A Higher Standard

A Higher Standard Copyright ©2023 by E. F. Dodd Published by ISBN: 979-8-9862880-4-8 eISBN: 979-8-9862880-5-5 Cover Illustration: Patrick Driscoll Cover and Interior Design: GKS Creative Editing: Karli Jackson Copyediting: Kim Bookless Proofreading: Monti Shalosky Project Management: The Cadence Group This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information retrieval or storage system, without the prior written consent of the publisher. Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Dedication Chapter One: Gideon Chapter Two: Everest Chapter Three: Gideon Chapter Four: Everest Chapter Five: Gideon Chapter Six: Everest Chapter Seven: Gideon Chapter Eight: Everest Chapter Nine: Gideon Chapter Ten: Everest Chapter Eleven: Gideon Chapter Twelve: Everest Chapter Thirteen: Gideon Chapter Fourteen: Everest Chapter Fifteen: Everest Chapter Sixteen: Gideon Chapter Seventeen: Gideon Chapter Eighteen: Everest Chapter Nineteen: Gideon Chapter Twenty: Everest Chapter Twenty-one: Gideon Chapter Twenty-two: Everest Chapter Twenty-three: Gideon Chapter Twenty-four: Everest Chapter Twenty-five: Gideon Chapter Twenty-six: Everest Chapter Twenty-seven: Gideon Chapter Twenty-eight: Everest Chapter Twenty-nine: Gideon Chapter Thirty: Everest Chapter Thirty-one: Gideon Chapter Thirty-two: Everest Epilogue: Gideon For Pa, Granddaddy, and Daddy. You set the standard and made sure I never settled for less. chapter one GIDEON Wire fencing and wooden posts whipped past me in a blur. Clods of dirt flew up and broke apart against my face, thrown by the hooves of the deranged beast I was currently clinging to for dear life while it rocketed wildly across a field. This was not how this morning’s land inspection was supposed to go. Why had I listened to the two idiots who’d insisted I view the property from horseback “to get a true feel for it?” I’d envisioned a serene walk-through and idyllic setting while I evaluated the suitability of the land for development. Instead, I was about to be murdered by a two-thousand-pound psycho with four toothpicks for legs. In addition to scrub grass and weeds, my life flashed before my eyes. All the places I’d never go, the things I’d never see, the women I’d yet to sleep with. It was a travesty that I would be taken from the earth in my prime—so young, so virile, so many more orgasms to give. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a slender arm shot out and grabbed the reins of my marauding mustang. I squeezed my eyes shut as terror took over my body. A firm yet wholly feminine voice commanded, “Whoa!” And, miracle of miracles, the rampaging stallion listened. His thundering hoofbeats slowed incrementally until we’d come to a halt. “You can open your eyes now, John Wayne,” that same voice said, a heavy dollop of sarcasm oozing over the sides of its distinctly flat tone. I did as I was told. My view of the grass and the skittish horse’s stomping hoof confused me momentarily. That wasn’t right. At least, it wouldn’t have been if I’d been seated properly in the saddle holding the reins. It was, however, precisely the right scenery for a person who’d dropped the reins at the first sign of trouble, wrapped their arms around their steed’s neck, and prayed for divine intervention to save them. It was a tad humiliating to learn I was the second kind of person. Releasing my death grip on my equine tormentor, I pushed myself up and looked to my left to thank my savior, who’d seemingly dropped out of the sky into the pasture to ride to my rescue. Only, there was no one there. Instead of a person, there was a massive coal-black horse, standing there regarding me with contempt. The huge animal was saddled, but the rider was missing. I might have been terrified, but right before clamping my eyes shut, I’d seen a human arm. I’d heard a woman’s voice. Had one of those dirt clods given me some type of brain injury? How could someone appear and disappear so quickly? Was I hallucinating the horse, the sound of her voice? But then why had my maniacal mount come to a stop? Before I could get all the way down the path to concussive head trauma, a woman walked in front of the giant horse. In tattered jeans and a stained white tank top, she was more street urchin than savior. A filthy ballcap shielded the majority of her face. I watched her run a hand down the foamy neck of my less-than-gallant steed. While I wondered where she’d even come from, she cooed to him in a voice noticeably kinder than the one she’d used on me. “It’s okay, Monty. You’re okay, boy.” Her Southern accent sugared the words, and the horse responded in kind. He nickered, tossing his head and nuzzling against her. Vaguely, I recalled being told his name and that he was “gentle as a lamb,” which was a blatant lie, obviously. But how in the devil would she know what to call him? Intrigued, I was about to ask when she bent forward and picked up his front foot. Her ministrations caused his big body to shift and, I admit, I emitted a tiny but completely manly shriek. Monty sidestepped, making her drop his foot. She cursed a blue streak but in that same soft voice so as not to spook the horse any more than I already had. Stepping into him, she pressed her small body against his neck, stroking his mane and making soothing noises. Her new position gave me a view straight down her tank top. Mesmerized, I watched a rivulet of sweat travel between the perfectly shaped valley of her … “Hey, jackass!” Grubby fingers snapped in front of my face, interrupting my ogling of her cleavage. “Eyes up here.” I blinked then refocused on her face. Luminous green eyes