Last Surrender

Chapter 1-1

One

Jeremiah gripped the rusty nail with his pliers and yanked it out of the fence post, glancing at his Australian shepherd when the dog jumped to his feet with eyes and ears alert. Murph’s tail stump wiggled, and when Jeremiah followed his dog’s gaze, he spotted Aaron striding toward them from the back door of the main house. The older man would be heading in to work shortly, so he was dressed in his brown and tan uniform, and the sight of it brought a trickle of adrenaline. He set his pliers on top of the post and waited for the sheriff to stride across the snowy yard.

Snow. On the eighth of May.

It didn’t matter how long he lived in Northstar; its weather and beauty still left him with the same wonder and awe as it had that first year he’d worked for the Hammonds.

As Aaron neared, the trickle of adrenaline increased to a stream. He didn’t like the grim set of the sheriff’s jaw.

When Aaron was a dozen yards away, Murph raced out to him, prancing around his legs until the man gave in and lavished him with pets. Satisfied, the dog trotted back to Jeremiah looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Well?” Jeremiah asked when Aaron reached him.

“Zach got the early parole.”

“Fuck.” He winced, glancing at his companion. “Sorry.”

Aaron’s brows rose. “Been a long time since I’ve heard you use that particular word.”

“Yeah.” He raked his gloved hand through his hair and scowled. He needed a haircut. “When’s he getting out?”

“Couple weeks.”

“Great.”

“I seriously doubt he’d throw away all his hard work to get the early release and risk his freedom to get back at you.”

“You don’t know him.”

“You’re right. I don’t. But I know one thing.” Aaron nudged him with his elbow and offered a teasing grin. “He’s not a hothead like you were.”

Jeremiah snorted and folded his arms on the top rail of the fence. He let his gaze wander over the snow-covered hayfields and pastures dotted with cattle and horses. Above the cacophony of his thoughts, the quiet, natural sounds of the Lazy H ranch—cows calling to their calves, the twittering of birds in the willows by the nearby creek, the sighing of the wind through the pines blanketing the foothills—were a soothing song, but even that couldn’t ease the clawing anxiety.

Not today. Maybe, if Aaron had brought different news…. But not now.

“He’ll never forgive what I did.”

“Do you really believe he’d gamble his freedom for revenge?”

Jeremiah held his friend’s gaze with brows lifted and his mouth pressed into a line. It was all the answer Aaron needed.

“I hope you’re wrong,” he said. “I need to head in to work. You gonna be all right?”

Jeremiah inhaled, held it, and frowned. As he let the breath out, he said, “I will be.”

Aaron wrapped him in a strong hug and didn’t let go for close to half a minute, and Jeremiah closed his eyes and took another deep breath as he hugged the man back. Where would he be right now if Aaron hadn’t wrestled him into submission that day eleven years ago with every diner in the crowded restaurant trying hard to pretend they weren’t watching? What would’ve happened to him if, after that, Aaron had rightly slapped cuffs on him for a third time as he had the second and sent him back to jail instead of offering him a job?

Aaron released him but didn’t entirely let him go, gripping his shoulder tightly. “I know what you’re thinking about,” he said. “Knock it off. The past is the past and whatever might’ve been won’t ever be.”

Jeremiah only nodded.

“Try not to think about this too much, all right?”

“Can’t make any promises.”

“I know. But try.”

He watched Aaron stride away. When the sheriff was a dozen paces from the fence, Jeremiah called after him. “Hey, Aaron?”

The older man stopped and turned around. “Yeah?”

“Thanks. For everything.”

Aaron could have said something like no thanks needed or my pleasure or any other of a dozen polite phrases, but he only dipped his head once in acknowledgement, and that said more than words could. It said Jeremiah was valued, that he was part of the family. And that was something he’d lost the day his older brother had put a g*n to his head. Zach might be his cousin, but he’d never been family. Nor would he ever be.

He dropped his head onto his arms and pinched his eyes closed.

Maybe he was wrong. Not about Zach forgiving what he’d done—there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of that happening—but maybe about how important revenge was to him. Zach was a lifer, as addicted to the power and money of his illicit empire as his customers were to the drugs he sold them. He couldn’t rebuild that empire from behind bars.

Lifting his head, Jeremiah shook it and let out a mirthless laugh.

He hadn’t seen his cousin in almost sixteen years, but the last time he had, Zach hadn’t needed to say the words for Jeremiah to get the message.

You’re a dead man.

Abruptly, he straightened. Grabbing his pliers, he ripped out the last four nails left behind when the old rails had succumbed to rot this winter and made quick work of nailing the new rails in place. Then he yanked off his gloves and stared at his trembling hands. He jerked his hammer off the ground and whipped it back to hurl it across the yard but stopped himself. His whole body quivered as he fought the surge of anger. He was better than this. The Hammonds had helped him get better. He wasn’t the young, dumb hothead who had twice assaulted Aaron. Not anymore.

Letting out a guttural sound as he overpowered the raging despair and frustration, he dropped his arm and slumped against the fence post, ignoring the knot digging into his back. The hammer slipped from his hand, and he sank to the ground, sitting on his heels to keep his butt out of the snow. Murphy wiggled into his lap with a low whine, and Jeremiah buried his fingers in the dog’s soft, thick fur.

He tipped his head back with his eyes closed. He still had a lot more fence to fix today, but there was no way he’d be able to get it done without hurting himself or breaking something.

After giving himself a few minutes to fully regain his composure, he pushed to his feet and gathered his tools. He returned them to their homes in the shop, called to Murph, and headed to the main house. He commanded his dog to stay before he stepped inside the front door. He found Tracie Hammond enjoying a book in the living room with her lunch sitting half-eaten on the end table beside her recliner. She looked up with a smile when he entered.

“Finally decided to come in for lunch?” she inquired.

Crap. He’d forgotten lunch again. “Not exactly.”

“You know, someday I’d love to not have to remind you to eat.”

“Sorry. I get so focused on work….”

“I’m teasing, Jeremiah.” She studied him with narrowed eyes. Tracie Hammond was a gracious and compassionate woman, and she undoubtedly had no trouble gauging his troubled thoughts as if they were as plain on his face as the words on the pages of her book. “So serious today. What do you need, honey?”

“I hate to ask because I still have a lot to do on the fence,” Jeremiah began. “But—”

“Yes,” she interrupted. Setting her book aside, she rose and walked over to hug him. “Take the afternoon off. That fence isn’t going anywhere.”

“Aaron already told you.”

“I was standing right next to him when he made the call. Are you okay?”

He started to give the same answer he’d given her son—that he would be okay—but instead, he took a deep breath and went with complete honesty. “Not right at this moment. I need some time to… I don’t know. Wrap my head around it? I thought I’d have a few more years before he got out.”

“We all hoped you would, too. Take all the time you need. The work will wait.”

“Thank you, Tracie.”

“Try that again.”

Chuckling, he corrected himself. “Thank you, Mom.”

“That’s better.”

She hugged him again, holding him longer this time, and when she released him, she rested her hand briefly against his cheek like he imagined she’d done to her sons when they were younger. She must’ve sensed he was on the verge of losing it because she ruffled the mop that was his hair and shooed him away with a promise to give him a haircut tomorrow. He glanced back at her as he walked out of the living room to the entryway, and though she’d returned to her recliner, she watched him with a concerned frown. When their gazes met, she smiled reassuringly, and he nodded in acknowledgement before he slipped outside.

He owed Tracie and her family—especially Aaron—more than he could ever repay. Not that they’d ask him to. He’d’ve been lost without the Hammonds. Or dead. Did they understand that… truly understand it?

“Come on, Murph,” he said to his dog. With a snap of his fingers, the blue-eyed Aussie jumped to his side. “Let’s go for a ride.”

Without a conscious thought about what he needed to do to calm his erratic thoughts, he opened the driver-side door of his old Ford pickup to let Murph in and climbed in after the dog. The truck wasn’t much to look at with some rust here and there and a few more dents he still needed to pull—it was a ranch truck, after all—but thanks to many a late night in the shop with Henry, the old girl ran like a dream, and she’d never once let him down. He turned the key in the ignition and smiled when the engine growled to life.

“Atta girl,” he murmured, patting the sun-faded dash.

Despite the snow on the ground, it was close to fifty degrees out, so he reached across the cab and rolled the passenger-side window down enough for Murph to window-surf.

He drove off the ranch and turned south on the Northstar Scenic Byway, not questioning the impulse guiding him. When he reached the main highway, he turned left, toward Devyn, driving slower than he normally did to take in the mountains and hills and the sweep of the valley, trying to remember when this landscape hadn’t been as familiar as his own reflection.

The highway curved east and ran straight for a few miles before crossing Northstar Creek and starting the climb up Badger Pass. As he crossed the bridge, he noted the three crosses just beyond and gave a moment’s thought to the intricacies of fate. One of those crosses was for Pat O’Neil’s ex, and the crash that had ended her life had set him free just as hitting a deer sixteen years ago today had knocked Jeremiah off the path he’d been headed down.

As he crested the pass and started down the other side toward Devyn, he glanced in his rearview mirror and let the memories roll through him.

That night, he’d driven a BMW sedan instead of an old ranch truck. Narrowing his eyes, he scanned the right side of the road. There it was, at the top of the small rise before the highway began the long descent into the valley—the turnout by the shallow gravel pit. Panic had surged when he’d spotted the pickup marked with the county sheriff’s department insignia. He’d been so close… so close to completing his run, but when Aaron had pulled onto the road and followed him, he’d been so anxious that he hadn’t paid proper attention to the road in front of him. Eight miles down the pass, he’d been watching in his mirror, waiting for those red and blue lights to turn on, and he hadn’t seen the deer.

He’d hit it full on at seventy miles an hour.

It was a miracle he hadn’t been killed.

The BMW, spraying sparks that had glowed eerily in the dark night, had skidded into the ditch and up onto a pasture access approach, coming to an abrupt stop against a remarkably sturdy fence.

The deer had—mercifully—died instantly. It was a small consolation, and all these years later, Jeremiah still regretted that loss of life. And yet… he wouldn’t have everything he did now if not for that deer.