by Vivian Wood
Her heart shrunk in her chest when she wondered if he’d found out about Shiloh. She kept thinking about that moment, the look on his face when he asked whose kid Shiloh was.
Her heart nearly broke, lying right to his face like that. And yet, the lie came easily, the practice of protecting Shiloh grown into a habit.
She thought he’d believed her, but now with his silence…
What if one of his brothers had told him? Though none of the Roman sons had seen Shiloh, she was sure that Colt and Walker had heard the rumors by now.
What if Sawyer had decided to back out of the deal to save River Farm?
“Remy,” her mother said with a sigh.
Remy looked up from folding a stack of laundry in the living room. Her mother held a feather duster, and pointed it at Remy with a curious look.
“Yes?”
“You’ve folded that same t-shirt four times. If you’re not going to be helpful, maybe you should go relax,” her mother said, giving her a meaningful look.
“Oh,” Remy said, shaking her head. “Sorry, Mama.”
“Run along,” her mother said.
“I was thinking I might go into town,” Remy said.
Her mother paused, setting down her duster. “Really, now?”
Remy frowned. “What? I can go into town.”
“It’s just interesting, since you haven’t willingly gone anywhere on your own in about three years.”
“That’s not true!”
Her mother’s arched brows made Remy scowl.
“Okay, mostly not true,” Remy said. “Look, I just want to get out of the house, okay?”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” her mother said, taking up her duster and moving toward the kitchen.
“Keep an eye on Shiloh?” Remy asked. “He should stay down for at least an hour, since Micah wore him out playing this morning.”
Her mother just nodded, so Remy headed upstairs to change out of her sweatpants. Not wanting to look like she was dressing up, she opted for a silky white tank top and nice jeans, then hurried out of the house before any of her siblings could see her.
Jumping into Micah’s pickup, she started to drive into town, but then sort of veered off toward Roman Ranch instead. She straightened her spine.
Just going to talk business, she told herself. Nothing more than that.
As she pulled down the long driveway, passing under the familiar wooden arch adorned with horseshoes, she started to have doubts. She was going to look like a fool, showing up at Sawyer’s ranch after she’d worked so hard to push him away.
Then again, she was already in front of the house before she knew it. She’d look crazy if she drove away now.
Just keep it about business, she reminded herself. Keep your cool.
She climbed out of the pickup and headed up the steps, refusing to give herself time to hesitate. Or worse, primp in the side mirror, as she almost caught herself doing.
It doesn’t matter what you look like! she scolded herself. All the while, knowing that if it really didn’t matter, she would still be in sweatpants. And she sure as heck wouldn’t be wearing eyeshadow.
Rolling her eyes, she strode up to the front door and knocked. Looking around, she bit her lip and waited.
And waited.
She knocked again.
“Okay, okay!” came a shout.
Colt came around the side of the house, brushing himself off. When he caught sight of her, a look of confusion crossed his face.
“Oh, hey Remy.”
“Um, hi,” she said, coming down off the front porch to stand level with him. Well, as level as it got with one of the Roman sons. Like Sawyer, Colt was well over six feet and brawny, making Remy feel miniature by comparison.
“Uhhh... what’s up?” he asked, picking a stray bit of straw off his shirt.
“Well, I was supposed to catch up with Sawyer about this ranch deal…” she said, feeling lame. “My dad was worried about getting the contract inked.”
“Ah, yeah. I thought Walker called you,” Colt said, shaking his head. “Sawyer had to go out of town suddenly, in fact he’s just getting back today.”
“Did he finally realize he left a girlfriend behind or something?” Remy said, crossing her arms.
Colt winced. “Actually, uh… a buddy of his was wounded in combat. He flew to D.C. to be at his bedside.”
“Oh!” Remy said, a hand flying to her mouth as her face went red. “Oh my god, I’m such a jerk!”
“Nah,” Colt said. “My brother’s the jerk. You got him right, just… You know, he’s been a little different lately.”
Remy pulled a face. “I feel terrible.”
“Well… do me a favor. If you see Sawyer the next couple of days, just… be nice to him. He’s all tough guy on the outside, but… he seems kinda ripped up about his friend.”
“Absolutely, of course,” Remy said, shaking her head. “Um… I’ll just let you get back to whatever you were doing.”
“Okay. I’ll tell him you came by,” Colt said. “Whenever he gets back, I mean.”
“Great. Okay.” Remy couldn’t get out of there fast enough, embarrassed by how badly she’d put her foot in it this time.
Sawyer was on her mind all the way home. Every time she looked at Shiloh, she felt a little pang of guilt.
Who was she to deprive a veteran of his child? And yet, if she told him, that meant she’d have to trust him not to ruin her life, try to take her son away.
After she’d hid it from him for so long, what were the chances that Sawyer would just let her be?
Zero, she thought. And that’s why these lips stay zipped.
She headed to work with a heavy heart, barely looking up for the first half of her shift. When she did finally get a moment, she looked straight up to see Sawyer striding into the bar. Heading straight for her, taking a front row seat.
“Whiskey,” he said, drumming his fingertips on the bar.
“Hello to you, too,” Remy said, but tried to keep her tone light.
Sawyer glanced up at her, brooding. Remy shook her head and grabbed a bottle of the mid-shelf bourbon and a glass. She brought it over before him and poured out a shot, then started to move away.
Sawyer’s fingers clamped down over hers, pulling the bottle back to the bar with a loud clank. “You can leave it here.”
“Listen, Sawyer…” Remy said.
Sawyer knocked back the first shot and poured himself another, not paying her a bit of mind. Remy made a face, but did as he asked.
“Count your shots, or I’m charging you for the whole bottle,” she warned.
When Sawyer didn’t comment, didn’t look up from the bar, didn’t do anything but pour himself a second shot, she left him to it.
The rest of the night, Remy felt unbearably self-conscious. Sawyer wouldn’t talk to her, pretended not to even know she was there. Still, every time she bent down to get something out of the cooler, every time she turned around to put money in the cash register, she could feel his gaze burning into her back.
He was still in that same spot after all the other customers cleared out, a good quarter of the bottle gone. At some point he pushed away the bottle and laid his head on his arms, not sleeping but staring off into space, God knew what whirling through his drunk brain.
No good barmaid allowed heads to rest on the bar, but Remy couldn’t bring herself to move him until she was done cleaning for the night.
“Sawyer,” she said, putting a hand on his back.
He sat up. “I know. Time to go.”
“Yeah, you’re not driving tonight,” she said.
Sawyer screwed up his face and looked at her. “You’re not supposed to see me like this.”
“What, drunk?”
“I’m a fucking… fucking… wreck,” he muttered.
“Okay. Well, you can be a wreck in the car. Let’s go.” She nearly toppled over when she tried to help Sawyer to her feet. “You’re so freaking heavy! What
has the Navy been feeding you??”
Sawyer went quiet, and Remy immediately wished she could take it back.
“Sorry,” she said as she steered him out to her car. “Bad joke.”
On the drive home, he was mostly quiet.
“You’re not going to puke, are you?” Remy asked, attempting levity.
“SEALs don’t puke,” Sawyer muttered. Then, bitterly: “Some fucking SEAL I am.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.
He shook his head and looked out the window. Remy thought the matter forgotten, but a minute later he turned and looked at her.
“I should be dead.”
Remy had to work not to stomp on the brake. “Sorry?”
“My whole unit’s dead. Well, except me and Darren Craig. Craig just got shipped home this weekend on a psych hold, and everyone else is fucking dead. And here I sit, drunk rich boy. I’m fine. I’m goooolllllllden.”
Remy sucked in a breath. “Sawyer, you are lucky to be alive. Don’t joke about that.”
He huffed.
“Yeah, some… fucking… stroke of luck, random chance. Atoms swirling in the universe, celestial and sun signs.”
“You’re not making any sense,” she said as she pulled down his driveway.
“I’m saying, what fucking divine providence decided to kill seven other men, and leave me here fucking alone. And I can’t complain, I’m alive and unhurt and…” Sawyer trailed off, waving a hand. “Fuck, I’m drunk.”
“Well, here we are,” she said, stopping in front of the main house.
“Pull down to the bunkhouse,” he said, pointing. “Around to the side.”
Turning her lights off, she did as he requested, the truck bouncing on the bumpy gravel road. No sooner than the truck was in park, Sawyer was out the door, stumbling toward one of the doors on the bunkhouse.
She watched him struggle with his keys for several moments before turning the truck off and climbing from the cab. Walking over to him, she took the keys from his hands.
“Here, let me help,” she said.
Sawyer braced himself against the wall, watching her.
“You’re so god damned beautiful, Remy,” he said.
Raaaay-meee. She loved the way her name sounded on his tongue, there was no denying that. Still, she didn’t want to do anything to encourage Drunk Sawyer.
“Okay, Romeo,” she said, swinging the door open. “Come on.”
Sawyer grabbed her hand and pulled her along into a big, beautiful space. The bunkhouse had obviously been converted recently, all white and pristine, like something out of an IKEA catalog.
“Nice,” she said.
Sawyer plunked down on the bed, working to unlace his black leather boots. Again, Remy watched him for a second.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she growled. Kneeling, she helped him unlace his shoes. The second she stood up, he yanked her down onto the bed.
Sawyer wasn’t being inappropriate, exactly. She fell next to him, but he kept staring up at the ceiling, seemingly unworried about her presence. He took her hand, lacing their fingers together, but not looking at her.
“Do you want to talk?” Remy asked softly.
“I’ve had my head shrunk,” he said, closing his eyes briefly. “A lot. The government wants to make sure I don’t tell anyone about what happened, and that I don’t kill myself. It would bring too much negative press.”
“Jesus, Sawyer. Don’t say that,” Remy said, squeezing his fingers.
“Don’t worry,” he sighed. “I had my chance to do it, back in D.C. Didn’t take it. I’m past that phase now, I think. I just have what my shrink called survivor’s guilt.”
“You said as much earlier.”
“Yeah, well, it took her six months to pry that loose. So…” he stopped, looked away.
“Well… it’s good to talk about it,” Remy said.
“You think I don’t know that you’re just here because you feel sorry for my drunk ass?” Sawyer asked. “I’m not stupid.”
“No one said that you were.”
Silence reigned for a minute. Just as Remy was about to sit up and excuse herself, Sawyer rolled over on his side and stared at her with that piercing hazel gaze.
“Why didn’t you ever answer my letters?” he asked.
Remy opened her mouth, unsure how to respond. “Sawyer, I never got any letters from you.”
“Bullshit. I sent you 30 or more, right to your house. Maybe they took a few months to get to you, but… I sent them.”
Instantly, her father’s face flashed in her mind. If this was more than drunk talk, and Sawyer had sent letters to her house, there was probably a perfectly simple explanation.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t get them,” she said, shaking her head.
“Well, shit.”
“I’m going to take a wild guess and say you never got any letters from me, either?” she asked.
Sawyer’s eyes blazed bright. “No.”
“Right,” she said, closing her eyes for a second. “Of course not.”
They were quiet again, each lost in their own thoughts. After a minute, Sawyer closed his eyes.
“I’m going to fall asleep,” he told her.
“Okay,” she said.
“Can you just… stay for a little longer?” he asked, already half-unconscious from the sound of him.
“Of course.”
He rolled closer, throwing an arm across her waist, pressing his face into the long blonde strands of her hair that spilled across the bed. His breaths grew deep and even, his arm heavy.
Part of Remy, just the tiniest part, wished she could stay right here. Sleep next to him, pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.
Only… the last time she’d let go, just like this and with this man…
It had altered her entire life, forever.
Biting her lip, she waited a few more minutes before slipping from Sawyer’s bed. It wasn’t what she wanted, but she knew it was the right decision, the logical choice.
So why did it feel so bad?
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to leave. Shiloh would want her there when he woke up, and that was the important thing. Protecting her son, protecting herself.
And Sawyer Roman? He’d have no part in that.
13
Sawyer stood out on the road between his ranch and Remy’s farm, just at the fork between the two winding driveways. He glanced at his watch, starting to feel a little nervous. He smoothed out the front of his navy dress shirt; he’d deliberately worn his cowboy boots and Stetson just for Remy, because she seemed to like him dressed like that.
He was also flat-out avoiding Merissa and Stacey’s texts and calls. There was only one blonde who had his attention just at this moment, and she was only a stone’s throw away at River Farm. D.C. seemed like a lifetime away.
The fresh bouquet of flowers he was holding felt like a strange weight in his hand. When was the last time he’d apologized to a woman like this? Not even apologizing for being his usual cocky jerk of a self, but instead for inconveniencing a friend.
Where the hell had his balls gone?
To his surprise, Remy was on foot rather than in a car; she came up behind him almost soundlessly, appearing as though from nowhere. Sawyer found himself unduly relieved that Remy had actually shown up to hear his apology.
She was looking sexy as hell in a lilac-colored tank top and denim shorts with her cowboy boots, her long blonde hair twined into two complex-looking braids. She was listening to her iPod as she walked, only pulling the earbuds free when she was a few feet away.
He could hear the twang of country music from her iPod as she turned it off and gave him a speculative look.
“Hey,” he said.
Her lips twitched. “Hey.”
“I am trying to be more respectful of your boundaries,” he said, waving a hand to indicate the distance from her house.
“Oookay,” she said slowly, shoving her hands in her
pockets.
“And I wanted to apologize,” he said, holding out the bouquet of flowers.
Remy’s brows arched, but she accepted the flowers, bringing them up to her nose.
“They smell nice,” she said, looking down at them as if unsure what to do with flowers.
“I thought maybe you’d let me take you out for a drive.”
Remy glanced up at him. “Oh, Sawyer… I don’t know.”
“I’m not asking for anything,” he promised. “I just got this bottle of wine, and a blanket…”
“I don’t want to go on a date with you, Sawyer,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
“It’s not a date.”
“You sure? It definitely sounds like a date.”
“Get in the car, Remy.”
Her eyes sparked with blue fire at his command, but after a moment she acquiesced. Sawyer didn’t rush around to open her door, knowing that she would balk at him. Instead, he climbed in the car and let silence rule as he drove.
“Where are we going?” she asked at length.
“Swimming hole,” he said, turning off onto an even bumpier country road.
She seemed content with that, turning to put the flowers in the back seat and then staring out the window until they arrived. When they pulled up just short the hard-packed red clay that lined the swimming hole, Sawyer winked at Remy.
“Been a long time since I’ve been out here.”
He didn’t wait to see her blush, though he knew she would. The last time he’d been home, they’d skinny dipped and fucked out here, just as they’d done as teenagers.
Sawyer got out of the car and grabbed a blanket from the backseat, along with a backpack of goodies. He headed straight for the swimming hole, not missing the curious expression on Remy’s face.
She was probably wondering if this was a trick of some sort. She was also likely realizing that he wasn’t falling all over himself to open her door and escort her places, and putting it together that he considered that date behavior.
“Give me a hand with this, will you?” he asked, unfolding the blanket.
“Sure,” she said, still wary as she straightened the thick quilt.
They spread out a good distance from the swimming hole, a spot where Cur Creek slowed and pooled before lazily trickling on. The spot was almost exactly halfway between the Roman and River lands, and it made for a great spot during mild weather.
