A Cowboy's Home (9 page)

“No, I was coming down for coffee, saw the
bike, thought I’d say hello.”

Sam smiled and then opened the back door to
Branches, “Come on then, gorgeous, let’s get you
coffeed
up.”

Adam followed him in. Ashley was at the
counter, and they had maybe ten customers in three small groups,
all drinking coffee and eating Ashley’s pastries. The buzz of the
place was warm, and Sam felt any tension he’d been carrying slide
off him.

“Everything okay?” Ashley asked
immediately.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Sam said and rolled his
eyes. “Forgot to take lunch. I’m going back out, if that’s
okay?”

Ashley smiled at him. “Kirsten is coming in
to help when she gets back.”

Sam grinned. He loved Kirsten, with her
attitude and her fuck-off vibe, which despite having calmed a
little recently, was still front and center when someone pissed her
off. She was, however, very good and incredibly polite to people in
the restaurant, and that was enough to get into Sam’s good books.
She was on break, same as Luke, always with her head buried in
books, with a focused determination that never failed to amaze
Sam.

He stepped past Ashley, leaving her to deal
with Adam, and went straight up the back steps to his place. He
closed the door behind him, and for the longest time just stood
there thinking about what he’d seen and what he was about to do.
What did Tom need? Blankets, a cushion or something? A fleece,
because hell, it would get cold up there at night.

Quickly, Sam layered himself up: three
T-shirts, a baggy sweatshirt—because Tom was bigger than him. Not
broader, but taller and more stretched out. Sam added another
sweater for good measure, rolled wooly socks, two beanies, and two
blankets into a backpack, adding a cushion embroidered with the
words “I’m so gay, I can’t even think straight”—a present from an
ex who’d long since left his life—and forced it all in. Then he
slipped on his thick winter coat, stuffing the pockets with
anything else he could think of: the painkillers he kept in his
kitchen drawer, the antiseptic cream from the bathroom, a mirror,
toothpaste and toothbrush.

“What else?” he murmured, doing a full
three-sixty around his room. He shoved his Kindle into his pocket,
and that was it.

Sam made his way downstairs, pulled out
various parcels of food, and crept out the back door. Thankfully no
one saw him wrapped up like a freaking Abominable Snowman on a warm
day.

He made his way in the opposite direction to
where he needed to go, and only when he was out of view of anyone
at Crooked Tree did he double back, high up at the tree line, and
make his way back to the cabin.

Will Tom still be there?

Hell, the man didn’t look like he could stay
conscious for long, let alone make a run for it.

God knows why he was doing this, but
something about Tom, some spark in the man screamed that he needed
Sam.

And right about then, Sam needed to take his
mind off the crap in his head and to feel good about himself.

He needed Tom right back, because something
about Tom drew him in beyond the wish to help an injured man.

He just wasn’t sure what it was yet.

Justin placed the gun on the floor next to
him. What now? Sam said he’d be back, but what if he brought Ryan
with him? Or Gabe, or Nate… or Ethan?

What would Justin say to any of them? How
could he find an end to his guilt when he couldn’t believe anyone
would accept what
he
’d done, what
he’d needed to do?

He curled up on himself and managed to get
onto
all fours. Pain lanced
through his thigh, but he’d been through worse. He’d endured years
of skin grafts, an agony he never imagined he’d live through. He
was hardened to it all.

He hadn’t died then because he had a job to
finish. All those years, and always unspoken was that the
department’s blunt instrument, the man with no past, would die
before revealing who he was or that he was still alive. That was
the deal he’d made to keep his family safe, a devil’s bargain he’d
accepted long ago.

Because I saw Adam die…. Because it was my
fault and I couldn’t live with myself.

But… he’s not dead.

Justin settled his breathing and willed away
the nausea,
reached for the gun,
and pushed himself to his feet, using the wall for balance, swaying
into rotting wood and corrugated iron even as he got upright.

I’ve gone through worse. I can move. Fucking
stupid to come here.

He took a few steps toward the door, shaky
footfalls on an uneven floor. The world was slipping away from
under him and he stopped dead still, waiting for his vision to stop
spinning.

The scent of the forest in my nose, cold of
steel in my fingers, metallic taste of blood where I’m biting my
lip.

Justin collapsed to his knees when what
little energy and focus he had left disappeared in a rush.

Blackness stole his breath, and he fell all
the way to the ground.

“Wake up,” a voice instructed. Not softly,
but stern and to the point. “Wake. The. Fuck. Up. Or I will call
the cops. Worse than that, I’ll get Ethan up here, and he’ll just
arrest your ass for trespassing and you’ll never get out of prison,
like, ever. Wake up, Tom,
wake up
.”

Justin opened his eyes. Sweat collected in
them. He blinked away the sting and looked right up at a very
pissed Sam.

He woke up just to stop Sam shouting at him.
“No,” he bit out. “Nobody else.”

Sam sat back on his haunches, stern
expression giving way to relief. “Thank fuck for that,” he
muttered. “Thought you were dead, you asshole.”

“I tried,” Justin mumbled and then bit his
bloody lip again to ground himself. He was still sprawled on the
floor, pretty much where he imagined he had fallen, but his head
was on something soft. He attempted moving to see what it was but
winced at the pain inside his skull.

“Stay still,” Sam ordered. “I need to check
your thigh.”

Justin reached for his jeans, wanting to help
Sam, and found bare skin. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered to pull his
pants up before attempting to leave the shack. No wonder he fell on
his ass.

Light filled the room. Sam had brought a
flashlight, and Justin shrank back away from the light. He reached
around, locating the gun he’d dropped and wrapping his fingers
around it. He pulled it close to his chest.

Sam huffed and pushed Justin’s hands out of
the way.

“Okay, this is fucked,” he prodded the thigh
wound again, and Justin couldn’t help the soft curse. “I googled
this, and we just need to make sure the wound is clean and there is
no infection.”

“You read all that on the Internet?” Justin
asked.

“Yep. Google is my friend.” Sam helped him to
sit a little and then moved whatever soft thing was behind him to
make him more comfortable. “But the sheriff’s brother is a
paramedic and a friend. We could get him up if you insist on
staying here.”

Justin simply glared at Sam, which gave him a
complete response about how he felt on that matter. The word
paramedic
was bad enough, but add in
sheriff
? “I’ll
burn off the infection,” he said defiantly, although the pain, on a
scale of one to ten, was heading upward rapidly.

Sam muttered something under his breath.
“Look. I brought up blankets, this coat that will keep you warm,
and some other things.”

Sam stood and shrugged off his thick coat, a
sweater—or was that two?—and three separate T-shirts. He laid
everything in a pile. “For you,” he said. “We need to talk,
Tom.”

Justin winced at the tone. “No, we
don’t.”

“Yes. We. Do. We need to get you to a doctor.
Hell, at least get you a shower. You stink like a jock’s locker,
and that shit all over you can’t be good for the infection.”

“I’m okay.”

“Says the man I found face-planted on the
ground.”

“I was sleeping,” Justin defended.

“You were unconscious.”

“I don’t need a doctor. I just want to
go.”

“Like to see you try,” Sam pointed out.

“Leave me your bike, then.” Justin had
thought about that. Sitting there on Crooked Tree land was asking
for trouble. He shouldn’t have come, but he had, so he couldn’t
have regrets now. The ranch was part of him, and he’d wanted to die
there.

Only it appeared he wasn’t going to die, and
hell if he was going to eat the barrel of his gun right then. He’d
already tried that once, and he hadn’t been man enough to go
through with removing his sorry self from around normal people.

“My bike,” Sam said flatly.

“Leave it, walk back to whatever you do. I’ll
get on it and leave, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed and held out the key.
“Take the key from my hand, make your way out of the tangle of
trees to the bike, manage to start it, and then stay on it without
passing out. Then you can take it.”

Justin stared at Sam for a second. He reached
for the key but couldn’t quite get there; he was dizzy and sick and
beyond movement. He flopped back on the soft cushion, wincing in
pain. “Fuck you,” he said, with force and feeling.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Sam pressed a
hand to Justin’s arm, running it the full length of it.

“Stop fucking touching me.”

Sam sighed. “I brought wipes with me, if you
want to clean off. You want my help?”

“No.”

“Jesus, you are one idiot patient.”

“You’re not a doctor.”

“Yeah, you’re right. So what’s to stop me
getting on my bike and just going to get a doctor, or calling the
paramedics?”

“You haven’t already.”

“Because I’m clearly fucked in the head,” Sam
cursed. It sounded wrong coming from his lips. “But you haven’t
shot me yet, so I guess I can do what I want.”

Justin played the only card he had, gripping
the gun tight. “You’re worried about me dying? Tell you what, then.
You tell anyone I’m here, and I’ll kill myself.”

Sam sat back on his haunches, his eyes wide
in shock. “What the hell? What kind of sick fuck would…? Why would
you…?”

“Stop talking,” Justin snapped. “And go
away.”

“And leave you wallowing in your own shit?”
Sam wrinkled his nose. “Literally? Look, do you think you could
move? We’re about a mile from some cabins on the ranch. I checked,
and there are three empty ones. You could get a bed and a
shower.”

Justin knew the cabins like the back of his
hand. The closest were the Forest Cabins, spread apart, a mile from
the ranch itself, along an old loggers’ road. He’d discounted them.
They were too close to his family, to normality.
Because even a mile was too close.
“No.”

“Jesus, this is fucking ridiculous! I live
over Branches. I’ll take you back to mine.”

“Hell no. Just leave me alone.”

“You are one stubborn fucking asshole of a
freaking stupid idiot.”

Justin simply stared at him, counting down to
the moment Sam left. Which, inevitably, he would do.

His head pounded with pain and he closed his
eyes. His throat was raw, his eyes ached, and he was freezing. Half
turning on the soft pillow, he found the wood floor was hard, and
he cursed as he cuddled his gun close. “If Rob knew I’m here then
he’d kill me, and anyone that knew I was here. ’S what we do,” he
muttered.

Please, just leave me alone.

The
bile
deep inside him bubbled up, acid in his mouth, and he lost
everything he’d eaten onto the floor right beside him.

And Sam, holding Justin’s hair, his head,
reassured him and cursed at him in the same breath. “That’s fucking
it
,” Sam was saying. “You’ll choke on your own vomit.”

Sam rolled him a little more, bending
Justin’s knee and putting him into the recovery position. Before
darkness swallowed him, Justin could swear he heard Sam say he
needed help.

And Justin couldn’t stop him.

Sam stopped at Ember Bluff again, knowing he
could get service, and for a while his finger hovered over the 911
he’d typed in. Then flying by instinct alone, he deleted that and
instead went to Contacts. Ethan wasn’t on site—he was over in
Missoula—but Nate was down there somewhere, as was Jay and
Gabe.

He tried Nate. No answer. Then Gabe next, who
answered on the second ring. “Yo, Sam.” A smile in his voice.

“I need your help.”

“What’s wrong?” Gabe didn’t make a joke.
Evidently he’d picked up on the anxiety and urgency in Sam’s voice.
“Oh my God, is it Ashley, the kids? My brothers—?”

“No,” Sam interrupted before Gabe passed out
going through a list of everyone he cared for. “Hell, no, I just
have... something. Do you know the old shacks up behind Ember
Bluff, about a mile up from them?”

There was a moment of silence. “Yes, kind of.
There’s about five of them, old cabins from before the ranch was
officially here. Loggers’ shacks, I think.”

Five? Shit, Sam hadn’t counted five, just the
one he’d sat inside with Tom. “Is Nate around somewhere?”

“No, he left twenty minutes ago. He’s out
with a family on a trail with Adam. Is everything okay?”

“Jay?”

“Jay? He’s gone to town. Shit, Sam, tell me
what’s wrong. You’re worrying me.”

“Can you get here?”

“Where?”

“The cabins up past Ember Bluff.”

“What?”

“Gabe, listen to me. I found a man in one of
the cabins. He has a gun and no ID. He’s ill, and we need to get
him help.”

“Okay, I’ll call the sheriff and the
paramedics—”

“No. He said no. Look, can you just get
here?”

“Sam—”

“Gabe, please, just you. No 911.” There was
no way Sam wanted a man’s life on his conscience.