Expecting a Lone Star Heir
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Sara Orwig
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Prologue
Afghanistan, November
What else could go wrong?
In the dark, under a starless sky, they had driven their Humvee straight into an ambush, and now they were barely holding on, pinned down in a firefight with nothing but a crumbling rock wall between them and the enemy. Help couldn’t arrive too soon.
Mike Moretti was one of the lucky ones—he only had cuts and bruises. His two close friends, Noah Grant and Jake Ralston, also had non-life-threatening injuries. The other member on this US Army Rangers mission, Captain Thane Warner, wasn’t so lucky. Mike didn’t need a doctor to tell him that Thane was hurt badly with wounds to his chest and head, an injured leg and deep gashes all over his body from flying shrapnel. Mike was trying to apply pressure to the two most serious wounds, hoping his captain and friend would hang on until help arrived. Their last communication had been cut off, but before it was he’d been told a chopper was on the way.
Thane gripped his arm and Mike leaned closer to hear him over the gunfire. His voice was raspy, his breathing shallow as he spoke through the pain that was no doubt seizing his body. “Mike, promise me you’ll take the ranch job for three months at least. Promise me you’ll work for Vivian. I want to know she’s taken care of when I’m gone.” Coughs racked his body and he grimaced. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” Mike said without thinking. He concentrated on trying to keep pressure on the wounds.
Thane grabbed his arm with a strength that shocked Mike as Thane pulled him closer. “Key…in my pocket… Get it.”
Mike heard the desperation in the captain’s voice, felt it in his grip. But he couldn’t ease up the pressure on these deep wounds or the man would surely bleed out before a medic got to him. When Thane began to struggle, trying to get to his pocket himself, the bleeding worsened, oozing over Mike’s hand.
“Be still. I’ll get the damn key,” Mike ordered.
He struggled to get the key out of Thane’s back pocket—he bent closer to Thane and reassured him. “I have the key.”
Thane squeezed his eyes shut and let out a shaky breath. When he reopened them, Mike saw the gratitude and the fear as clearly as if the captain had spoken the words. “Bottom of box… Packets addressed to Vivian and to you.” He grimaced as the pain no doubt intensified, but he wouldn’t be deterred. “Get Noah… Need him.”
Mike shook his head. “If I leave you, you’ll bleed to death.”
As an explosion rocked the ground not twenty feet away, sending up a plume of light, Thane placed one hand over the mound of Mike’s jacket pressed against his bleeding chest wound. “Get him, dammit.”
Swearing, Mike turned to the man next to him and punched his shoulder to draw his attention. There was no use calling out; his voice wouldn’t be heard over the gunfire.
As Noah Grant lowered his weapon, Mike told him, “Trade places. Keep pressure on his wounds. He wants to talk to you.”
Without hesitation, Noah sidled up to the captain and Mike took up his weapon to keep up the barrage on the enemy, all the time hoping against hope they’d be able to get the injured man on that chopper. His eyes scanned the dark sky. Where was it?
Thane Warner wasn’t only his captain; he was a good friend. Back home, Mike had dated Thane’s younger sister. Though he’d gotten along with the divorcee’s young child, their relationship hadn’t lasted. But Mike’s friendship with Thane had.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw Noah motioning him over.
“He’s drifting in and out of consciousness now,” Noah said, shaking his head. “But he wants Jake.”
Before Mike could move to get their friend, he heard it—the unmistakable sound of a helicopter in the distance. He pointed his index finger up. “Listen. Chopper.” But he still didn’t have eyes on it, and Mike couldn’t help but wonder if it would be able to get their captain out in time.
If not, Mike admitted with a sinking realization, he had made a promise to Captain Thane Warner and he intended to keep it.
