A Montana Cowboy. Rebecca Winters

Since she’d asked the question, why not tell her the truth?

      “I was flying a combat mission when a laser beam intersected my eye. If you want the medical version, the light was transmitted through the clear ocular media and imaged onto a small spot on the sensory retina. In a mere moment tissue necrosis occurred. The result being that my vision was impaired.”

      “A laser? Where did it come from?”

      “Lasers are used for different functions in military applications. They serve in targeting guidance systems. Some are fire-control devices, others for access denial systems and communications security. Although the use of lasers as a weapon is a violation of the Geneva convention, the potential for its wrongful use continues to attract international concern. The laser that injured my eye was no accident.”

      She shivered. “That’s horrible. Evil.”

      “You’re right. In military applications, just a few microjoules of laser through the pupils in a 10 to 30 nanosecond pulse can produce a visible lesion. At 150 to 300 microjoules, a small retinal hemorrhage can occur. This type of damage can have a devastating effect on a pilot’s vision. It did on mine.” His voice grated. “I wasn’t blinded, but I have to wear a corrective lens so it prevents me from doing that particular job anymore.”

      “Though you’re no longer top gun, you can still fly, right?”

      “Yes. I could be a flight navigator, but once you’ve done what I do, no other position holds the same excitement for me. That probably sounds selfish to you.”

      “Not at all,” she replied. “There are few careers in this world that demand your specialized kind of expertise. Connor and I had a talk about that very thing last week. Since his injury, his fans have been begging him to get back to steer wrestling and go for a sixth world championship title.”

      “What did he say?” Trace was curious.

      “He admitted that those years of being on top were great, and there was no other thrill like it. But the injury affected him enough that he knew he’d never be that good again. Sure he could train and go for it over and over for a few more years, but he’d never be able to perform at his former level. To be a has-been simply wasn’t for him.

      “Then he gave me that special smile of his and told me he was glad he’d been injured because he ended up marrying Liz Henson. To quote him, ‘The thrill of being married to her has topped anything I’ve ever experienced.’”

      Trace liked hearing that. “He’s really happy, then.”

      “Ecstatic. They both are. From the time we were in high school Liz had a crush on him that never went away.”

      He nodded. “Dad let on to me about her heartache before she and Connor traveled to Las Vegas together for the National Finals Rodeo. That trip turned their lives around and lost him a great vet in the process.”

      “It about killed her when he married Reva Stevens. I wasn’t surprised when it ended in divorce so fast. Reva loved Connor, but she hated ranch life. Not everyone takes to it. She didn’t last long. At the time I was afraid his heart was permanently broken.”

      “My mother couldn’t handle being this isolated either,” Trace admitted. “Nine years into the marriage and she asked my dad for a divorce.” Would the same thing happen if he and Nicoletta got married, even if they lived in Colorado? He’d been struggling with that question all night.

      “For someone who wasn’t born to it, your mom lasted longer than most, Trace. That’s because she loved your father. At least that’s what I heard from people who knew your parents. But I know that’s no consolation to you. Anything but. Forgive me for saying something so insensitive.”

      “There’s nothing to forgive. I was the one to bring it up. My mother was frank with me. I knew she loved Dad, but that wasn’t enough. I’m glad you told me about Connor. It’s great to hear he’s found his happiness now.”

      “I agree, but I’m so sorry about your injury, Trace. It isn’t fair,” she said in a heartfelt voice. “I’m surprised nothing’s been done to prevent such a thing from happening.”

      “People have tried. There was an international conventional weapons conference in 1995. They announced the latest protocol on blinding laser weapons. The United States signed on to the guidelines. Four of the articles outlined the parameters for the use of lasers in military maneuvers and war.

      “They came up with the rule that the employment of lasers solely to cause permanent blindness—or a resulting visual acuity of 20/200—is strictly prohibited. But of course, the enemy doesn’t care.”

      “That is so horrible.”

      “No more horrible than your husband being shot.” Trace wanted to move the subject away from him. “Did the rangers find the person responsible?”

      She was quiet for a moment before she admitted, “Not yet. As you know, Avery’s husband, Zane, is a special agent for the Bureau of Land Management. While searching for Logan, he found a dead marten near Logan that had been shot on the property that day.

      “The slug from a smooth bore shotgun that killed my husband matched the slug in the marten. Zane’s still hoping forensics will lead to the owner of the shotgun so he can be brought in for questioning. So far there’s no actual proof that it wasn’t accidental.”

      “What do you think?”

      “I don’t know. There’s no hunting until April, so whoever was out there in February was trespassing. It could have been an accident, but Zane doesn’t think so. A hunter shooting marten would probably have taken it for the fur.”

      “Did your husband have an enemy?”

      They’d come to the first stream running through the property. Both horses stopped to drink. “He was so likeable, I can’t imagine it. But I have one.” She sounded haunted.

      “Who is it?”

      “My brother Ned.”

       Chapter Two

      Trace scowled. Through his father he knew all about Ned Bannock’s instability. “Isn’t he in a special mental facility in Billings?”

      “He was, but has been getting treatment. In February the doctor allowed him to live at home for a month on a trial basis. According to my older married cousins, he was subdued and seemed to get along well enough. The doctor was pleased with his progress and said if he continued to improve, he’d be able to come home permanently.”

      “So he was at home during the time your husband was killed?”

      “Yes. When he was first put in the facility, the court ordered our family to go into counseling and get therapy. It was painful, but necessary. I welcomed it because I knew that Ned had always resented me. There were times when I felt that he wished I weren’t alive. I was able to express those feelings in front of my parents.”

      Since Trace didn’t have a sibling, he couldn’t relate, but her admission horrified him. “How did they react?”

      “They were oblivious to my pain. Dad said I brought on trouble, that when things went wrong with Ned it was my fault. Mom kept quiet to appease my dad, who claimed that I wasn’t sensitive enough to Ned’s needs growing up because I was the popular one. I should have included him more in my activities. Their worry over him meant more punishment for me if I didn’t coddle my brother. To this day they still believe that. There’s no getting through to them.”

      “I don’t see how you’ve been able to cope. Under those conditions I probably would have run away.”

      “Once I was out of the house working on my own, I didn’t have to be around him nearly as much. What stunned me was to learn in one of the sessions that Ned had hate issues with me because I’d gotten