Whiskey Ryder's Second Chance: Cowboys of Second Chances Security, #1

By Rhonda Lee Carver

A single father is looking for a nanny, but what he gets is an old flame.

Whiskey Ryder spends most of his time on the back of a horse on a mountain. Whether it's on a search and rescue mission, or on the Ryde Hard Ranch working the land with his brothers. He's all about being a cowboy…and a single father of a preteen who woke up one morning hating him. He's been told it's a normal phase for all kids, but he's like a parenting fish out of water. He's a millisecond away from chewing leather but his stunning first love comes back to town and, to his relief, has a way with his daughter...and his heart.

They are better together than whiskey and cola but claiming a second chance won't be easy because someone sees her as a threat and wants her to leave town…dead or alive.

Codee Fields finds herself helping an old friend—old friend as in the cowboy who was her first love, first kiss, first everything. She's had a couple of failed relationships, but Whiskey is "the one who got away". Her priority is to solve the mystery of her sister's death now that she knows the truth.

Whiskey will protect her at all costs, but will it be enough for a second chance at romance? Or will tragedy strike and everything he's wanted disappear?

If small town romances with lots of emotion and adventures in the mountains, and sweltering chemistry between the lead characters, are what you crave then grab books by Rhonda Lee Carver.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rhonda Lee Carver
• Release date: Jan 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224238743

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Copyright © 2023 by Rhonda Lee Carver

www.rhondaleecarver.com

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogue in this work are from the author’s imagination and creation. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

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This book contains material that isn’t suitable for anyone under the age of 17.

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Dear Readers,

This story involves situations that might be triggering for some readers. Violent behavior (physical and sexual), death, and cruelty. Although I was careful not to give graphic details, I wanted to make you aware of the context.

If you, or someone you know, is involved in an abusive relationship, please reach out for help...

National Domestic Violence Hotline

1-800-799-7233

Acknowledgements

Photographer: Golden Czermak

Edits: Sara Miller

Cover Art: Rhonda Lee Carver

CHAPTER ONE

The craggy mountain was cocoon quiet as Whiskey Ryder stared at the farmer sitting on the downed tree near the edge of the ravine. His rifle was laid across his lap and his finger drifted somewhere between the trigger and a mistake. His weathered, pockmarked skin had taken on a bluish tinge and his once wizened eyes were now stonewashed grey. The silver stripes of his matted hair had dried blood near his temple. The distinctive straw-like, yellowed beard covered half of his thin, wrinkled face.

Did you fall, Newt? Whiskey made a sweeping motion with his jaw.

Yeah, I took a fall. Dang feet ain’t like they used to be.

You been hitting the bottle today?

He grunted. Couple sips. One sip after another, after another.

Some would think a man would have to be off his rocker to behave the way the seventy-year-old was, but nothing about the seasoned old-timer could be described as feeble or foolish.

Sometimes a person needed to make a statement and Newt was making a big one, even if it wouldn’t end well for him. Whiskey could respect a determined man.

Unfortunately, Mother Nature was making a statement too and the temperature was dropping a couple of degrees every few minutes. The cold seeped through the lining of his coat and the material of his shirt. A cup of coffee sounded real good right about then. And heat.

When they’d received the call from Sheriff Mellough that Newt Caskel was missing and had been spotted near the entrance of the mountain, Whiskey, and his brother Dean, loaded up the horses into the trailer and headed out. Good thing Newt had made it easy to track him because dark clouds were moving in fast bringing with it what weather forecasters called a snow burst. There would be a lot of accumulation in a short period of time. The trail was difficult to navigate in suitable weather, but a storm could strand them. 

Once they’d found Newt’s horse, about a quarter of a mile from where they were now, Whiskey and Dean tied their own horses off and walked the rest of the way to the area that was unsafe due to rock eroding.

Time wasn’t on their side.

What do you want to see happen? Whiskey asked, staying calm.

Not a damned thing. Newt snorted.

Outside of an occasional snapping of twigs or the rustling of wind through the trees, the mountainside was eerily quiet. The animals were instinctive and finding shelter from the impending snowstorm. Let’s talk about this, buddy. This standoff won’t solve anything.

We’re past fixing things, Ryder. You won’t get me off this mountain unless you shoot me first, and by the looks of things you boys aren’t carrying.

My rifle’s back with the horse. This doesn’t seem like a situation that calls for bearing arms, my friend. Whiskey had intentionally left his gun in the saddle. Adding another weapon to the mix would only escalate things. He’d learned from his years in the SEALs how trigger-happy people can get while in enemy territory. If a man didn’t see using his gun as an option to win then he shouldn’t bring it to the fight. He had no desire, or intention, to harm Newt who he considered a friend.

Dean gave a little grunt and shifted restlessly. Whiskey guessed his brother’s patience was thinning too. Neither of them wanted to put their lives, or the horses’, in danger. They’d been out on the mountain for over an hour now trying to talk some sense into the stubborn, seasoned man and they were getting nowhere.

We can’t be out here forever. Whiskey resituated his Stetson and pulled the collar of his Carhartt jacket higher around his ears. It seemed like this was coming down to how long it took for Newt’s body to give out to hypothermia. Whiskey would give the man credit for tolerating the elements this long.

Go away, boys. I got no beef with either of you. The slurring in his tone became more perceptible.

Dean stepped up and said in a whisper, We can take him.

He’ll shoot one of us before we get close.

If we don’t get off this mountain soon we’ll all freeze to death.

Whiskey nodded and turned his full attention back on Newt. How about while we hang out here you put some clothes back on. We wouldn’t want you to get frostbite in some inconvenient areas.

The elderly man chuckled and readjusted his grip on the rifle. He’d been sitting there, on the rock, long enough for his lips to start turning blue. As the sun started to set the temperature would keep dropping and become dangerously cold, and at his age, his heart, nervous system and organs would start shutting down. Whiskey and Dean didn’t have the field equipment to treat a victim of organ failure.

Gritting his teeth, Whiskey scanned his gaze across the peaceful overlook. The cliff was a beautiful spot, but no one, especially not a friend, would die on his watch. He’d have to take the chance of getting shot to tackle the man if something didn’t change soon.

The old man isn’t going to be talked down, Dean muttered. He was the youngest of the Ryder brothers and by far the most impatient.

I have an idea. Whiskey took a short step toward the edge of the jagged, eroding cliff which was probably riskier than getting shot. Pebbles and other debris gave way under Whiskey’s weight, and he paused, anticipating what would happen next. He couldn’t be sure what the condition of the area was, but he didn’t want to press his luck. One wrong move and he and Newt might plunge into the icy waters of the ravine below.

Whiskey’s mood soured. Coddling someone wasn’t in his DNA, and he certainly wasn’t up for taking a bath in Wildflower River. Meeting his maker also wasn’t in his plans tonight.

Don’t come any closer, friend.

Whiskey didn’t know what in the hell Newt was thinking, but if his true intention was to die, he would have taken care of that down at his farm. That was becoming clearer to Whiskey.

Bending to his haunches, Whiskey reached into his coat pocket for the lighter that he always carried with him since his time in the service.

What are you doing? Newt mumbled.

Thankfully, using some dried grass and twigs, Whiskey managed to catch a flame. He carefully blew on the blaze, hoping to get a source of heat that might help some. Making things a bit more comfortable for both of us.

Why bother? 

Come on now. It’s getting colder. Let’s get off this trail and get you back home. Think how good a strong, steaming cup of coffee would taste. Even Whiskey had to tap into his tolerance reserves. Patience was a requirement in search and rescue missions. He’d faced enough dire situations, and how a person handled those kinds of circumstances made all the difference in the world.

The old man laughed. I don’t have a home to go back to, son. The bank has set its mind on taking my house, my land, and my pride. What’s a man without his legacy? My Nancy loved that farm. She made it a home for us, and Daniel. He swiped a gnarled hand down his weather-beaten cheek.

Daniel was their only child who took a bullet in Afghanistan. He was brought home in a casket.

Whiskey didn’t know the all the details regarding the bank, but the rumors had made their rounds through the small town of Second Chance, Montana. Newt had found himself in financial trouble after his wife passed away a few years back. He refinanced his property, Caskel Acres, a two-hundred-acre working farm near the base of the mountain that was worth a small fortune because the river ran down the middle of the land. He’d had plenty of potential buyers offering three times what the value was, but he’d turned down every single one. Whatever happened from point A to B, after he’d taken out the second mortgage, that spurred him into threatening some people, setting the entire herd of farm horses free, except for his prized mustang which he rode up the mountain, then taking a seat on a rock bare-assed naked in the freezing temperature was lost in translation.

Whiskey’s job wasn’t to flesh out the particulars but to get Newt off the mountain safely.

There’s nothing so bad that can’t be fixed, Whiskey said. My brothers are out rounding up your loose horses now and bills can be paid. Sheriff Mellough said you’re not in any trouble The bank manager you threatened isn’t pressing charges.

I’m old, Ryder, but I ain’t dumb. The second I put down my gun and walk off this mountain, ol’ Sheriff Mellough is going to slap handcuffs on me. I always said it was a sad day when his grandpappy retired and handed down the badge to that lazy, fat sum’bitch Jackson. He couldn’t solve a case of a missing yard gnome let uphold the good citizens of this community. That bastard is as slimy as the devil himself. Nancy had spent most of her life volunteering at charities, events, raising money for better schools and parks and this is how we’re repaid? I’m better off six feet under.

A lot of people despised Jackson Mellough but he had the respected family name. It’d take more than a legal vote to drive him out of the office that he and his family had held for generations. Small town politics could be just as corrupt as anything in the larger cities. No townsperson would argue that the Sheriff wasn’t anything like his upstanding grandfather, Jake. Newt being the hardworking, loyal, strong man that he was wouldn’t have respect for anything less. He and Nancy had been through a lot in the fifty years they were married and had done a lot for the community. The day she had a massive stroke that put her on life support, and then Newt being forced to make the decision to take her off, the entire town had mourned with him.

Newt had taken her death hard and drowned his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle. Things got worse over at the farm. The changing of hands hadn’t helped.

What would Nancy want you to do, Newt? Whiskey didn’t like using the man’s wife as leverage, but if the kind woman could see her stubborn husband now she’d be devastated.

Don’t mention her name, he gritted through thin lips. No one cared about her, or me. They just want to swipe my land out from underneath me and make a profit. I had no choice but to take out a second mortgage to pay medical bills. No one is ever prepared for tragedy. They need to give me a chance and I’ll pay every penny back. I’m a man of my word.

I don’t doubt that— The intrusive buzzing of the radio on Whiskey’s hip came through like a sledgehammer to his head.

Whiskey, come in. Over. Sheriff Mellough’s gruff voice roared through the speaker. He wasn’t a man with a lot of patience either. If he’d had his way, he’d have rushed the mountain with guns blazing and a bloody outcome. Whiskey didn’t have to worry about the boys with badges bursting onto the scene because none of them—the Sheriff and his two deputies—would make it up the mountain before nightfall. They had about an hour of good light left until danger became insanity up on Snowbleed.

Might as well answer the dickhead, Newt groaned.

Gritting his teeth, Whiskey turned off the radio. That can wait.

The sun is setting, fellows. Do yourselves a big favor and head on down the mountain. You’ve done all you’ve come to do. Newt looked up into the sky then wiped the wetness of the spitting snow off his brow. She’s about to open up and give us one helluva a beating.

Whiskey could think of only one solution. I think I might have an answer.

My answer is you boys pack up, get back on your horses, take my mustang with you, and leave me the hell alone. He sounded like a man completely convinced that he had run out of options.

Now you and I both know that won’t happen. Whiskey glanced back at Dean who seemed more interested in exploring the undergrowth along the path. He was touching a rock with the toe of his boot. I’ll be here until you ride off this mountain with me.

This ain’t the SEALs, Ryder.

Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. You know that. They both served and had the SEAL Trident tattooed on their backs.

Then it looks like we’ll both meet our maker this evening, he said serenely.

I’ll pay off what you owe to the bank and then you sell me Caskel Acres Farm at fifty percent of value. Hearing Dean’s groan of disbelief, Whiskey paid his brother no attention.

The old man blinked twice. Pay off the bank? You want to take my property too? Suspicion clouded his dull grey eyes.

I won’t lie to you. You’re in a bad situation, my friend, but my intention is to help make it better. I’ll pay off the loan, but the deed will be mine—

Newt’s snicker echoed through the valley. Yeah and there’s the punchline.

Hold your horses, stubborn old goat, and let me finish. You’ll stay on the land, continue living in the house, and working the place for as long as you see fit. Those facts won’t change, but you and I, we’ll have to sit down and make some hard decisions on how we can get the farm back in the green. I’m confident we can do that, but you got to trust me.

Bend is going to kill you, Dean grumbled.

This ain’t about Bend, or any of you. Only me, Whiskey muttered. I’m offering you a fair deal, but it won’t stay on the table long. If the bank forecloses, which it sounds like they’re fixing to do, they’ll sell Caskel Acres and you’ll no longer have a home. If I had to guess some corporate developer will get their hands on your property and put in some airport or shopping mall. Maybe even a casino.

Nothing’s fair in this world. Unfortunately, you’re young enough that you haven’t realized that yet. Before long all this beauty and untouched land will be occupied with a parking lot.

I might know a little more than you give me credit for. I want to preserve the land as much as you do.

Whiskey? Dean interrupted.

Swiveling, Whiskey searched for his brother who was no longer close. He was in the woods, barely visible through the fog settling in, shining his flashlight on the ground. You’re not helping the situation any, Dean.

Well, in that case, this certainly won’t help. He waved Whiskey over.

Can this wait?

Afraid not.

Groaning, he marched across the frozen undergrowth, stopping short when he saw what Dean’s light focused on underneath a giant, ancient western red cedar—something that caught him by surprise. What the hell?

Is that what I think it is? Dean rubbed his whiskered jaw.

Whiskey found a long stick and carefully used the end to clear some of the debris away that covered the object. He cursed under his breath as his suspicions were confirmed. Only the crown of the yellowed, cracked skull was poking above the hardened soil, but there was no doubt they’d found human remains.

Immediately, his logical side kicked into gear, and he closely examined the area. He found bone fragments that could have easily been mistaken for shards of stone. Whiskey guessed the body had been in a shallow grave and the heavy rains they’d had for most of the summer had uncovered the remains.

What do we do? Dean whispered.

We need to get a crew up here. I’ll radio Bend so he can head it up with Mellough. Reaching for his radio, he started to speak into it when he heard...

Shit, that ain’t no good.

Whiskey lifted his chin. Newt stood close, still naked as a jay bird, craning his neck to get a better look at the find. He still had his rifle gripped in his bony fists. Newt, you mind lowering that thing before you kill someone?

Without any argument, he lowered the gun to his side, pointing the barrel at the ground. Looks like she’s been there for a long time.

How do you know it’s a she? Dean asked, looking a bit blue himself.

I was a medic in Nam. I’m not a forensic scientist by any means, but I saw enough death in the boonies to make me dang near one. Female skulls have a rounded frontal bone, and males slope backward at a slight angle. Also, the brow bones are less prominent in females.

As he looked closer, Whiskey shrugged. Whatever you say, buddy. He used the stick to push more twigs away that had gathered behind the skull. He should leave things alone and let the investigators do their work, but by the time a team made it up on the mountain the elements would have disturbed the crime scene. That looks like hair to me.

Red, Newt grunted.

Huh? Dean responded.

The hair. Red, at least it looks like it is to me.

Whiskey rubbed his jaw. At least it appeared that Newt had finally given up on his standoff. There’s good news and bad news. Which one do you want to hear first, Dean?

Always the good first.

Honestly, neither option would be good. The weather had finally come and the snow was dusting the land.

Newt here can get dressed and be taken off the mountain. Bad news, one of us is going to have to stay until someone from the evidence recovery team makes it up here. How about we do this the fair way? He reached into his pocket, rummaged through the couple of coins there, and fished out a quarter. We can flip to see who takes watch. You call it. He flicked the coin up in the air.

Heads.

The coin landed near Whiskey’s boot and he patted Dean on the back. Sorry about your luck, brother. You’ll take watch over the skull and I’ll take Newt.

Dean groaned. By the time someone makes it up the trail I’ll look like her.

Nah. Newt chuckled. Ol’ fat-ass, lazy Jackson will rappel himself in from a helicopter if he thinks there’s a media opportunity. Anything to look like a hero.

Whiskey got the feeling there were some personal issues lingering between Newt and the Sheriff. Dean, keep the fire going. Newt, why don’t you go get dressed. I think we’ve contaminated the area just about enough. Think you two can manage to retrace your steps back to the clearing without disturbing anything?

We can manage, Newt snorted. I have a couple of blankets and a tarp in my saddle. Dean can have them.

You’re just now telling us that? Whiskey blew out a long exhale. It wasn’t like the old man would have accepted a blanket anyway.

Once alone, he took at least a dozen pictures with his phone camera and made his way back to Dean and Newt who was dragging on his dirty overalls. Whiskey relayed the information through the radio then slipped off his coat and handed it to Dean. "Bend will make