The Family Gathering (Sullivan's Crossing #3)

The Family Gathering (Sullivan's Crossing #3)

Robyn Carr



   In our family, we don’t hide crazy...we put it

on the porch and give it a cocktail.

   —ANONYMOUS





1

DAKOTA JONES PULLED right up to the barn that was now a house, and parked beside his brother’s truck. He left his duffel in the Jeep SUV and went to the door. He stood in indecision for a moment—they had a six-month-old baby. He knocked rather than ring the bell, just in case the child was sleeping. A few moments later, he knocked again. And a third time. Finally the door opened.

“Dakota!” Cal said with a grin. “What are you doing here?”

“I came by way of Australia. It’s a long story—”

“I can’t wait to hear what that’s about,” Cal said. “Want to come in or stand out there awhile longer?”

“I don’t want to wake the baby,” Dakota said.

“The baby is in Denver with Maggie. They’ll be back tonight.”

“That sounds like an interesting arrangement,” Dakota said.

“Like a tug-of-war, my friend. Something to drink?” Cal offered. “Food?”

“A cold beer would be nice.” He looked around. The place was beautiful, but that came as no surprise. Cal’s house with his first wife had been a showplace. Given the way the Jones siblings had grown up, something like a good, solid house that a person was proud to come home to would fill a need that had been neglected when they were kids. Cal put a beer in Dakota’s hand. “The place looks great,” Dakota said.

But Cal didn’t respond to that. Instead, he said, “What were you doing in Australia?”

“I’d never been there,” he said. “I wanted to walkabout. That’s when—”

Cal cut him off with a laugh. “I know what a walkabout is.” He tilted his beer toward Dakota in a toast. “I’ve never seen you with that much hair. On your face and everything.”

Dakota stroked his beard. “I could probably use a trim.”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on before Maggie and Elizabeth get home.”

“Well, in Australia I visited one of the Rangers I served with years ago and together we checked in on another one. Then, with some input from them, I hit out on the trail for about a month, seeing some of the country, camping, fishing, practicing the identification and avoidance of snakes and crocodiles—”

“I meant, the Army! You’re out? I knew you weren’t happy there anymore. You said we’d talk about it someday.”

“I wasn’t sure where I’d end up but I was sure I’d get out here for a visit. With you and Sierra here and a new baby—I wanted to at least drop by.”

Cal sighed. “Dakota. The Army.”

“Well, I’m a little surprised I was in as long as I was. I never intended to make it a career. I wanted their offer of free travel and education.”

Cal just lifted one brow. Free travel? To a variety of war zones?

Dakota grinned. “I had a small disagreement with a colonel. We didn’t see things the same way. Apparently I was insubordinate. It was time to think about doing something new.”

“Were you honorably discharged?” Cal asked, pushing him.

Dakota shook his head. “But I wasn’t dishonorably discharged.”

He was simply discharged, but that said something. You had to screw up pretty bad to not get an honorable discharge.

“What’d you do?” Cal asked.

“I disagreed with his forward action and told him it would get people killed. Rangers—it could get Rangers killed. I had ten or a hundred times the experience he had but he was in competition with me or something because he was hell-bent to drive five of our best Rangers right into the known hotbed of ISIS training and it was going to get people dead. I think they plucked that idiot out of the motor pool and put him in charge of a unit. I overrode his orders and he threatened me with jail. I thought that it was probably time for a career change.”

“They sent you home?” Cal asked. “You must have done something even worse than disagree for them to send you home!”

Dakota squirmed. “I was acting in the best interest of my men.”

“What’d you do?” Dakota didn’t answer. “You hit him or something?”

“No, my guys wouldn’t let me do that,” he said. Then he hung his head briefly. “I let the air out of the tires until I could get in touch with another colonel I know who could try to intercede with the orders that would put us directly in harm’s way.”

“Jeeps?” Cal asked.

“No. MRAPs.”

“MRAPs?”

“Mine resistant assault protective vehicles. The big ones.”

“Those big mammoth desert beasts with tires taller than I am?” Cal asked. “How the hell do you let the air out of those?”

“With a .45,” he said softly. “Or M16.”

“You shot out the tires? How is it you’re not in jail?”

“I was. Good behavior,” he said. “And it was determined the colonel was incompetent and had done even worse things before. Cal, he was crazy. Homicidal. He had no idea what he was doing. He wasn’t a Ranger—he had very little combat experience. He was a joke. I wasn’t going to let him get any more people killed.”