Small Town SEALs: The Complete Romance Collection

by Vivian Wood

  “Welcome home,” Walker rumbled. He was never one for words, which Sawyer often appreciated. Especially during the times when Colt felt the need to run his mouth every minute of the day.

  “You still rockin the buzz, huh?” Sawyer asked, running his hand over the short prickle of Walker’s dark hair.

  “Yup,” Walker said. Short and sweet, the simple word had an unmistakable South Louisiana twang to it.

  Talking to his brothers made Sawyer painstakingly aware of his Southern drawl, which always seemed stronger when he saw Colt and Walker.

  “I’ve been trying to get him to grow it out a little,” Colt said, looking amused.

  “Yeah, grow this fancy cut like you got?” Sawyer asked.

  Colt’s hair was done in an undercut, buzzed on the sides but long on the top, swept over to one side.

  “Hey, this is cool right now,” Colt said mildly.

  “It looks like you started to get a haircut, and then quit halfway through,” Sawyer said.

  “Funny. Women like this haircut,” Colt informed him with a laugh. Clapping Sawyer on the back, he gestured toward the house. “Let’s go inside.”

  He stepped into the front entrance, the spot that his mother had always touted as the foyer. He could imagine her standing in a faded calico apron, dark hair swept up into a high ponytail. Hands on her hips, she’d overpronounce the French as she scolded her sons. Y’all know better than to track dirt into my foy-yay!

  “Where’s the furniture?” Sawyer asked, stopping a few steps in.

  “Let’s go into the kitchen for a beer,” Colt suggested, sounding impatient. “Things have changed around here since the last time you were home.”

  “No kidding,” Sawyer grumbled. A quick glance to the right proved that the parlor was similarly empty; what little furniture remained was draped with big white sheets. For some reason, it reminded Sawyer of a funeral parlor, and gave him a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  Seeing the kitchen, though… he didn’t startle easily, but his jaw dropped.

  Gone were the worn kitchen table, the chipped ivory stove and fridge that his mother had cherished, antiques from the previous generation of Romans. The knickknacks, the beloved cast iron skillets hanging on the wall. The bright border of wallpaper that his mother had painstakingly installed by herself, saying that the room needed some cheerful colors to match her spirits.

  Vanished.

  Instead, the whole room was white walls and dark, glossy floors. Huge stainless steel appliances, with matching stainless steel countertops. New dark wood cabinets, a gleaming stainless steel range hood right in the middle of the kitchen.

  “I…” Sawyer started, then stopped.

  “Two sinks,” Walker mumbled, shaking his head as he moved to the big double fridge. “Beer?”

  Walker was right, there were two sinks.

  “What happened?” Sawyer asked Colt, as if it was somehow Colt’s doing. “Was there… damage?”

  He even looked up to the ceiling as he asked, checking for signs of water damage.

  “Marilee happened,” Colt said, sitting at the huge, dark wood kitchen table.

  “Where’s the damned table?” Sawyer asked, staring at the sleek, expensive-looking replacement.

  “The Colonel,” Walker grumbled, using the old nickname they used for their father.

  Walker handed Sawyer a beer and took another chair, breaking Sawyer out of his momentary bafflement. Colt snorted, then relayed the story.

  “Yeah, The Colonel moved Marilee in here. She lasted long enough to redecorate most of the main house and get rid of all of Mom’s stuff, then she demanded that they move because she thinks Mom haunts the laundry room.”

  “Come on, sit down and tell us what you’ve been up to since you shipped back stateside,” Colt encouraged.

  Sawyer glowered at the new kitchen table as he took a seat, twisting the cap off of his beer.

  “I’ve been working for the Greystone Group.”

  “Contractors. They do work mostly in Iran and Iraq, right?” Walker asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Bet the money’s great, huh?” Colt asked.

  “Yeah. Never saw myself as a six-figure earner, but…”

  “Now we’ve all got that prized military experience,” Colt said, amused. “In my first interview to pick up some work, the person interviewing me shook my hand and called me a hero. Never been so embarrassed in my entire life.”

  “I don’t know, remember the year you did Baby Got Back at the talent show?” Sawyer challenged.

  “Yeah, and Mrs. Parsecki chased me off stage, waving her Bible,” Colt said with a grin.

  They all laughed.

  “Well, it’s nice to know that at least we’re all earning big. Or I was, until I let The Colonel sweet talk me into going part time and moving back here. He told me the house would be empty, that he’d let the farm go wild if one of us wasn’t here.”

  “Funny, that’s almost exactly what he said to get me back here,” Sawyer mused.

  “I’m not too worried. If there’s anything that Granddad taught us, it was to stack bills in our war chests, right?” Colt said, glancing at them. “I bet you two have barely spent any of your inheritance, much less your contractors’ salary, hmm?”

  “You looking for a loan, brother?” Walker joked.

  Colt grinned. “Hell no. I invested my inheritance, played the stock market. I never have to work another day in my life.”

  “You’re a Roman,” Sawyer intoned, mimicking their father.

  As one, all three brothers recited their father’s motto: “Romans work hard until they drop dead.”

  He took a long sip, then looked at the label.

  “What is this?” he asked. “Best Brew.”

  “It’s a local microbrewery,” Colt said.

  Sawyer turned his glare from the bottle to Colt, who only shrugged. “Hey, don’t blame me. If you came home more, you wouldn’t be getting it all at once.”

  “I was busy,” Sawyer said.

  “Hey, Walker has the same kind of hotshot contractor’s job as you do, and he gets home for Christmas every year.”

  Sawyer turned back to his beer. “It hasn’t been home for a long time. I don’t think I should have to explain that to you two.”

  His brothers lapsed into silence, looking at each other. After a full minute, Sawyer started to feel a little guilty. He wasn’t mad at Walker and Colt, after all. They were as trapped as he was; Colt by his forced medical discharge, and Walker by internal Navy politics. Both Sawyer’s brothers had left the service against their will, essentially. It wasn’t as if they wanted to be here so badly.

  Circumstances, he thought to himself.

  “How’s the leg?” he asked Colt.

  Colt flinched for the barest second, then shrugged. “Still busted. Gonna be a gimp forever, I guess.”

  “Right,” Sawyer said, shaking his head. “Sorry I asked.”

  Colt shrugged again. “You should be asking Walker about his new position. He’s making bank as a recruiter now.”

  “Are you?” Sawyer asked.

  Walker pulled a face. “I told them that I wanted to travel less and make more money. They offered me a satellite recruiting position. I can telecommute for most of the year. It’s a good gig.”

  “Huh,” Sawyer said. “I hadn’t considered something like that. You just use email?”

  “And text, and video calls… there’s no shortage of ways to connect online, as long as I have a fast internet connection. You should look into something like what I have set up,” Walker said.

  Sawyer crossed his arms. “Is there a reason I’d need to telecommute?”

  Again, Colt and Walker looked at one another.

  “Well…” Colt said.

  “I knew it,” Sawyer said, shaking his head. “I knew you two were up to something. That’s why you wouldn’t tell me anything over the phone when you called to say that The Colonel wanted us to come home A
SAP.”

  “Wait a second,” Walker said, holding up a hand. Walker was quiet and reserved, but he didn’t take crap from anyone, not even his brothers. “None of this is Colt’s doing, or mine. Dad’s got a proposition about the ranch, apparently, but he wanted all three of us to be here to hear it. That’s all there is.”

  “Yeah. Don’t let him make us fight,” Colt said, picking up his beer.

  Sawyer regarded them for a second, then nodded. “Right. Sorry. I’ve been traveling for a full day, I’m just… done.”

  “Coming from overseas?” Colt asked.

  “Yeah. Some negotiations in Tehran, working for the Greystone Group,” he said.

  “If you were traveling abroad, that must mean that Greystone cleared your medical and psych exams,” Walker said, looking curious.

  “Yeah, finally. Only took them 11 months after I got my discharge papers from the Navy.”

  “Well…” Colt said, then frowned.

  “Go ahead, say it,” Sawyer said, waving a hand and picking up his beer. “I went nuts for a while.”

  “You choked out a gangbanger in a D.C. diner at three in the morning,” Colt said.

  “He came at me the wrong way,” Sawyer said. “But… yeah. I had a hard year.”

  “You’re cleared now, though,” Colt said.

  “Yep. If I exercise enough, I can even sleep through the night without sleepwalking or terrifying my neighbors by shouting in Farsi.”

  Walker snorted, but Sawyer could see that his brother perfectly understood the dark humor of it.

  “Hell, I have bad dreams, and none of what happened to you happened to me,” Colt said.

  Sawyer narrowed his eyes at Colt. “Yeah, but you did almost die in a godforsaken field hospital in the middle of nowhere.”

  Walker shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, and Sawyer knew he needed to change the topic again. He tried to think of something, letting silence fall again. To his surprise, Walker picked up the slack this time.

  “Johnsons sold their farm,” he said.

  “Out on Crickle Creek Road?” Sawyer asked. “Man, never thought they’d sell out.”

  “I heard they were in debt up to their eyeballs,” Colt said, looking sympathetic. “Barely broke even on the sale. Sugarcane isn’t doing so well these days.”

  “It’s cheaper to import it from Southeast Asia than to pay an American farmer to grow it, I guess,” Sawyer said.

  “Yeah. If you look at the farms around here, almost all of them are looking pretty sorry. I can’t imagine what the books look like, but profits are decidedly thin.”

  “Well, I hope it’s not affecting the Rivers’ farm like that,” Sawyer said.

  “You mean you hope Remy River hasn’t turned tail and fled to somewhere more civilized,” Colt said.

  Sawyer caught a sharp glance from Walker to Colt.

  “What?” Sawyer asked. “Am I not allowed to ask about Remy?”

  Walker and Colt broke their gaze, but they didn’t look at Sawyer, either.

  “She still lives in Catahoula, doesn’t she?” Sawyer asked.

  “Yeah, of course,” Colt said, clearing his throat. “She just… doesn’t hang out like she used to when we were in high school. I only ever see her at Landry’s Bar, working. And I think she goes to church, Marilee talks about her singing at church socials and stuff.”

  “Ah,” Sawyer said. He looked down, realized his hand was clenched around his beer bottle, his shoulders hunched. “Well, that’s good. Did she get married or something?”

  “No!” Colt and Walker said at once. They looked at each other, then frowned.

  For the life of him, Sawyer couldn’t figure out why they were being so weird. He opened his mouth to ask, but Colt cut him off.

  “You know who’s looking good these days? Allie May Dorner.”

  Sawyer’s brows flew up. “Isn’t she like… 35? That’s five years older than me, eight years older than you.”

  Colt flushed. “Some of us like an older woman.”

  “Some people just like a woman who’s got a husband out at the oil rigs twice a year, who doesn’t ask him for anything,” Walker said, looking disapproving.

  “Hey, don’t hate the player, hate the game,” Colt said.

  “You sound like an idiot saying that,” Sawyer said.

  Outside, he heard one of the curs barking like mad.

  “All right, brother. Better strap in,” Walker said, clapping Sawyer on the shoulder. “Time to face good old Dad.”

  Taking a deep breath, Sawyer nodded. There was no use avoiding it, since this was the reason he’d returned to Catahoula in the first place.

  His father had arrived, ready to make an announcement.

  God help the Roman brothers…

  3

  “You look like you want to punch someone in the face,” Walker said.

  “I assume that the curs going nuts means The Colonel is here,” Sawyer replied.

  “Yeah, a couple of the dogs just hate him,” Colt said, standing.

  “It’s not really that shocking,” Sawyer said. “You know, considering that he’s a heartless bastard."

  He and Walker rose to follow Colt outside.

  Sawyer gave a low whistle as their father pulled a cherry red, classic Mustang into the driveway. He pulled up right in the middle of the driveway, seemingly unworried that he was blocking in Walker and Sawyer’s vehicles.

  An uptight, silver-haired version of his sons, Colonel Arlo Montgomery Roman climbed out of his car. He looked around for a moment, completely ignoring his sons, before going around to the passenger side of the car. He opened the door for Marilee Carter, the buxom, over-the-top bottle blonde he’d introduced to his sons only three months after the death of their mother.

  Marilee turned and waved to them, doing her best Marilyn Monroe impression. That was the sum of Marilee’s whole life, dressing like a 50s pinup and primping and acting scandalized. She wasn’t a bad lady, pretty nice actually… but none of the Roman boys could stand her.

  The Colonel closed her car door and then promptly seemed to forget about her entirely, leaving her behind as he strode to the porch and up the steps. Marilee followed him, tottering on ridiculous high heels, holding down the flared skirt of her blue pinup dress.

  “You came,” The Colonel said, eyeing Sawyer and his brothers.

  “You threatened to let the animals run wild and the roof cave in on itself,” Sawyer said, crossing his arms.

  The Colonel squinted into the fading sunlight, then pulled a face.

  “Didn’t figure you cared, seeing as how you’re off living your fancy life out there in D.C.,” he said.

  “I was working out of Quantico, liaising with the FBI and the Navy,” Sawyer said.

  He felt his body tense. There was something about his father, something that just got to him every damned time.

  “None of my business. You’ve made that plain enough.”

  The Colonel stalked past them and went inside. Colt was busy helping Marilee up the steps. Colt was many things, including a horndog, but he was also a gentleman at the core. Even to Marilee, whom he disliked.

  “Starting a little early, I see,” The Colonel said as he eyed the table where the brothers had been sitting.

  “It’s an occasion,” Sawyer said, glancing at Walker.

  Walker was stone-faced and silent, his usual front when dealing with their father. Sawyer could recall at least half a dozen times when the brothers had gotten into some kind of trouble together. The Colonel would line them up to interrogate them, screaming in their faces. And there Walker would be, not moving except to blink now and then, seemingly absorbing none of it.

  For some reason, that made The Colonel single Walker out, working hard to control and manipulate Walker over the other two brothers. Walker never responded, which made their father more angry, which made him lash out… it was an endless cycle.

  Sawyer wasn’t a fan of his father, but he was secretly glad not to bring ou
t the worst in The Colonel like Walker did.

  “Marilee, a drink?” The Colonel asked his fiancée when she finally stepped into the room.

  Perspiring and flushed with exertion, Marilee just shook her head and took a seat at the kitchen table. The Colonel went into the kitchen and returned with a glass of bourbon for himself and what looked like an iced tea for Marilee. She took it and shot Arlo a grateful look, which The Colonel ignored.

  Sawyer’s father took a seat at the head of the table, pushing Colt’s beer out of his way. Sawyer glanced at Walker and Colt, and then they all moved around to sit at the table.

  “How much has Colt told you?” The Colonel asked, sipping his drink.

  Walker and Sawyer glanced at each other and shrugged.

  “Not much, I just walked in right before you did,” Sawyer supplied, since Walker probably wasn’t feeling chatty.

  “I don’t want to argue with y’all,” Arlo said, stabbing a finger down against the tabletop. “And I don’t want to be here all night. Me and Marilee’s got things to do, places to go. Ain’t that right, Marilee?”

  “Yes—” Marilee started, blushing. Clearly ARLO wasn’t interested, because he didn’t pause to let her speak.

  “Here’s the deal, boys. Y’all got one month to decide if you’re staying or going. By staying, I mean keeping the ranch running in some capacity. By going, I mean selling to someone, over whom I have final approval. Me and Marilee are real happy living in town here, so we don’t want to have to deal with anything about running the ranch. In the case of a sale, you three have a 40 percent stake, split amongst yourselves. Your cousins in Memphis own 10 percent, your cousins in Biloxi own 10 percent, and the rest belongs to me.”

  Sawyer found that a little surprising. He had no idea that anyone else had a claim on the Roman Ranch, though it did make sense. The family had owned the Ranch since at least the Louisiana Purchase, handing it down generation to generation. Their father was one of three sons, the other two going out into the world to make their own fortunes.

  “What about if we keep the ranch?” Colt asked, his brows drawn down somberly.

  “Your cousins got land rights, but they don’t take profits. In the event that you three decide to keep the ranch, I’m the only one who gets paid outside the family. I get 30 percent, come hell or high water.”