But there was one glaring difference between me and the rest of the guys on the team. Enzo, Knox, Alec, Ronan—they were still in practically the same shape as they’d been before they left the Army. Then there was me. The damaged one. The one who’d always be a liability to the team.
“That’s bullshit,” Enzo told me when I voiced my concerns. “You’re just as important as anyone else. Your flight skills, your ability to use drones for surveillance, and you didn’t hesitate to step up to help Winter when she needed it. Plus, I’ve seen you sparring with Knox. You’ve still got it. And I would absolutely want you at my six.”
So I agreed to join the Green Mountain Guardians. We all have regular jobs, but the rest of our time is dedicated to private security jobs and pro-bono protection cases. The money we make from the paid jobs helps subsidize the pro-bono work, so we’re able to offer our assistance to people who can’t get help through more traditional means, like PIs or the police.
And last year, after Knox’s fiancée, Lark, had her own narrow escape, I started rethinking the whole living like a hermit thing. Living nearly forty minutes away from the rest of the team, I couldn’t get to them right away in case of an emergency. And that was more important than my self-imposed isolation.
Now I live in a newly-built cabin right on the GMG property, still with plenty of land and privacy, and it’s not nearly as bad as I feared. I’m around for my teammates more. I’ve gotten to knowWinter and Lark better. And I don’t have to worry about letting down my team.
When I think about it, my life is much better than I ever thought it could be when I first moved here. Back then, I was depressed. Suffering from terrible PTSD. And I didn’t see anything positive in my future.
Now? I have friends. A team. Not just one job I enjoy, but two. A dog who’s become a trusted companion. And an unexpected bonus friend in Rory.
As I get closer to her house, my spirits lift, just as they always do when I come here. Once I turn down her narrow driveway, my tires crunching across the gravel, the band that’s permanently notched around my chest releases. Not entirely, I’m not sure it ever will, but there’s just something about this place that relaxes me.
Whenever I come here, Rory makes me feel welcome. Accepted. And when the dogs see me, they get all excited, which feels pretty great, too.
“Have you ever thought about asking Rory out?”Winter’s question repeats in my head.“Not that I’m trying to push you, Gage. But you’re just such a great guy. And I met Rory when we adopted Rusty. She’s so nice.”
She is. Rory, I mean. And maybe, if things were different, I would.
Up ahead, her house comes into view, a stone cottage that Rory informed me was on Vermont’s list of historic places. Beyond it, the barn is a cheery pop of red against the swirls of orange and crimson and yellows of the sunrise.
A quick glance at the dashboard tells me it’s a little before seven, which means Rory should be out in the barn feeding the dogs breakfast. I park in front of the house and open the car door, then grab my travel toolkit off the passenger seat and sling it over my shoulder.
But as soon as I hop out of my truck, I’m immediately struck by something out of the ordinary. Something I’ve never experienced in all the months I’ve been coming here.
The dogs are howling. Not just one or two, but from the sounds of it, all of them. And they aren’t playful, excited barks. They’re upset. Anxious.
But that’s not right. From what I know of Rory, she’s dedicated to these dogs. She feeds them like clockwork every morning, forgoing her own coffee and breakfast until they’re all taken care of.
So why are they barking? Could one of them be sick? Hurt?
Picking up my pace, I hurry towards the barn, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. One of Rory’s favorites terribly ill. A dog trapped by a malfunctioning kennel, even though the manufacturer guaranteed it was safe. Or?—
What if the newest dog—Charlie—got aggressive with Rory? What if he bit her? What if she’s inside the barn, injured, bleeding, and unable to get back to the house to call for help?
Dammit.
This is why I don’t like her living out here alone.
The closer I get to the barn, the more insistent the barking becomes. And the more my concern grows.
My concern escalates to full-blown worry when I try the back door to the barn and it’s still locked. A quick check of the larger double doors shows the same.
I rap on the doors, calling out for Rory, but the only response is more barking.
Dammit.
Where is she?
Doubling back, I head to the house, sidestepping the loose board on the porch as I make a beeline to the front door. Through the windows, I can tell all the lights inside are still off, another detail that adds to my increasing worry.
I knock on the front door, then ring the doorbell. Less than thirty seconds later, I hear the scrabbling of claws on hardwood, followed by two more dogs barking.
After another series of knocks, I call out loudly, “Rory. Is everything okay? Do you need help?”
But there’s no response, aside from more barking.
