by Vivian Wood
Sawyer gave a low whistle. “That’s tough.”
“Yeah,” Walker said, shaking his head. “And he refuses to talk about it, won’t even acknowledge that it happened.”
“PTSD?” Sawyer asked.
Walker gave him a hard look. “Not like yours.”
“Mmm,” Sawyer said, nodding. “Good for him.”
They were both quiet for a minute, Sawyer lost in thoughts of Colt. He wished like anything that he could’ve come home when Colt was in the hospital, but The Colonel hadn’t even told Sawyer or Walker about it until after Colt had moved back home.
“This tomcatting around thing he does, sleeping with any cute girl who’ll look his way,” Sawyer said after a moment. “You think that’s the same thing, him trying to compensate?”
Walker arched a brow. “Now who’s the psychologist?”
“Hey, I’m the oldest brother. That’s my thing. You’re the smart one, Colt’s the wild child. Let’s all just stick to our roles, huh?”
Something dark flashed across Walker’s expression as he touched the brim of his hat.
“I hope and pray every single day that we’re more than just our past,” he said.
“Walker, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Sawyer said. “I didn’t even bring up—”
“Let’s get moving, huh?” Walker said, cutting him off abruptly.
Sawyer followed Walker back to the horses, letting silence reign. Apparently Colt wasn’t the only one who was working through some issues. Though Walker’s troubles were harder to see, since his scars were on his heart, rather than on his leg.
“I’ll take the middle,” Walker said, riding off without another word.
Sawyer rode east, decidedly happy for a bit of his own company. The day grew hotter and hotter, his body started to ache from riding, and his fingers sore from working the pliers and wire.
Still, he savored it. His job in D.C. was satisfying in some ways, knowing he was making a difference in the lives of young soldiers. But it called for a lot of meetings, conferences, long days in offices where he hardly saw the sun.
This kind of physical work brought out his innermost soldier. The part of him that loved a challenge, the part that pushed through the pain to achieve a goal.
When he’d done several miles of posts, the sun passing its zenith and starting to slide downward, he decided to head back to the main house. The ride was a little uncomfortable, his back and butt less than appreciative of Pericles’ bouncing gait, but it was good to be back in the saddle.
After brushing down his horse and putting his tack away, he headed straight for the shower in his apartment. By the time he got into the main house, he found Walker and Colt chatting and grilling on the back porch.
The back porch was little more than a bunch of weathered planks nailed together, a gas grill and a small patio table the only fixtures.
Colt seemed at ease, as though his flare of temper had never happened. Walker glanced at Sawyer when he walked in, giving his head a subtle shake as if to tell Sawyer not to press the matter.
“There you are,” Colt said to Sawyer. “We were starting to wonder.”
“Got caught up in it,” Sawyer said with a shrug.
“Lot of memories out there,” Colt said, turning back to the grill. “Lucky for us, there are also burgers. Grab a beer, you’re right on time.”
Sawyer went inside and brought three cold beers from the fridge, then returned to find a plate already waiting for him. A burger, some potatoes, and a few spears of asparagus, all steaming and grill-marked.
“Amazing,” Sawyer said. He opened his beer and then fell onto the food, not bothering to try to keep up conversation until he was done eating.
He did check his texts again, but didn’t respond to any of them. For some reason, being out here kept putting his life in D.C. on hold. It was never quite a good time to catch up with work contacts or girls, it seemed.
When he pushed his plate away, sated, he looked around at the sunset-dappled backyard. “I can’t remember the last time I ate out here.”
“Sure beats that kitchen,” Walker grunted, finishing the last bite of his own burger.
“Yeah, it’s a personality-free zone,” Colt joked.
“We should label the cupboards,” Walker said, shaking his head. “All I can ever remember is where things used to be, back when it was Mom’s domain.”
Sawyer bowed his head, uninterested in opening that particular can of worms. As he was starting to find out, he and his brothers were fickle and touchy adults. No need to poke the bear tonight, after this afternoon’s near-arguments.
“I was thinking about going into town later,” Colt said, changing the subject.
“You mean, going to knock boots with a married chick?” Walker asked, folding his arms across his chest.
Colt rolled his eyes. “You’re just worried I’m gonna get with Shelby River.”
Walker’s mouth tightened. “That’s not true.”
“Wait, what’s this about Shelby?” Sawyer asked. He pictured Remy’s younger sister, a cute lookalike blonde with a big personality.
“He’s totally into her, can’t say a word around her, he’s tongue-tied so bad,” Colt crowed.
“Is that right?” Sawyer asked, unable to fight a grin.
“No, it’s not,” Walker said, placid. “Not to mention, none of the River girls will come within a mile of us if they can help it.”
Colt’s smile fell, and he glanced at Sawyer. “That’s not really true…”
“It’s funny you say that,” Sawyer said, giving both his brothers a hard look. “I went back last night to talk to Remy, and she wouldn’t even look at me. Except to say that she wasn’t mad about me leaving on deployment, that is. So that’s got me wondering. Is she lying, or is there something that I’m missing?”
Colt and Walker were both suddenly busy sipping their beers, casting thoughtful glances anywhere but in Sawyer’s direction.
“Seriously?” he asked. “Colt. What’s the deal?”
“It’s nothing, man. She’s just moved on with her life, and… you know, I think maybe The Colonel got into it with her father at some point, and… that’s it.”
Colt couldn’t meet Sawyer’s gaze, though nothing in his statement was at all improbable. The Colonel got into it with darn near everyone in his line of sight.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Walker said, clearing his throat.
“Yeah,” Colt agreed. “Just move on, like she has. If you’re going to stay here, you’re gonna see her here and there. Don’t want some kind of crazy tension every time you’re within a hundred feet of each other, huh?”
“He’s got the right idea,” Walker said with a nod.
“You two remember that I really hate being lied to, right?” Sawyer asked.
Colt heaved a sigh.
“Listen, we got other things to talk about than the River girls,” he said. “I was hoping that you two had some time to think over what the scenario might be like if we keep the ranch. Would you live here, would you keep an outside job? All of that.”
Walker nodded, like Colt had just said something particularly sage. Sawyer wasn’t fooled by their topic switching at all, but he let it slide.
“Walker, what about you?” he asked.
“Like I said, my job’s already remote. I’d keep my stake and my apartment, but I wouldn’t always be here. I’d probably travel a good bit, doing recruiting work.”
Sawyer nodded. “I thought about that, too. My firm likes me, so I think if I asked to be based here, they’d make it happen. I’d have to travel too, I’m sure, but probably not that much.”
They both looked at Colt, who shrugged.
“I want to run the ranch. I don’t want to keep an outside job, unless we need it for funding.”
Walker snorted. “Not likely. Sawyer has his share of the family trust, and the two of us are coming right up on 30.”
“That’s true,” Sawyer said. “It’s not
enough to keep the ranch running indefinitely, but it would get us off the ground.”
“So… we could make it work, if we wanted,” Colt said slowly.
Sawyer and Walker nodded.
Colt opened his mouth to say more, but the crunch of tires on gravel distracted him.
“What time is it? Micah’s early, maybe,” Colt grumbled, fishing his phone out of his pants pocket as he stood up.
“What, he’s going out tomcatting with you?” Walker asked.
“Wait, Micah River?” Sawyer asked.
“Yeah,” Colt said, busying himself stacking plates. “Grab the empty beer bottles, will you? And the grill tongs.”
Colt went inside, leaving Sawyer and Walker to follow.
“Look, just leave everything and I’ll do it when I get home,” Colt said.
Walker shook his head and started running the water in the sink. “You cooked, I’ll clean tonight.”
“Cool, thanks,” Colt said. “Gotta run.”
He was out the front door in a flash. Sawyer followed him, curious to see Micah. The farmer was leaning against his rusty pickup truck, his blond hair damp from a shower, his jeans and t-shirt still dusty somehow.
Micah smiled at Colt. “Hey, man. Let’s go! I’m gonna take Janey home—”
He stopped mid-sentence when he saw Sawyer, his expression turning into a scowl.
“Micah,” Sawyer said, inclining his head.
Colt ignored Sawyer, clattering down the stairs to greet Micah with a clasp of their hands. “Let’s head out, man.”
“You planning on sticking around?” Micah asked, glaring at Sawyer.
“Not sure,” Sawyer said. “My homecoming hasn’t been as welcoming as I expected.”
Micah pushed off the truck to stand up straight, tensing like he was ready to fight. “Is that right?”
Sawyer stared at him. He and Micah weren’t exactly close or anything, but they’d hung out a little in high school. Now he was seeing the same anger as Remy’s father had shown. The thing was, Micah didn’t seem to have a problem with Colt…
“Hey, let’s just go,” Colt said, clapping Micah on the shoulder.
Micah shrugged out of Colt’s touch, shaking his head. “Nah. I changed my mind. I should go home, see my sisters.”
“Awww, no. You don’t have to do that,” Colt protested.
Micah glanced between Sawyer and Colt. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Colt said, shaking his head. “He doesn’t want any trouble either, right Sawyer?”
“Why the hell would there be trouble?” Sawyer asked, his fists clenching. “I don’t understand—”
“Later, Sawyer!” Colt said, pushing Micah toward the driver’s side door.
Micah climbed in the truck and started the engine while Colt got in. Rolling down his window, Micah stuck his head out and gave Sawyer one final glare.
“Stay away from my sisters, Sawyer. Like I said, I don’t want trouble.”
Sawyer frowned, but he had no answer to that. With every single word out of Micah’s mouth, the mystery of it all just grew by leaps and bounds.
As Micah drove off, Sawyer headed back inside, his mind full of questions. Clearly Colt’s explanation about The Colonel causing a feud between the Romans and the Rivers was crap.
Otherwise, how would Micah justify hanging out with Colt, but still hate Sawyer? Colt was charming, but not that charming.
Back in the kitchen, Walker was loading the dishwasher. Before Sawyer could interrogate him, the landline phone rang. Sawyer shot Walker a look, then went over to the kitchen island to pick it up.
“Hello?” he asked.
“Sawyer,” his father barked.
“Yeah, hey,” Sawyer said, unable to hide his complete lack of enthusiasm.
“I’m calling because Marilee wants y’all to be at the church social on Sunday, rain or shine.”
“Oh… okay,” Sawyer said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Marilee is having our wedding date announced, so all three of y’all better be there and be in suits. Don’t embarrass the Roman name, you hear?”
Sawyer counted to three, trying not to snap at his father.
“Fine,” he said.
“Fine,” his father said, hanging up without further ado.
Sawyer stared at the phone, then shook his head. A foul curse was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it down. Hanging up, he turned around to talk to Walker.
Unfortunately, there were certain downsides to being in a family where all three siblings were SpecOps. Walker was gone, the dishwasher whirring quietly in his wake.
Blowing out a breath, Sawyer shook his head. If Colt and Walker had a handful of brain cells between them, they’d start answering Sawyer’s questions… before he went investigating.
One way or another, he was going to get answers.
Soon.
9
Remy was just putting the finishing touches on her outfit for the Sunday post-church social when Shelby came in.
“Whoa! Hot mama,” Shelby said, wiggling her brows.
Remy blushed as she glanced down at her pale yellow cotton sundress.
“I’ve worn this to social before,” she said, feeling silly.
“Yeah, but not with your hair in a fancy updo like that,” Shelby said, stepping into Remy’s bedroom to circle around her and admire. “Is that a braid? Wait, are you wearing blush and mascara?”
“Well… yes,” Remy admitted. “I want to look nice, is that a crime?”
“Nooooo,” Shelby said, shaking her head. “It’s just, I figure you’re getting all dressed up for a reason. Hmm? Like a certain hunky soldier who’s just come back to town?”
“Shelby, don’t be ridiculous,” Remy said.
“Who is being ridiculous?” Shelby asked. “I’m just saying, you are dressed up awfully fancy just to go to the church social.”
Remy gave her sister a measured glance.
“We should get going. Don’t want to be late for the social, Mama will have a fit.”
Shelby gave Remy a knowing look, but Remy ignored her. Leaving her bedroom, she headed into the kitchen to pick up Shiloh. Settling her son on her hip, she walked into the living room. The rest of the family was outside in the driveway, or heading that way at least.
Except for her father, who was in the living room, clearly waiting to talk to Remy. He eyed her outfit and makeup with a rueful expression.
“That’s an awfully racy outfit you have on,” he said.
“Hardly. It’s knee length and covers everything but my arms. Besides, I can look nice if if the mood suits me,” Remy said, feeling testy. If she were being truthful, Shelby and her father were right. She was dressing up just in case a certain someone was at the social.
But only because she didn’t want Sawyer to see her looking downtrodden. Perhaps it was vain, a sin in its own right, but she only wanted her ex-boyfriend to see her at her best. And next to her gorgeous younger sister Shelby, it would be plenty easy for Remy to look dumpy and sleep deprived.
“Was there something you wanted to talk to me about? Other than my choice of outfit, I mean.”
“Yes, yes,” her father said, waving a hand. “Really quick, while your mother is loading all those pies into the truck. I was wondering if you got a chance to look at the budget, see if we can afford to replace the backhoe. It’s not working right, and it’s giving Micah a lot of trouble.”
Remy sighed.
“Daddy, we don’t have the money for that.” She paused. “We don’t have the money for anything.”
“I just thought…” He started, then trailed off. He glanced up at Remy, his eyes shining with earnest sincerity. “We just need one good year, you know that?”
“I know,” she said. She hated to be the bearer of bad news, but her father had put her in charge of trying to wrangle the poorly-kept financial records. As the oldest daughter, she wanted more than anything to be able to turn the
whole situation around.
She wanted to be able to tell her father they could buy a new backhoe, or do any of the other hundred small things that needed to be done around the farm. Patch the roof of their house, for one thing. No more rain dripping into buckets every afternoon during hurricane season.
But that wasn’t reality. And if there was one thing that Remy was well-versed in, it was in dealing with the reality laid before her. After all, it wasn’t as if her life had run exactly according to plan so far.
Shifting Shiloh onto her other hip, Remy blew out a breath.
“I know that you keep waiting for the perfect year,” she told her father.
“Well, we have to get lucky eventually, right?” Braxton asked, his smile humorless. “We just need good rain, and good sun, and a good controlled burn this year. This could be our year, Remy.”
“It could also be our last year,” Remy said, making an apologetic face. “If we don’t straighten out the books, the farm can’t stay open for another year. We just can’t survive without turning a profit for so long.”
Her father glanced away while he worked to hide his disappointment.
“I understand,” he said. “Thank you for giving it a try.”
“Hey,” Remy said, putting her hand on her father’s arm. “Don’t give up yet. We just have to get inventive, come up with a solution. I’m pretty sure someone in the family is always saying that Rivers don’t give up, right?”
Her father gave her another humorless smile. “Right.”
“Remy! Brax!” Her mother called from the front door. “Y’all don’t want to find out what happens if you make me late to the social!”
Remy gave her father a knowing look and moved toward her mother’s voice, knowing that her mother’s tone might have been joking… but no one made Eulah River wait. It simply wasn’t done.
“Remy,” her father called. She turned back toward him.
“You know you can’t tell anyone else in the family about this, right? It would just kill your mother,” he asked.
Remy stared at him for second and then nodded. “I know.”
As she turned to leave again, her father gave a loud whistle, the same one he’d used to round up Remy and her siblings when they were kids. She turned back to him with a frown.
