Page 1 of Matthew
Chapter One
If the Navy handed out medals for civilianvegetablecombat, Matthew Walker would’ve earned three before lunch.
Maybe four, if you counted the grappling match with the bag of organic garden soil that had exploded across his boots like a tactical dust bomb.
He swiped a smear of dirt from his forehead and stared down the row of vegetable trays as if they’d personally wronged him. “I did not survive seventeen years of active duty to be taken out by zucchini.”
“Quit talking to the squash,” came the dry voice beside him.
Matthew turned his head and squinted at his friend, Bennett. “I’m just saying, this one’s giving me attitude.”
Bennett didn’t reply, mostly because he never did. The man could break a stare into weaponized silence, which made him intimidating to strangers and low-key entertaining to anyone with the guts to poke him.
Matthew was a chronic poker. It was part of his DNA.
They hadn’t served in the same branch—he was Navy SEAL, Bennett was Delta Force—but their paths had crossed in enough hellholes to earn solid respect. Now, both civilians and back on U.S. soil, they worked at Eagle Security & Investigations, a veteran-run firm tucked away here in Harland County, Texas. Most of the crew were former SEALs or Delta men. Matthew liked to think of himself as the glue guy.
Or the comic relief, depending on the mission.
Currently, the mission was Operation Garden Chaos, courtesy of Annie Winslow and her unholy alliance of guilt, baked goods, and strategic injury.
Her small Craftsman-style cottage sat a block off Main, with sun-bleached siding, hurricane shutters, and the kind of front porch that practically demanded iced tea and unsolicited advice. But the real action was out back, where a narrow porch overlooked raised garden beds, weathered steppingstones, and their dirt-streaked assignment.
Annie rested in her command chair with iced tea in hand, sandals on her feet, and absolutely no shame about supervising two combat-trained men as if she ran a tactical unit. “I’ve seen toddlers with plastic shovels move faster.”
“Three beds, Matthew,” Bennett said, dropping another tray of herbs beside him. “You’re not even done with one.”
He snorted. “I thought we were just dropping these off. No one said anything about manual labor.”
“You said you had a free morning.”
“I said I had coffee and no plans,” Matthew shot back. “That’s not the same as agreeing to unpaid horticultural hell.”
He was supposed to be off today. No missions. No briefings. No gear checks at ESI, the private firm run by Levi “Mac” McCall, former Delta and the only man alive who could wrangle a crew of retired military operatives into working as a team instead of a demolition crew.
Coffee, quiet…and apparently, now, planting for the queen of tactical gardening.
Hell, the last thing he’d planted was a rose bush for his mom nearly seventeen years ago. She’d cried, hugged him, and called him her “Tough guy with a soft heart.”
He’d shipped off to BUDs training a week later.
Now here he was, elbows-deep in thyme and trauma with no backup and a grumpy Delta Force legend for a teammate.
Annie raised her glass. “Hush your complaining. My poor wrists are still recovering from surgery, and I’m emotionally exhausted from watching you two fumble through my herb layout.” She sighed. “Besides, you both know Laurel won’t let me lift more than a glass of tea, and she certainly wouldn’t allow me to dig anything.”
True. Even though her doctor had cleared her after carpal tunnel surgery on both wrists, her niece still coddled her.
Matthew nodded. Bennett grunted.
Laurel wasn’t only Annie’s niece, she was also Bennett’s better half and the reason they were both knee-deep in fertilizer. She was probably alphabetizing steamy paperbacks at her new bookstore while they were sweating through garden bed boot camp.
Annie, meanwhile, was pushing seventy, stood barely five feet tall, and somehow still managed to boss them both around with the precision of a four-star general. She’d run Annie’s Diner for decades, outlived her husband of thirty-seven years, and hadn’t slowed down since.
Her gray hair was swept up in a bun, gold hoop earrings flashing in the sun, and her eyes were sharp enough to slice through nonsense at twenty paces.
She deserved their respect and just enough teasing to keep things interesting.
Matthew wiped sweat from his brow. “You sure this isn’t a front to get out of planting season?”
