The fourth lone peak her.., p.1
The Fourth (Lone Peak Heroes Book 4), page 1
THE FOURTH
LONE PEAK HEROES
C. G. COOPER
CONTENTS
Dedications
Prologue
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
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Epilogue
Also by C. G. Cooper
About the Author
“THE FOURTH”
Book 4 of the Lone Peak Heroes Series
By C. G. Cooper
Copyright © 2023 JBD Entertainment, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized reproduction is prohibited.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations, and events are all products of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to actual events or real persons are completely coincidental.
This novel contains violence and profanity. Readers beware.
Download the ultimate C. G. Cooper Starter Kit:
FOUR FREE NOVELS!
All you have to do is subscribe.
Visit cg-cooper.com to join.
Check out the rest of my novels using this QR code:
DEDICATIONS
Thank you so much to all my wonderful beta readers. I appreciate you.
PROLOGUE
The dream started the way it always did: peaceful, tranquil, devoid of shape and color. But as he took his first steps through that ethereal nothingness, the landscape began to take shape. Rolling hills and towering mountains with snowcapped peaks, thunder in the distance. But no, that wasn't thunder. Booming cannons and exploding ordnance. A shiver ran down his spine.
Day turned to night with a snap, and still his legs propelled him forward. He heard the familiar cries, the wails of wounded men, unintelligible at first. The rapid staccato of machine-gun fire. Then the smell hit his nose, burning rubber and burning flesh. Death and dying surrounded him like a horde of locusts. He felt the prickling creep of it over his scalp, down his arms, then his legs.
His heart pounded. He tried to say, "Please, no," but the words stuck in his mind. Cratered buildings appeared to his left and right, and debris littered the street. A pair of red-eyed dogs looked up from their dinner, a human corpse swarming with flies. The hellhounds returned to their meal, and he walked on.
Boom, boom, went the artillery. A distant crash, no doubt followed by a plume of unseen smoke and debris. He sensed the world shaking around him, but it did not deter his path, even as fear kept his eyes wide. The string of life bound to him was taut, pulling. There was no sense in fighting the unseen force.
More screams.
"Corpsman up. God, no!" someone said.
Bile rose in his throat as the familiar compound came into view. Jagged barbed wire and glass topped the wall, and a big black X was painted on the double doors that led inside.
"No," he said, but his hand reached forward and pushed one of the doors open.
Inside, a pile of bodies and limbs writhed like worms. A face turned his way, and he winced at its moving lips, its unseeing eyes. Then, as always happened, every head in the pile, even the decapitated ones, turned his way. Eyes open, black as the void. Their mouths twisted into grins. Together, they said, "Padre."
And all he could do was scream.
CHAPTER ONE
PETER CALLAHAN
"Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Mr. Callahan." He wrote his name in a swirling script on the whiteboard.
"What's your first name?" someone asked.
"Peter," he said, forcing a smile and ignoring his sour stomach, “but I go by Pete.”
A couple of the sixth graders snickered. One pointed at him and whispered to his friend.
"Would anyone like to tell me what page you're on?" The tie around his neck itched. He wanted to remove it, but school policy required him to keep it on. How old-fashioned, he thought, but he needed the work.
"We're on page sixty-nine," one of the snickering boys said.
Pete ignored the quip and looked down at the notes from the teacher. Substituting could be a challenge.
"Ms. Blazack said that you're on page 112. If you could, please turn to that now."
Most of the kids flipped to the page they were supposed to.
He nodded at the smart aleck. "All right, young man. What's your name?"
"Ben," the boy said, still smiling.
"What's your last name, Ben?"
"Dover."
Pete grinned. "Ben Dover. Very clever. Tell me, Mr. Dover, would you like to come up here and teach the class?"
The kid's smile disappeared. "Oh, what?”
“I'm sorry. You seem to be the funny guy. Why don't you come up here? Tell the class a joke."
Pete moved away from the desk and pointed at where he'd been standing.
"Come on, Mr. Dover. I'm sure the class would love to hear one of your ticklers. What do you think?"
The boy shook his head, and his friends buttoned their lips.
"What about the rest of you?" Pete said to the class. "Any other jokes? I don't know about you, but I'd like to get through this period and then get some more coffee. Maybe take a walk outside in the brilliant sunshine."
He had their attention now. He'd found that being honest got to most kids. Not all, but most.
"Okay then. Can I get a volunteer to start reading at the top of page 112?"
In the front row, a girl with freckles cascading off each side of her nose raised her hand. "I can do it, Mr. Callahan."
Pete smiled and lifted the textbook. "Okay, then go ahead."
Later, as the students filed out of the classroom, Pete waved goodbye to Ben Dover and his crew. "Ben Dover," he mumbled to himself, chuckling. He went to his bag, rifled through the front pocket, and found a bottle of Tylenol. He popped two pills in his hand, threw both into his throat, and swallowed them dry. His head throbbed.
"How did it go?" a voice said from the door. "Anyone give you trouble?"
Pete turned and smiled at the principal, who’d given him the royal tour of the small school that morning. She looked young for her position, but he’d gotten the impression that she was more than capable.
"There was a Mr. Ben Dover,” he said.
The principal’s eyes twinkled. "Sixth graders are fun, particularly the ones who have older siblings. Have you done any substitute teaching at the middle-grade level?"
Pete shook his head. "I try to stick with the young ones. Third and fourth graders are my favorite."
"Well, we are pretty full in that department, but one of our fifth-grade teachers is about to go on maternity leave. Is the district going to keep you with us?"
"I don't know," Pete said, grabbing his coffee mug and heading for the door.
"How many of those have you had this morning?" the principal asked.
Pete searched her face for accusation. Finding none, he relaxed. "Too many, probably."
The principal glanced at the clock on the wall. "Well, you've got five minutes. I think they brewed a new pot in the break room. Would you like some company?"
He didn't see a wedding ring on her finger, but he figured she was just being kind. Despite the button-down shirt and tie, Pete Callahan knew he left much to be desired. If she could see inside him, she would run far, far away.
"Sure, that would be great. Maybe you can tell me if Ben Dover has a brother in the next class."
She laughed at that and walked him to the teachers’ lounge, where she introduced him to some of the other staff. Most were kind and welcoming. A couple were gruff, worn by decades of stress. He did not blame them. Teaching was a demanding profession. Kids could be both kind and cruel, especially as they got older. By middle school, childhood curiosity changed, a harsh reality he had learned during one unfortunate subbing job as a seventh-grade math teacher. That's why he now stuck to the lower grades.
"Callahan. Callahan. Wait, are you related to Patty Callahan? Works down at the diner. Frizzy brow
"No, sorry," Pete said.
"Oh. Where are you from originally?"
"Boston."
"Oh, Boston. You a Patriots fan?" Football. Every gym teacher he'd ever met had always asked about football. So rather than tell the man that he preferred the Celtics, he played along.
"Sure, I'm a Patriots fan, but I'm more of a Tom Brady fan."
The gym teacher shook his head. "You better not say that around here too much."
"Speak for yourself, Jim," another teacher said. She was eating a sandwich even though it was nine in the morning. "I wouldn't mind if Tom Brady came and visited us."
Rolling his eyes, Jim said, "Well, Pete, if you need anything, anything at all, you know where to find me."
"Let me guess, the gym?" Pete grinned like he knew the man expected him to. He was good at playing the game, at showing people what they wanted: someone polite, personable, normal. Inside, he was anything but, and really, all he wanted was to get in his car and drive away.
He glanced up at the clock. Well, only seven hours left to go.
CHAPTER TWO
PETE
Downing the dregs of his stale coffee, Pete reciprocated the waves of a couple of teachers and got into his car, a beat-up relic of the early nineties that most people assumed was a Pinto. He tossed his bag in the passenger seat, grabbed the steering wheel, and prayed the damn thing would start. After a couple of coughs, the engine caught, and he thanked his lucky stars.
Though tired and hungry, he had a stop to make before going home. But home wasn't really home. It was just another sojourn on what felt like the endless trail of his life. At least this town in rural North Carolina was starting to become familiar. Pete Callahan didn't know whether that was good or bad. Daring to hope it was good seemed risky.
The same cashier as last time stood at the checkout counter, head bent over his phone, when Pete entered the liquor store. The joint was empty apart from the two of them. He walked straight back to the vodka aisle, making a show of picking a beverage, even though he already knew which one. He snatched a fifth from the shelf and did a little more perusing, having no intention of buying anything else.
When he set the fifth on the counter, the man looked up from his phone, irritated at the interruption, and gave Pete a once-over.
He remembers me, he thought. Best find a new store.
The man took his time scanning the barcode, verifying the price, and then sliding the bottle into a paper bag.
"Cash or card?"
"Cash," Pete said, holding out a twenty-dollar bill.
The cashier accepted the bill, then held it up to the light and ran his fingers over it. "You never can be too careful these days," he said, like he worked for the Secret Service’s counterfeiting department. Satisfied, he opened the register and extracted the change. "You need a receipt?"
"No thanks."
With a grunt, the cashier handed over the bag and change, then returned to his phone.
"Have a nice day," Pete said.
The man ignored him, so Pete left, holding the door open for a pregnant woman who came inside pushing a stroller. She looked disheveled and exhausted. In a previous life, he would've said a prayer for her. Now he nodded and made sure the stroller didn't catch on the bottom of the doorjamb. When he turned back toward his car, he spotted someone sitting on the hood.
"Hello, Pete," the woman said, her dark-brown hair pulled to one side, cascading over her shoulder.
"Natalie?" He hadn't seen Natalie Andolini in how long? Years.
She got up from the hood, strode over, and hugged him. He returned the embrace, awkward and out of his element. She didn't seem to notice. A moment later, she let go and looked him over, her eyes catching on the paper bag in his hand. The reminder of what he held made him salivate.
"I like the beard,” she said. “Goes with the tie."
“What are you doing here?” he asked, grimacing.
"Do you believe in happy coincidences?"
"Not really."
Natalie watched him with her head tilted. She was different somehow, he realized. Clear-eyed. Maybe because of the bind she'd gotten herself into—and then out of—with the air force. She was a brilliant pilot, but also a troublemaker. He’d helped her out of a few predicaments in the past, but he had no interest in doing so now. He wanted nothing more than to say goodbye, pack up his things, and head to the next town. Registering with a new school district was always a pain, but he considered it a small price to pay for anonymity. Besides, he had a spotless substituting record to ease the process along.
"Why are you here, Natalie?" he asked again.
"I need your help, Pete."
He sighed. "I don't think I'm the one you should be asking for help. Sorry, Natalie."
"Oh no. I think you're the only person I should ask for on this one."
He looked away. He couldn't meet her gaze. It felt like her eyes were dissecting him one layer at a time, and Pete knew if he stood there much longer, he'd either say or do something he would regret. Something that even the bottle in his hand couldn't clear his conscience of. He was tired of living with his sins. He didn't need to add another one to the pile.
Natalie pulled an envelope out of her pocket and held it out. "There's an airline voucher and a check in there."
"What? Natalie, I—"
She held up a hand. "I know you're scraping by. I know you've been here for five months. I know you took out a loan at nineteen percent for that car you're driving."
"What? How?" The anger started to rise in him.
"I think you need me as much as I need you." Natalie stepped forward, nudging the envelope closer to his empty hand.
"You don't know what you're talking about," he said, sounding harsher than he'd intended.
She did not back down. "I don't care what kind of car you drive, Pete. I just care about your wellbeing. And I want you to know that I've built a new life for myself. A new home. I met someone, and I want to introduce you to him. Come visit and see. It’ll be good for us both."
"Natalie, look, I can't. I'm substituting. They're expecting me tomorrow."
"I'm not saying you have to come today," she said. "But I'd like you to come soon."
"Where, Natalie? Where do you want me to come?"
"Montana. It's beautiful. Have you ever been?"
"One time as a kid. My parents took us to Yellowstone. Beautiful country," he said.
"It is. It's a wonderful place." She folded her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow at him. "Look, before you ask, no, I don't need you to do what you used to do. That's not what I'm asking."
Deep inside, he breathed a sigh of relief. The old hymn had died long gone, and he did not want to dig up its cadaver. Natalie sensed the shift in him and held out the envelope once more. Without thinking, he took it.
"Then what are you asking? I don’t understand why you’re here.”
"I’m here as a friend, Pete. A friend who wants to show you something. Something I think you'll like. Hell, worst case, you get a nice vacation at Lone Peak Ranch. We've got a chef, comfortable beds, and plenty of fresh air."
