Mac yanked open the door and scowled before tucking away his gun. “Not funny, Coleman.”
Jake grinned wide and slid past him. “I hope you have coffee!”
Before he could answer, a second knock came on the partially opened door.
“Well, hell.” Mac smiled. “This is a surprise.” In seconds, his arms were filled with one of his oldest and dearest friends, Becca Johnson. They’d known each other since childhood, and her mother and his aunt still lived next door to each other in a quiet little San Jose neighborhood.
“You missed me!” Becca squeaked and peppered his cheek with a few kisses.
“Maybe.” Mac grinned, tugging at her long ponytail before she danced away, laughing. With Becca, he could goof around, have fun, and laugh. With her, Mac didn’t need to pretend. There were very few people who knew the real him, and Becca was one of them. She was his best friend, and no matter how much time passed between phone calls and visits, it was as if they’d never been apart.
Becca gave Jake a squeeze as she passed.
“Hey, hey, hey,” another voice called out, shoving at the door when Mac jokingly tried to push it closed. “Don’t forget the best part,” Kane said, pushing his way in, carrying coffee. Mac barked out a laugh before hugging his other best friend, FBI agent Kane Quintana.
Kane just happened to be Becca’s boyfriend. The pair had met during a Halloween party through mutual friends and had hit it off.
Injured and staying at his aunt’s house next door, Mac had been at the same party. Just out of the military, he’d been angry at Ben, the war, and the world. It was sometime after that, during the time he was recuperating from his military injury, that Kane had tried to get him a job.
“The FBI needs a man like you.” Kane always talked about how great the FBI was. The man went on and on about this and that until one day, Mac stopped saying fuck off and had joined the US Marshals office instead.
It was worth it just to see Kane hyperventilate. Kane had called it Mac’s desertion to the dark side.
“A fucking marshal?” Kane’s mouth gaped.
Mac had just laughed. From there, he had gone on to pass every physical and mental test the USMS threw at him, thankful his injury hadn’t damaged his eyesight.
Two years ago, the US Marshals had welcomed Robert Patrick Mackenzie into the fold, and while Kane had grumbled, Mac knew his friend was happy for him.
Noah
He used a piece of gauze to dab at the wound on his wrist. He’d opened it up again. Carl wouldn’t like that.
“Here, let me see it.” As if on cue, Dr. Carl Denning’s request drifted through the air. The calmness in the veterinarian’s smooth voice came from years of working with animals. Dr. Denning hadn’t been at the ranch very long, but in the two weeks the vet had come back and forth to tend to the livestock, the man had become somewhat of a friend to most of the teenagers there. Noah hated every man he met, but Carl was okay. The man had insisted they call him Carl and drop the title. Noah popped a piece of candy into his mouth. Carl kept a jar on the counter and Noah always stashed a few in his pockets.
“It doesn’t hurt,” he offered, holding out his arm, knowing it was futile to argue with the somewhat pushy but caring doctor.
Toenails clicked on the floor and a soft nose nuzzled at his free hand. Noah couldn’t stop the smile when Baby licked at his palm.
“Humor me.” Carl pushed the leather band away from the wound around Noah’s wrist and doused disinfectant over the raw skin beneath.
Noah didn’t flinch. It stung, but he’d felt far worse.
“Hi, Carl.” Jenny’s soft voice carried through the room. The vet glanced past Noah and spotted the girl sitting on one of the counters with her back to the wall, knees drawn tightly to her chest, and a small paperback in her hands. Ratty jeans and a man’s T-shirt hung on her skinny frame. Jenny Myers had come to the ranch over a year ago. She’d been young, starved, and addicted to heroin. The girl was distrustful of most people, but highly protective of those she cared about. And she cared about him. Jenny watched his back as much as he watched hers. So far, the both of them had managed to survive.
Carl smiled at Jenny. “I didn’t see you there.”
She shrugged. “I told him that it’s gonna get infected,” she said, waving the book toward Noah’s wrist.
“Oh, give it a rest, Jenny.” Noah pulled away from Carl’s grasp.
He crouched, and Baby moved into his arms. The dog had been a stray a year ago; skinny, lost, and angry at the world just like he was. Through kind words and sneaking the dog snacks, Noah had gained Baby’s trust. He buried his face in her fur, and Baby nuzzled and nipped at his hair.
“Wait, how’d you get that bruise?” The vet frowned and reached for the collar of his too-big T-shirt.
Noah twisted, avoiding Carl’s outstretched hand, and straightened the shirt’s neck, covering the marks.
“Carl!” One of Manning’s men came to the door of the large barn. Outside, the sun had risen, and the man’s frame was a halo in the doorway. “You’re needed in building three. One of the Heifers is giving birth.”
“All right, I’m coming.” Carl looked at Noah and Jenny. “We will talk about this later,” the man said before he exited the office and left the building.
Jenny closed her book and tucked it away. Slipping from the counter,
