Long Road Home (9 page)

“You’re going to pick me up?”

“Sure. We’re both going to the same place.”

This time when he shrugged that tanned, scarred shoulder, Austin had a sudden urge to lick it. Then take a nip. Not a hard one. Just enough to leave her brand. “Doesn’t make sense to take two rigs,” he pointed out.

Could it really be this easy? Deciding that when Heather got back from her anniversary trip, she was going to treat them both to a spa day over in K. Falls, Austin smiled. “Five sounds great.” Deciding to leave now, before he changed his mind or she caved in to the impulse to just jump him, she said, “I’ve got to go feed the horses.”

“Thanks again for the flowers,” he said as he walked her the few feet to the door.

“No problem. They were just growing there, after all.” She was on the porch when she turned and looked back at him. He was standing in the doorway, the lowering sun gilding his naked flesh a gleaming copper. Once again her fingers tingled with the urge to touch his chest and see if it was as warm as it looked. “Oh, and Sawyer?”

“Yeah?”

“Buy yourself some furniture. You’re not in Afghanistan anymore. Or roughing it on a roundup.”

Her business done, she headed toward the barn. And although she didn’t look back, Austin could feel Sawyer watching her walk away.

9

B
Y
F
RIDAY MORNING,
Austin was a nervous wreck. She was trying to stay low-key. After all, it was just a dinner with friends. No big deal. Right?

Wrong.

Not helping was Heather dropping by and vetoing the jeans and blouse she’d planned to wear.

“I don’t want him to think I’m trying to lasso him,” Austin protested.

“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” Heather said. “Guys aren’t that adept at nuance. You have to hit him between the eyes.” She was deep in the closet, shoving hangers aside. “This skirt.” She pulled out a short washed-denim skirt with a swirly line of rhinestones edging the hip pocket.

“That was an impulse buy from our day at the outlet mall last summer.” One that still had the tags.

“I remember. Layla and I had to spend all lunch talking you into going back to the store to buy it.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have had that margarita with my taco salad.”

“If that’s what it takes to loosen you up, I’m ordering a pitcher for the table tonight.” Heather continued searching. “What happened to the blouse you bought to go with it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Good try.” She unearthed it from beneath a thick cardigan rag sweater. “Here it is.”

The cream-hued crocheted top was just barely lined for modesty. But its neckline dove low to showcase cleavage that Austin didn’t have. “It’s tacky.”

“A bit,” Heather agreed. “But guys respond really, really well to tacky.” She tossed it on the bed beside the skirt. “Especially ones who’ve spent the past year being around women wearing camo or burkas. Wear your rodeo queen boots.”

“I’ll look like I belong in a country music video,” Austin complained.

“All the better. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“I’m not desperate.”

“Aren’t you? Look.” Heather crossed her arms. “You and Sawyer have screwed this up too many times. So now you’re back to square one, and if you don’t do something to get the man off the dime, you may end up losing him to someone else.”

Okay. Austin hadn’t considered that possibility.

Which was why, seven hours later, she was still second-guessing the entire idea.

“Pacing a path in the floor isn’t going to speed the clock up any,” Buck pointed out.

“I just don’t want to be late. This is a big weekend for Heather and Tom.” She really needed to change back into jeans.

“The boy isn’t late yet.” He tapped a hand on the face of his wide, leather-banded watch. “He’s still got time.”

“I realize that.” She’d only checked the clock about ten times in the past ten minutes.

Her father’s eyes swept over her. “You’re pretty spiffed up for the New Chance.” Austin held her breath, waiting for the inevitable criticism. “Murphy’s toast.”

“It’s just a dinner with friends,” Austin insisted. The outfit was definitely overkill. It’d be like walking into the New Chance with a neon Do Me! sign over her head.

“Which explains why you and Heather spent all that time in your room this morning.” He lifted a brow. “Reminded me a lot of when you two were back in high school.”

Which was just what Austin didn’t need to hear since she couldn’t deny how close to those days this situation was. The only difference was back then she was the one helping Heather choose outfits to wow Tom Campbell.

“You and Sawyer Murphy have been waltzing around each other most of your lives,” he said, surprising Austin, who hadn’t even realized he’d been paying attention. Perhaps there was that rare dad a girl could talk with about boys, but Buck Merrill had never been him. “ ’Bout time one of you made a move.”

She was about to insist that she had no intention of making a move, when Sawyer’s truck—which she knew he’d bought used from Radley Biehn, who’d moved up to an SUV because his wife was pregnant with a surprise fourth baby—pulled up in front of the house.

“I’ve got to go.” She grabbed her jacket from the hook by the front door.

“Not till he comes in and gets you proper-like,” Buck said.

“Dad.” Austin rolled her eyes. “I’m not sixteen.”

“And neither is he. Which is why he should know that a gentleman doesn’t expect a lady to come running out to his truck like some girl in a country song.”

“Interesting analogy.” Who’d have thought her dad and Heather would be on the same page about anything? Even as she watched Sawyer climb out of the cab of the red truck and come around the hood, headed toward the door, Austin laughed. “My life seems to have turned into a country song the past couple years.” Including marrying a man whose last name she could barely remember the next morning.

Her father’s rugged features softened in a way that she hadn’t seen since she was ten and Matilda, the loyal Australian shepherd he’d allowed to sleep on her bed after her mother had left them, had died of old age.

“You’ve been through a rough patch,” he said, not even trying to deny what everyone in River’s Bend already knew too well. “But country music is about a helluva lot more than crying in your beer. Some of those tunes have happy endings.” He nodded decisively. “Which, if you ask me, you and that boy are overdue for.”

Love flooded through her like a river. Buck Merrill might not be one to toss compliments around like confetti, he might be gruff and stubborn as one of the mules he used to use for packing supplies up to high pastures, but Austin had never, for one minute, doubted that she was well and truly loved.

She bent down and hugged him. “You’re the best dad ever.”

She knew she’d disappointed him by up and marrying Jace, but he’d never, not once, said anything negative about her impulsive behavior. Even when she’d filed for divorce, all he’d had to say about the situation was, “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

She was about to ask him not to share their conversation with Sawyer, when there was a knock on the door. Smoothing down the front of the skirt—wishing her fairy godmother would suddenly show up and add three, make that six inches to it—Austin went to let him in.

“Hey.” His gaze, as it moved from head to toe, lingered for a heartbeat on her cleavage. Or lack of it, not that he appeared to care. “You look great.”

“Which is another way of saying I clean up well?” Realizing that she may have sounded defensive, she tried to move on by skimming a look over him. “You look pretty good, too, cowboy.”

This time she’d managed a teasing tone, like one old friend ragging on another. “I like that shirt.” Instead of the expected snap-front western shirt, he was wearing a black Sleater-Kinney band T-shirt topped with an open green-and-black watch plaid shirt with his Wranglers and Tony Lama boots.

“The girls have made a comeback,” he said, flashing that quick grin that had started making her toes curl back in middle school. “And high time.”

Although he listened to country like everyone else Austin knew, Sawyer had stood out in high school with his band shirts, some of which had gotten him sent home to change. Which was yet another trip down memory lane.

Which, in turn, had Austin wondering if, just maybe, he’d worn the shirt to send a message. Maybe that while a lot had changed, he wasn’t all that different? And even, perhaps, that she wasn’t the only one wishing they could go back in time and take a do-over?

Glancing past her to Buck, who was still seated in the La-Z-Boy, Sawyer took off his straw Stetson as he entered the house. “It’s good to see you again, sir.”

“Same here.” Putting both hands on the wide arms, although it took an obvious effort, her father managed to push himself upright out of the chair and held out a rough and work-gnarled hand. “Glad you made it back home in one piece.”

“That makes two of us,” Sawyer said. Although his smile stayed in place, Austin, who was watching him carefully, noticed the shadow drift across his whiskey-brown eyes. “Thanks for the lease of your pastureland.”

“Makes no damn sense having it sit idle,” Buck said gruffly. “Good to see cattle on it again.” He glanced over at Austin, then back to Sawyer as he gingerly lowered himself to his seat. “Heard you’re a hero.”

“You won’t be hearing that from me,” Sawyer said mildly.

“Modest, too.” He shot Austin a pointed look that had her holding her breath that he wouldn’t get into their relationship. Whatever it might be. Then, to her relief, he turned his attention back to Sawyer. “War’s never easy.”

“And yet governments keep having them.”

While his legs might not be as strong and steady as they once were, her father’s intimidating stare could still blister paint off the barn from a hundred yards. “I was in Lebanon for the barracks bombing. Came home with what these days they’re calling
issues
. You got any PTSD problems?”

“That must have been tough.” Sawyer didn’t flinch beneath her father’s probing gaze. “But I’ve no issues that I can’t deal with, sir.” He paused a beat, as if choosing his words carefully. “As I expect you did with yours.”

“Yeah. I did. But it took time.”

“Something I’ve got plenty of,” Sawyer pointed out.

Her dad blew out a breath, apparently signaling the end of the third-degree parental interrogation.

“Well, you’d best get going,” he said. “You two have a good time. And”—he jabbed a finger at Sawyer—“you’re going to have my little girl in that rig, so don’t go driving the way you used to. Like you were trying out for pole position at Talladega.”

“Dad,” Austin murmured.

“Yessir,” Sawyer responded politely while Austin’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “And I promise to have her home by midnight.”

“Didn’t necessarily say that,” Buck qualified, making the blush flame even hotter in her face before moving down her chest, which she feared Sawyer could see due to that damn low-necked blouse Heather had pushed on her. “My daughter’s a grown woman. How she spends her nights would be her own business.”

After blowing her father a kiss goodbye, Austin made her escape.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said as they walked out to the pickup.

“Can’t say I’d blame him.” Sawyer shrugged as he opened the passenger door. “I’d probably feel the same way if I had a daughter I was sending out on a date.”

“Not that this is a date,” she felt obliged to say as she climbed up into the seat.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date,” he said. “But I do know when a woman dresses up in rhinestones and lace and brings out the pots of girly stuff for her face, she’s not thinking of burgers and beer with her buddies.”

He’d closed the door and gone around the front of the truck before that comment sunk in.

Even as she was grateful he’d noticed the effort she’d gone to, Austin wasn’t certain either of them were ready for this. “Heather talked me into the outfit,” she said when he’d joined her in the cab.

He gave her a sideways glance. “Remind me to thank her.”

“This is complicated,” she said as they turned onto the paved road leading into town.

“It shouldn’t be. But, yeah, it is,” he agreed. “Especially since, like I told your dad, I came home with some stuff I’m dealing with.”

“I’m sorry. If you need someone to talk with—”

“Thanks, but it’s not anything I can’t handle.” His curt tone had her envisioning a forest of oversized No Trespassing signs springing up across the landscape.

“At least you have your brothers, who undoubtedly understand, having both served.” When he didn’t respond, Austin feared this dinner idea could end up a drastic mistake. “Meanwhile, I’m just glad that you’re back.”

“You’re sure as hell not alone there,” he said.

As they drove down Front Street, Austin thought, again, how much she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. While with a population a bit under four thousand, River’s Bend might not have all the amenities of a city like Portland or even Eugene, she loved its quaint western charm.

Seeking tourism dollars, an earlier town council, long before she’d been born, had come up with the idea of billing itself as “Oregon’s Most Western Town—where spurs have a job to do and cowboy hats aren’t a fashion accessory.” The ploy had worked. While ranching remained the top industry, tourism was coming close, thanks to the outdoor lifestyle, growing proliferation of dude ranches, and the number of western movies that had been filmed there.

Gene Autry, John Wayne, and Clint Eastwood had all ridden horseback down Front Street. So had Doc Holliday, Wyatt Earp, along with both Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. But other than Butch and Sundance, the make-believe cowboys had bigger displays in the local historical museum.

One of the pluses of being a go-to location for western films was that typically crews would return the storefronts to an even better condition than they’d found them, which had proven a good deal for local merchants over the years. An admitted downside was the fact that more and more movie people were offering top dollar for a piece of paradise to escape to.