On Common Ground: Book 1 in the Grounded Series

By Jansen Schmidt

A woman destroyed his trust. A man destroyed her spirit. Can love assuage their pain and heal their wounded hearts?

A finalist in the Great Beginnings Contest, sponsored by the Utah chapter of Romance Writers of America, On Common Ground earned a 5-Star Readers' Choice Award, a contest for books by indie, celebrity, and iconic authors. It also earned a 5-star Crowned Heart award qualifying it for the prestigious RONE award, InD'tale Magazine's acknowledgment of the very best books in the indie and small publishing industries.

His marriage over and his career in jeopardy, Trevor Donaldson seeks sanctuary at the Diamond D Ranch in Arizona. After gunning down the man who shot his partner, the accusations hanging over his head, the hounding media, and his own inner turmoil keep him awake at night.

Ketra Weston sought sanctuary at the Diamond D to escape the ugly backlash she suffered after a violent assault following a Good Samaritan act went wrong. Time at the ranch promises peace and the anonymity she needs to heal.

Trevor's distrust of women, after his failed marriage, and Ketra's skittishness after her brutal attack, leave them both wary of the opposite sex, despite their curiosity of the other. But, everything changes when Trevor discovers that their lives are intertwined and he learns that her past might hold the key to his exoneration.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543943221

Book preview

Chapter One

There are always consequences when you kill a man—no matter the circumstances—no matter who the man. From day one on the job, Trevor Donaldson knew this.

Temporary exile is often part of the payment, especially if the man you kill is a cop. He squeezed his shoulders up beneath his ear lobes then let them fall back down. He’d re-visited that day over and over in his mind and swore, with unequivocal certainty that, if given the chance to re-live it, he’d do exactly the same thing. No one took a shot at his partner and escaped unscathed. He hadn’t meant to kill the bastard though. That had been a fortunate mistake. A mistake for which he was now paying the price. Exile.

After an hour on the road, he began to see familiar landmarks, welcoming him toward the ranch he remembered with fondness. His eyes widened in an effort to take it all in at once. The pristine white bunk houses, cedar-sided barns, miles of barbed wire stretched tight between dark green t posts. Acre after acre of high desert scrub grass. Comforting warmth spread outward from the vicinity where his heart used to dwell. What an odd sensation. While a smile tugged at his lips, his reflection in the rearview mirror confirmed that it hadn’t quite materialized on his face.

It won’t be forever, Trevor’s boss, Denny Holliwell’s voice resounded through the ear piece of his cell phone. This is for your own good, Trev. You have a right to be upset and you have a right to be mad, but you can’t let it affect your judgment. No one blames you.

Everyone blames me, Trevor snapped as he turned on to the gravel road leading to the sprawling ranch that had been in the Dillinger family for generations.

Except for a few more outbuildings and improved black pipe fencing enclosing several large horse pastures, the Diamond D looked the same as it had fifteen years ago when, as a kid, his dad had brought him here for father-son weekends to fish and hunt. Over the past several years, Rocky Dillinger had purchased neighboring ranches as they came up for sale, making this the largest privately-owned spread in Northern Arizona, comprising nearly 150,000 acres. If a man wanted to disappear in Arizona, this was the best place to do it. Maybe exile wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Denny prattled on. We’ll get to the bottom of this mess. Just go somewhere—outside the media’s radar—and hang out for a while. Get your head right. I know the . . . situation with Heather threw you for a loop. But you’ve got to move past it, Trev.

Denny paused, and Trevor pinched his lips together to keep from swearing a blue streak at his boss for bringing up his ex-wife—again. How much longer must I endure the humiliation?

This whole thing is my fault, Denny continued. Against my better judgment, I didn’t impose administrative leave when Heather left you, even though—

Damn it, Denny. Trevor slammed his palm into the steering wheel. You know I was—

"I didn’t take you off duty then, and I should’ve. You probably wouldn’t be in this mess now if I’d insisted that you take some time off. You weren’t thinking straight. You were too angry then and you’re too angry now, even if you could be involved in this investigation and you know it."

Trevor clenched his cell phone so hard he thought it might snap in two.

Denny’s voice softened. "Hang out with the guys for a while or get laid. Get drunk. Get whatever this thing is, out of your system."

"This thing?" Trevor seethed. His boss had demoted his complete and utter humiliation to a thing? She made me a god-damned laughingstock!

Denny cleared his throat. Now that you mention it, you should stay away from the ladies for a while, too.

Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m done with ladies. He slurred the last word with disgust.

Voicing the resolution out loud reaffirmed it, driving it deep, like the tender roots of a sapling pushing ever downward in the earth, searching for something solid to anchor to. Only there wasn’t anything solid inside him. Not anymore.

"I take it from that little outburst, that you’ve yet to discuss with the psychologist the real reason for all the animosity burning a hole in you."

I saw the shrink because you insisted. We talked about how intentionally shooting another cop made me feel. There’s nothing else to talk about.

Well, according to him, there is. And it might behoove you to see him a few more times when this whole mess blows over. Could make a difference as to how soon you can return to the force without being considered a risk.

I thought you said no one blames me.

I’m suggesting that you use this time off to adjust your frame of mind. And not just about this Internal Affairs investigation either, you need to let go of the past. Including Heather.

Trevor ground his teeth. As he neared the main house he slowed to avoid creating excess dust. The two-story main home sported a fresh coat of white paint with glossy black trim. The scalloped edges of white lace curtains showed through the windows, an unspoken reminder that a loving woman once occupied the home. Baskets of flowers hung from the eaves of the wrap-around porch, their colorful blossoms a sign that fall was taking its time settling in.

I mean it, Donaldson, Denny said with authority earned by working his way up through the ranks of the Sheriff’s Department. You need to move on. This funk, or whatever it is, is taking a toll on your job and I can’t afford to lose you.

How is he supposed to get over what happened when he remained as hollow as a broken shell, abandoned on the sand, waiting for the next high tide to carry him haphazardly onward like unwanted flotsam?

With a mental snap of fingers, he forced his mind away from his ugly emotional turmoil. Focus on the physical beauty around you. Nestled beneath the San Francisco Peaks, the highest mountains in Arizona, the ranch was as picturesque and welcoming as he remembered. To his left, behind the house, a dense pine forest hid the base of the purple-tinged summit of Humphrey’s Peak. Opposite the house, late summer wildflowers bloomed in a meadow, disappearing into a vast mixed conifer forest blanketing the slopes of Mount Eldon.

I’ll call you after I talk to Hawkins, Denny said before disconnecting.

Trevor parked his shiny-black, jacked-up, chromed-out, pickup truck between the largest barn and two smaller cabins and switched off the engine. A mixture of hay, horse sweat, and manure filled his nostrils the moment he opened the door. He eased his tired body out of the cab and wandered toward a corral attached to one entire end of the elongated barn. Rodeo barrels formed a triangle in the middle of the arena. What the hell? When did Rocky start training barrel horses? The ranch from his youth had been strictly a working cattle ranch.

He’d only taken a few steps when voices from inside the barn captured his attention. He changed direction but stopped inches shy of the doorway. He recognized Rocky’s baritone, but the other voice was softer and higher pitched. Prickles snaked along his arms. No, no, no! There’re not supposed to be any women here!

I’ll talk to him, Ket. I promise. Rocky’s gentle tone surely meant to reassure whoever he was talking to. He’s a decent fellow. You’ll be a lot safer with him here than you were before.

The air grew heavy. Too heavy to pull into his lungs. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping, especially if they were talking about him, but the unexpected presence of a woman left him semi-paralyzed. The conversation became almost inaudible over the pulse thundering in his ears. He sucked in a mouthful of dry hot air and strained to hear over his pounding heart.

You don’t have to like him, Honey, just try to get along with him. I told you I’ll talk to him.

You’re not going to tell him, are you? Trevor noted panic in the woman’s voice.

Of course not, Sweetheart. Your secret is safe with me.

Secret? Sweetheart? Is Rocky involved with this woman? When they were silent for a moment, Trevor turned to leave but froze when Rocky asked, Have you heard from the parole officer yet?

Parole Officer? What the fuck is going on here?

Chapter Two

A million thoughts collided in Trevor’s brain. He backtracked toward the adjoining corral. He’d no sooner cleared the end of the barn and propped a booted foot on the lowest rail of the fence when gravel crunched behind him. He turned and produced a smile he hoped masked his confusion and guilt at eavesdropping. Rocky Dillinger, at fifty-eight, was an imposing figure whom Trevor suspected would still be a force to be reckoned with should the occasion arise. Grasping Trevor’s outstretched hand, Rocky pulled him in for a quick masculine embrace and slapped him on the shoulder.

Judging from the intensity of Rocky’s gaze, Trevor guessed that Rocky knew he’d overheard the exchange in the barn.

You got here sooner than you expected, huh?

Trevor nodded. He should fess up to hearing the conversation between Rocky and the woman.

It’s good to see you again, Trev. Creases etched the older man’s sun-leathered face and warmth emanated from his alert blue eyes.

It’s good to be here. Been a long time. Trevor’s response wasn’t an automatic answer either, but rather a sincere reflection of the joy he felt at seeing his Dad’s best friend again. It had been too long since his last visit.

I guess you noticed the added housing. Rocky inclined his head toward the new bunkhouses lined up next to the older ones in the distance.

More bunkhouses meant more cowboys, and more cowboys meant greater risk of being recognized. Though his picture had only been aired once on TV, there was no telling who had seen it or who might remember his face. I did, he nodded. Business is good then?

Can’t complain.

Turning his full attention to Trevor, Rocky cocked his head to one side and laid a work-roughened hand on his shoulder. How’ve you been, Trevor? Your dad said these past few months have been rough.

Despite the genuine concern Trevor noted in the older man’s question, he couldn’t stop the angry retort from escaping his lips. "You mean since the little woman made me feel like a pathetic excuse for a man?"

He sighed, wishing he could retract the outburst. Denny was right, he needed to get over Heather’s duplicity.

Rocky grimaced. I remember that feeling. But, it’s true what they say, time heals all wounds.

Trevor focused on the purple peaks rising in the distance and worked his lower jaw back and forth. Tamping down the spark of anger threatening to ignite in his gut, he expelled a breath, determined to follow Denny’s instructions and change his attitude. It was a shock, that’s for sure. He returned his gaze to the older man. I’m taking it one day at a time, trying to put it behind me. But, now there’s this new mess and I’m sure Internal Affairs will drag it out forever.

It’ll all work out, son. You’re a good cop, with good instincts. It’s none of my business, but if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen. And I’ll keep it to myself. He patted Trevor’s shoulder then stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Rocky’s heartfelt confidence in his moral character and professional abilities touched a still raw nerve in Trevor’s chest. He cleared his throat and rested his forearms on top of the highest fence rail. Thanks, but lately I’ve been thinking I should’ve listened to my dad and stuck with ranching.

A sorrel gelding burst out of the barn and sped toward the barrel closest to the fence where they stood. Trevor took an involuntary step backward. His lips parted in astonishment as a girl with a riot of long blond curls flowing beneath a dusty black hat sat atop the horse. Until it misjudged the pocket, sliced into the barrel and pitched her sideways. Trevor winced when she landed with a thud in a cloud of dust. The horse trotted to the other side of the arena, reins dangling from its mouth.

You son-of-a— Realizing she had an audience, she clamped her mouth shut.

Trevor staggered away from the fence. A jolt of some unexplained, supercharged emotion ripped through his gut. Is this beautiful young woman the same girl who hasn’t heard from her parole officer? Flies and other pests buzzed around his face.

He froze. The girl raised her eyes from his size twelve and a half boots upward, lingering—he couldn’t help but notice—at specific places along the journey, until they settled on his face.

Resisting the urge to smile, he crouched, thumbed the brim of his hat higher on his forehead and squinted at her. Are you okay?

She gasped and scrambled backward, crablike in the dirt, cobalt eyes wide with fright. She stumbled over her own feet as she tried to rise. Stunned by her alarmed reaction, Trevor twisted his head toward Rocky for a hint of what caused her panic. Rocky seemed equally baffled.

When she’d gained her footing, she repositioned her battered Resistol hat and crept backward to where the horse stood at the opposite side of the arena. Trevor rose. What the hell? She limped toward the horse. Leaning his forearms on the fence, he raised questioning brows at Rocky.

Is she okay?

Rocky’s eyes volleyed between him and the girl. He didn’t speak.

Is she thrown often?

She’s taken her fair share of tumbles. Rocky alternated his focus between Trevor and the girl in the arena.

Trevor folded his arms across his chest and contemplated the woman through narrowed eyes. Great! He’d probably spend half his time babysitting her or picking her up off the ground.

You won’t have to worry about her, Rocky said as if reading his thoughts. That kid’s been riding since before she could walk. She just happens to be working with one stubborn Cayuse today.

Why is she looking at me like she’s seen a ghost? He hoped Rocky hadn’t noticed the tinge of disgust in his voice.

The older man looked at him with parted lips and caution in his eyes. I’m afraid she might have.

The girl examined the gelding’s chest and front legs before leading him toward the barn.

Who is she?

Ketra Weston.

What’s her problem with me?

Rocky seemed to choose his words with care. You’re . . . new here. She’s . . . a little timid around strangers. She can be a spitfire though. She comes across a little brassy sometimes, but you’ll get used to her. Rocky grinned and slapped him on the back.

Ain’t getting used to no woman. Never again. Not even an exceptionally pretty one. There’s not supposed to be any women here. And why the hell was he noticing that she’s exceptionally pretty? Those thoughts’ll get him in trouble for sure.

That going to be a problem for you?

Denny’s words echoed between Trevor’s ears, stay away from the ladies for a while too. He rubbed his forehead and sighed. Only if I have to be rescuing her all the time.

Chapter Three

Any trainer worth their salt would have reprimanded Ketra for not re-mounting the rebellious horse and running the exercise again. But her shock was too debilitating to allow movement of any kind. She could scarcely breathe.

She stood next to the gelding rigid, gasping for air and reeling from, not only the corporeal effects of her hard landing in the dirt, but the new foreman, who bore an uncanny resemblance to her former college crush—the man who’d ruined her life.

When Rocky told her that he’d found the perfect guy to fill in for Dominic—currently convalescing after a nasty throw from her favorite horse—she’d assumed it was one of his old poker buddies not a tall, dark, and handsome—.

Don’t go there, Ketra.

She struggled to regain focus. And a new perspective. Even though the man standing next to Rocky wasn’t Kyle, she still felt as if she’d been plunged under freezing water. Her brain screamed at her to get to the surface, to kick, to breathe. But her limbs and lungs remained immobile. Sounds distorted, dissonantly ghostlike around her.

The sorrel nudged her shoulder with his cool wet muzzle. Apparently anxious to be rid of the saddle and other tack restricting his freedom, he nudged her again. With stilted steps, as if rigor mortis had set in, Ketra concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

Focus, Ketra. Go inside, away from the new guy.

The gelding ambled beside Ketra toward the barn. They clomped inside. She breathed a sigh of relief that she’d cleared the stranger’s line of vision without further embarrassment. By rote, she slipped the bridle over the horse’s ears and replaced it with a halter then secured the lead rope to a hitching post near the center of the barn. She leaned her forehead against the animal’s sweaty neck and closed her eyes. Unsolicited memories assaulted her.

Kyle. Her first true infatuation. Dark hair and light blue eyes that comprised the center of every college girl’s erotic fantasies. Star football player. Everybody’s best friend. Kyle captured her heart the moment she’d set eyes on him the first day of her senior year in advanced chemistry class. She’d hoped to create some chemistry of her own with the university’s golden boy.

She gasped and jerked her head away from the horse. Two years now she’d worked to repress these memories. How was it possible that in the blink of an eye they all came back? Fresh and raw. Palpable. She squeezed her arms and legs together as phantom pains engulfed her.

She swiped her hands across her cheeks, smearing unwelcome tears across a grimy film of dust. After sucking in several huge gulps of air, she sniffed a few times, wiped her face with her sleeve and took a couple of shaky steps toward her cabin. Though the cabin stood less than fifty yards from the barn, if she didn’t move faster than glacier speed, the moon would zenith before she reached its comforting safety.

As if blasted from a bullhorn, Rocky’s voice sliced into her zombie-like trance. Let me show you around.

Because they headed her direction, she hastened onward. Her pulse quickened. Breathing became a challenge once again. She wasn’t ready to see the new foreman again, but the soles of her boots felt like cast iron bricks impeding her progress away from him.

You’ve made some other improvements I see, the newcomer said.

With a burst of energy fraught with apprehension, she all but ran the rest of the way to her little house. She bounded up the steps, flew through the front door and slammed it behind her. For extra good measure, she turned the lock. With her back pressed against the solid door, she sank to the floor. Hugging her legs to her chest, she rested her forehead on her knees. Her hat plopped onto the hardwood floor in front of her.

Why is this happening again?

"You’ll be safe here," her parents had assured before driving away and leaving her bawling like a baby in this solitary cabin two years ago.

For the past twenty-four months she’d worked to be strong and self-sufficient. And emotionally dead. Now here she was, curled up crying in the exact spot she’d been two years ago, weak, dependent, an emotional wreck. When will this nightmare end?

Stop it, Ketra! Get up! Do something!

She peeled herself off the floor and halfway opened the curtains drawn across the front window.

The main barn was a T shape, divided into four quadrants by breezeways, the widest of which divided the barn widthwise; the other, longer and narrower, divided it lengthwise. Double doors allowed easy access on all four ends. Rocky and the temporary foreman stood in the doorway facing her cabin and its twin next to it. For several generations, Dillingers had inhabited the ranch, living in separate houses, but working together. As children married, more cabins were built for their new families to occupy. But, the last two generations had gravitated away from ranching, taking up residence elsewhere and leaving the ranch responsibilities to Rocky, who now lived alone in the big house.

Renewed panic overpowered her efforts to stay calm. He would be living in the cabin right next to hers. The very cabin she helped ready yesterday for his arrival today.

Oh, my, God. Ketra raised shaking hands to her face. Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod!

She clenched handfuls of thick curly hair at the crown of her head. This can’t be happening.

With chin tucked to chest she squeezed her elbows in front of her, still holding fast to her hair. She whispered into her sternum, What am I going to do?

Stay calm, Ketra. He’s not Kyle.

He may not be Kyle, but he is still a man. The enemy. Like all the others. Not to be trusted.

Why couldn’t he have been an ugly old geezer?

Ketra backed away from the window and eased into the corner of her comfortably worn sofa. Her eyes didn’t stray from the two men conversing in the barn doorway until they disappeared from her line of vision. It wasn’t until her eyes had clicked open and closed a few times that she spotted her cell phone lying on the small table at the end of the sofa. She pressed the button that would connect her with her mother.

Hi, Honey, her mother greeted after the first ring.

Ketra cleared her throat, but before she could formulate any words, her mother asked, What’s wrong?

Ketra forced a laugh. What makes you think something’s wrong?

I could tell by the tone of your voice.

I hadn’t even said anything.

That’s how I could tell.

Her mother’s voice, a soothing balm, eased some of the tension from her throat. The new guy’s here. The guy filling in for Dominic.

Did something happen?

Ketra hesitated. Her mother’s question had been deliberate. And cautious. Something had happened, but how could she explain it?

Kettie, are you okay? Is Rocky with you?

I’m fine, Mom. It’s just that . . . he . . . I thought he was . . . .

Kyle’s still in prison, Ketra. He has another year at least. You have to stop being afraid of every guy you meet.

Ketra rose from the sofa and walked across the room. She glanced out the side window toward the far end of the barn, seeing only a few wranglers in the pasture.

He looks exactly like Kyle, she wailed.

Oh, Honey, are you sure it’s not just your imagination playing tricks on you?

The tiny earpiece at the top of her phone picked up her mother’s sigh. Are you going to be okay? she asked after a momentary pause.

Through wracking sobs, words poured out of Ketra’s mouth too fast to line up in proper sentences. Parole people…out early…I thought…found me…so afraid…fell…horse…couldn’t move…stupid….

Ketra—

Her mother tried to interrupt the flow of gibberish, but Ketra couldn’t stop until every last miserable word had been uttered.

Ket, I know you’re nervous because it’s almost time for Kyle’s parole hearing, but your father and I wouldn’t have left you there if you weren’t going to be safe.

I know. Ketra thought she might hyperventilate. It felt good to release some of the fear to someone who understood her plight.

And we’ve stayed away—

The hitch in her mother’s voice brought a fresh wave of tears flowing down Ketra’s cheeks.

…even though I thought I might cry myself to death because I couldn’t see you and hold you and know that my baby girl’s going to be okay.

Ketra heard the tears in her mother’s voice.

I know, she whispered. I was just so shocked. He looks so much like him. I really thought it was him, that he’d somehow found me.

Her mother sniffed. The parole officer assigned to Kyle’s case assured me that he’d let me know if Kyle gets released early.

Ketra fought to rein in her run-away emotions. I feel like everything is happening all over again and there’s no place else to hide.

Baby, you don’t need go anyplace else. You’re safe there. And… Her mother’s voice was stronger now, confident. The girls I raised know better than to make the same mistake twice. It’s not happening again. You hear me. It’s over.

Ketra’s voice was frail with despondency. I feel like my little corner of the world is getting smaller and smaller.

Ketra, do you want me to come out there? I’ll book a flight right now and—

No, Ketra practically shrieked. No, I’m fine. It’s just that, no one understands me here. They all think I’m a freak.

She leaned her cheek against the cool glass and closed her eyes. If only she could visit her parents, even for a very little while…maybe she wouldn’t be so glum. As Kyle’s parole hearing loomed closer, her mood darkened.

And then, on top of everything, Ketra pouted, "I fell off one of the horses—right in front of him. He smirked. Smirked."

She moved away from the window and paced around her sofa a couple of times before stopping in the kitchen. She wanted to kick something. Instead, she leaned her butt against the butcher block countertop and blew out a breath.

Humiliation burned hot on her face. Not one single time in my entire life has anyone—ever—laughed at me while I was on a horse. People have been jealous, or impressed, but never…has anyone…laughed.

Her mother chuckled. Sounds like maybe your anxiety is more from wounded pride than the shock of seeing Kyle’s look-alike?

With nervous adrenaline pumping through her veins, Ketra pushed away from the counter. She fiddled with cupboard doors, letting her eyes roam over the contents of each before moving on to the next. When she’d opened and closed every door, her free hand dropped to her side. She hung her head. I was afraid, Mom. I was really afraid.

Her mother sighed before asking, Are you hurt?

What?

From the fall? Did you get hurt when you fell from the horse?

Oh. No.

Her conversation had been erratic. No wonder her mother thought she’d hit her head too hard. Ketra made another circle of the room before flopping down in the center of the sofa. Her mother seemed to sense her mood because she remained silent, waiting for Ketra to reveal any further worry troubling her from her