Every Step He Takes Read online

  Every Step He Takes

  The Brides of Purple Heart Ranch Book 8

  Shanae Johnson

  Copyright © 2019, Ines Johnson. All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the author.

  * * *

  Edited by Alyssa Breck

  * * *

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition August 2019

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Also by Shanae Johnson

  Chapter One

  "Left. Left, right, left."

  The sounds of boots marching on the ground should’ve been thunderous, imposing. In reality, it was more like the sound of grade school children let out of the back of the school for recess. That was likely because none of the boys and girls assembled had reached their majority. They were also marching on fertile, green farmland and not pavement.

  "Billy, I said right, not left," shouted Private Mark Ortega. "Do you know your right from your left, son?"

  "Yes, sir,” said the scrawny kid who was no thicker than a bean pole. “It's the one we say the Pledge of Allegiance with."

  Mark resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose when Billy started to raise his left hand, then yanked it down in favor of his right one. Mark couldn’t help a glance at his watch. Not because he was ready for the hopeless training to end. He wanted more time to teach these cadets the drill. He knew that for most of them, the Army was not just a way out, it was the only way up.

  "All right," said Mark. "Let's try it again.”

  There were less than a dozen kids gathered. They ranged in racial identity from porcelain skinned Jordan Scott to the tall cup of coffee that was Ayden Benson. The kids also ranged in socioeconomic backgrounds to the polished black oxfords worn by Janey Marsden to the worn sneakers of Billy Trent.

  “Left,” called Mark. “Left, right, left."

  Once again, Billy lifted first his right foot and then his left foot. He collided into Janey, who then bumped into the brick wall that was Eli Wilson.

  Janey halted. With clenched fists, she turned to glare at Billy in a way that made Mark wince. The young woman was going to make a fine Army soldier.

  Billy, on the other hand, might make a great Marine. That bunch didn't need to know their left from their right out in the water swimming with the fishes.

  "At ease, everyone," said Mark. "At ease."

  The small group of seventeen and eighteen-year-olds relaxed their stances at Mark's command. For the past year, the Purple Heart Ranch had invited the town's youth to the land for enrichment programs. Aside from the original mission as a rehabilitation ranch for Wounded Warriors, the ranch had developed a specialty of working with troubled adolescents and teens. Which made sense since many of the soldiers there had come from a troubled past.

  Mark’s past wasn’t troubled. He’d come from a loving, close-knit family. Though his family ties had been strong, life still hadn’t been easy.

  He’d come to the ranch broken after the dregs of combat. With a medical discharge, he’d found healing of his own after only a couple of months on the ranch. Mark hadn’t wanted his military career to be over, but it would appear that it was God’s will. With his time left on the ranch, he was determined to dole out as much of himself as he could to the next generation of service men and women.

  “I’m sorry,” Billy mumbled to Janey and Eli. “Sorry, sir,” he said to Mark, not quite meeting Mark’s gaze.

  It was another thing Mark wanted to work on with the kids; building confidence. The soldiers manning the ranch put the kids through their paces taking care of the farm animals, learning to work with and ride horses, and tend to the lands. Those programs had flourished, making a positive impact on each kid that came on the ranch and turning more than one life around for the better.

  In the last two months, they’d added a new program; a Junior ROTC program. Mark’s hand had shot up as a volunteer to work with the kids. He enjoyed nothing better than rising each morning and taking the would-be soldiers through their paces. Unfortunately, their pacing was part of the problem. His troops were constantly out of step with one another.

  "The last drill of the day is to hit the pivot."

  Mark saw a number of the kids wince. Marching wasn't as easy as it looked on television or in the movies. The kids struggled with staying in their simple formation and keeping their spacing. He knew pivoting, turning a corner, would be a challenge for them. But as he'd learned when he was in his high school’s JROTC at their age, if you never pushed yourself, you'd never go anywhere.

  And so, Mark gave the command. First to march. And then to pivot.

  Just as he predicted, the pivot didn't go as planned. Billy turned left instead of right. Only this time he bumped into the wall of Eli. Down Billy went, nearly getting trampled by Janey who had perfect form, spacing, and pivot. Mark knew he had to get in there before Janey made the boy road kill. But before he could bark an order, he saw something else out of order. The sole of Billy's shoe was hanging on by a thread, or rather what looked like dried glue.

  "All right, that's enough for the day," said Mark. "You all know what you need to work on for next time."

  "Sir, yes, sir," the kids bellowed, nearly in unison. If unison sounded like an echo off a large cliff where the sound bounced around a few times before dying off.

  Mark reached out his arm to Billy. The boy took it. Mark hefted the young man up, but Billy's gaze stayed cast down.

  "I'm sorry, sir," said the boy. "I'll work on it some more tonight. I'll get it the next time, I promise.”

  "I have no doubt,” said Mark. “It took me quite a while to get the hang of all this.”

  “It did?” Billy’s gaze lifted, hope shining in his eyes.

  Mark gave the kid a nod. “You headed back to the barn to get your stuff?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Mind if I walk with you?”

  "Yeah, that would be cool. I mean, yes, sir."

  "It's fine," grinned Mark. "At ease."

  The two took off. Billy had to march double time to keep up with Mark's casual gait as they walked the path from the pastures to the barn designated for the youth program. In the distance, Mark saw amputees mounted on thoroughbreds. Each man and woman wore content smiles on their faces. Mark understood why. He’d come from combat with all his limbs and most of his mental faculties, but he knew the power of commanding such a majestic animal restored something in a soldier’s spirit.

  "I'm glad you were able to keep coming,” Mark said to his young charge. “I know you had a conflict, having to watch your younger brother."

  “It got sorted,” said Billy. “He's in the after-school program at the church. Pastor Patel set it up."

  Mark knew that. The pastor had arranged for the fees to be paid so the younger kid could attend the program his wife ran. The Patels had done it quietly as Billy's mother had a rep
utation for being proud and not accepting handouts.

  "I had to do that a lot when I was your age,” said Mark. "Take care of my younger brother. The kid was a pain, but he was my pain."

  Billy nodded but didn't offer any elaborations on his situation. Honestly, Mark hadn’t expected him to. He had been the same way in his youth.

  "You doing good in school?" Mark tried another way past the kid’s defenses.

  Billy shrugged. "I don't get the best grades, but I'm not failing."

  This kid could've been living Mark's past life. Mark hadn't been a scholar by any stretch. His grades were normally just barely above passing. He'd only put in the effort because he didn't want to disappoint his parents. Plus, he had to graduate. His family didn't need another high school drop out with no job prospects to take care of. Money had been tight since before he was born, and the situation had never loosened up for a single day after.

  They were the last to arrive at the barn. Most of the kids were already on the bus to take them back into town. Billy’s well-used backpack sat on a patch of dirt just inside the door.

  "Hey,” said Mark, “you live near the consignment shop, right?"

  Billy nodded uncertainly as he pulled the dingy straps over his shoulders.

  "Would you mind dropping these shoes off for me?” Mark grabbed a shoe box off one of the tables inside the barn. “They were a size too small. I got them thirty days ago, so I can't take them back.”

  Mark took the pristine sneakers from their box. He had to maneuver quickly to hide the sales tag that still hung from the laces. Mark wasn’t sure if Billy noticed as he placed the unblemished soles in the palms of the kid’s hands.

  “Actually,” Mark continued, “they look like they might fit you. You want them?"

  The accommodating smile fell from Billy’s face. His skinny elbows had been bending as he brought the shoes to his person. With Mark’s last words, he straightened his elbows and handed them back.

  "No, thank you,” said the kid.

  Mark didn’t take the shoes back. “You'd be doing me a favor."

  "I know what you're trying to do." Billy placed the shoes back in the box on the table.

  Mark sighed. Yup, this was his teenaged self to a T. Taking donations and gifts from strangers had always left him feeling dirty and inferior. As though he were a stain on society that someone with money had to wipe out. He preferred going through hardship than to confront that feeling.

  But this was different. Mark wasn’t a stranger to this kid. And this wasn’t a handout. The kid needed the shoes to reach his dream. He certainly couldn’t keep marching when his sole was damaged.

  "Look, kid, it's not a handout. It's a leg up. I want you to succeed. We need men like you in the service. But you're not going to get ahead if you can't take a step in the right direction."

  Billy pursed his lips. Mark could see he was wearing him down. He decided to try another tactic.

  “You’d take them if we were family, wouldn’t you?”

  Billy hesitated. His features screwed as though he knew there was a trick on the horizon.

  “It's what soldiers do for each other. When you’re a unit, you’re family. I’m the head of your unit, which means I’m pretty much your father. So, do as I said and take the shoes.”

  Huh. Look at that. It worked.

  Under that command, the resistance went out of the kid's shoulders. Billy sighed, letting go of all his tension and pride. He took the shoes.

  "Thank you,” he said, once again not quite meeting Mark’s gaze.

  That was fine. Mark had some time to work on that. But it wasn’t much time.

  "Now, go home and practice that march."

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mark watched the kid hurry to the bus. He felt a strong sense of pride well in his chest at what he’d done. When he shoved his hands in his pockets, they were empty. Those shoes had cost him a pretty penny that he hadn’t had to spare. But that’s what family did for one another, and the people on the ranch were all family.

  Unfortunately, his time on the ranch was almost up. He knew he could come and visit the people there whenever he wished. Mark just wished he could be the one to keep leading these kids into the bright future they all were trying to get to.

  Chapter Two

  The room was an explosion of white. Alabaster white walls boxed the ladies inside. Ivory white curtains hid them from outsiders’ views. Cream colored carpeting ran under their heeled feet. A porcelain chandelier hung from the ceiling illuminating the lace, chiffon, and tulle that exploded from every corner.

  Honey Dumasse smoothed the fabric of her pearl-white gown. The material was exquisite to the touch. She tried to keep herself from touching it over and over again for fear she'd leave a stain. But her hands were as pristine and clean as always. Every strand of her hair was in place, even though she'd been in and out of gowns all morning.

  There had been the A-line ivory gown that flared from her hips. Honey hadn’t had the bust line to support the gown. Then she’d tried on the eggshell-colored mermaid dress. Only her figure was more of a flat board and not the curvy hourglass that the dress shape demanded. Then she’d stepped into the pearl-colored drop down gown.

  The strapless gown put the focus on her shoulders instead of her bust line. Her honey-blonde hair was lifted up to accentuate the dress’s lines. The skirt had a flare, but that flare started at the calves and not her boyish hips. It was perfect.

  All three gowns had been specially made for her. Each one had a price tag that was the down payment of a house, and there were no returns. Her father had told the seamstress to spare no expense, not that he ever looked at the price tag of anything.

  It was appearances Sugar Daddy was most interested in. And he wanted his little girl looking picture perfect for her big day so that everyone could see. She was his only daughter to come out in the debutante ball, so he’d needed her to make a big impact.

  "Where's your sister, Honey? Shouldn't she be helping you?" asked Mrs. Klein. The older woman had had three daughters come out already, each to a glowing success that had declared one after the next Klein sister the Belle of the Ball.

  Honey plastered on a bland smile as she lifted her gaze in the mirror. Her smiles were always bland, never big and bright, never too small or pinched. Bland was just right. No one could say she was trying too hard or too little with this smile. They couldn't say she was trying at all.

  “Ginger is out of town today."

  "Oh, you mean she's off on the campaign trail?" Mrs. Klein wrinkled her nose in distaste.

  The thought of working women always brought on such derision in this cluster. Yes, it was the twenty-first century. But they were society women. With the money in their bank accounts, there was no need to lift a finger outside of charitable work. Especially if you were as wealthy as the Dumasse family.

  “I think what Ginger is doing for the community is admirable,” Honey spoke up for her sister. Not because she believed in her sister’s cause. It was because she knew that weakness was a liability.

  Ginger insisted she was doing the highest form of charity work by serving her community. It was not a notion that the ladies of the society, or their father, shared. Henry Dumasse took his eldest daughter’s political career as an affront to his wealth and position of power. If Ginger needed to work, then his company, Sugar Daddy’s, would be seen as lacking.

  Just another reason everything needed to be perfect for Honey's coming out in the debutante ball. Starting with the dress. Looking at the reflection again, she realized it was only almost perfect. Something was missing. She just didn't know what.

  A mother would know. But her mother wasn't in the picture. Her father had erased her from their lives, quite literally. He'd even had her painted out of the commissioned family portrait.

  “I think I know what that dress needs, my dear,” said a kind voice.

  Honey’s gaze shifted in the reflective glass. She slipped, and a real smile broke thr
ough her bland expression as Mrs. Patel came into view.

  "What do you think about these shoes?” asked Mrs. Patel.

  "Yes," Honey breathed. "They would be perfect."

  Mrs. Patel handed the beaded, white heels to Honey. She slipped them on and saw that they did indeed complete the outfit. In fact, she decided they had to make their debut at the Bachelor’s Brunch tomorrow.

  “It just needs one more thing.” Mrs. Patel reached behind her back and unclasped a necklace resting there. It was a simple chain with a heart-shaped pearl at the center. When Mrs. Patel approached her, Honey shook her head.

  “Oh, no, Mrs. Patel. I couldn’t—”

  “Nonsense,” the elder woman said as she clasped the necklace around Honey’s neck. “You should always have a family heirloom for these things. And you’ve been such a help to me raising money for the Sunday school program, it’s the least I can do.”

  It was a stretch of the truth. Honey hadn’t been that much help to the Sunday school effort. At least not with her presence. But she had worked her contacts and helped to raise a majority of the funds that would support the effort for another five years.

  She’d had to do it quietly as her father didn’t believe in supporting church efforts. Henry Dumasse had yet to find a way to bribe God, so he didn’t give His house much attention. That meant the family didn’t give the church much attention.

  But Honey had fond memories of going to Sunday school while her mother did Sunday Bible study. Even though she hadn’t been to church in years, much less Bible study, Honey always tried to find a way to help the church that had once brought her so much joy.