His Best Friend's Little Sister

by Vivian Wood

  “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 betwe
en 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.

  In thunderstorms, though, the whole area turned into a mass of sucking mud and flash floods. They’d lost untold numbers of livestock over the years, but the pastureland near the water was too good to fence off.

  Cur Creek was a perfect symbol of how Sawyer related to the land in his hometown: the water was your friend, as long as you respected it and knew when you were in danger.

  He’d taken a lot of that to heart, especially when he was a SEAL.

  Sawyer dropped onto the blanket and opened his backpack to produce a couple of plastic cups and a bottle of Cabernet. He opened the wine without production, pouring a little for each of them.

  Remy sat across from him, folding her legs up and keeping her back straight. Ever vigilant, that one.

  “I haven’t had wine in ages,” Remy murmured, taking an appreciative sniff of the ruby liquid. “It’s all apple juice in our house.”

  Sawyer sipped his wine and frowned. “What? Why? I thought your father loved wine.”

  Remy’s cheeks colored. “Oh… I mean, he used to. It’s kind of an extravagance now.”

  Her words were stilted, making him think she was lying, though why would she lie about something like that?

  “So apple juice, huh?” he said, giving her a long look.

  “Yep,” she said, looking away.

  Something wasn’t right about that, but Sawyer let it go.

  “Remember how we used to party out here? Big bonfires, summers where we’d spend the whole afternoon here?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yeah. Kids still come down here a lot, just like we used to.”

  “Good thing we came on a Tuesday then, huh? I don’t think they’d like us grown-ups breaking up their fun.”

  Remy smiled. “It’s weird thinking that we’re the grown-ups now.”

  “Well, not entirely grown up. Colt’s decided he’s going to throw a party out here on Saturday, just like when we were kids. He’s invited almost everyone we went to school with.”

  “Wow. That’s going to be wild.”

  “Yeah. He called it a rager,” Sawyer said, rolling his eyes.

  “Your brother really is one of a kind,” Remy said.

  “You got that right.”

  Sawyer glanced out over the swimming hole, thinking.

  “So many memories in this place,” he said.

  Remy’s cheeks went pink. “Mmhm.”

  “Do you know, Colt and I got into a fist fight the first day I met you?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Let’s see. I was in fourth grade, I think.”

  “Yeah, I was in kindergarten. Same class as Colt.”

  “Yep. And Colt, being the goofy kid he was…”

  “Still is.”

  “Yeah,” Sawyer said with a grin. “Not that much has changed. Well Colt saw you and ran over to me at recess. Told me he had the prettiest girl in the world in his class.”

  Remy’s mouth formed a little O. “What?”

  “Oh, yeah. Love at first sight, you know?”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. So he pointed you out, and I took one look at you… All those freckles and blonde hair…”

  “Oh, I was so awkward,” she said.

  “Nah, you were cute.”

  “Pffft.” She flapped a hand.

  “Anyway, I looked at you and then at Colt, and I said that you were going to be my girlfriend.”

  “Seriously?” Remy asked, red as a beet. “I don’t remember any of this!”

  “Oh, yeah. And Colt punched me.”

  “What!?” Remy asked, cracking up.

  “Right in the face. Gave me a black eye.”

  “He didn’t!”

  “He did.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “Well, lucky for me, he fell in love with Mary Ellen Cartwright two days later, and you were a free agent.”

  “I was a baby,” she said, rolling her eyes.

&n
bsp; “Yeah, but I never forgot about what I said,” Sawyer said. “I knew you were going to grow up to be something spectacular, and you did.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m still awkward, and I never got out of Catahoula.”

  “I’ve been all over the world, and I’ve hardly met anyone as smart as you.”

  Remy pursed her lips, giving him a disbelieving sort of look, and sipped her wine.

  “Was that too much?” Sawyer asked.

  “A little.”

  Sawyer laughed. “All right. Well, if you think you got stuck here, where did you hope you’d be now?”

  Remy put down her wine and stretched.

  “I don’t know. Teaching somewhere, maybe.”

  “Yeah, you always did like kids a lot.”

  She glanced at him, eyes bright, but only nodded.

  “I thought I would get out of Louisiana, at least,” she said.

  “You’re still young. Nothing’s stopping you.”

  “I went to community college 20 miles from here,” she sighed. “I’m not qualified to do much of anything.”

  “You’re an accountant for your father and a bartender in town. That’s more than most people have going for themselves.”

  “You have a different view of me than other people do, I think.”

  “I really, genuinely hope so,” he said, a smile spreading over his face. “I hope no one else is thinking what I’m thinking every time I look at you.”

  He let his eyes drift down her body, making sure she understood his meaning.

  “You’re terrible,” she said, but she laughed.

  “Seriously, though. What’s keeping you here? Family?”

  She went a little pale. “Yeah.”

  Sawyer moved closer to her, under the guise of digging through his backpack. He produced a small speaker, then paired up his phone. After a minute of configuring, he was satisfied when 90s country music drifted out.

  “Oooooh, Garth Brooks,” Remy said, wiggling her eyebrows. “This is a classic.”

  She surprised him by grabbing the wine bottle and refilling both their cups, then knocking most of her cup back in two big gulps.

  “Thirsty?” he asked.

  She chuckled. “I don’t get a lot of time to hang out and be an adult. I figured I should enjoy it.”

  “Yeah, I can see what you mean. Being at home with Colt and Walker is making me feel like a kid again, too,” Sawyer said.