Long Road Home

by JoAnn Ross

  He was about to spiral into regrets when he looked out the window and saw Austin working with a yearling in the corral. He might not say it enough, but from the moment the girl had drawn breath, she’d been the sunshine of his life. And the one good thing to come out of a marriage to a woman who’d never fit into his life.

  When Britta had taken him to Sweden to meet her wealthy, high-society family, who was actually related to royalty, she’d enjoyed showing off her American cowboy to all her European friends. Though he’d felt a lot like a stud bull in a show ring, Buck couldn’t deny that having so many females, all as flashy as exotic tropical butterflies, fluttering around him had sent his ego into the stratosphere.

  For a very short time. Until they’d returned to River’s Bend and settled into the routine of ranching life, which didn’t involve shopping for designer clothes with her girlfriends, Saturday night clubbing and Sunday jazz brunches, or formal teas at the palace.

  They’d both been miserable, and he couldn’t blame his wife. There was a reason people tended to marry within their circles to people they knew well. Because that way you’d know what you were signing up for. Once the novelty had worn off, the difference between his remote western ranching life and his wife’s jet-setting, free-spending lifestyle had caused the marriage to crash and burn.

  Still, as rough as life had been back then, Buck couldn’t regret how things had turned out, because if he hadn’t married Britta, he wouldn’t have Austin. Who may have thought she was hitching herself to a cowboy who’d fit into River’s Bend, but had managed to screw up just as bad as he had.

  Sometimes, Buck considered, life could be damn complicated. Which was why he’d never spent that much time contemplating it. Things happened, good and bad. You savored the good, got past the bad, and moved on. Just as Austin had done with whatever the hell had happened between her and the youngest Murphy boy. And like she’d shed that no-account rodeo cowboy she’d gone and married. At least that guy was half a world away and wouldn’t be setting a boot back on Green Springs. And now, maybe if the Murphy kid played his cards right, he could end up Buck’s son-in-law, like he and everyone else in town had always expected.

  7

  SAWYER WAS AT Fred Wiley’s Feed and Seed when his phone buzzed with a text from Tom Campbell.

  Saw your truck, it read. How about a beer at the Shady Lady?

  Since the crowd had kept him and his old friend from having any time to talk during the party, Sawyer texted him back. Be there in 10?

  Works for me.

  The Shady Lady was one of two bars in River’s Bend. Previously known as the No Name, after the sign had blown away during a winter storm, one of the many movie companies had hung up a weathered wooden sign declaring it the Shady Lady Saloon.

  Tom had already taken a table in the far corner of the room when Sawyer walked in.

  “Gotta love small towns.” After sliding into a wooden chair, putting his hat on the spare one next to him, he looked around at the velvet couches, bordello-red walls hung with framed paintings of dance hall girls and faded sepia photographs of more girls along with cowboys, outlaws, and miners dating back to the days of the town’s gold rush founding. “They just don’t change.”

  “That’s why some of us, those who either stay here or return, like them. It’s also the reason others can’t wait to get away.”

  “Can’t argue that.” Sawyer plucked a peanut from the bowl in the center of the wooden table and cracked it open. “Okay,” he said as a waitress dressed in jeans, a ruffled-front rodeo queen blouse, and tasseled red boots headed toward them. “That’s changed.”

  “Not everyone would agree for the better,” Tom said with a sigh and a slow, regretful shake of his head. “Maggie Washburn used this place as one of the platforms in her campaign for mayor.”

  Mrs. Washburn had been Sawyer’s high school civics teacher. He wasn’t surprised to learn when she’d come up to welcome him home that she’d gone into local politics. But she hadn’t mentioned anything about the Shady Lady. “How?”

  “She decided that having the waitresses dress like saloon girls didn’t present a family atmosphere. And demeaned women.”

  “Seriously?” One of the appeals of the Lady had always been those sassy red satin dresses and black petticoats.

  “I bullshit you not. She even compared it to Hooters.”

  “No way.”

  “Way,” the waitress, who’d apparently overheard the latter part of the conversation, said as she plunked two bar menus down onto the table. “And it’s easy for you to complain, Tom Campbell, but none of you guys had to wear fishnet stockings that dig into your skin for hours at a time. Not to mention the fact that those damn dresses needed corsets.” She efficiently swept away the nearly empty bowl and slammed a freshly filled one down next to the menus. “You try doing your job without breathing and see how you like it.”

  “Hey, I get it.” Tom held up both hands in a gesture of surrender when she looked inclined to throw the peanuts at his head. “I really do. And I admit that men are pigs. My wife has reminded me of that on more than one occasion. And, if it gets me off the hook, I voted for Maggie.”

  “That, along with the fact that you still treat Heather like she’s the queen of the world after all these years, is a point in your favor,” she allowed. Then shot Sawyer a look. “How about you, cowboy?”

  “I was out of town,” he said. When her eyes narrowed dangerously, although he wasn’t willing to go as far as to use his hero status, he did decide it was time to play another card. “Serving my country.”

  “Oh. Well.” This time the look she swept over him wasn’t so much challenging but speculative. “Welcome home, soldier.” Her smile was as smooth and inviting as her voice. “And the first drink’s on the house.”

  “I’m a Marine. And thanks, but it’s not necessary.”

  “Oh, I insist.” The exaggerated batting of her lashes, after that sharp, feminist lecture, had Sawyer thinking yet again that he’d never understand the complexities of the female mind. “It’s the very least I can do to thank you for keeping our homeland safe.”

  After taking their order for two bottles of Bud Light and some wings, she left with a seductive sway of those jean-clad hips. “You do realize,” Tom drawled, “that you could get so lucky.”

  “I’m not looking to get lucky.”

  “She’s definitely hot.”

  “And you’re married.”

  “I love Heather and would never, ever even contemplate cheating on her,” Tom said easily. “But just because a guy puts a ring on it doesn’t mean he locks his balls away in cold storage. There’s nothing wrong with looking. It’s not that different than when Heather and I went to Eugene for a Tim McGraw concert a couple years ago. It didn’t bother me at all that she was practically drooling over him in those tight black leather pants. Because I knew that she’d be going home with me.”

  “You’re the lucky one.” Sawyer meant it.

  “And don’t I know it.” Tom looked up and offered another conciliatory smile to the waitress, who’d already arrived with their order. “Thanks, Harley.”

  “No problem,” she said without sparing him a glance as she zeroed in on Sawyer. “You all enjoy now.” The hint of Texas twang in that sugared tone explained why he hadn’t recognized her.

  “Funny.” Tom held his hand up in front of him and studied it thoughtfully after she’d sashayed over to another table with two bottles of beer and a mountain of fried onion rings. Then he waved it in front of his face. “I don’t feel invisible, but you seem to have become the only guy in the place.”

  “Not interested,” Sawyer repeated.

  “It’s just as well,” Tom decided. “Her ex, who, word has it, hasn’t exactly gotten over the breakup, is a long-haul truck driver the size of the Merrills’ Desperado, but with a lot meaner personality.”

  He tilted the wooden chair on its back legs and ran a finger down the condensation on the outside of the brown
bottle. “So,” he said finally, “Heather sent me here on a mission.”

  “Heather did?”

  “Yeah.” He cracked another peanut. Chewed. “She wants me to invite you to dinner Friday at the New Chance.”

  “I thought Heather said you guys were going to Ashland for the weekend.”

  “We are. This would be earlier in the evening.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows a woman’s mind? I’m guessing the anniversary has her feeling sentimental about our wedding. God knows she’s been talking about it enough. She took a selfie last night wearing her old wedding dress.”

  “She still has it after all these years?”

  “It’s obvious you’ve never been married. We guys don’t make a big deal about what to wear to a wedding. Most of us just do what our women tell us. We rent a tux and take it back after the ceremony is over.

  “But to the female of the species, a wedding dress falls into a strange category of sentimental keepsakes. Like I told you the night of the party, we’re living in a frigging construction zone while Brody Ames remodels our house, and every day some new ‘must-have’ pops up.

  “Last week Heather decided that we needed two walk-in closets in the master bedroom. So, I took my life into my hands and dared to ask her why, if we weren’t going to have enough closet space with the one ginormous walk-in already on the plan, she was keeping a dress she’d never wear again. One that just happens to take up the entire back of the closet we’re currently using.”

  Sawyer took a bite of the hot wings and felt his tongue burst into flames. “What did she say?” he asked after cooling it off with a long drink of beer.

  “She told me it was still sentimental and important to her. Especially since she made it herself.”

  “That makes sense. Remember that ground dummy practice calf I made in shop class back in high school?”

  “Sure. It was as good as the store-bought ones Fred sells at the Feed and Seed.”

  “Well, Dad kept it all the time I’ve been gone, and I’m bringing it over to Green Springs with me.”

  “Okay.” Tom blew out a breath. “If you ever tell Heather I said this, I’ll call you a damn liar, but that calf’s a helluva lot more functional than a dress. But that’s okay, because I figured that she’d eventually decide it can go to the thrift store. Like maybe sooner rather than later and save us some remodel costs. But she says she expects her feelings to grow even stronger as the years pass.”

  “Huh.”

  “Well said. And now maybe you can see why I didn’t interrogate She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed on why we’re inviting you to dinner.”

  Sawyer thought of the frozen Hungry Man meatloaf in that old gold fridge’s freezer and decided there was something to be said for a dinner with friends. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Great.” Tom nodded. “She’ll call you to give you a heads-up on the time and stuff.” He paused for a moment, looked inclined to say something else, but grabbed a wing instead.

  There’d been more times than Sawyer could count that his life had depended on reading people. He might not possess superpowers like his brothers claimed women did, but he could tell when something was off. He lifted a brow. “What else?”

  Tom held up a hand as he finished off the wing. Then he swallowed, took another long pull on the bottle, and looked as if he wished he were anywhere else.

  “Nothing. Now there’s another thing that hasn’t changed,” Tom said, glancing over at the mechanical bull that had sent a lot of drunken cowboys and tourists flying onto the sawdust-covered floor. “Maggie wanted to get rid of it because she said it didn’t fit the decorating time period and could be a liability problem. Everyone revolted. When was the last time you rode a bull?”

  “Probably not since the summer after my junior year of college. And as a diversionary tactic, that one’s pretty lame. What aren’t you saying?”

  “Hell.” Tom rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, as if seeking divine inspiration. Which didn’t seem to come. “Okay. Here’s the deal. I’m stuck between pissing off my wife and staying true to the bro code. So, I really need your word that you won’t tell Heather I told you this part.”

  “We made a blood oath,” Sawyer reminded him of that time in the fourth grade when they’d taken his Buck pocket knife, made cuts in the tips of their index fingers, and mingled their blood, swearing to always be brothers. “That trumps even the bro code.”

  “Austin’s going to be there.” The words came rushing out as if he wanted to put them behind him.

  “At the New Chance. On Friday night.” As that idea hit home, Sawyer realized this dinner could be his new chance. He also knew that, once again, the timing sucked.

  “Yeah. Heather already asked her and she’s okay with it.”

  “Then the real reason we’re here having wings and brew is because your wife wants to play matchmaker.”

  “No. The real reason is what I said. That we didn’t get time to catch up at the party. And yeah, there’s a secondary agenda.”

  “Okay.”

  “But here’s the deal . . . What? Did you just say okay?”

  “Yeah. As long as neither of you try to marry us off between the appetizers and desserts.”

  “I’ll try to rein my wife in,” Tom promised.

  Sawyer laughed. Then realized he’d forgotten how something as simple as a laugh could loosen knots that had been tying up his guts for so long. “Good luck with that.”

  8

  NERVES TANGLING, HER mouth as dry as sawdust, Austin knocked on the door of the cabin. Sawyer’s truck was parked outside, and she’d seen him working in Duke’s stall earlier, but when he didn’t immediately answer, she wondered if he might have gone off with one of his brothers. She was just about to leave when he opened the door, wearing only a pair of Wranglers and a towel looped around his neck.

  He looked surprised to see her. But not all that disappointed, which Austin took as encouragement.

  “Sorry. I was in the shower.” He ran a hand down his chest. Above the unfastened button, it was hard and dark and wet. The thought of him in the shower, one hand braced against the tile she’d helped her dad install, while hot water streamed over his naked, ripped body, had her swallowing hard.

  “I can come back. After you get dressed.” Or, hey, maybe, since you’re already nearly naked, maybe you’d like to drag me into the bedroom and have your wicked way with me.

  “Why would you want to do that?” He moved aside. “Come on in. It is, after all, your place.”

  She looked up at him, searching for an edge of resentment that she’d ended up his landlady. But his eyes gave nothing away.

  “I thought I’d bring you a moving-in gift.” She held out the wildflowers she’d stuck in a mason jar.

  “Thanks.” He took them from her and crossed into the kitchen area. Some things never changed. Sawyer Murphy still had the best Wrangler butt of any cowboy she’d ever known.

  “You’re welcome.” She was feeling a little foolish about having brought them over. More so when she noticed the cabin was as empty as Jim and Janet had left it. A man who didn’t care about furniture probably didn’t have any need for posies. “Though it would be helpful if you had a table to put them on,” she said pointedly.

  He shrugged, calling her attention to the raised silver scar from a past surgery for a broken clavicle running across his bare shoulder. The sight brought back the memory of him crashing into the gate as the bull exploded from the chute. It wasn’t long after that the rogue animal had been taken off the circuit. Challenging bulls were what made the sport what it was. But there was no place for ones who’d try to kill the riders.

  Austin didn’t want to think about how he’d acquired those new scars marring that beautiful chest.

  “Not much need for a table when I’ve got this counter,” he said. Another shrug sent a bead of water off that curve between his neck and shoulder. When it disappeared into the happy trail of dusky hair tha
t disappeared under that unfastened waistband, sorely tempted to follow it with her fingers, she slipped her hands into the pockets of her jeans to keep them out of trouble.

  “And this stool beats sitting on a rock or my helmet to eat.”

  “You’re not in Afghanistan anymore,” she reminded him. Without waiting for permission, she went down the short hall to the larger of the three bedrooms. “You don’t even have a bed.”

  “Again, not needed.”

  Which told Austin all she needed to know. If he’d intended to make a move on her, wouldn’t he at least want a mattress to tumble her on?

  A silence as wide as Black Bear River during a high spring runoff stretched between them. Although it might have been a trick of the sun streaming into the window, she thought she saw his eyes darken.

  Was he thinking the same thing she was? Was he remembering that impulsive kiss they’d shared? Could he, like she’d done countless times, be imagining taking it deeper, hotter, to its natural conclusion?

  Which, she admitted, as heat from Sawyer’s eyes warmed her skin, wouldn’t need a proper bed.

  “I was just thinking about you,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his military-short-cropped hair.

  “Were you?” When you were in the shower?

  “Yeah. I got a call from Heather earlier.”

  “Oh?” Pretending that she had no idea what it might be about, Austin took her hands from her pockets and ran her thumb back and forth over a nail she’d chipped earlier on a fence gate.

  “Did she call you?”

  “Not today,” she hedged. Damn if this wasn’t getting more and more like high school. “But she dropped by yesterday with the kids.”

  “Did she mention going to dinner with her and Tom at the New Chance?”

  “It came up in passing.” It was Austin’s turn to shrug. “We pretty much left the idea up in the air.”

  “Well, she said she’d like us both to come. On Friday.”

  Her heart hitched. For a moment, Austin forgot how to breathe. “What did you say?”

  “At first I said I didn’t think it was a good idea.”