Page 36 of Cruel Expectations

He got the feeling Colton had something to say. But if he knew anything about his buddy, it was that he did things in his own time and in his own way.

They leaned on the fence in companionable silence. The land offered its own small noises—under the sweet chirp of birds and hum of insects, he swore he could hear the sun baking the earth.

All of a sudden, a popping sound broke across the land. He swung around, reaching for his rifle—and found it wasn’t slung across his chest.

His heart slamming with the rush of adrenaline hitting his system full force, he scanned the ranch. He took a hasty step toward whatever threat was out there, but Colton brought his hand down on Hunter’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.

The sound echoed across the land again. Pop! Pop! Pop!

Their gazes locked. “Somebody’s shooting in the distance, probably on the neighboring ranch. Webb told me that the owners like to shoot sporting clay pigeons.”

Hunter’s mind was so clogged, with tactical moves, with getting a weapon in his hands, that it took him a minute to calm the noise in his brain and process what his friend said.

Clay pigeons. Not a threat.

Cold sweat broke out on his forehead and made the skin on his neck clammy.

Hunter was back in battle. The ground was thick with smoke. His boot lay feet away from his wrecked leg and among the mangled bodies of his friends. His eardrums ruptured from the blast, the scream on his lips unheard by his own ears.

In his hand, he felt the cold steel of his weapon.

He clutched the water bottle hard enough to crinkle it.

He wasn’t in battle.

Twisting his head aside, he focused on the horses and avoided Colton’s stare.

His friend’s voice was as gritty as he’d ever heard it. “Believe me, I feel it too.”

He eyed Colton. “It happened sometimes in the hospital. A nurse would drop something, and the clatter would send me into action.”

“I’ve had my fair share of reactions. But the good thing about the Gracey is it’s typically really quiet and peaceful.”

A place to heal.

He didn’t say the words, but they rose in his mind like a bubbling spring of hope.

“Take a break. Have you visited the pond yet?”

His heart was still thundering so loud that he didn’t immediately register what Colton was saying.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Not yet.”

“I’ll feed the horses. You head down to the pond. Take a minute to collect yourself.”

How the hell did Colton have his shit together? They fought in the same battle. Saw the same friends die. Yet if his friend was shaking inside like a leaf in a wild storm, he didn’t let on.

Their differences never seemed so pronounced. Colton was managing to swim those troubled waters. Hunter was hopelessly damaged.

He nodded. “I’ll head down there for a while.”

“Rest easy, brother.” He held out a hand to Hunter. He gripped Colton’s fingers and broke away.

Earlier in the week, he discovered from his post on night watch, he could make out a silver disc shape cut into the land. It shimmered in the moonlight or darkened when the clouds rolled overhead, but he realized quickly that it was a pond. Later, he asked one of the other ranch hands and was told that the Gracey family used it as a swimming hole, and sometimes on the hottest days of summer, the ranch workers all went down there for a quick dunk to escape the heat.

The brisk walk down the hill helped clear his head a bit, but just as he reached the edge of the water, more shots rang out from the neighbor’s ranch.

He clenched his fists at his sides and locked his legs hard enough to send a jolt of pain through the injured one.

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