by Vivian Wood
“You mean you’re going to see Remy,” Walker said, crossing his arms.
Colt snorted.
“What a shock, he’s been here all of 10 minutes and the first thing he wants to do is go see his girl.”
“She’s not my girl,” Sawyer said, trying to keep his cool. “Quit trying to piss me off.”
“Quit making it so easy,” Colt shot back.
Sawyer rolled his eyes. “This isn’t high school. I don’t want to fight with you, man.”
“All right, go ahead over to see Remy,” Colt said, a smirk on his lips.
“Wait a second,” Walker said, holding up a hand.
Sawyer and Colt both turned to him expectantly. Walker looked between them, then blew out a breath. “We need to talk living arrangements. The renovations on the main house were never finished, so we’re living in the bunkhouse.”
Sawyer arched a brow. “Isn’t it falling apart?”
“Naw, Marilee had the idea that she was going to renovate it into four studio apartments, rent it out to visitors with a lot of cash,” Colt said. Reaching in his pocket, he fished out his keys. “I got a full set of keys inside for you, but here’s a key to studio three. Should have everything you need, since it’s practically set up as a hotel.”
“Thanks,” Sawyer said, accepting the key his brother offered.
“Don’t thank me until you’ve seen the list of repairs and maintenance duties ahead of us,” Colt said.
“It’s a mile long,” Walker said, squinting off into the distance. “One day of hard work, might just send you running back to D.C.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re as much an outsider as me now,” Sawyer told Walker.
“I look so good in a Stetson, though,” Walker said.
Sawyer grinned. “You haven’t worn a cowboy hat in five years, I bet.”
Walker only shrugged, giving Colt a chance to jump in.
“You sure you don’t just want to go to town with us tonight?” he asked. “Even better, we could just sit here and drink beer in silence, like the cowboys we were supposed to be.”
“The Colonel would be so proud,” Sawyer joked. “How about this. I’m gonna go over to River farm for a minute, just to say hello. Then I’ll come back and crack open the bottle of Old Grand-Dad bourbon I brought from New Orleans.”
“Suit yourself,” Walker said. “I’m gonna go shower up.”
“All right, catch you later,” Sawyer said.
He turned and headed to his car, wondering at their strange attitude. Climbing behind the wheel, he spent the short drive over to River farm wondering just what his brothers were trying to hide from him.
If she wasn’t married, what was the problem with him dropping in on Remy River? The floodgates of speculation opened, and he started imagining different scenarios: she was disfigured in a car wreck, or maybe she’d joined a church so strict that she couldn’t talk to strange men.
None of that seemed like a secret his brothers would need to keep, though. As he sped past the sugarcane fields and closed in on the River family farmhouse, he couldn’t help his growing curiosity.
He frowned as his Range Rover bounced over the hard-rutted gravel road. It was way overdue for some new gravel and sand being laid down. The road needed some serious upkeep.
It was the end of a busy season for River farm; after planting, but before the first controlled burn, so maybe they just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
As he drove past their barn, he noticed that the roof was sagging, and the doors were chained shut. Strange that it should be in disuse, as the farm used to have a number of dairy cows and a few horses.
When he pulled up at the bottom of the hill where the house stood, he was surprised to see that the house wasn’t in any better shape. Parking and walking up the short, steep path to the house gave him a minute to examine the place.
The house was two stories, done in the style of a traditional log cabin, but it looked different than he remembered. Mostly it was that two of the front windows were broken, boarded over with plywood.
There was plywood laid over spots on the roof, too. No doubt a flimsy patch for places where the tarred shingles had come loose, letting water leak into the house.
Gone was the neatly manicured front yard. Now the flower beds were empty, the grass growing long in uneven patches. At the far side of the yard, a plastic toy fire truck lay in the grass, seeming forlorn.
Walking up the broken brick path to the front door, Sawyer couldn’t believe how far the place had fallen into disrepair. The porch creaked under his booted feet as he knocked on the faded red door.
From inside, Sawyer heard the sound of feet stomping on the floor, then a woman’s shout.
“All right, all right!” came a deep voice.
The front door swung inward to reveal Braxton River, Remy’s father. A friendly, blond giant, Mr. River had always been kind to Sawyer, never worried when Sawyer showed up at all hours, driven from Roman Ranch by a family fight.
Mr. River stared at Sawyer for three full seconds, blinking.
“Hi, Mr. River,” Sawyer said, trying for his most polite tone.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Remy’s father growled.
“Daddy, who is it?”
A dozen feet behind her father, Remy appeared in the living room. She froze when she saw Sawyer.
She was as beautiful as ever, her long blonde hair in a fancy braid, her big blue eyes wide. Her heart shaped face, petite frame, and stunning curves hadn’t changed a single bit. For a second, Sawyer felt every bit as tongue-tied as the day in fourth grade when he first met her.
Remy had that kind of effect on people, Sawyer in particular.
“What…” she started, but her father cut her off.
“You got some kind of nerve,” Mr. River growled.
“Daddy,” Remy said, a warning in her voice. She swallowed, her eyes wide.
“I just came to talk,” Sawyer said, feeling his palms start to sweat. “I thought—”
Mr. River’s whole face turned dark with rage. “If I see you on my property again, Sawyer Roman, I will shoot you where you stand.”
Sawyer knew he was probably gaping like an idiot. He just stood there, shocked, as the door slammed in his face. He heard the sound of the bolt being shot, like Mr. River wanted to be certain that Sawyer wouldn’t try to kick the door down and force his way in.
Turning, he walked back down the hill to his SUV, his thoughts disordered. Sawyer had done a lot of things, especially in his time serving as a Navy SEAL.
And yes, the last time he visited Catahoula, he’d spent a wild night with Remy River. A few drinks, a few kisses, a night with Remy in his bed… only hours before he left for a new deployment.
He’d sent her a few letters, care of his father. Never any response.
Sawyer just figured she didn’t want to get seriously involved with a soldier, which was good enough reason in his book.
Driving home through the sugarcane fields, he had no idea what to make of it all.
God knew he had a lot to atone for, his actions here in Catahoula the very least of it, but… could Remy hate him over something that happened four years ago?
No answers awaited him back at the ranch. His brothers were conspicuously absent, leaving Sawyer to brood in silence. He unlocked his studio apartment, a fastidiously white and exposed brick affair.
Was it possible that Remy felt slighted? Or worse, that she felt forced?
That didn’t make sense, though. That night four years ago, they’d kissed and explored each other’s bodies, whispered their secrets. The way he’d been with Remy, he’d never given that much to anyone else. Not even close.
Sawyer had gone above and beyond to make sure that Remy was satisfied, over and over, until the sun rose. They’d fallen asleep holding each other.
In fact, Remy was the one who snuck out early in the morning, leaving Sawyer to wake alone. Not the actions of a woman who wanted more than a night, or so
he’d thought.
Moving his bags in from the car, he puzzled through it all. Even after a shower in the apartment’s luxurious new bathroom, he still had no clue.
As he collapsed into the soft, king-size bed, Sawyer only knew one thing for certain.
He was going to get to the bottom of this, and sooner rather than later. He pulled out his phone to check his messages. He quickly skimmed a few emails and listened to a voicemail from work.
All the texts were from women, various booty calls in D.C. and New York. Another message from Amy, who’d gone from sexting to threatening.
You think you can ignore me???
Rolling his eyes, Sawyer scrolled through his contacts and silenced her incoming messages. If he talked to Amy again, it would be on his terms.
Checking his messages again, he perused the names. Eliza. Mary. Merissa…
“Oh, Merissa,” Sawyer said, opening the text. She’d also sent nudes, much more explicit than Amy’s paltry offering. “Damn, girl.”
She was hot as hell, but Sawyer was too tired to mess with her tonight.
Closing his eyes, he fell into an exhausted sleep, dreaming of being chased by a crowd of pitchfork-waving locals.
4
The second that her father shut the front door in Sawyer’s face, Remy turned and fled. Racing through the living room and kitchen, she ran right out the back door toward the tractor shed.
Flimsy corrugated steel, leaning precariously in some places, it was a silly place to take refuge. Still, Remy skirted around the shed, hiding out from her family. She sat on a big pile of firewood, pressing her face into her hands.
Sawyer Roman, knocking on her door. How many times had she dreamt of that moment?
And yet, the reality of it, seeing him again… she’d gone cold inside, breaking out into a sweat. The fantasy of Sawyer, remembering his touch and the way his smile lit her up inside, that was one thing.
His presence in real life, showing up unexpectedly at the farm…
That was another thing entirely. The fact that Remy and her dad were the only ones in the living room… just a pure stroke of luck for Remy, something she couldn’t expect to happen a second time.
She sucked in deep gulps of air, trying to slow her pounding heart. Seeing Sawyer should have been bittersweet. Her first love, her first… well, everything, where men were concerned. The only man who’d ever made Remy’s heart sing.
Subsequently, Sawyer was also the only man to ever break it. Back in high school, when he announced he was leaving right after graduation to join the Navy, she’d understood that.
After all, his mother had just passed away, and his father was a miserable bastard. His brothers were sullen and quiet, which led to people in town constantly walking on eggshells around the Roman brothers.
So when he left, it hurt, but it made sense. Part of Remy just assumed he’d come back…
And he did, but never for long. She’d see him, catch up with him, share a few drinks… One thing would lead to another…
It was just what Remy and Sawyer did.
Until the last time, when he disappeared for almost four years.
Remy clenched her fists, taking a deep breath. It was almost dinner time, she couldn’t go to pieces right now. There were things to do, like feeding Shiloh and dodging her family’s questions.
Later, she promised herself. You can freak out about this tonight, when you’re alone in bed.
Rising, she wiped at her face and headed back toward the house.
“Remy!” her mother called.
“Coming!” she said as she came around the corner of the shed.
“Come on, then, slowpoke,” her mother said, brushing some flour off her faded blue apron.
Remy trotted back to the house, feeling self-conscious. She probably looked a mess, her face mottled from the handful of panicked tears that she’d been unable to repress.
When she climbed the back steps to the kitchen, everyone else was already around the table. Her father at the head of the table, her mother’s place set at the opposite end. Her sister Shelby and brother Micah sitting on one side, her sister Larkin sitting on the other.
“Hurry up, Rem, I’m starrrrrving,” Larkin said.
“Y’all start without us,” Remy said.
“Not a chance,” her mother said.
“Eulah,” her father said to her mother. “A man’s got to eat.”
“Nobody’s eating until we pray, and we don’t pray until everyone’s seated,” her mother replied primly.
Eulah sat down, looking to Remy.
“Where’s Shi?” Remy asked.
Her mother pointed to the hallway that ran between the kitchen and the living room. Shiloh crouched in the hallway, running a matchbox car across the floor with his chubby toddler hands. His dark hair was wildly mussed, and though Remy couldn’t see his face from here, she was sure it was grubby.
Her son was always into something, she’d learned that early on in his life.
“Shiloh, honey,” she called.
Shiloh dropped the car and turned to her. “Ma!”
He raised his arms expectantly, and Remy couldn’t help the smile that spread over her face. “What’s on your face, hon?”
“Mmm…” Shiloh said, as if considering her question. He was only three, so his conversational skills weren’t really great yet.
“Remy, seriously,” Shelby said. “As the oldest sibling, I’m going to need you to show a little hustle here.”
“Oh, being 11 months younger than me means you need to be fed more often?” Remy asked, arching a brow.
“It’s just, you know. I did five straight hours of piano lessons at the church today, and that really works up an appetite,” Shelby said with a wink.
Remy snorted, scooping up her son and walking him over to the sink. She did her best to clean him up and wash her own hands, which mostly turned into her trying to keep Shiloh from getting hand soap in his mouth.
She deposited him in his high chair, then took her own seat. Shiloh grinned, pleased to be between his mother and grandmother, his two favorite people in the world.
“All right, let’s say grace,” her father rumbled. There was no heat to his complaint; Remy and Shiloh usually got a pass in moments like these.
They all held hands as her father blessed the meal, which turned out to be a roast chicken and various fresh vegetables from the garden.
Everyone served themselves, her father and Micah discussing a repair that needed to be made on one of the ancient pickup trucks. As Remy cut up some chicken and sweet potatoes for Shiloh, she listened to Shelby and Larkin telling stories about their jobs.
While Micah worked on the farm with their father, Shelby cared for the hen house and gave piano lessons in town. Larkin was a paralegal, working a 9 to 5 job in town for Catahoula’s only lawyer.
Remy worked part-time on the farm, helping her mother with canning, pickling and cooking. She also had a side job working a couple shifts a week at The Speckled Hen, a dingy little cowboy watering hole on the main strip.
“You got some time to work on the books this weekend?” her father asked.
Remy scrunched up her face and nodded. “Sure, yeah.”
Recently her father had asked her to start helping with balancing the farm’s accounts, and so far it had been a harrowing experience. The farm was in a crazy amount of debt, with nowhere near enough money coming in.
When her father gave her a long glance over a forkful of chicken, Remy gave him a nod. No one else in the family knew just how bad things were, though really if they took a minute to look around, it seemed obvious.
“How did Dad talk you into the free labor?” Micah asked Remy, eyes sparkling.
“You know, he’s very persuasive,” Remy said with a smile.
“He’s a cheapskate, is what he is,” Shelby intoned.
Remy was probably the only one to catch her father’s flinch while everyone else chuckled. Yes, Braxton Rivers was notorious for
his penny-pinching. When Remy was little, it was all hand-me-down clothes and three minute showers, the water never hot enough.
Now, though, she understood. The farm’s profit margin was slim, and the River family was big. She glanced down at her plate, feeling guilty. She was adding to that burden, no matter how much her parents loved her and Shiloh.
In farm families, the general idea was that the daughters would marry off and move to their husband’s land, relieving the family of the burden. None of the River daughters were married, though…
Shiloh gurgled, waving a sweet potato at her. Remy smiled at him and accepted a bite of it, though he’d smashed it into a paste. She swallowed it, watching him.
The spitting image of his father, Shiloh was. Dark hair, gorgeous hazel eyes that made her heart twist in her chest. That same irresistible grin, minus the darkness she sometimes saw in Sawyer’s eyes.
Remy let the conversation wash over her, eating a bit before cleaning Shiloh up. She drifted through the evening, putting Shiloh down to sleep. Her own sleep was restless, and though she didn’t break down, neither did she come up with any answers.
5
The next day, Remy was still all knotted up inside, wishing desperately that she had some quiet time to sort out her thoughts. She was supposed to work later in the evening, but her heart wasn’t in it.
“Girl, call in sick,” Larkin told Remy when she said as much.
“Oh… I shouldn’t,” Remy said. “I called out like three times this year already, when Shiloh had that really bad fever.”
Shiloh squawked, happy to hear his name.
“You’re a single parent. I know your boss understands that,” Larkin said.
Remy narrowed her gaze at Larkin, bouncing Shiloh on her hip. Her youngest sister was a terrible flirt, and had made no bones about the fact that she had several gentlemen suitors in town. One of them was Grant Landry, Remy’s boss.
“I don’t like it when you talk to me about Grant,” Remy said.
Larkin gave her an innocent look. “I was just saying, he’s a widower and a single parent.”
“Yeah, of a son like four years younger than us,” Remy said.
