Breaking Free: A Colorado High Country Crossover Novel Read online

  Breaking Free

  A Colorado High Country/I-Team Crossover Novel

  Pamela Clare

  Contents

  Breaking Free

  Acknlowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Thank You

  Also by Pamela Clare

  About the Author

  Breaking Free

  A Colorado High Country/I-Team Crossover Novel

  Published by Pamela Clare, 2021

  Cover Design by © Jaycee DeLorenzo/Sweet ‘N Spicy Designs

  Image: fotorince74

  Copyright © 2021 by Pamela Clare

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials by violating the author’s rights. No one should be expected to work for free. If you support the arts and enjoy literature, do not participate in illegal file-sharing.

  ISBN: 978-1-7352939-5-0

  This book is dedicated to my younger son Benjamin Alexander and his fiancée Courtney Peterson in the year of their wedding. May the years ahead be filled with joy, and may your love grow ever stronger. I love you both.

  Acknlowledgements

  Many thanks to Michelle White, Benjamin Alexander, Jackie Turner, and Shell Ryan during the writing of this book. Heading into this story after a long recovery from a difficult surgery was hard. I couldn’t have done this without you.

  This story is for the fans of my I-Team and Scarlet Springs series. I hope you love Win and Jason together as much as I do.

  Chapter 1

  West of Genesee, Colo.

  Sept. 17

  Jason Chiago pulled his Ford F-450 to the side of the highway, climbed out into the cool September evening, and took in the stunning beauty around him. White-capped peaks stretched as far as he could see, disappearing in an orange-pink haze to the west, the valley below him golden with aspen.

  It was enough to put a hitch in his chest.

  He’d never been to Colorado. He’d grown up in the Sonoran Desert in Sells, Arizona, the heart of the Tohono O’odham Nation. After high school, he’d gone to college in Phoenix to study criminal justice, working construction jobs in the heat of the summer. Apart from his training at the US Customs and Border Patrol Academy in Artesia, New Mexico, he’d never left Arizona.

  He loved the beauty of his desert homeland with its sacred peaks, springs, and giant saguaros. Some people thought the desert was a wasteland. But they didn’t see what he saw—the explosion of life after a spring rain, prickly pear and cholla ripe with fruit, hummingbirds drinking from saguaro blossoms, the first rosy rays of sunlight hitting Baboquivari Peak.

  But this…

  This blew his mind.

  Whose homeland was this? The Cheyenne? The Arapaho? The Ute? He ought to know, but he didn’t.

  An SUV with Texas plates pulled up, and a family of tourists climbed out and began snapping selfies with the mountains and sunset in the background. Another vehicle drew to a stop behind them, this one from Arkansas.

  Jason didn’t take photos but inhaled the scents of aspen, fir, and pine, doing his best to breathe in the view, to imprint every detail in his mind. Then a teenager from one of the vehicles loosed a drone into the sky, its buzzing an unwelcome disruption. Jason climbed back into his truck, started the engine, and headed down the highway.

  He was on his way to the home of a friend, Zach McBride, the chief deputy US marshal for the Colorado Territory. He’d met McBride when the man was assigned to the US-Mexico border about ten years ago. Jason had taught him as much as he could about cutting sign in one short week. When McBride had heard Jason was knee-deep in shit, he’d invited him to come camp with him above a small mountain town called Scarlet Springs and join him and other volunteers in rebuilding a summer camp for Native kids that had burned to the ground this past July.

  You’ve got nothing else going on, buddy.

  That was the truth.

  A year ago, he’d been about to marry Elena and had just gotten a promotion. Now, Elena was in prison, and he was on the brink of losing his job.

  It’s the choices we make and the twists and turns on our journey through life’s maze that make us who we are.

  Jason could almost hear his grandmother’s voice. But this didn’t feel like a twist in the road. It felt like the loss of everything he’d worked for, as if the past sixteen years of his life were coming to a dead end.

  One month’s administrative leave without pay.

  He’d gone too far. He knew it. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, not when it meant a drug-runner wouldn’t kill again. He was sorry that the fallout of his actions had left his fellow Shadow Wolves shorthanded.

  The Wolves, an all-Native Border Patrol unit, were his brothers. A team of only fifteen, they didn’t have the number of agents they needed to patrol the line—the 76-mile stretch of border that divided sovereign O’odham lands in the States from those in Mexico. With him on leave and Ren still recovering from that round to the belly, their job would be even more difficult and dangerous.

  You should have stayed on the US side of the line.

  Yeah, he should have. But the bastard who’d shot Ren would have gotten away if he hadn’t crossed over and gone after him. And, hey, land on both sides of the line belonged to Jason’s people. He had a greater right to be there than either US or Mexican authorities.

  Tell that to the brass at your hearing.

  A herd of mountain goats grazed beside the highway, one of them stepping toward the road before changing its mind and turning back.

  Jason slowed. “Good choice, little brother.”

  The GPS told Jason to take the next exit and follow a winding, paved road south for another three miles. He had expected a city neighborhood. Instead, he found himself passing big, luxurious homes that were set back from the road and surrounded by forest with lots of space between. The house ahead on his left had glass walls, while the one on the right had a row of columns along the porch like a Greek temple.

  No, that wasn’t ostentatious at all.

  McBride had clearly done well for himself if he lived in this neighborhood. Then again, his old man had once been a US senator and was loaded.

  As a teenager, Jason would have been bitter, envious. He’d caught glimpses of the world beyond the reservation, and he’d felt ashamed of his family’s circumstances. It was his grandparents who’d taught him O’odham history. After his parents’ deaths, they’d taken him in. They’d shown him the riches to be found in their culture and traditions, straightening him out, putting his feet on a sure path.

  Hell, he
might not even be here if not for them.

  “The destination is on your right.”

  Jason turned onto a paved driveway and found himself outside a sprawling, one-story house made of native flagstone with lots of floor-to-ceiling windows. He knew the house also had a pool and a Jacuzzi because McBride had told him to bring a suit.

  He parked, climbed out, and grabbed his duffel bag from the back just as McBride stepped outside, his wife Natalie standing in the doorway, their little boy, Aiden, beside her. Jason bit back a grin. The first time he’d seen McBride and Natalie together, they’d been on O’odham land, naked and having sex.

  No, he’d never told McBride.

  “Hey, man, what’s up?” McBride clasped Jason’s hand in a homie handshake and clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Good to see you, man. Hey, Natalie. Hey, little buddy.”

  “You hungry? Let’s get some steaks on the grill. I’ll grab you a beer.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Jason followed him inside.

  Scarlet Springs

  Winona Belcourt woke with a start, heart hammering, a scream trapped in her throat. She threw back her covers, sat up, and looked around her, her blood like ice. She was safe in her bedroom, safe in her own home.

  It was just a bad dream.

  She drew a deep breath, did her best to let go of the nightmare, terrifying images of John Charles Ready sharp in her mind. It had been five years ago this past summer, but in her dreams, it always felt like it was happening again.

  He’s dead. It’s over. You’re safe.

  She repeated the words in her mind until her heartbeat slowed.

  It wasn’t quite six o’clock, the sun not yet up. She’d set her alarm for six anyway, so she got up, walked into the kitchen, and lit the sage bundle she kept in the middle of the table. Wafting the smoke over herself, she thanked Creator for another day, the sage purifying her, cleansing her of the nightmare.

  She took a hot shower, the water reviving her, washing the dregs of her nightmare away. She put her towel-dried hair into a French braid, her gaze on her reflection. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, but she’d never worn makeup and had no idea what to do about it. With her hair braided, she slipped into her bathrobe and made herself a cup of coffee, sipping while looking out her kitchen window.

  She’d bought this house not long after her older brother, Chaska, had married Naomi, moving out of the home she and Chaska had once shared. Grandpa Belcourt now slept in her old bedroom when he was visiting from Pine Ridge, while she lived around the corner next door to her clinic. While there were good things about living in her own space—like having a bathroom and all the hot water to herself—she found it hard to be alone at night. That’s when the fear and the nightmares crept up on her.

  If Shota had still been here, nothing would have scared her. But Shota’s enclosure stood empty, its tall fence just visible beyond her back gate. It had broken Winona’s heart to let him go. Still, it had been best for him, and that’s what mattered. He was now where he was meant to be, running wild at a sanctuary with other wolves.

  She finished her coffee and dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a button-down denim shirt she’d borrowed from her brother a few years ago. She packed for the day, grabbed her keys, and was out the door.

  There was frost on the grass as she made her way out her back gate to the clinic’s rear entrance, the aspens on the mountainsides above town shimmering gold in the dawn light. Because she was a wildlife vet, summer was her busiest time of year. Things had begun to slow now, but she still had a few winged and four-legged patients, among them a beaver, a red fox, a raccoon, and a golden eagle recovering from a broken wing.

  It gave a cry when she entered the aviary and flew from one perch to another.

  She smiled, happy to see it in the air again. When the game warden had first brought it in, she hadn’t been sure she could help it. Birds’ wings were part of their respiratory systems. That was especially true in soaring birds, like eagles. She’d had to operate, carefully pinning the fragile hollow bone back together.

  She tossed in its breakfast—raw deer hearts donated by local hunters—and locked the aviary once more. “You’re almost ready to leave us, aren’t you?”

  It swooped down, talons out, and tore into its meal with its powerful beak.

  She left it to feed in peace, tended the other animals, and locked up the clinic.

  Around the corner, she found Chaska loading a box of egg crates into the back of his SUV. “How many eggs is that?”

  “Seven dozen.” Chaska settled the box inside. “We’ve also got eight pounds of bacon, three pounds of ground coffee, and five half-gallons of orange juice, flour, lard, cut fruit, cream—and a bunch of other stuff for lunch and supper.”

  It had been a long time since Winona had cooked for a large number of people. At least twenty volunteers were camping up there, and Naomi felt the least she could do was feed them. “Are we sure that’s enough?”

  “Naomi went over it with Joe.”

  “Joe ought to know.” He was the owner of Knockers, the local brewpub and the center of Scarlet’s social scene. “Can I help?”

  “This is the last box.” Chaska glanced at her, frowned. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep very well.” She left it at that.

  But Chaska knew her too well. “You’re having nightmares again. You need to tell Old Man, let him help.”

  “I don’t want to worry him. It’s been five years. I should be over this by now.”

  Chaska rested his hands on her shoulders. “That’s not how it works.”

  The front door opened, and Grandpa stepped outside, his long white hair pulled back in a braid, his new cowboy boots on his feet. He glanced up at the sky, smiled. “Le hinhanni ki wasté!” This morning is good!

  At ninety-three, he seemed to have more energy than Winona did at thirty.

  Chaska lowered his voice. “Talk to him.”

  Naomi stepped out of the house, wearing a maternity T-shirt that read Growing My Tribe and had an arrow pointing to her bulging belly. She was only three weeks away from her due date and wanted to get as much done at the camp as she could before the baby was born.

  She locked the door behind her. “Chaska, did you remember the salt and pepper? And what about the salsa?”

  “Relax.” Chaska opened the vehicle’s front passenger door for her. “I packed everything on your list.”

  They piled into the SUV, Chaska at the wheel, Naomi up front where there was more room, and Winona and Grandpa in the back.

  “Will there be a lot of young Native men there?” Grandpa tried to sound casual, but Winona knew where he was going with this.

  Naomi glanced back at Winona, a knowing smile on her face. “I think so. Kat’s Tohono O’odham friend from the Shadow Wolves is coming.”

  Grandpa was clearly pleased with this news. “Maybe my granddaughter will meet a good, strong man today.”

  Winona was torn between amusement and annoyance. “Grandpa, I’m sitting right here. You can talk to me. Just because there will be Native men around doesn’t mean I’m going to bump into Mr. Right. Most of them are probably already married. Besides, most of them come from out of state, and I won’t leave Scarlet.”

  Grandpa said nothing, an impassive expression on his face.

  It wasn’t that Winona didn’t want to meet her half-side—her perfect, matching male half. She would love to meet the right man and have what Chaska and Naomi had. But so far, fate hadn’t intervened on her behalf the way it had for them. The guys she’d dated in college had proved disappointing. The only men in Scarlet who interested her were on the Team or married, and those were lines she wouldn’t cross.

  Chaska met Winona’s gaze in the rearview mirror, an amused grin on his face. “It’s best not to meddle, Old Man.”

  But Grandpa was serious. “I want my granddaughter to be happy. I want to see her with a good man before I make the journey.
”

  “What if I like women instead?”

  Grandpa turned his face toward her, likely trying to decide whether she was coming out or just being contrary. “If you were a winkte, a Two-Spirit person, I would honor that, too and would want to see you settled with the right Two-Spirit woman. I just want you to be safe and happy.”

  “I know.” Winona squeezed his hand, unable to stay annoyed with him for long. Two months ago, she’d come close to losing both him and Chaska.

  Jason drove while McBride sat in the passenger seat, tools and camping gear in the back. Jason had known McBride would ask eventually. They were both federal agents who had worked the line. If anyone besides his fellow Wolves would understand what Jason had done, it was McBride.

  “They had tried to brush out the vehicle’s tracks, but I caught it.”

  “Of course, you did.”

  “I called the others, and we moved in to surround them.” The Wolves functioned as a pack, hunting together to bring down criminals who trafficked in drugs and human beings. “We didn’t want them to hit the hardball—the highway—and escape again.”

  Once traffickers reached the highway, it was much harder to stop them. An SUV loaded with coke was a lot easier to spot in the desert than in traffic.

  Jason passed a car with Illinois plates. “Ren flanked them. I came up in front. Ellio and Dale cut them off at the rear. We moved in, but no one was there. We thought they had abandoned the vehicle.”