guys in his platoon and left for home. And even those connections had been different. Camaraderie. Teamwork. Friendship.
What he’d felt last night was far more confusing. A vague sense that, on some deep level, she knew him and he knew her. And even if what they knew about each other contained so much that was bad, it still made him feel less adrift.
He practically lifted his hand to swat that last thought away. Darn horsefly.
Where was Jace? He’d talked his buddy into meeting him here, hoping his old friend would lighten his dark mood. He needed the distraction. He couldn’t stand here thinking about Maya for another second.
Caleb pushed his way through the crowd and wrote his name on the chalkboard near the pool tables. Then he leaned on the wall to watch the play. A guy he didn’t recognize lined up his cue to take a shot. He was going for the eight ball, and no way was he going to make it. Caleb bit back the urge to help him out and watched him miss instead. Watched his friend clap him on the back in triumph and go on to win the game.
Winners and losers. Life had clearly defined boundaries about that. And Caleb knew which category he fit into. He’d tried to come to terms with losing everything. Tried to be okay with wanting nothing more than a clear deed for the ranch and a few beers at the end of the day.
Ever since he’d come home from Afghanistan, he’d tried to believe it was enough.
Glancing toward the door, Caleb spotted Jace heading for the bar, well-dressed as always, in dark jeans, polished boots and a plaid Western shirt. The former bull rider had been a total ladies’ man on the circuit, and he still dressed the part.
Glancing down at his own worn black T-shirt with the feed company logo chipped and faded across the chest, Caleb figured he had a ways to go in that department. Which was okay by him. Women wanted things he couldn’t give. Money. Stability. Fun.
There were a few empty tables, and maybe he should grab one, but Caleb was too wired to sit. He’d been fired up ever since he’d run into Maya last night.
She was coming by his ranch to give him advice on Thursday. That was rich. His townie ex-girlfriend had gone off to college to become an expert on ranching? She had the authority to tell him not to shoot the mountain lion that threatened his sheep?
He drained his beer. When he’d finished, Jace was just a few steps away. “You look like hell.”
Caleb set his empty down. “Glad to see you too. I wasn’t sure you’d get away from the rug rats tonight.” Jace was the brand-new foster parent for his nieces and nephew, and he had shadows under his eyes to prove it.
Jace smiled wearily. “I just hope they’re not tearing up the place. Carly said she’d get them to bed on time, but I have my doubts.”
“Well, from what you’ve told me, Carly is used to being responsible for the other kids.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she likes it.” Jace took a gulp from his beer, like he had to fortify himself just to think about his fifteen-year-old niece. “Teenage girls are scary.”
“Well, scary or not, I’m glad she took over tonight. It’s good to have you back in town.”
“I won’t have a lot of time for bars, but you’re always welcome to stop by. Come for dinner. Though I can’t promise much. My cooking skills are still pretty hit-or-miss.” Jace grinned. “Mostly miss.”
Caleb tried to meet his friend’s smile. He should be going by, should be helping Jace out. But the whole family thing made him uncomfortable. What would he say to a kid? What would he talk about at a family meal? His own family had fallen apart after Julie died—his parents had split up and first Mom, then Dad, had left town. It had been over a decade since Caleb had sat down to a family dinner.
“Have you heard anything about your sister’s trial? Is she really in jail for the long haul?” Caleb still couldn’t believe it. Jace’s older sister, Brenda, had always seemed so sophisticated and smart. Then she’d gotten hooked on drugs and started a relationship with her dealer.
Jace leaned on the wall beside him. “Twenty years for drug manufacturing, distribution, weapons, all kinds of stuff. On top of neglect of her kids.”
“That’s rough. How are the kids doing?”
“Let’s just say it’s an adjustment period for all of us.” Jace took a long pull of his beer, then swiped a sleeve across his mouth in a careless gesture that spoke reams about his state of mind. “I just wish I’d paid more attention. Figured out what was really going on. Those kids have seen way too much. It messes with them.”
Caleb cast around for some words of reassurance. He was rusty at any kind of real conversation. The weather, livestock, the cost of feed... He could talk about all that. But he’d learned a long time ago that his own inner world contained troubles too big to share. They stopped conversations. Made everyone look miserable. So he avoided talking about anything heavy. Better to stay on the surface than drown in the depths.
He surveyed the bar, looking for a new topic. They could always talk cattle. Jace had recently purchased an old ranch, and he could go on for hours about the bucking bulls he planned to raise once he got the place fixed up.
A woman sitting at the bar looked familiar. She turned to say something to her companion, and her name hit Caleb like a blow to the gut. Trisha Gilbert. Julie’s best friend growing up, who’d been with her the night of the accident. Who’d survived.
He hadn’t run into Trisha since he’d been home. What was going on? First Maya, and now this? Was there some cruel alignment of the planets that was bringing these women back into his life? He didn’t need reminders of the accident. He had plenty, every day that he lived and his little sister didn’t.
As Caleb watched, Trisha slid off a stool and walked toward the restroom. She moved with a slight limp and Caleb wondered if that was her souvenir from that horrible night. Trisha’s leg had been broken in a couple of places.
The guy she was with—kind of a skinny, ratty-looking dude—glanced furtively around the bar, reached into his pocket, took something out and dropped it in Trisha’s drink.
“Holy hell,” Caleb murmured, taking a few steps forward. He set his beer down on the nearest table, ignoring the protests of its occupants.
“What’s going on?” Jace moved to stand beside him.
Caleb pointed to the bar. “That guy right there? He drugged Trisha’s drink.”
Cold fury flooded Caleb’s system, pressing out from inside his chest, and he was moving, shoving aside chairs and people until he was in front of the ratty man. He grabbed the guy’s collar. “What did you put in it?”
“Get off me,” the guy spluttered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw you,” Caleb ground out, gripping him even harder. “I saw you put something in that drink.”
“Is there a problem?” The bartender, Royce, was Dex’s nephew. Small, young, not much help in a fight.
“This guy spiked his date’s drink.” Jace handed Royce the glass. “Save that. Call the cops.”
Royce eyed the man in disgust and put the drink out of sight, behind the bar. “I’m calling.” He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket.
“I didn’t do anything.” The man’s whine scraped away the last shreds of Caleb’s civility. Men like this hurt women and there were too many of them out there, wreaking havoc. Older guys had gotten Trisha and Julie drunk, the night Julie died. And now this jerk was hoping to do God-knows-what to Trisha.
The idea of some guy targeting Julie, in some future that could never happen, curled Caleb’s fingers tighter around the man’s coat. “Don’t ever come back here.” Caleb pulled him off the stool, shoved him toward the door, once, twice, herding the stumbling, stammering scum.
“Back