A Cowboy's Home (4 page)

Then, without talking to anyone, he
deliberately turned off the main road and passed the staff houses,
heading up past Ember Bluff into the wilderness beyond. Way past
where people would ride, way out to the very edges of Crooked Tree,
and with every second Sam was out there, the rush of air clearing
his thoughts, he began to feel more at peace.

Yep.

He was needed at Crooked Tree. He was
important there.

He was home.

Justin decided to take the car as far as he
could, abandoning it under trees, wiping it down again, amazed he
had even got this far. The dizziness had passed and he didn’t feel
sick anymore, although he doubted he had anything left in his
stomach and he was unsteady on his feet. He cut down a branch and
used his body weight to yank at it until he had a stick to balance
his awkward, painful steps. He managed to get onto Crooked Tree
land, remembering the trails, avoiding everyone, and making his way
to the old cabins way up near the tree line.

He pushed through tangled roots and bushes,
taking care to have the foliage close behind him, and stumbled to
the first cabin he found. Its door listed open, cracked wide enough
for him to enter easily.

He slumped to the ground, exhausted and sore,
and made his way through the list.

Xander Walden, Dillon Naves,
David Crane, Travis Graham, Jamie
Crane.
Justin rolled the names around in his head.

Xander had been arrested early on and
committed suicide before Justin could get to him. Xander Walden,
who had been the one to cut him, to rape him, to pay special
attention to Adam made Justin sick thinking of it to this day.

Dillon and David were dead with Justin’s
bullets in their brains as they tried to run.

Travis? He’d been hanging on the side of a
building, pleading with Justin to pull him up, to help him, and
Justin had backed away, listening to his pleas and ignoring them,
until Travis’s arms finally gave up on holding his weight.
Screaming, Travis plunged ten stories to land right on the
sidewalk. His blood had pooled around his broken body.

Justin looked down—and felt nothing.

Four down, one to go. Just Jamie Crane to
find now. Jamie, the kid who’d watched and done nothing.

Dillon had held Adam down as David poured
chemicals down Adam’s throat. Xander and Travis had laughed and
encouraged it all. Then they’d done the same thing to Justin.

And Jamie had done nothing. A frightened kid,
yes, but a part of it nonetheless.

Justin and Adam had stumbled onto the five of
them by accident, just new meat for sadistic shit that got the
group worked up to carry their hatred into a city, bombing and
killing. The four men hurt Justin, yes, but more than that, they
destroyed Adam.

Four large men, with the two boys tied up,
talked of what they needed to do, of the explosives they had, of
the way they would incite hatred.

And throughout all
of it, Adam had been so quiet.
He’d lost consciousness the
first time they hurt him. Xander Walden had choked him unconscious,
and Justin had prayed Adam would stay that way as they forced
Justin to watch them hurt his best friend. Adam was in and out of
consciousness, his words slurring; he couldn’t remember where they
were or who Justin was. He was dying right in front of Justin.

Justin never lost consciousness; he
remembered it all.

He remembered the moment they hit Adam so
hard Justin thought they’d killed him, slammed his head against the
concrete in the bunker, blood spraying up the wall. He recalled
every single horrific moment of what they did to Adam.

And they’d paid.

Justin had found them and killed them all,
directly or indirectly. He’d put himself in a position where he
could look down at their faces and know they were gone from this
earth. That they wouldn’t hurt him, or anyone he loved, again.

All except Jamie. He’d gone to ground, hidden
himself so well, that Justin hadn’t found him.

Yet.

The four he’d killed had paid for what they’d
done to Adam, for the torture they’d inflicted on the both of them,
for the way they splashed chemicals over them and left them to burn
to death.

They’d killed Adam. The last thing Justin saw
was Adam lying unmoving. Adam’s last sound before that, his scream
of horror as chemicals ignited around him, echoed in Justin’s head
as clearly today as it had done twelve years ago.

Justin held the gun in his lap, the cold
steel heavy and familiar in his hold. That gun had killed Dillon
and David. Seeing Travis experience absolute terror on that side of
that building had been what stopped Justin from shooting him, too,
and making his exit from the world an easy one.

Revenge for Adam.

“Jamie Crane,” Justin murmured. Jamie would
be the only one to get away with what had happened, because there
was no way Justin was making it out of the cabin. The pain was too
much; his head was cloudy, his thoughts rambling and incoherent
even to him. He had a fever, was going to die there.

But he wasn’t going to go slowly. He turned
the gun to face himself, the barrel at his temple, his finger on
the trigger.

Jamie Crane was the only one left, the one he
couldn’t find, the one who’d stood by and done nothing as the
others tortured him and Adam.

Was it worth more pain to stay in this
existence and find him? Betrayal burned, and Jamie had just been a
kid. Like Justin, like Adam.

Pain knifed through Justin’s head and his
neck, and he heard himself whimper.

I might as well leave now.

It would be easy to pull the trigger. He slid
the barrel into his mouth, angling it up. No point in doing this by
halves, he wanted the bullet in the brain; he wanted death.

He’d given up everything. His family, his
identity, his life, to make amends. And the team had lied to him.
They’d said Adam was dead, that they would give Justin access to
anything he needed to make things right, and Justin had taken the
bargain. The one where he became a hired killer because doing that
meant he could make things right for Adam.

Adam is alive.

Something
unfurled
deep inside him and Justin recognized it for
what it was: a slow flow of emotion he couldn’t handle.

The barrel was cold, his mouth dry, and he
curled his tongue around its length, tasting the metal and counting
down to the moment he would take himself away from all of this.

Five.

For Adam.

Four.

For the pain and the scars and the agony of
memories.

Three.

For Ethan, who is better off thinking his
little brother is dead.

Two.

For me. Because I can’t live with this
anymore.

One.

He couldn’t do it.

Justin pulled the gun from his mouth. Hot
tears like acid on his skin.

He had a job to do; he still needed to find
Jamie, the last one on his list. He needed to kill him, watch him
die.

For Adam.

On Sam’s first morning back home in his
apartment over Branches, he woke early to the sounds and scents of
a beautiful June morning. He showered, tidied up his short stubble,
and styled his hair. Then, in his chef’s whites, he went straight
down to his kitchen, pulled out his notebook, and lost himself in
ordering and planning.

In his week off, there had been a rush on a
lot of really odd things. Vegetables, fruit and breakfast cereal. A
whole shelf of the stuff had been decimated. Not only that, but
tomato sauce was splattered on the floor of the storeroom.

I go away one week….

He cleared up the mess, although the stain on
the floor wasn’t tomato—it looked like blood. Maybe the steaks they
used yesterday had tipped and gotten blood on the floor.

Sam dismissed the worry, resolved to talk to
Ashley about cleaning up after herself. He settled into his day,
taking orders from some of the people up there riding, or maybe
they were just visiting Branches to check out the small restaurant
that was open for coffees and lunches.

Sam added more fresh produce to the list and
tapped a pen on his lips. Next up was the orders for cakes, which
had kind of become a specialty for them at Crooked Tree. Between
him and Ashley, they had a thriving side business in celebration
cakes. The order book was already full, and he began to scribble
notes about the next cake he would be in charge of, a birthday cake
for Josh, Ashley’s son.

“Sam!”

A voice squealed his name and he turned just
in time as Josh launched himself at him.

Talk of the devil….

Sam caught the armful of growing boy, hugging
him close and then setting him back to look at him critically. Josh
was going to be eight in a few days’ time, and Sam already had
plans for his cake. He was close to this kid, who loved to stand
next to him in the kitchen and chat away as he worked.

Josh was one of the only people on the ranch
shorter than Sam, never mind he was a seven-year-old kid—or nearly
eight, as Josh kept insisting. Sam took it as a win, anyway. He was
five nine and wiry, but like Gabe had once said, he had the
attitude to make up for the lack of height. Of course, Sam had to
knock Gabe on his ass when he added that Sam was cute and
pint-sized.

“I swear you’ve gotten taller,” Sam told
Josh.

“Nah, no way. Eben is still way taller than
me, and his pants are way up his ankles.”

Eben, short for Ebenezer—named because he was
born on Christmas Day—was Josh’s best friend, a cute kid with red
hair and freckles who could devour six cupcakes and still want
more.

“Poor Eben,” Sam said, grinning. Then he
focused on Josh. “Whatcha up to, kid?”

Josh looked around with innocence pasted on
his face. “Nothin’.”

Sam knew
exactly
what Josh was up to. “You’re not seeing your cake
design.” Sam added a smile and yanked his notebook from the
counter. He’d just been sketching there, and he couldn’t help but
laugh. Josh had some kind of sixth sense whenever Sam was in the
kitchen, planning.

“Just a quick look.”

Sam pushed the notebook in the ties of his
white apron. “Nuh-huh. Your mom would kill me if the surprise was
ruined.”

“She wouldn’t have to know,” Josh said.

Sam couldn’t help the snort of laughter.
Ashley was a real mom who was part of her kids’ lives. The kind who
loved
unconditionally
, and as such
she was endowed with freaky powers.

“She’s a mom. She knows everything.” Sam
passed two small plates to Josh, one with a toasted homemade bagel
smothered in cream cheese and salmon, the other with two savory
cheese and walnut muffins. “Take these to table six, and mind your
manners.”

He watched Josh carefully take them to an
older couple at the table in the window, place the plates in the
middle of the table, and step back after offering a wide smile.
Josh loved helping at the restaurant and seemed to have inherited
his mom’s knack with cakes and cookies. Sam had never thought he
would tolerate a kid in his kitchen, but Josh was different,
respectful and cute, and he listened to Sam. There was probably a
small amount of hero worship involved, but that was a lot to do
with the fact that Sam had made him a rocking birthday cake last
year: a
Star Wars
–themed affair that Sam was worried he
wouldn’t be able to top this go-round.

He considered the cake designs he had in
mind.
Star Wars
was last year, but it could be this year as
well. Last year had been a perfect representation of BB8, and he’d
built it over a twisted framework, working together with Ashley to
get it
just right
.

He flicked open his notebook and realized
he’d zoned out thinking of designs. His head had taken him on a
journey he hadn’t wanted, back to thinking about his own sterile
childhood and family and the check he still had upstairs. No one
would have made Sam a cake for his birthday. No, his birthday was
all about carefully selected investment options and a polite dinner
with his parents, brother, and judgmental grandmother. No parties.
No real gifts. No cakes. Just… nothing. Maybe the money they’d
finally handed him was enough to make that better?

Sam shook his head. Nothing could make his
fucked-up childhood better.

“Any chance of a coffee?” Marcus asked from
the door.

Sam looked up with a ready smile.
Marcus looked stronger lately.
Sam didn’t
know how the treatments were going, but Marcus was brighter, more
focused. Of course it helped that he had focus in his life with
Adam back. Because if Adam was alive, then maybe Marcus’s own son,
Justin, could be out there as well.

Hope was a thing that Marcus had given up a
long time ago, but it seemed to be growing again.

“Coming right up, boss.” Sam took some beans
and began to hand grind them, none of that machine grinding for
him. Call him a perfectionist, but coffee making was an art. Sam
knew Marcus liked his coffee strong and black, Jay loved cream, and
Ashley had sugar in hers unless she was eating cake. He knew every
request of the people he shared the ranch with.

Sam slid the filled coffee mug onto a saucer
and placed two small biscotti next to it. It might be a staff
coffee, but Sam never handed over anything that wasn’t as close to
perfection as he could make it.

“We’d like to get you up to the house
tonight, a meeting of sorts,” Marcus said.

“Okay.” Sam wasn’t going to read anything
into the way Marcus couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Probably more of
that Sam-is-grieving shit. “What time?”

“Do you have guests booked in for dinner
tonight?”

“No, we canceled them up to next Monday
because I wasn’t sure when I’d be back.”