A Cowboy's Home (14 page)

“Well, why not?”

Ethan shook his head wordlessly, so it was up
to Sam to fill in the obvious blanks. “Because Justin says he’s in
protection because people want to kill him, then in the same breath
he says he has warrants out on him.”

Ethan nodded. “We bring a medic here, one
that is the big brother to the freaking sheriff? Shit, it would be
like pouring fuel on fire. Jesus.”

Marcus wasn’t done. “Aaron’s a professional
medic, Ethan. Surely he’s bound by patient confidentiality? We have
to do something. Justin needs help.”

“It’s a bullet wound, Dad,” Ethan cursed. “He
doesn’t need a paramedic, he needs a fucking surgeon.”

Sam shrank back. Things were getting out of
hand, and in the middle of it, Justin lay on the bed pale and
clammy, his breathing steady, but his body was throwing off heat.
“Anyone. He just needs help,” Sam insisted in his best controlled,
loud voice, snapping into the standoff between father and son.

Finally, Adam made the decision. “Call Aaron.
If Justin’s a criminal, then better a live criminal than a dead
one.”

Everyone fell silent. Then Ethan, who stared
at Adam with disbelief at first, relented and hugged him. “I’ll
make the call.”

He went outside the cabin, holding up his
cell and finding bars, placing a call. All the time he paced, and
every single person in the cabin watched him.

“I said I’d meet Aaron at the ranch road,”
Ethan announced as he came in.

“I want to come with you,” Adam said. Sam saw
the panic in Adam’s eyes, and the way he reached for Ethan.

Almost as an afterthought, Ethan picked up
Justin’s gun from the cabinet. He hefted the weight of it, looked
it over dispassionately, and checked for bullets. His expression
didn’t change; was that the kind of gun a criminal might use? Was
that even a question? It wasn’t like cops used good guns and
criminals used bad ones.

Ethan slid the weapon into the top drawer of
the solid wood unit, gesturing to it and facing Sam. “You know
where it is, in case he needs it. Because I don’t like this, any of
it. Okay?”

“You think you should call Ryan as well as
Aaron?”

The sheriff was all up in the ranch’s
business, a liaison between the Department of Justice guys and the
family. The DOJ men had been there a few days before Sam left for
the funeral, asking Adam more questions, none of which Adam could
answer. That was what Ashley told Sam as they prepped for service.
She’d said Adam had cried and how she couldn’t imagine what he was
going through.

Sam had no idea at all. Sometimes he wished
he could forget some of the shit in his life, but not if it meant
being as lost as Adam appeared at times.

“No,” Ethan said. “I don’t want to ask him
to—Look; I’ll take the heat on this if it comes to it. No point in
adding in another person to get crucified for harboring a
fugitive.” He pulled himself tall, pushed his shoulders back.
“Please watch him, Sam. Don’t let him leave.”

“Promise.”

Ethan gripped his upper arm tight in a
gesture of thanks, and with one more look at his sleeping brother,
he went outside. Ethan crouched by Gabe, and they talked a little.
Sam and Marcus watched until he and Adam mounted horses and
disappeared down the trails.

“Did he mention anything about—” Marcus
paused to press the back of his hand to Justin’s forehead. “—any of
it,” he finally finished.

Justin moved, turned a little to his side,
exposing some of his scars.

Marcus paled, then tears coursed down his
face, and he pressed a fist to his chest. “I need some air,” he
muttered.

Which left Sam on his own
with Justin.

Marcus stood outside next to Gabe, but it
didn’t seem like they were talking. Sam understood why they
couldn’t stay in the cabin; everyone was in shock.

Sam’s stomach growled. He rummaged in his
backpack, pulled out a fruit juice and a packet of chips, bemoaning
the fact that this was his second main meal of just snacks. He
could feel his nutritional standards falling almost by the minute,
not to mention his taste buds, which were dying one by one.

Then he considered where to sit and decided
the best place would be as close to Justin as he could manage. He
dragged in a chair from the dining area but gave up when it was
hard and unyielding to his ass. Instead he climbed onto the bed and
made a nest of pillows. There he was between Justin and the gun,
and also, more importantly, he would be a friendly face if Justin
woke up.

Unsettled, he climbed down again and went
into the bathroom to wet a small towel with cold water, considering
how the hell he could make it any colder. He switched on the small
fridge at the wall; they needed it if this was going to last for
days.

He pressed the cloth to Justin’s forehead and
held it there. Justin muttered something under his breath. Sam
listened but couldn’t make out anything past a single word:
blue
.

What that meant, he had no idea. Maybe he
should ask Justin when he was lucid again.

Talking of which, he should wake Justin up
right about then if he was going to follow the whole concussion
protocol. Sam placed the juice and chips on the nightstand and
shook Justin gently, then more forcefully until Justin opened his
eyes, blurred and unfocused.

“Hey, who is the president? What’s your name?
What day is it?”

Justin blinked, rattled off the answers with
no small amount of sarcasm, and stared right up at Sam. “Hey, sexy
blue,” he slurred and closed his eyes again.

At least he wasn’t dead, or dying, or
whatever. But he was clearly delirious. Not that Sam didn’t think
himself sexy. He felt sexy most of the time. But Justin was off his
head with pain, so Sam ignored him. Still, at least he had a
concept of the word
blue
as Justin used it, and he
guessed—or was it hoped?—it could have something to do with his
eyes.

He picked up his juice again, checked the
battery on his phone, and opened his Kindle. He was currently
halfway through a Grisham book, all
spies
and twists, and he couldn’t fail to realize that
the book was an awful lot like real life.

Grisham’s words didn’t distract him from
worrying; from this vantage point, he could see Gabe still sitting
on the ground, but there was now no sign of Marcus. Sam wriggled a
little; enforced sitting was not his strong point.

And then Justin moved, turned onto his front,
moaning in pain, and then a few seconds later onto his side. He was
clearly asleep rather than unconscious, and evidently looking for
something to hold onto.

Like Sam’s leg, for instance.

Well, the material of Sam’s jeans, at
least.

Then Justin murmured something and curled up
a little, resting his head in Sam’s lap and snuggling around
him.

Sam held his hands up and out of the way, and
then realized he couldn’t do that indefinitely. He attempted to be
good and move away, but Justin mumbled his dissent and gripped the
denim hard.

“Okay, buddy,” Sam said, settling himself
with his phone in one hand, the book still open, and his other hand
having nowhere to rest except on Justin’s head.

Justin’s hair had dried, soft and fluffy and
a lot blonder than Sam had first thought it was. Ethan’s hair
wasn’t that blond; in fact, Ethan’s hair had a hint of red in its
darker blond—not that Sam had spent a long time staring at Ethan’s
hair. Or Nate’s ass. Or Jay’s pretty face.

Yeah, right.

He moved his fingers a little, stroking them
through Justin’s soft hair, and without consciously realizing it,
he was massaging Justin’s scalp, trying to avoid the lump that had
to be painful given that Justin gasped whenever Sam inadvertently
ran a finger over it.

Justin appeared either not to have any idea
of what Sam was doing or actually to like it. He murmured something
again and snuggled into Sam’s lap.

“Sexy blue,” Justin muttered, rubbing his
face in Sam’s lap, and then
stilling
.

Dangerously close to Sam’s cock, actually.
Which, for once, was behaving itself around a good-looking man.
Because Sam wasn’t the kind of person to get hard over an
unconscious man, right? Even a man that close to his groin, moaning
about Sam’s eyes.

Possibly.

Justin was hot, burning up. He was delirious,
this was stupid, and Sam really hoped Aaron got here soon.

The door opened and Gabe stepped in, looking
a little disheveled and still clearly in shock. Evidently he’d
decided to confront the situation instead of sitting outside.
Although, Sam couldn’t blame him for his distance so far: this must
be one hell of a shock.

“Is he okay?” Gabe asked, his voice low.

“Sleeping,” Sam answered, not stilling his
gentle massage.

“That isn’t good.” Gabe closed the door
behind him and crossed to the bed. He sat on the other side of
Justin, resting a hand on Justin’s back on the material of the
T-shirt.

Under that cotton was a horror Sam couldn’t
quite get his head around. “The scars,” he murmured.

Gabe nodded, biting his lower lip, his eyes
bright. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” He bowed his head.
“What do you think…? I mean….” He didn’t finish, but Sam ended the
sentence in his head.

What do you think happened?

“I don’t know, but to have survived that, can
you imagine the hell he must have gone through?” Some protective
urge had him twisting his fingers in Justin’s hair for a brief
moment, reassuring himself that Justin
was
still alive when
Justin reacted, grunting in his sleep.

“What do you think he meant? That he had one
more man to kill?”

That must have been what Ethan said to Gabe
out there; telling Gabe exactly what Justin had told him. No wonder
Gabe had finally come in looking like his world was ending.

Sam didn’t answer. He didn’t have anything to
offer, so he merely shrugged at the question.

Gabe sighed. “I wish Ashley were here.”

“I don’t,” Sam joked, “because then we’d have
to close Branches.”

Gabe frowned. “I don’t think that—”

“I was joking,” Sam interrupted.
“Inappropriate-Sam, that’s what they call me.”

“Who?” Gabe asked, confused.

“That was a joke as well. Shit, just ignore
me.” No one actually called him that, but people who knew him did
call him the King of Sarcasm or Master of Flirting. Those were
labels he was happy to have for most of the time. Until, of course,
he’d gone home for the funeral and slipped back into Sam the Gay
One, Sam the Troublemaker, Sam the Loser.

And there I go, back to the shit in my head.
When the guy with his head in my lap is a hell of a lot worse
off.

Gabe went to the kitchen and pulled out a
glass from the cabinet, running the water for a little while before
filling the glass and sipping as he watched them from the
kitchen.

“Did you wake him up to check he’s okay?”

Sam nodded. “He knows his own name, the
president, the day of the week, and he told me to fuck off.” The
last he lied about, because “sexy blue” wasn’t exactly like fuck
off, but he wasn’t going to tell Gabe the whole truth there.

Sam had been aiming to get Gabe to crack a
smile, but Gabe leaned on the work surface and shook his head. “He
was sixteen when he left, you know. Adam was only fifteen but
really close to his sixteenth birthday.”

Sam nodded. He liked Gabe, and if Gabe wanted
to talk around this, then Sam was happy to listen.
Justin moved in his lap; he was so hot—this was getting
stupid.
Sam checked his watch. He’d give Ethan another half
hour and then he was calling a doctor himself.

“I was the baby of the three,” Gabe
continued. “Nearly a whole year younger, but in the same classes at
school. The three of us were real close. I recall laughing,
teasing, pulling pranks, Justin riding Easy… I remember all that.
But that man lying there, that’s not the Justin I knew.”

Sam looked down at the sleeping form.
“He’s older now,” he offered, even as he
thought it was a lame thing to say.
“It must be hard for
Ethan, and for you, with Adam as well.”

Sam felt like he was the barrier between
Justin and the family, almost as if the rest of them could learn to
handle Justin being back if they didn’t need to confront it all in
one go. Sam was torn. That was a position he would gladly take, but
at the same time it scared him. Everyone else was looking to him
for answers, and Sam didn’t have them.

“I’ll wait outside, if that’s okay?”

“It’s fine.”

“I would stay, but I can’t get my head around
this. I need…”

“I said it’s okay, Gabe.”

Gabe’s eyes brightened and he pressed his
lips together hard, evidently fighting tears. He nodded, but didn’t
say anything as he topped up the glass of water. “Call out for me
if you need me,” he murmured, and with one last pointed look at
Justin, he left, closing the door behind him.

“Has he gone?” Justin murmured.

Sam startled. Had Justin been awake through
that? “Yeah, he’s gone outside.”

“Okay, I need you to go talk to him, distract
him.” Justin coughed. “Give me time to get out the back.”

“No,” Sam said. “Hell no.” He tightened his
grip in Justin’s hair, and they had a small tug of war as Justin
attempted to extricate himself.

Only, Justin was as weak as a kitten and Sam
wasn’t entirely a pushover, despite being shorter and less muscled
than Justin was. Justin struggled, but his bad leg was entangled in
the sheet and Sam was holding all the winning cards.

“I told you,” Justin bit out and then
groaned. “It’s dangerous.”

Sam didn’t give in or release his hold, only
this time he gripped more T-shirt than hair.

Finally, Justin stilled and let out a loud
sigh. “I need the bathroom,” he said, his tone sharp.