spend the night. There was a designated campground about ten miles north of town, but he didn’t head that direction. He left the historic district and entered a quiet neighborhood of modest, single-family homes.

A light mist began to fall, and moisture dripped from the leaves overhead, masking the sound of his footsteps.

It also reduced visibility, but he located his destination easily.

A pair of stone gargoyles guarded the entrance of a small park at the end of a dark stretch of sidewalk.

Gnarled live oak trees lined both sides, branches outstretched like ghostly limbs.

Jason glanced over the stone wall and checked the park in a quick scan.

The gargoyles didn’t bother him. Dense trees offered plenty of cover.

There was a flat, open area with picnic tables and a deserted playground.

The public restrooms were convenient. He could sleep here, underneath an oak tree, and no one would be the wiser.

Most public parks weren’t suited for overnight visits, and he preferred a quiet spot in the woods to anything within city limits, but he was dead tired.

It was late, and he’d already walked his fill today.

Tomorrow, he’d search for a more appropriate place to camp and reconsider his life choices.

Jason continued toward the front entrance of the park.

He wasn’t concerned with stealth because the neighborhood was deserted.

A single car cruised down the quiet street.

Jason’s muscles tensed as he recognized it as the Pontiac from the Night Owl.

The car drove past him, executed a swift U-turn, and jerked to a stop.

He’d been spotted.

Instead of ducking into the park, Jason stood his ground. He wouldn’t flee the scene in fear. He hoped Billy was inside that car, ready to mix it up. Jason didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. He was looking forward to a physical confrontation. He wanted bruised knuckles and bloody fists.

When three men emerged from the vehicle, Jason realized it wouldn’t be a fair fight, and he didn’t give a damn.

He shrugged out of his backpack and tossed it aside.

He needed a full range of motion for self-defense.

The odds were stacked against him, and he knew he shouldn’t risk another head injury.

He was still recovering from the last one, growing stronger every day.

But Natalie’s face floated in his mind, drowning out all thoughts of his own safety.

She’d been mistreated, and he couldn’t let it stand.

Within seconds, they’d surrounded him, and there was no mistaking Billy’s intent. He pounded a fist into his palm while his two dullard friends stood by. Up close, Jason noticed the family resemblance and guessed they were brothers.

“You lost?” Billy asked.

“No,” Jason replied.

“Bus don’t run till morning,” one of the friends said.

Jason hadn’t even noticed the bus stop, which was nearby. He didn’t travel by bus, ever. “Thanks for the tip.”

“You don’t belong here, drifter,” Billy said. “Get out of my town.”

Jason didn’t see any weapons on them. He was outnumbered, but they were unarmed, drunk, and stupid. “I’ll leave when I’m ready.”

Billy’s nostrils flared in outrage. Then his gaze shifted to the road, and Jason heard the faint sound of a dying vehicle.

He searched the dark street, his tension rising.

The car in question was a vintage bug. Although he couldn’t make out her features, he knew the woman behind the wheel was Natalie.

Shit.

Of all the rotten luck.

He was trying to finish this nasty business outdoors, away from her workplace, and here she was, about to stumble into the fray again. Jason turned to face his opponent. He hoped she’d stay in her car and not interfere.

“Look who’s coming to join the fun,” Billy said. “We’ll show her a real good time after we’re done with you.”

Jason widened his stance in anticipation.

The threat to her safety, on top of the rude words Billy had spoken earlier, filled him with fury.

She didn’t deserve this. No woman did, but she was special.

She was the reason he’d come here. Fate had called him to this moment, and rage sent him hurtling to meet it.

His vision darkened, his mind disconnected from his body, and his only thought was to tear them all apart.

His closest target was one of the brothers. He lifted his fists to strike.

“Kick his ass, Stan,” Billy ordered.

Stan drew back his meaty arm and took a swing.

Jason gave him points for initiative if not execution.

Jason ducked easily, shuffled his feet, and returned the favor.

He scored a direct hit to the chin. The man dropped his fists and staggered backward, eyelashes fluttering. He went down like a ton of bricks.

The second brother stepped up with a roar of anger.

He was more mobile than Stan, with a shorter range and lighter fists.

Jason parried with him for a couple of turns.

One of the brother’s punches landed, smashing Jason’s ear.

It rattled him, so Jason made him pay with a couple of quick, hard strikes.

The man joined his brother on the ground.

Billy seemed shocked by the ferocity of Jason’s attack. Jason relaxed his stance. The brothers were too stunned to move, and Billy didn’t stand a chance against him. Surely, he understood that after the demonstration Jason had just given.

“Go home,” Jason said. “You’re drunk.”

“Fuck you,” Billy said softly. His eyes were an eerie, bloodshot blue in the moonlight. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jason shook his head in disbelief. One of the brothers groaned from his prone position on the ground. The other rolled over and vomited on the sidewalk. If Billy wanted to get his face rearranged, so be it. Some people had to learn the hard way. Resigned to the task, Jason waved Billy forward.

Billy advanced with a startling quickness and an unexpected amount of force.

Jason didn’t bother to duck because he’d invited the contact, and he wanted a reason to retaliate.

He spotted the brass knuckles as Billy’s fist arched toward him, a second too late.

The blow landed, exploding across his jaw.

Blood filled his mouth, warm and metallic, and black spots danced across his vision.

Damn. Maybe Billy wasn’t as drunk—or defenseless—as he’d thought.

Jason shook off the cobwebs, spat blood on the grass, and reset his feet. He stepped forward and raised his fists. A dark thrill traveled through him as they squared up again.

Billy was fighting dirty, but so what? Jason hadn’t expected him to play nice. If anything, he relished the extra challenge. Now he could beat this redneck punk to a pulp without a single twinge of guilt.

Game on.