Page 2 of Fierce Protector

Everyone focused on the man on the screen.

Ross continued. “There’s a hell of a lot of land being bought up around the Gracey Ranch.”

Ledger, like the others, listened hard.

“He’s managed to keep a lot of the purchases under wraps. Some of the deals look sketchy.”

“You think Feldman is coercing people into giving up their land? Threatening them?” Wolfman was the angriest of all of them, with good reason too. Not only had he been attacked and chained up in a garage, but his woman had been dumped in the middle of nowhere. Then her business and home were torched.

Ross nodded. “I think that’s exactly his strategy. He’s also working with an architect and city planner.”

They all perked up. “What kind of plan is being drawn up?” Ledger rarely spoke during these meetings, and everyone glanced at him with various looks of surprise.

“The big kind,” Ross answered. “We’re trying to get our hands on the plans. We’re close, but it’s going to take a few more days. I’ll be in touch when I get something substantial.”

“We appreciate the intel, Ross.” Colton sat back in his seat.

“Watch your backs, guys. This guy has connections.”

Hunter grunted. “We know. The bad kind.”

“Four SEALs are on it now. Nothing is getting through us.” Wolfman had been rallying their band of brothers for a long time. Ledger was glad to be back with them.

After the meeting ended, the guys scraped back their chairs. Inwardly, Ledger gritted his teeth at the noise.

As the guys filed out, Colton dropped his gaze to Ledger’s fingers curled around the armrests of his chair.

He forced himself to meet his friend’s stare calmly. He didn’t like people seeing too much. Especially his brothers.

“Why don’t you go down to Badlands? Have a drink. You earned it.”

A drink he could do with. A noisy bar wasn’t to his liking, but Colton was right—he could use a break.

With a nod, he pushed away from the table and walked the short distance to what could only be called a she-shed.

The late Mrs. Gracey had used the she-shed as her personal art studio. When he came to the ranch, Ledger claimed it as his private quarters, and it served as a place where he could get away from everyone. But each time he walked through the door, he groaned.

The space was filled with paintings of florals, landscapes and fields at sunset. Mrs. Gracey also had plaster busts and sculptures of animals littering every surface.

Among such feminine décor, he felt like a bull in a china shop. One quick move and he’d wipe everything off the walls and surfaces. For days, he’d been giving a wide berth to a certain teacup collection.

The small bathroom was adequate. Someone had rigged a camp shower, which pumped water from a barrel that caught rainwater. It wasn’t remotely warm, but after baling straw, Ledger needed to cool off.

After a quick shower, he threw on clean jeans, a T-shirt and boots. When he settled his cowboy hat on his head, his muscles relaxed.

He’d grown up on a ranch in the south. Although he traded in his cowboy hat for a military helmet, he never forgot how it felt to wear a good cowboy hat. Those days after he left his SEAL team were filled with darkness and confusion, but returning to his roots helped. The first thing he did was buy boots and a hat.

More than eager for that drink, Ledger borrowed a ranch truck and drove to the Badlands saloon. The fields reminded him of his hometown, as did the small town of Eden.

When he walked into the bar, the dim lighting and loud country music welcomed him. He sent a glance toward the rear and his usual booth where he could sit with his back to the wall.

Damn. The booth was taken…by a woman. He couldn’t very well strongarm or threaten his way into the booth, so he took another tactic.

He sauntered over to the bar. The twenty-something guy slinging drinks looked up at him. “What can I get ya?”

Ledger twitched his head toward the back of the bar. “The woman sitting alone in the booth. What’s she drinking?”

“Lager.”

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