A Cowboy's Home (10 page)

“Jeez, Sam. I’ll saddle up and be there as
soon as I can.”

“Take the top trail and look for my
bike.”

“On it.”

Only when Sam was tracking back to where he’d
left Tom did he think maybe he should have asked Gabe to bring a
second horse. Or something.

I’m not thinking this through.
He
stopped the bike for a moment, the engine idling, his feet flat on
the ground.
What the hell am I doing?

“Saving a man’s life,” Sam answered himself
out loud. “Finding cosmic balance and shit. Righting all my
wrongs.”

He bowed his head, focusing on his right
hand, the fingers curled around the handlebars.

The last time he thought he knew better,
everything had gone wrong. A man he thought he’d loved had lost his
job and been shamed in the media. Sam pulled in the clutch, and
twisted the throttle, considering turning the bike around.

That thought lasted all of a few seconds. And
then, with determination, he forged on up toward the cabin.

He clambered through the twisted roots and
into the shack. Tom hadn’t moved from where Sam left him; his eyes
were still closed, the scent of vomit heavy in the air.

“Tom?” Sam shook his shoulder. “I’m sorry,
man; I can’t do this on my own. Help is coming, but I’ll stay with
you all the time, okay. Gabe is coming. We can trust him not to
call 911, and I won’t let anyone hurt you. Unless, of course,
you’re an escaped murderer, in which case I will rat you out in a
second.”

He was rambling again, anything to hear the
sound of his voice. He felt for a pulse and couldn’t find it.
Instead he pressed his ear to Tom’s chest, all kinds of awkward and
twisted. Tom’s heartbeat was there, his chest rising and falling;
he was alive.

So now what?

No way could he move Tom from where he lay.
Sam sat down next to Tom, felt the heat of the man radiating to
him, and placed a reassuring hand on his arm.

All he could do was wait for Gabe, and it was
excruciating.

His thoughts wandered to Bryan, the man he’d
lusted after at fifteen: the gardener, all sweat and muscles, and
God, Sam had been so eager to try everything. Being gay wasn’t an
issue for him, losing his virginity had been. And he’d been
reckless and stupid, demanding that Bryan show him everything. It
had been a long hot summer of sex until he turned sixteen.

And then he’d come out; he was in love with
Bryan, or he’d thought so, and he told his family.

Sam had come out of it smelling of roses,
because his family paid Bryan off and blamed the older man for
leading him astray. There had been photos that were used to
blackmail Bryan into silence. He’d agreed not to say a thing. But,
not long after he’d left his work, Bryan had been jumped in an
alley and nearly lost his life, and Sam just
knew
his family
had been responsible. Bryan had been warned off, and that had been
it. Last he’d heard, Sam’s first lover had settled in New Orleans,
working relief after Katrina and then not moving on. Sam only knew
that because he’d seen the article on Google.

How sad was it that he’d googled Bryan’s
name?

He owed the man an apology, but Sam hadn’t
even considered that until he’d gone back home. Somehow he had
compartmentalized what had happened with Bryan and his family, and
had forgotten how raw everything was.

He was determined not to forget this
time.

And maybe he’d email Bryan.

When he heard Gabe calling, Sam realized he’d
completely zoned out, memories of a different life filling his
thoughts. He didn’t know how much time had passed, enough to sing
three different Lady Gaga songs twice through, think
earth-shattering life-changing thoughts, battle guilt, and then
likely doze against the hot-water bottle that was Tom. “In here!”
he called.

“Sam?”

Sam scrambled up and walked out of the door,
aware that as he moved, Tom flinched in his sleep. Poor guy
couldn’t even rest while unconscious.

Sam clambered out of the shack and over the
twisted roots. “Gabe! Over here.”

The sound of a horse moving, some banging and
crashing, and then a flushed Gabe stepped into the clearing Sam was
standing in.

“What the fuck, Sam?” Gabe asked.

“There’s a man….” Sam had so many words in
his head that he wanted to get out and his chest was tight with
anxiety, but he couldn’t pull the words out.

“Show me,” Gabe said.

Sam realized that his friend was holding a
rifle, and although he wanted to say that Tom was unconscious and
incapable of much, Gabe looked determined to keep himself and Sam
safe from the guy on the ground.

Sam led Gabe to the door, and Gabe cocked the
rifle.

“You won’t need that.” Sam placed a hand on
the weapon. “He could have shot me, and he didn’t.”

Gabe looked at him steadily. “We have an
armed man on
my
land,” Gabe hissed the words. “Only a couple
of miles from
my
family, from the kids. You won’t let me
call the cops, so I’m taking a rifle in.”

Sam wasn’t going to argue with him. Gabe took
family very seriously, and by extension, friends. Even Sam was
probably included in that, although it was the first time he’d ever
shown his underbelly to anyone at Crooked Tree; the only time he’d
ever asked for help. That had to be why Gabe wasn’t running for the
phone to call the police out here. Sam hoped
to hell
he wasn’t betrayed this first and only
time he was asking for trust.

“His name is Tom,” Sam said in lieu of
arguing. Just because Gabe had a rifle didn’t mean he was going to
use it. Still, it didn’t hurt to add a simple “Don’t hurt him.”

Sam slipped past Gabe and went in first, much
to Gabe’s disgust if his tight-lipped grimace as Sam passed was
anything to go by. Freaking hero types.

Then they were both in the cabin, and
everything happened so fast he didn’t have time to process it.

Tom was awake, sat up, leaning against the
wall in half shadow, the gun in his hand, resting on his knee. He
looked devastated, shocked. Hell if Sam could make sense of it.

Gabe gasped a horrified, half-choked sound
that chilled Sam to the bone. Sam looked at Gabe, at the way the
blood drained from his face, and then in horror as Gabe literally
slumped to his knees.

“
Justin
.”

Justin’s world imploded.

There was no other way to explain it. A small
part of him had known it could happen and that coming here would
lead to the inevitable conclusion where everything went to
shit.

And it had. His hand shook, and the only
thing supporting his arm was his bent knee. He had a gun turned on
one of his oldest friends.

And worst of all, he didn’t drop it.

Justin just stared as the pain made his
breath hitch. Something wasn’t right inside. He shouldn’t be
feeling like that now the bullet was gone.

Gabe stared at him, his mouth open, his eyes
wide, shaking his head in disbelief. So far he hadn’t said a
thing.

“You said your name was Tom,” Sam said. He
didn’t sound accusing, more stating a fact. “Are you…?” Sam
stopped.

Justin knew what he wanted to ask: was he
that
Justin? He didn’t have to answer because Gabe replied
for him, only his voice was dead.

“Justin. Allens. Ethan’s brother. Marcus’s
youngest son. My friend.” Gabe said all that staccato, like every
syllable was hard to get out.

“Gabe….” Justin’s voice was low. “Witness
protection, okay? No doctors, no hospital, promise me. If anyone
finds me, I’m dead. And you, everyone….”

Gabe was still on his knees, but shock was
giving way to questions, and Justin could see that.

“What the hell?” Gabe asked.

That was the leading question, the one that
Justin had no answers to, the one that went back over twelve
years.

“He was shot,” Sam said. “I think there may
be something in the wound that needs cutting out.”

Gabe glanced at Sam, his face a mask of
disbelief.

Justin couldn’t let go of his gun. If he did,
then he lost all leverage and Gabe could do whatever the fuck he
wanted.

“Justin—fuck.”

Justin stumbled to stand, waving away Sam
who’d stepped closer. Finally upright, albeit leaning against the
wall, he let the hand with the gun relax by his side.

What are you going to do? Shoot one of your
oldest friends?

He watched as Gabe followed him and stood
too, allowing Sam to yank him upright. And then Gabe stalked closer
to Justin and stopped about two feet away.

Sam didn’t know what the hell to do, by the
looks of it, hovering just out of sight, watchful and frowning.

“Gabe. You need to—”
just go back to the
ranch and forget you saw me
.

“Where?” Gabe asked, reaching out a hand to
touch Justin but pulling it back. “Where have you been? Why did you
go?”

God, if Gabe knew where he’d been and what
he’d done, he wouldn’t be reaching for him.

Gabe dropped his hand when Justin said
nothing.

Justin still stood with the gun at his side,
his expression carefully blank—or at least he hoped so. “Go away,
Gabe.” He coughed as pain cramped in his thigh. The pain would
pass, just as the hurt in Gabe’s eyes would fade. Only the pain
didn’t lessen. If anything, it was getting worse; the burning
sensation wasn’t just in his leg, it was shooting into his spine.
He doubled over.

And then Gabe’s hand was on him, Sam had the
gun, and fuck, Justin was done.

He held tight to Gabe, allowed himself to be
walked forward, but the pain was more than even he could handle and
he cried out. With superhuman strength
coming from
desperation, he wrenched himself away.
“Witness protection, no cops,” he repeated, although talking was
hard. Frustration laced his words, and he couldn’t form a sentence,
couldn’t even get across the panic that welled inside him. With the
momentum he had going, he stumbled back, and even though he
scrambled to find a hold, he fell back hard against the wall, his
skin scraping, his shoulder smacking hard on the old wood.

A second later, Gabe was cradling him,
holding him tight, and shouting words. Justin couldn’t make them
out, couldn’t understand, but then Sam was there too, holding him
and telling him to stay still.

I will not faint again
, he repeated
over and over.
I’m stronger than this.

“We need to get him to a doctor.” Sam’s voice
was strident.

Sam’s supposed to understand. Why doesn’t he
understand anymore?

And then Gabe was shouting back, like he
understood instead. “But he wouldn’t let me.”

“Dangerous if they know I’m here,” Justin
mumbled. He was pushing through every second of pain to make sure
Gabe understood. “They’ll kill everyone.”

Gabe’s tone softened. “We just need to get
you home, J.”

No. Home? I don’t have one anymore, not since
I sold my soul and killed my first man.

Sam intervened. “If he’s in witness
protection, there has to be a reason, like Adam, right?” Sam’s tone
was off, defensive maybe, Justin couldn’t tell. “We need to think
about Ashley, the kids.”

Gabe stared at him, looking
utterly
lost. “What if he’s dying?”

“Gabe, he said no.”

Gabe cursed loudly. “We need
to at least get him
away from here.”

“That’s why I called you, even though he said
I shouldn’t. This is not a good place.”

Justin felt sick again: too much chaos in his
head and he was shutting down. He could feel every muscle in him
tense up in pain, the heat on his skin, the bile rising in his
throat again, and then—

Black.

Sam stepped back and away from Gabe, who
looked dangerously pale, so much so that Sam thought he was going
to join Tom flat on the ground.

No, not Tom,
Justin
.

Gabe had Justin’s full weight on him. “What
do we do, then, if we can’t take him home?”

Wait? He’s asking me what to do? Think.

“If we get him out of this place, to the
horse, down to the cabins, there’s one that’s empty. It’s why I
called you. I couldn’t do it on my own. Then we can get Ryan’s
brother out here, Aaron, the paramedic, he’s a nice guy, he’ll know
what to do.”

“Fuck, Sam.” Gabe blinked at him, his
expression suddenly blank, and his mouth open.

That was shock, as clear as day. Sam clenched
his hands into tight fists and focused. Whatever the shit in his
head, he needed to be the strong one here. He dropped to his knees
next to Gabe, who was cradling Justin. “Let’s get him up, and out
to your horse. We’ll think about everything else later.”

Gabe looked at him steadily for a few moments
and then snapped out of his fugue, gripping Justin’s arms and
letting Sam take the weight of his legs. Between them they
manhandled Justin’s dead weight to the broken door. Sam walked
backward. He used his body to wedge open the door and cursed as
something stabbed into his ass; he wriggled away even as the
combined weight of Justin and Gabe pressed him back and out the
door onto the damn branches. Only at the last moment did he regain
his footing and manage to stay upright. Together they scrambled
across the tree roots, Gabe deadly silent, and Sam cursing at each
step. They got Justin over to the huge horse—Gabe’s horse,
Lightning—and Sam wasn’t surprised when it rolled its eyes,
snorted, and tried to tug away from where it had been tied.

Probably spooked by the smell of blood.

“Hold still, Lightning,” Gabe muttered,
shifting positions so he could
half
manage to press Justin against the horse. To its
credit, the horse stopped moving immediately, and not for the first
time, Sam was relieved the horses at Crooked Tree were so well
trained.