The SEAL's Secret Heirs

God, everything hurt. The trot was more of a trounce, and he longed for the bite of rock under his belly as he dismantled a homemade cherry bomb placed carefully under a mosque where three hundred people worshipped. That he understood at least. How he’d landed in the middle of a job managing cattle, he didn’t.

Oh, right. He was doing this to prove to everyone they were wrong about him. That he wasn’t a slacker who’d ignored messages about his flesh and blood. That Liam and Grace and Danny Spencer and everyone else who had a bone to pick with him weren’t going to make him quit.

When he got back to the cattle barn, Danny and the cattle hands were hanging around waiting. One of the disappointed guys from the horse barn had probably texted ahead, hoping someone else could get video of the boss falling off his mount. They could all keep being disappointed.

“One cattle rancher on a horse, as ordered,” Kyle called mildly, keeping his ire under wraps. Someone wanted to know what he really thought about things? Too bad. No one was privy to what went on inside Kyle’s head except Kyle. As always.

“That’ll do,” Danny said with a nod, but his scowl didn’t loosen up any. “We got a few hundred head in the north pasture that need to be rounded up. You take Slim and Johnny and ya’ll bring ’em back, hear?”

“Nothing wrong with my ears,” Kyle drawled lazily. “What’s wrong is that I’m the one calling the shots now. What do you say we chat about that for a bit?”

Danny spat on the ground near Lighting Rod’s left front hoof and the horse flicked his head back in response. Kyle choked up on the reins before his mount got the brilliant idea to bolt.

“I’d say you started drinking early this a.m. if you think you’re calling the shots, jarhead.”

Kyle let loose a wry chuckle, friendly like, so no one got the wrong idea. “You might want to brush up on your insults. Jarheads are marines, not SEALs.”

“Same thing.”

Neither of them blinked as Kyle grinned. “Nah. The marines let anyone in, even old cowhands with bad attitudes. Want me to pass your number on to a recruiter? I’ll let you go a couple of rounds with a drill sergeant, and when you come back, you can talk to me about the difference between marines and SEALs all you want. Until then, my last name is Wade and the only thing you’re permitted to call me is ‘boss.’”

Spencer didn’t flinch but neither did he nod and play along. He spun on his heel and disappeared into the barn with a backhanded wave. Kyle considered it a win that the man hadn’t flipped him a one-fingered salute as a bonus.

Now that the unpleasantness was out of the way, Kyle nodded at the two hands the ranch manager had singled out as his lieutenants, one of whom had fifty pounds on him. That one must be Slim. It was the kind of joke cowboys seemed to like. Kyle would probably be jarhead until the day he died after a recounting of his showdown with Danny Spencer made the gossip rounds.

“You boys have a problem working for me?” he asked them both.

Slim’s expression was nothing short of hostile, but he and Johnny both shook their heads and swung up on their horses, trotting obediently after Kyle as he headed north toward the pasture where the cattle he was supposed to herd were grazing.

Then he just needed to figure out how to do it. Without alienating anyone else. Oh, and without falling off his horse. And without letting on to anyone that his leg was on fire already after less than thirty minutes in the saddle.

The north pasture came into view. Finally. It was still exactly where it had been ten years ago, but it felt as though it had taken a million years to get there, especially given the tense silence between Kyle and the two hands. Cattle dotted the wide swath of Wade land like black shadows against the green grass, spread as far as the eye could see, even wandering aimlessly into a copse of trees in the distance.

That was not good. He’d envisioned the cattle being easy to round up because they were all more or less in the same place. Instead, he and the hands had a very long task ahead of them to gather up the beasts, who may or may not have wanted to be gathered.

“How many?” he called over his shoulder to Johnny.

“A few hundred.” Johnny repeated verbatim the vague number Danny Spencer had rattled off earlier.

He’d mellowed out some and had actually spoken to Kyle without growling. Slim, not so much. The man held a serious grudge that wouldn’t be easily remedied. No big thing. They didn’t have to like each other. Just work together.

“How many exactly?” Kyle asked again as patiently as possible. “We have to know if we have them all before we head back.”