adie pulled the Saab into the Gas and Go and stopped beneath the bright lights of the gas pumps. A dull thump pounded her temples. The rehearsal dinner hadn’t been the complete hell she’d feared. Just a warm-up version for the following night.

She got out of the car and pumped premium into her tank. She’d been right about one thing. All the other wedding attendants were about ten years younger than Sadie, and they all had boyfriends or were married. Some had children.

The groomsman she walked down the aisle with was Boner Henderson’s cousin Rusty. She wasn’t sure if Rusty was his real name or a nickname. The only thing that was for sure was that the name fit him. He had red hair and freckles and was pale as a baby’s butt. He was about four inches shorter than Sadie and mentioned that maybe she should wear “flat shoes” to the wedding.

As if.

She leaned against the car and crossed her arms over her beige trench coat. A cool night breeze played with her high ponytail and she hugged herself against the chill. Her aunt Bess and uncle Jim had seemed genuinely happy to see her. During dessert, Uncle Jim stood and gave a really long speech about Tally Lynn. He began with the day his daughter was born and finished with how happy they all were that she was marrying her high school sweetheart, an all-around “great guy,” Hardy Steagall.

For the most part, Sadie had evaded questions about her love life. It wasn’t until the dessert plates were cleared that her uncle Frasier’s wife, Pansy Jean, warmed to the topic. Thank God it had been several hours after cocktail time and Uncle Frasier had been tanked and talkative and he’d interrupted Pansy Jean with his stupid jokes. It was no secret that Frasier controlled his drinking by waiting until after five to tank up. It had been past eight when he’d unwittingly saved Sadie from Aunt Pansy Jean’s interrogation.

The gas shut off and Sadie returned the nozzle to the pump. She couldn’t imagine getting married so young and to someone from high school. She hadn’t had a high school sweetheart. She’d been asked out, gone on some dates, but she’d never been serious about anyone.

She screwed on the gas cap, then opened her car door and grabbed her purse from the seat. She’d had her first real relationship her freshman year at UT at Austin. His name had been Frank Bassinger, but everyone called him Frosty.

Yeah, Frosty.

He’d been beautiful, with sun-kissed hair and clear blue eyes. A true Texan, he’d played football and had been clean-cut, like a someday senator. He’d taken her virginity, and he’d made it so good, she’d gone back for more that very same night.

They’d dated for almost a year and, in hindsight, he was probably the only real good guy she’d ever dated, but she’d been young and started to feel trapped and restless and wanted to move on from Frosty and Austin and Texas altogether.

She’d broken his heart, and she’d felt bad about that, but she’d been young with a wide-open future. A future even more wide-open than the flat Texas plains she’d always known.

The heels of her four-inch pumps tapped across the parking lot as she made her way to the front of the store. She wondered what had become of Frosty. Probably married to one of those perfect, perky Junior Leaguers, had two children, and worked in his father’s law firm. He probably had the perfectly perfect life.

She moved between a white pickup and a Jeep Wrangler. After Frosty, she’d had a series of boyfriends at different universities. Only one of them had been what she’d consider a serious relationship. Only one of them had twisted and broken her heart like a pretzel. His name had been Brent. Just Brent. One name. Not two. No nickname, and she’d met him at UC Berkeley. He hadn’t been like any guy she’d ever known. Looking back now, she could see that he’d been a rebel without a clue, a radical without a cause, but in her early twenties, she hadn’t seen that. Hadn’t seen that there’d been nothing behind his dark, broody moods. The son of privilege with nothing but pretentious anger against “the system.” God, she’d been crazy for him. When he’d dumped her for a black-haired girl with soulful eyes, Sadie had thought she was going to die. Of course she hadn’t, but it had taken her a long time to get over Brent. These days, she was much too smart to love so blindly. She’d been there and done that and had no interest in emotionally unavailable men. Men like her dad who shut down when anyone got too close.

She opened the door to the Gas and Go, and a little chime rang somewhere in the store. Her nostrils were assaulted by the smell of popcorn, hot dogs, and pine cleaner. She moved down a row of chips to the glass refrigerator cases. Her last relationship had been short-lived. He’d been successful and handsome, but she’d had to kick him to the curb because his sexual technique hadn’t improved after three months. Three frustrating months of him falling asleep before he finished the job. She didn’t need a man for his money. She needed him for things she couldn’t do for herself like lift heavy objects and knock boots.

Simple, but it was always shocking how many guys weren’t that great at knocking boots. Which was just baffling. Wasn’t sex their number one job? Even above actually having a job?

She grabbed a six-pack of Diet Coke and slid past a middle-aged cowboy reaching for a case of Lone Star in the next cooler. Beneath his hat, his big mustache looked somewhat familiar, but she didn’t stop for a close look. She was tired, and after the rehearsal dinner, preceded by lunch with the Parton twins, she was talked and tuckered out.

Tuckered out? Lord, she hadn’t used, or even thought of, that expression in a raccoon’s age. Maybe a raccoon and a half even.

She grabbed a bag of Chee-tos and set it by the six-pack on the counter in front of Luraleen Jinks. If it was possible, Mrs. Jinks had even more wrinkles. She wore a neon pink blouse and pink skull earrings with jeweled eyes.

“Well Sadie Jo,” she greeted, her voice as rough as sixty-grit sandpaper.

“Hello, Mrs. Jinks.”

“You’re just as pretty as your mama.”

She guessed she should return the compliment, but that would require lying skills she didn’t possess. Even for a native. “Thank you, Mrs. Jinks. I really like your skull earrings.” Which was still a lie but not as big as telling Luraleen she was pretty.

“Thank you. One of my gentlemen gave them to me.”

She had gentlemen? As in more than one?

“How’s your daddy?” She scanned the Diet Coke and placed it in a plastic bag. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He’s good.” She set her Gucci bag on the counter and pulled out her wallet.

“I hear you’re in town for Tally Lynn’s weddin’.”

“Yes. I just came from the rehearsal dinner. Tally looked very happy.” Which was true. Happy and glowing with young love.

She rang up the Chee-tos. “Vince told me you helped out and gave him a ride into town last night.”

She looked up. “Vince? The guy stranded out on the highway?” The one who’d turned down the chance to escort her to her cousin’s wedding? The last guy on the planet she’d hope to see again?

“Yeah. He’s my nephew.”

Nephew? When she’d left the JH earlier, she’d noticed that his truck was no longer on the side of the road.

Luraleen hit total. “He’s in the back puttin’ boxes away for me. I’ll get him.”

“No really I—”

“Vince!” she called out, then broke out in a coughing fit.

Sadie didn’t know whether to run or to jump across the counter and pound on the woman’s back. Running really wasn’t an option, and she wondered if she pounded on Luraleen’s back, would smoke signals pour out of her ears with each thump?

From the back of the store she heard the slight squeak of a door and the heavier thud of boot heels a second before the deep rumble of masculine voice. “You okay, Aunt Luraleen?”

Sadie glanced to the left, at the tall dark presence moving toward her. A shadow of black scruff covered the bottom half of his face, making his eyes a more vivid light green. If it was even possible, he looked bigger and badder than he had the night before. Without his ball cap, he was even hotter. His dark hair was cut short, about an inch shy of a crew cut.

He stopped when he saw her. “Hello, Sadie.”

He’d remembered her name. “Hi, Vincent.” And even though he obviously found her resistible, she once again fought the ridiculous urge to twist her hair and check her lip gloss. Which just proved to her that she needed to start thinking about a new relationship. This time with a man who was good in the sack. “I didn’t see your truck on the side of the highway. So I take it you got a tow.”

“Everyone calls me Vince.” He continued behind the counter and stood next to his aunt. “I got a tow this morning. The alternator went out, but it should be fixed by Monday.”

No doubt the guy in front of her would know what to do and get the job done. Guys like him always knew the ins-and-outs of bed. Or against the wall, on the beach in Oahu, or in the car overlooking L.A. Not that she knew. Of course not. “So you’re here until Monday?” And why was she thinking of Vince and the sack anyway? Maybe because he looked so sackable in his brown T-shirt stretched across his hard chest.

He slid a gaze to his aunt. “I’m not sure when I’m shipping out.”

Sadie pushed a twenty across the counter. She looked up into Vince’s light green eyes within his dark, swarthy face. He just didn’t seem like a small-town kind of guy. Especially a small-town Texas kind of guy. “Lovett isn’t quite the Seattle area.” She guessed him to be in his midthirties. The women of Lovett would love him, but she wasn’t sure how many of those women were single. “There isn’t a lot to do.”

“Well, I... I beg to differ with you,” Luraleen sputtered as she made change. “We don’t have big museums and fancy art galleries and such, but there’s lots of goin’s and doin’s.”

Sadie had obviously hit a nerve. So she didn’t argue that there was little in Lovett to go and do. She took her change and put it in her wallet. “I only meant that it’s a family-oriented town.”

Luraleen slid the cash drawer shut. “Nothing wrong with family. Family’s important to most folks.” She pushed the bag of Diet Coke and Chee-tos toward Sadie. “Most folks come visit their poor old daddies more than once every five years or so.”

And most daddies stayed home when their daughters came to visit after five years. “My daddy knows where I live. He’s always known.” She felt her face turn hot. From anger and embarrassment, and she didn’t know which was worse. Like most of the people in Lovett, Luraleen didn’t know what she was talking about, but that didn’t keep her from talking like she did know. She wasn’t surprised that Luraleen knew how long it had been since her last visit. Small-town gossip was just one of the reasons she’d left Lovett and never looked back. Sadie dropped her wallet into her purse and glanced up at Vince. “I’m glad to hear you got towed into town.”

Vince watched Sadie grab her bag of Diet Coke and Chee-tos. Watched her cheeks turn a darker shade of pink. There was something going on behind those blue eyes. Something more than anger. If he was a nice guy he might make an effort to think of something nice to say to soothe the obvious sting of Luraleen’s comment. The woman had done him a favor, but Vince didn’t know what to say, and had never been accused of being a nice guy. Except by his sister, Autumn. She’d always given him a lot more credit than he deserved, and he’d always figured if his sister was the only female on the planet who thought he was a nice guy, then he was pretty much an asshole. Which was surprisingly okay with him. “Thanks again for the ride,” he said.

She said something but he didn’t catch it because she turned her face away. Her blond ponytail swung as she turned on her heels and marched out the door. His gaze slid down the back of her coat, down her bare calves and ankles to a pair of red fuck-me heels.

“She always did think she was too good for her raisin’s.”

Vince glanced at his aunt, then his gaze returned to Sadie’s back as she moved across the parking lot. He wasn’t sure what raisins had to do with anything, but he was sure that he was a huge fan of fuck-me heels. “You were rude to her.”

“Me?” Luraleen put an innocent hand on her skinny chest. “She said there was nothin’ to do in town.”

“And?”

“There’s lots!” Not a gray hair on her head moved as she vigorously shook her head. “We got the Founder’s Day picnic, and the Fourth of July is a big whoop-de-do. Not to mention Easter is coming up in a month.” She motioned for Alvin, who stood back with his case of Lone Star. “We got some real nice restaurants and fine dining.” She rang up the beer. “Isn’t that right, Alvin?”

“Ruby’s serves a real good beefsteak,” the cowboy agreed as he handed over two folded bills. His big hat seemed to be held up by his jug-handle ears. “Seafood’s not too great though.”

Luraleen waved away the criticism. “This is cattle country. Who cares about seafood?”

“What are you doin’ after you close up for the night, Luraleen?”

She cast a sideways glance at Vince and he tried not to notice. “I got my nephew in town.”

“If you want to go out with friends, that’s fine with me.” After last night and most of today, he could use a break from his aunt. He still had to think over her offer. His first instinct had been to turn her down, but the more he thought about it, the more he was tempted to take her up on it. He didn’t plan to stay in Lovett, Texas, for the rest of his life, but maybe he could turn the Gas and Go into another nice investment. A few minor improvements here and there, and he could sell it and make a pile of cash.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He was sure. His aunt’s idea of a good time was Tammy Wynette plugged into the “cassette player” and a fifth of Ten High. He wasn’t much of a bourbon drinker, especially cheap bourbon, and he didn’t know if his liver could take much more.

She slapped the change into Alvin’s outstretched palm. “Fine, but make sure everything is operatin’ this time or don’t bother.”

Operating?

Alvin turned red but managed a wink. “You got it, darlin’.”

What the...? Vince had been exposed to some real disturbing shit in his life, most he stored away in the black locker of his soul, but his wrinkled aunt, heels to Jesus, with Alvin was right near the top of the disturbing shit list.

Luraleen shoved the cash drawer closed and announced, “We’re closin’ up early. Shut down the hot dog roller, Vince!”

Less than an hour later, Vince was dropped off at his aunt’s house. She’d slapped some pink, Pepto-colored lipstick on her wrinkly, horsy lips and jumped in Alvin’s truck, off to do things Vince didn’t even want to contemplate.

Vince was left alone to sit in an old iron chair on the screened porch. He raised a bottle of water to his mouth, then set it on the warped wood by his left foot. He’d never been good at relaxing. He’d always needed something to do. A clarity of purpose.

He tied the laces on his left running shoe and then switched to his right. When he’d been a member of the teams, there was always something that needed doing. He’d always been downrange or training and preparing for the next mission. When he’d come home, he’d kept himself busy with work and family. His nephew had been only a few months old and his sister had needed a lot of help. His purpose had been clear. There hadn’t been a mental vacuum. Not a lot of time to think. About anything.

He liked it that way.

The screen door slammed behind him as he set off into the cool March air. A sliver of a moon hung in the black night crammed with stars. Seattle, New York, and Tokyo had stunning skylines, but none of them could compare with the natural beauty of billions of stars.

The soles of his running shoes thumped a silent, steady pace against the paved street. Whether in Afghanistan, Iraq, or the deck of an oilrig in the calm waters of the Persian Gulf, Vince had always found a certain peace within the dark blanket of night. Ironic, he supposed, given that, like most Special Forces, he’d often operated in the dead of night, the familiar rat-tat of an AK–47 in the distance, and the reassuring answer of an M4A1. This dichotomy of equal parts comfort and fear of the night was something that men like him understood: taking it to the enemy was much better than waiting around for the enemy to bring it to them.

In the calm Texas night, the only sound to reach his ears was the sound of his own breathing and a dog barking in the distance. Rottweiler maybe.

On nights like this, he could fill his head with either the future or the past. With the faces of his buddies. Those who’d made it out and those who hadn’t. He could let his mind recall the guys in Team One, Alpha Platoon. Their fresh faces changed over the years by the things they’d seen and done. He’d grown up in the Navy. Grown into a man, and the things he’d seen and done had changed him, too.

But tonight he had other things on his mind. Things that had nothing to do with the past. He had to admit the more he thought about buying the Gas and Go from Luraleen, the more the idea appealed to him. He could buy it, fix it up, and sell it in a year. Or hell, he could become the next John Jackson, the owner and founder of about a hundred and fifty convenience stores throughout the Northwest.

True, he didn’t know shit about convenience stores, but John hadn’t known that much, either. The guy had been a Chevron marketer from a small town in Idaho and was worth millions now. Not that Vince wanted to be a mogul. He just wasn’t a suit-and-tie kind of guy. He didn’t have the temperament for the boardroom. He knew himself well enough to know that he wasn’t very diplomatic, if at all. He liked to cut through the bullshit and get things done. He’d much rather kick a door down than talk his way through, but he was thirty-six and his body was pretty beat up from too many years of kicking down doors, jumping from airplanes, and fighting waves like a bronc rider and dragging his Zodiac up the beach.

He passed beneath a weak streetlamp and turned north. He’d made it through BUD/S hell week, and served for ten years with SEAL Team One out of Coronado. He’d been deployed around the world, then moved to Seattle to help raise his nephew. A job that had sometimes made him long for the days of relentless sandstorms, putrid swamps, and teeth-rattling cold. He could manage one small convenience store, and truth be told, he wasn’t doing anything else right now anyway.

A car headed toward him and he moved closer to the curb. He hadn’t felt so aimless in a long time. Not since his father had walked out on him and his mother and sister. He’d been ten when his old man walked out and never looked back. Ten when he’d first felt confused about his place in the world. He’d been too young to help his mother, been too old to cry like his sister. He’d felt helpless. A feeling he hated to this day.

At the time, they’d been living in a little house on Coeur d’Alene Lake in northern Idaho. To escape the pain of his father’s abandonment and his mother’s inability to cope, he’d spent most of that first summer exploring the underwater world of those freezing waters. Every morning he made his sister breakfast and watched her until his mother got out of bed. Then he put on his trunks, grabbed his fins and goggles, and pushed himself. He’d swim farther than he had the day before, dive deeper, and hold his breath longer. It was the only thing that gave him purpose. The only thing that made him feel not so helpless. The only thing he could control.

Over the next eight years, he and his mother and sister moved four more times. Sometimes they’d stay in the same state, but never in the same county or school district. Every place they moved, he got a job delivering newspapers before school. Because of his size and natural athletic ability, he’d played some football, but preferred lacrosse. During the summers he worked, and in his free time, he hung out at the closest body of water. Swimming, diving, or making Autumn pretend she was a drowning victim so he could tow her to shore. On the occasions his sister wasn’t with him, he checked out the girls.

The summer of his sixteenth year, they’d been living in Forest Grove, Oregon, and he’d spent most days at Hagg Lake. He’d lost his virginity on the beach, beneath the stars and full moon. Her name had been Heather, and she’d been eighteen. There might be some people who’d consider the age difference a problem. Vince hadn’t been one of them. He’d had no problem having sex all night with Heather.

He’d always known he wanted to join the military, but he’d promised his mom he’d try college first. He got a lacrosse scholarship to the University of Denver, and he’d played for two years. But he’d never really felt as if it was where he needed to be. The day he walked into a Navy recruiter’s office, he felt like he was coming home. He’d taken one look at a mural of a SEAL team, deep blue ocean in the background, fast roping from a CH–53 onto the deck of a ship, and he’d felt like his whole life was on that wall.

These days, there was no clarity. No purpose. He was restless, which was never good. Restless led to bar fights and worse. And there were worse things than getting your ass kicked by a bar full of bikers. Worse things than an explosion that ended everything you worked so hard to accomplish. Worse things than the loss of hearing in his left ear.

He was a SEAL. A shadow warrior, and getting his ass kicked by nightmares, waking up freezing with a pool of sweat on his chest, was worse than anything he’d ever faced.

But was a little convenience store in bum-fuck Texas what he needed to give him clarity? Did he really want to hang out in a small Texas town? For at least a year? Selling beer and gas and Wound Hounds while fixing the place up?

He’d run the idea past his sister, Autumn. She owned a successful events planning business in Seattle, and he’d be interested to hear her take on Aunt Luraleen’s offer. The last time he’d talked to Autumn, she’d been all slap-happy about planning her own wedding. To the son of a bitch ex of hers.

The same son of a bitch who’d bailed him out of jail after the biker bar butt whupping, and had given him the name of a kick-ass attorney. Which meant he owed the guy, and Vince hated owing anyone.

There were a few rules that Vince lived by, and they were set in stone. Keep your head clear and your equipment in clean working order. Never leave a buddy behind, and never leave owing anyone anything.