Page 32 of Tate (The Montana Marshalls #2)

He stiffened. Not the voice he’d expected, really. Because knowing Glo, she would have wanted to run in after him, help heal his wounds.

But big brother Reuben wasn’t the coddling type.

“Tate—”

Tate grabbed a towel and turned, holding up his hand. “Save it, bro. I don’t need your pity.”

“None here. Trust me—I’ve been there enough to know what’s going on in your gut. I nearly got Gilly killed, twice.”

“Yeah, but she’s here, marrying you tomorrow, so you must have done something right.” He ran the towel over his face.

Reuben walked over to the cupboard and grabbed a glass. “The only thing I did right was give myself permission to have a second chance.”

Tate gave a sad shake of his head. “Yeah, well, I tried that. And managed to get a girl killed.”

Reuben frowned as he handed Tate the glass.

“Vegas. Back when I was working security for a mob boss. Another slick idea of mine. I turned in my boss to the FBI, but not until they killed the woman I was dating to warn me off.”

Reuben leaned back against the counter, his arms folded. “How did I get so far out of your life that I never knew these things?”

Tate filled his glass with water. “It’s no big deal. I was a mess. I didn’t stick around long after my medical separation from the military. Dad sorta told me that if I wanted to be a hero, I needed to act like it.”

Reuben frowned. “Dad said that?”

“I might have come in late from the Bulldog, a little too much beer on my breath.”

Reuben gave him a nod. “It’s tough when the one we worship falls hard.”

“I didn’t worship Dad,” Tate said.

“I wasn’t talking about Dad.” Reuben raised an eyebrow.

“The number one idol of the human race is ourselves. Or at least that’s what Gilly’s dad is always preaching from the pulpit.

And he’s right.” He smirked. “It’s hard not to feel like you make your own tailwind when people are in the stands screaming your name, Twenty-Two. ”

Tate opened his mouth. “I don’t?—”

“Want to impress yourself? Prove to yourself that you’re not the scared kid who fell off a horse?”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t leave home to jump out of airplanes into infernos because of my pride.” Tate didn’t mean for that to come out quite so darkly.

But he didn’t expect Reuben to nod. “I admit, I was running from my own demons, my own broken places. Problem was that no amount of my own awesomeness could heal me. No matter how many fires I put out, I still came home to an angry Reuben.”

Tate finished off his water, set the glass on the counter. “So, how did you get from there to…well…” He glanced out the window to the family campfire. To Gilly.

And of course, looked at Glo, who had drawn up her knees, clasping her arms around them. She glanced at the house, as if feeling his gaze on her.

“I had to stop trying.”

Tate looked at him. “What?”

“I know. It sounds crazy, but I had to stop trying so hard to prove that…well, that I was somebody worth loving, I guess. And just let Gilly—and God, too—love me.”

Tate reached for one of the cupcakes on a plate on the counter.

“Touch that and you’ll pull back a nub.”

Tate glanced at his brother. Held up his hands. “Fine. Listen, I don’t need to prove to anybody that…whatever. It’s no big deal.”

“It’s the only deal, Tate. When you show up with nothing and discover that you’re loved because of who you are—that’s when you realize what it means to be a son of God.

That’s when you discover that you’ve inherited more than you could possibly imagine.

It’s pretty breathtaking.” He grinned. “Sort of like free-falling, knowing that your chute is going to catch you.”

He frowned at Reuben, but the door opened, and Gilly came in. “I’m checking on my cupcakes.”

“All good here, honey,” Reuben said and pulled her against him. But he looked back at Tate. “Just remember, bro. You’re not the good news. Jesus is.” He clamped him on the shoulder and guided Gilly back outside.

A son of God. Tate didn’t know why those words settled inside him, rough-edged and itchy.

He’d never really seen himself as the son of anyone—sure, Orrin Marshall, but he was so very different from his father.

Different from his brothers.

He watched them out the window. All of them loved the ranch, knew how to throw a rope, were easy in the saddle, and sure, Ford had gone on to become a SEAL, but at the end of the day, he was a cowboy to his core.

Tate had hated the ranch.

No, he hated not measuring up.

As he watched, Ford got up and, after a glance at Scarlett, headed to the house.

Nice. Tag team brotherly counsel.

He was leaning against the counter, his arms folded when Ford entered.

Ford gave a smirk. “Right. Okay. So I’m just adding that Scarlett didn’t know it was you in that story.”

“I know.”

“And although I didn’t know the entire story, I do know this.

” Ford crossed his arms to match Tate’s.

“We train every day, for months, hoping to get things right, and we still make mistakes. No op is perfect. You go in, stay alert, and rely on your brothers to have your back. And I’m not just talking your fellow Rangers. ”

“I was impulsive, and I got people killed. And I still do.” He looked outside. “I can’t let anything happen to Glo.”

Ford nodded. “I get that.” He had been looking out the window, too, and now turned back to Tate. “And sometimes you have to follow your gut. You, more than anyone, know that. It’s how we stay alive out there, right?”

Tate shrugged.

Ford walked over to the pantry. “Man, if you only knew how much I wanted to be like you when I was younger. You were always doing the cool things.”

“If you mean breaking bones and driving Ma crazy?—”

“Like I said. And I still look at you and think…man, he’s got all the luck. The jerk.”

“Hardly.”

“Take another look, bro. Because you have that hot girl pining for you out there. And I can’t figure out how to get past the mess I’ve created with Scarlett.”

Oh?

Ford stood in the glow of the overhead light of the pantry. “What? Ma doesn’t have any health food?” He grabbed a bag of Doritos.

Tate hadn’t moved, but he raised an eyebrow.

“So,” Ford said, opening the bag and scoring a chip, “Scarlett is our FOB operations communicator when we’re in the field, and I’m radio communicator, field ops, so…she’s talking to me. And we have this rapport, see, and…we’re friends.”

“Mmmhmm.”

Ford threw the chip in his mouth. “She needed a ride to Idaho last week, so I gave her a ride.”

“Because it’s on your way to Montana.”

“Actually—”

Tate held up his hand. Grinned.

“Anyway, we’re driving, and on the way she tells me she wants to go into SEAL training?—”

“What? Seriously?”

Ford found another chip. “I know. They’re letting women in, and sure, I’m game for anyone who can be a solid operator. But…yeah, the idea of Scarlett there, beside me, or even on SWCC, in the heat of things…honestly, I’m not a fan.”

“We had a few women who tried to be Rangers. Brave, tough, smart. But in the end, the thought of them being captured and put through torture—it makes me sick.”

“Right?” Ford leaned a hip against the counter and dug in for another chip. “And then we get to her mother’s house, and she’s forty-three and has early-onset Alzheimer’s and can barely remember Scarlett.”

“Oh no.”

“Yeah, and her husband is a jerk, taking the money Scarlett sends for her mother and little brother. Now she thinks she should quit the military and help her mother.”

Ford finished the Dorito he held in his hand then rolled the bag up. “And I just want her to stop talking and go back to being the woman in my ear. And it feels so selfish, I’m making myself angry. Because I also really just want to kiss her, which would screw everything up and…”

“Wow. I feel a lot better. This tag team counseling is a great tactic.”

Ford just eyeballed him.

“Okay, what happens in Montana stays in Montana.”

Ford frowned.

“That’s all I got for you, bro.”

“I really expected more.”

“I told you. You don’t want to be like me.

I have a couple of killers stalking Glo—or I used to think so—and meanwhile, I’m breaking promises like I’m throwing china at the wall.

” He glanced out the window, and now Glo was standing up, again looking this direction.

“And I don’t think I’m stopping anytime soon. ”

“A couple killers?”

“The guys who bombed the arena in Texas. But according to RJ, there’s no connection. I’m back to speculation and some bad photos.”

Ford frowned.

“The important part here is that I’m so beyond my instincts, I’m not sure what to do.

All I know is that when I’m with Glo, all that clutter of the past seems to fade, and she makes me think that everything will be okay.

That I’m not a freakin’ mess and that maybe…

yeah, that I could give myself permission for a second chance. ”

Ford let a grin slide up his face and he glanced past Tate, out the window. “Or that some ops are worth the risk.”

Tate held up his fist.

“Hoo-yah.” Ford bumped it. Turned to the door. “Hey, Glo. I’m tagging you in.”

She stared after Ford, then turned to Tate. “You okay, tough guy?”

She looked so concerned, her hazel-green eyes searching his. He reached for her, his arms around her waist, pulling her close, meeting those beautiful eyes. “I am now.” Right now.

He wouldn’t think about tomorrow.

So he bent, searching her gaze for a brief moment, caught in the wonder, the sparkle, the hope that was Glo, the sense that, with her, he didn’t have to be anything more…and kissed her.

Giving himself that second chance.