Sharp Shootin' Cowboy (Hot Cowboy Nights, #3)(12)

The following morning, he was still thinking about her. Maybe it was just the challenge that appealed to him, but he couldn’t get her out of his head. He was damned if he could figure it out. They had nothing in common, but their attraction was as real as any he’d ever felt.

He’d intentionally left his favorite jacket behind. The prospect of going back for it, for her, would give him something to look forward to over the next eight months of purgatory.

She’d refused to give him her number, but he still had the text she’d sent Yolanda from his phone. Worst-case scenario, he’d call her friend and ask for it, but it would probably be easier to get it through Garcia. In this situation, his spotter was definitely his best in.

Reid was sprawled on his rack restlessly flipping through TV channels when Garcia dragged into the barracks looking haggard as shit. “Rough night?” Reid asked.

“She f*cking wore me out.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“Hell no,” Garcia replied. “I think she might be the one.”

“Oh yeah? Think you could get Haley’s number from her?”

“What? She wouldn’t give it to you herself? Even after a lift home? Guess she was the only one who got a ride, eh hombre?” Garcia laughed. “If scoring is that hard for you, maybe you’d better give up on women and just stick to the rifle range.”

“Fuck you, Garcia,” Reid grumbled. “Just get it for me, okay?”

Later that day, Garcia handed him a slip of paper with a smirk Reid was tempted to smack off his face. He snatched it from his buddy’s hand without comment and punched it into his phone contacts. He then pocketed his phone only to whip it back out. He wanted to call but resisted the urge. Instead, he quickly typed a text. Thinking about u Haley Cooper…Reid.

Moments later his phone vibrated. U forgot ur jacket.

He texted his response. I’ll get it from u when I come back.

No marines… she replied.

Give me a chance & I’ll change your mind.

*

Four days later, the Third Battalion First Marines boarded three commercial jets bound for Kuwait City. For twenty-two hours, they paced the aisles and watched movies—Ocean’s Eleven, Men in Black, and Die Another Day. Black Hawk Down played twice by request. The incident in Mogadishu was a brutal reminder of the similar Blackwater incident, and why they were returning to Iraq. The arrival of the Thundering Third meant there would be a reckoning for the spilled American blood.

Reid didn’t fear death. He’d already had enough close calls to know it was out of his control anyway. Death in a hot zone was random and unpredictable. It was never safe. He’d learned that on his first deployment two years ago.

They’d spent weeks on Failaka Island in Kuwait training for an invasion when America’s finest were literally caught with their pants down. Two squads from Bravo were stripped down to their skivvies and kicking back on the beach when an old white truck came barreling out of nowhere, spraying fire. Having used blanks for the training exercises, the marines had no ammo. No armor. No cover on an open beach.

Growing up in Wyoming, with the constant presence of grizzlies, wolves, and mountain lions, Reid was in the habit of carrying—even if taking a shit. Out of two dozen marines, he was the only one with his sidearm and live ammo. While the others dove into the surf, he’d returned fire.

The incident earned him a commendation and a spot in scout sniper school, but the damage was done. Two green recruits were wounded. The third, a combat veteran nearing his end of service, went home in a box. Brutal lesson learned: Complacency kills.

They were now circling over Kuwait City. Reid took a few shots with his phone, snapping photos of the city and the surrounding desert. As soon as they landed, he texted his family in Wyoming. It would probably be the last time he’d have cell service for the next eight or nine months, not that the phone would do any good anyway. It was a huge mistake to take any electronics into the desert. They were usually trashed by dust and sand within two weeks. If he couldn’t find a way to store it, he’d have to throw it away. For now, he could at least share a few photos.

He then sent a one-liner to Haley. Still thinking about u Haley Cooper…Reid. He might be out of sight, but he refused to be out of mind. Moments later, she surprised him by replying with her email address.

*

After disembarking, they assembled for a briefing. The entire battalion was gathered under a scorching desert sun, battle guidons barely flickering in a scarcely perceptible breeze. Though nighttime temps would be close to freezing, days were hot as hell, 110 degrees without counting the slow-cooker effect of body armor. Standing stone-faced in rigid lines, the companies faced one another in formation as their stoic colonel made his motivational address.

“You are marines. You protect innocent lives. You stand for the universal cause of freedom and fight to keep our country from further threat. You are United States Marines. The world’s finest warriors. The most feared fighting machines. This is a moment you will remember for the rest of your lives. The time you carved a place in history with the entire world watching. You are marines,” he reiterated. “Never forget it.”

After being muzzled and chained for months, the Devil Dogs were about to be unleashed.

The next hours were spent with individual commanders reviewing the battle plan, breaking it down by company, platoon, and individual squads. Dust choked their throats as Reid and Garcia grabbed their gear and trekked toward the lines of armored Humvees and 7-Tons lining the periphery of the airfield. With weapons shouldered, the “Balls of the Corps” piled into their respective transport vehicles.