by JoAnn Ross
Since it had been winter, Austin was in a heather-hued sweater dress Heather had woven, while Dan Murphy, wearing a western-cut brown suit, had looked like the hot, older Mark Harmon. He still did, giving Austin an idea of what Sawyer might look like when he was his father’s age.
“I was sorry to miss it,” Sawyer said. Which was definitely true since he’d been on a covert mission to Somalia at the time. A place that had seemed about as far away from River’s Bend as a guy could get.
“We totally understood,” Heather assured him. “You were fighting to keep our children safe.” The smile she bestowed on him was as warm as August sunshine, making Sawyer think, yet again, what a lucky son of a bitch his best friend was.
You could’ve had that, a too familiar mocking voice reminded him. If you hadn’t blown it. Big-time.
Sensing that Austin was as studiously avoiding his gaze as he was hers, Sawyer was relieved when his brother’s fiancée delivered their appetizers herself.
“Here you go,” Rachel said cheerfully, putting the platter in the center of the table. “Enjoy and feel free to spend as much time as you’d like. And, by the way, don’t hold back ordering. The meals are on the house.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Tom and Sawyer said together.
“It’s my pleasure. The entire staff is so pleased to be able to share, in some small way, in such a special night for you all. You and Tom celebrating your anniversary,” she said to Heather.
Then her eyes zeroed in like a laser on Sawyer. “And you finally being back home where you belong. With your family.” She glanced briefly but so pointedly at Austin, Sawyer could practically see the flashing red arrow. “And friends.”
Both dip and message delivered, she smiled. “Again, take your time. And although it’s not on the menu, we have rainbow trout so fresh it’s practically jumping out of the pan. It’s pan roasted with brown sage butter and Meyer lemons.”
“That sounds great,” Heather said. “And again, thanks so much for keeping the kids for us.”
“It’s my pleasure. When I left the house, Jack and Scott were beating the socks off Cooper at Mario Cart, and Sophie was mixing up some oatmeal cookies. She’s becoming quite a baker.”
“Thanks to Austin,” Heather said. “I like to think I have many talents. But get me near a kitchen, and I’m downright dangerous.”
“Anyone can burn fried chicken,” Tom said loyally.
“True. But how many nearly burn the house down?”
“It was only a couple cabinets.”
AS SHE ROLLED her eyes and they all shared a laugh over what sounded as if it could have been far more serious, Sawyer felt a tug of envy.
How was it, he wondered, that some people could get it right? Tom and Heather, Coop and Rachel, and hell, even his dad had fallen into love with a woman who adored him right back not just once but twice. Most of the guys he’d gone to high school with were already settled down, seeming happy enough, from those who’d shown up at the party. Some, their wives and a couple of rug rats in tow, had been downright smug.
So, why couldn’t he seem to get things right? He’d known Austin Merrill all of his life. Surrendered his heart to her a very long time ago. And yet, as they’d spent all those years dancing around each other, they always seemed just a beat out of step.
Maybe, Sawyer considered, remembering back to stumbling over his feet while his dad had tried to teach him the box step when his eighth-grade class was required to attend a school dance, he’d been doing it all wrong.
Maybe, this time around, instead of worrying about fancy steps and smooth moves, he should do like he’d been taught.
Lead.
He was pondering that idea when the sudden backfire of a truck driving by caused him to nearly dive beneath the table.
Or maybe not, he decided as, heart hammering, he ignored the concerned gaze he felt Austin directing his way.
11
AUSTIN’S LIFE HAD revolved around worry for so long—worry about her dad, her marriage, followed by a divorce that was sadly far less painful than it probably should have been, bills, and the ranch—except for those monthly escapes to the book club, she’d forgotten what it felt like to relax and have fun.
The food—the trout for Heather and her, racks of dry-rubbed ribs for the guys—was, as always when Rachel was cooking, delicious. The company was easily familiar and as comfortable as sliding into a warm Jacuzzi at the end of a long day’s trail ride. They shared stories and laughter and were making plans to get together again as soon as Tom and Heather got back from Ashland when Tom’s cell chimed.
“Oh, no,” Heather said. She shook her head. “Not tonight.”
Tom’s expression echoed the chagrin in her tone. “I need to check it.”
“I know. The fact that you can’t ignore a work call is only one of the reasons I love you,” she said on a long, deep sigh. “But there are times, and this is one of them, that I almost wish I’d married an accountant.”
“Then you’d have a husband you never saw during tax time,” he reminded her as he pulled the phone from the pocket of his jeans. “This is Tom Campbell.” He listened a bit, then, frowning, covered the phone. “Sorry. I have to take this outside.”
“Who’s the patron saint of veterinarians?” Heather asked rhetorically as he made his way through the tables to the door. “Because if there was ever a time for an intercession, this would be it.”
“Hopefully it’s not too serious,” Austin said. But watching Tom out the new big windows, pacing the parking lot, wasn’t encouraging.
“So,” Sawyer said, in an obvious attempt to distract Heather’s attention from thoughts of plans for a romantic weekend possibly being blasted to bits, “are either of the kids into sports?”
“Sophie plays soccer,” she said, dragging her gaze from the parking lot. “Jack’s in T-ball. He’s technically age-eligible to play in Little League minors, but since he’s still a bit of a wild card, Tom and I decided to put that off until next year.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” He was talking to the side of her head as her attention swiveled back out to the lot. “If it’s any consolation, I wasn’t exactly the easiest kid, either. But I turned out okay.”
“That’s encouraging.” She straightened and Austin watched her breath hitch as Tom shoved the phone into his jeans pocket and came back into the café.
“It’s okay,” he said as he returned to the table.
“Really?” Hope was written in bold script across her face. Unlike Austin, who’d learned early on, when she’d been trying not to make her mother unhappy, Heather had never been one to hide her feelings.
“Well, mostly.” He scooted back in beside his wife and put his arm around her shoulder. “Barry Carpenter’s mare is having a difficult delivery. He tried to turn the foal, but it’s not budging. I told him we’d stop by.”
“I knew it.” She shook her head.
“It didn’t sound as if it’ll take all that long,” he assured her. “Barry’s wife says the spring rains have his arthritis flaring up, so he’s not as dexterous as he could be. Bottom line, I’ll flip the foal and we’ll be on our way.”
Austin could see the pique of annoyance slide away as Heather put her hand on her husband’s cheek and briefly touched her lips to his. “My hero,” she said.
Rachel returned to the table as they stood up to leave. “I boxed up some cake,” she said, revealing that she’d been watching events unfold. “I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
“I know we will,” Heather said. “Thank you. For the amazing meal and deciding to move here to River’s Bend. We never realized what we were missing until you bought this place.”
Rachel laughed. “I never realized what I was missing until I bought it. Although I’ll admit that the first sight of that cow on the roof gave me a moment’s doubt.”
After more promises to get together next weekend with the kids for a cookout at Green Springs, Heather gave Austin another hug.
And then, taking their anniversary cake with them, they walked away, leaving Austin and Sawyer alone.
A little silence stretched out. Apparently, she considered, they still needed a buffer of other people. Things had been flowing so easily, but now that they were on their own, that gap, or wall, or whatever it was, had sprung up between them again.
“Feel like dessert?” he asked.
“I couldn’t eat another thing,” she said. “Plus, it’s funny, but I spend so much time taste-testing all the baked goods I make for here and the bookstore, dessert has lost a lot of appeal. But don’t let me stop you,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“Good.”
“Well, then.” He took some bills from his wallet and slipped them under his plate for the waitress. “I guess we should be going.”
“I guess so,” she agreed. If for no other reason than to escape this inane conversation.
As they walked out of the restaurant, they passed the hostess stand, reminding Austin of that summer she’d seen Sawyer kissing Janine Walker atop the Ferris wheel.
It was funny, her date for the fair had been so unimportant she couldn’t even remember who it had been. The only reason Austin had agreed to go with him was because Heather had, once again, set her up so she wouldn’t feel like a third wheel going with the two lovebirds.
Now, watching the cheer-queen smile Janine flashed Sawyer’s way, Heather’s warning that if she didn’t snatch him up, someone else would beat her to it, struck home.
If she wanted Sawyer Murphy, and she did, she’d be wise to cowgirl up and make her move. Before she ended up having to buy a set of monogramed towels for his wedding.
12
IT BEGAN TO drizzle as Sawyer drove out of town, headed back on the empty road to the ranch with Alan Jackson’s “Remember When” drifting out from the radio.
Under different circumstances, Austin would have found the lyrics, advising them to cherish all memories, the good, the bad, and the romantic.
“Well,” he said. “Except for the abrupt ending, that turned out well.” And that flashback that he’d hoped to hell she wouldn’t bring up.
“It did, didn’t it? It was nice to all be back together again. And Rachel was sweet to gift the dinner.”
“I always knew it would take a special woman to fill Ellen’s place,” Sawyer said. “Coop’s a lucky man.”
“From what I’ve seen, they’re both lucky.” Austin wondered if Cooper had shared his and Rachel’s desire for another child, and decided it wasn’t her business to mention it.
As if by unspoken agreement, the conversation shifted to safer topics: Cooper and Rachel’s upcoming wedding, the Run the Rapids race on the river, the Readathon fundraiser for the library, and the annual Modoc County Fourth of July rodeo—with Green Springs providing the horse stock—and fireworks at the fairgrounds. Unfortunately, except for his brother’s wedding, all those other occasions brought back memories of summers past. Summers Austin had watched Sawyer going out with seemingly every girl in the county and wondered if he’d ever open his eyes and notice her as more than just a friend.
Now, after all these years, weren’t they right back in that same place?
As they reached the ranch house, as if tonight were country music theme night, Jason Michael Carroll began crooning “We Threw It All Away,” a reunion song about former high school sweethearts. Not that she and Sawyer had been boyfriend and girlfriend back then. But still.
Austin was about to get out of the truck, when he caught her arm. “I’d catch hell from your dad if I didn’t walk you to the door.”
“I’m not sixteen, Sawyer,” she repeated what she’d told her father earlier.
He gave her a slow, hot sweep of a look, the kind she’d gotten from him once before. Right before he’d pushed her up against the brick hospital wall and kissed her. “Believe me, I’m well aware of that.”
So she waited for him to open her door, then walk her to the front porch. Just like, she thought again, this was a real a date.
“I had a good time,” he said.
“Me, too.”
There was a long pause, sometime during which Austin entirely forgot to breathe.
The drizzle, which had softened to a mist, added moisture to the evening air, which caused little ghosts of fog to drift in from the river. The mountain air was rapidly cooling, which didn’t explain the crackling, like heat lightning, sparking between them.
He wanted her. Oh, he might not be willing to admit it, but Austin could read it in his eyes. He really had wonderful eyes. Like a yummy blend of warmed brandy and gold flecks.
She wanted him. He wanted her. They were both adults, so why didn’t she just put a stop to all this dancing around and make her move? The idea was so, so tempting. But just then, the wooden porch began to sway.
Before her brain could sort out what was happening, Sawyer had pulled her off the porch into the driveway, safely away from the house. Then they stood there in the open, his legs braced and his arms tight around her as the rolling earth settled.
The slight tremor, which was not unusual for this part of the country (she’d learned in school that micro ones happened all the time without anyone feeling them), only lasted seconds. But while it had driven her into his arms, it had definitely shattered the mood.
“We haven’t had one of those for a long time,” she said as she took a single step back. A step that caused those shields, which had lifted during dinner, to lower over his eyes again. Not wanting the evening to end this way, she decided to try again. “For a second I thought it might be us.”
“I suspect we could do a lot better than that.” He might have shuttered his gaze, but that low, raspy, hungry voice caused her nipples to perk up.
“Would you like to come in for a beer?” she asked. “Or maybe coffee?” Although she hadn’t seen any indication during dinner that Sawyer’s “issues” included alcohol, Trace Eastwood, a former president of 4-H who’d earned a trip to Washington to meet the president back in high school, had returned from Iraq with a drinking problem.
“I’d better not. I’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow, and you probably do, too.”
It was barely past six thirty, and while ranchers got up earlier than most of the world, even her father stayed up until almost nine. So much for making her move. Even having Mother Nature throwing her into his arms hadn’t had any effect. So, that was that.
“Well. Thanks for the ride to the café.” Her cheeks ached from the pain of the forced smile. “Have a good evening.”
She was climbing the three steps back onto the porch when Sawyer said, “I’m thinking of going furniture shopping tomorrow.”
She looked back over her shoulder. “Good idea.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.” He jammed his hands into his back pockets and gave her a hot, direct look that she was surprised didn’t set off at least a 5.3 quake. “I thought I’d begin with a bed.”
Leaving her with that enticing idea, he straightened his hat and strolled back to his truck. Damn, he did have the best. Cowboy. Butt. Ever.
Austin stood in the doorway, hand to her hopeful heart, watching until his taillights disappeared past the house.
Fortunately, her father must be watching TV in his bedroom, leaving her to practically waltz down the long hall to her room, where she texted Heather, as she’d promised.
He’s buying a bed.
And that, she thought, said it all.
When an answering text still hadn’t come in by the time she went to bed, Austin decided that Tom must’ve solved the problem with the foal and the anniversary couple had already begun their celebratory weekend.
Smiling at that romantic idea, Austin decided that Sawyer wouldn’t be the only one shopping tomorrow. She needed to score some lacy underwear, just in case she’d have an opportunity to show off her girls anytime soon.
13
IT FELT LIKE one of those old movies his dad liked to watch on the Western Channel. He and his team were walking through a box canyon with almost vertical walls. Looking up at the top of the cliffs, Sawyer wouldn’t have been surprised to see a tribe of Apaches illuminated by the faint predawn light. With high vertical cliff faces to the east and west and the end of the box at the north, the situation was tailor-made for an ambush.
This was definitely serious bad guy territory. They’d already passed signs of what, from all the spent shell casings on the ground, appeared to be a terrorist practice range.
This wasn’t good. When Sawyer saw the imprint of a sniper on the ground—body, elbows, toes—as the insurgent had been shooting his rifle, he called in a report to HQ. This wasn’t his first rodeo. He’d been through enough battles that he knew what were normal adrenaline-spiked nerves and what were instincts developed in training and battle.
Instructed to stay with the mission to locate the insurgents’ camp, then call in the drones, he told his men, none of whom looked any more optimistic about their situation than he was, to keep on humping.
As they pushed on, he kept checking out the tops of those cliffs.
“Damn.” Internal alarm sirens started blaring when they found the goat trail they were using as a roadway blocked by a disabled Humvee. Before he could get on the radio, they were hit by a tsunami of gunfire from machine guns, rifles, and—oh, shit!—rocket-propelled grenades.
It was bedlam, which quickly descended into hell.
The able-bodied team members dragged the wounded behind the Hummer as the corpsman, who’d been hit in the shoulder in the first barrage, struggled to treat the injured while the others provided cover and threw up smoke grenades. Meanwhile, the aircraft that had been called in struggled to hit constantly moving targets in the difficult terrain. The voices echoing in the canyon made communication near impossible.
Of the two dozen members of the combined team of U.S. and Afghan National Army troops, eight were wounded. Their only hope was the medevac helicopters that couldn’t land while the kill zone was being bombarded with fire.
