SEAL's Bride: A Secret Baby Romance (5 page)

B
ack in the bar
, Remy thought she might be sick. She worked through it, keeping her head down, drowning in her own thoughts.

By midnight, the bar was nearly empty but for a couple of older regulars. The Romans were gone, thank the Lord.

Tossing a towel onto the bar, she excused herself and went out back. Sitting on a stack of milk crates, she leaned her head back against the rusting tin wall and tried to breathe.

She’d barely had a full minute to herself when she heard, “Remy.”

Her eyes snapped open. Sawyer was walking toward her; she could see his flashy black SUV idling in the parking lot. He moved toward her like a prowling jungle cat, big and sleek and muscular. In well-worn jeans and a tight white t-shirt, he could have been walking off of a movie set instead of hanging out in middle-of-nowhere Catahoula.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, pushing up to stand.

“Hey, I come in peace,” he said, raising both hands. He stopped a few feet away, respecting her space.

“Well, I have nothing to say,” she said. “Well, except maybe thank you, for earlier.”

“It was nothing,” he said.

She pursed her lips and watched him. He crossed his arms and stared her down. When she didn’t speak, he looked frustrated.

“Why are you mad at me?” he asked.

Remy scowled. “Who says I’m mad?”

“This isn’t really how we… connect,” he said, frowning.

“We don’t connect, Sawyer. You don’t live here anymore.”

“I do now,” he said, stopping her cold. “And I don’t want there to be bad blood. I’d rather there be something way better between us.”

His words were heated, sending a little chill down her spine. She could imagine just what he might mean by something better… imagine it in vivid, heart-pounding detail.

“Sawyer, you should leave.”

“What if I don’t want to, darlin’?”

Remy didn’t have a response for that, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans. The dark look in his eyes did things to her, made her weak in the knees and… hot. So, so hot, she was almost sweating just from standing this close to him.

Why does this man make me so vulnerable?
she wondered.

“Remy,” he said, drawing her name out like Rayyyyy-meee. She shivered; she’d always loved the sound of her name on Sawyer’s lips.

“Sawyer, what do you want?” she asked softly.

“I want things to be like they were,” he said.

“Oh, yeah? How were things, before?” she challenged.

“Well… we were friends, at least,” he said, starting to look uncomfortable. How typical of a man his age, using the word
friend
to describe a relationship that was so, so much more.

“I don’t want to be your friend, Sawyer. And I need to get back inside,” she said. She turned toward the back door.

“Wait, Remy. Please,” he said.

That one word,
please
, had her turning back to him. His expression was puzzled and hurt, his eyes shining with some unnamed emotion.

“Is this because I didn’t write?” he asked. “I thought you understood.”

“Understood?” she asked.

“That when I was deployed with the SEALs, I didn’t get much chance to write. I know I only sent you a few letters…” he said.

Remy’s heart dropped. She’d never received any letters, not that it would have mattered.

“Sawyer, it’s not that,” she said, wishing she could turn around and just run away from the whole conversation.

“So, what is it?” he asked, a little bit of pleading in his tone now.

“It’s… not… there’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “There’s nothing between us, there’s just… nothing to talk about.”

“I don’t understand. I mean, I didn’t expect you to wait for me, but you’re here, and if you’re not married—”

She had to end this, and quick.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” she interrupted. “In fact, I don’t want to talk at all. Just… leave me alone, Sawyer. Find a new
friend
.”

His expression darkened at her tone. “Remy…”

“Goodnight, Sawyer,” she said, forcing herself to walk away and close the door behind herself.

When she got back to the front of the bar, it was empty, a few scattered bills on the counter from the regulars who’d left. Relieved, Remy locked up and broke down the bar setup.

She held herself together through the whole thing, swallowing down all the pain threatening to rise inside.

Be strong
, she told herself.
Be strong for Shiloh.

She finished everything else and grabbed the mop, working it over the floor in hard circles, trying to exorcise the darkness growing in her chest. As she bent low to get underneath one of the tables, giving the whole place the best cleaning it’d probably ever had, she twisted the mop oddly.

“Ow!” she cried, yanking her hand back. A big splinter had split off and jabbed into her palm, blood already welling around it.

She dropped the mop, prying the splinter free and sucking at the tiny cut. Tears welled up in her eyes, though it didn’t hurt that badly.

This is nothing, compared with how I’ll feel if Sawyer finds out about Shiloh
.

That thought proved to be too much, after all she’d been through in the last few hours. She could feel it all bubbling up inside, the pain and sorrow that she so badly needed to release.

At least here, at The Speckled Hen, no one would see her break down.

Remy sat down at the booth, hung her head, and finally let herself cry.

“
S
till moping about Remy
?”

Sawyer looked up from his spot at the kitchen table to find Colt sauntering into the kitchen. His brother was fresh from the shower, but he had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in days.

“You look like hell,” Sawyer said. “Didn’t you go to bed at the same time as me and Walker?”

Colt smirked and shrugged as Walker came in, catching the tail end of Sawyer’s words.

“A hundred bucks says Colt was at some lucky divorcee’s house until the wee hours,” Walker said, opening a cabinet in search of a coffee cup. “Where are the cups? Three months here, and I still can’t find a  single thing in this kitchen.”

“To the left of the sink,” Colt said. “And we weren’t talking about me. We were discussing whether Sawyer is just grappling with his hangover, or whether he’s mooning over Remy River.”

Sawyer snorted and shook his head. “No way, Colt. I don’t want any bad blood between me and Remy, especially considering the fact that we need a handshake agreement with her father to keep sharing land and water rights.”

“So you didn’t drive back to see her after we came home last night?” Walker asked, handing Colt a mug and pouring coffee in his own.

“Well… just to set things right,” Sawyer said. “I don’t have to defend myself to you two. Mr. Catahoula’s Prime Manwhore over here, and… Walker, I don’t even want to
know
how long it’s been since you got laid.”

Walker’s answering scowl made Sawyer chuckle. “That’s what I thought.”

“That’s a low blow,” Walker said.

Sawyer shrugged. “It’s been four years, Walker. Nobody in the world has more sympathy than me, I promise. But you’ve stopped living your life.”

“And you’re hung up on your high school sweetheart,” Walker shot back, setting his coffee cup down so hard it sloshed coffee onto the kitchen counter.

“I’m not hung up on Remy,” he insisted. “There are other fish in the sea.”

“And yet, I get the sense that you’re not exactly leaving anyone behind in D.C. No one expected you to find a new girl when you were deployed, but for the year since you’ve been back… nothing?” Colt asked, sipping his coffee.

“No one I feel any need to get back to,” Sawyer said.

Walker was still scowling into his coffee, Colt moving to pour himself a bowl of cereal. They were all quiet for a few seconds, lost in their own thoughts.

“Y’all better eat something,” Colt said. “We got work to do today.”

“Oh, really?” Sawyer asked, arching a brow.

“Mmmhm. Barn roof needs patching. There’s a whole section of fence down by the river that’s about to rot away. That, and a bunch of other little stuff that has to be done whether we keep the ranch or sell it.”

Sawyer looked to Walker, who nodded.

“We need to figure out whether we’re staying or going,” Walker said. “Because if we’re staying, we need to bring on some better hired hands. I keep catching The Colonel’s men sleeping in the barn or sipping from flasks all day.”

Walker poured two more bowls of cereal, passing one off to Sawyer as he took his spot at the table. Colt joined them and they all ate.

“We gotta get a cook,” Colt sighed. “Cereal isn’t enough to start the day off with, and I can’t fry an egg to save my life.”

“Yeah, not really what the military trains us to do,” Sawyer agreed. “But again, we only need a cook if we’re staying, right?”

Colt shrugged. “You two are the only ones trying to decide. Me, I know I belong here. The idea of giving up the land that’s been in our family for so many generations, it doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Even if you could make more money elsewhere?” Walker asked.

“Money isn’t everything,” Colt said.

Sawyer could only agree with that. They finished their cereal in silence, then washed up and poured themselves thermoses of coffee.

After breakfast, Sawyer and Walker headed out to the front porch. To Sawyer’s surprise, Colt emerged from the house wearing a new Stetson cowboy hat. He held two identical hats, handing them to Sawyer and Walker.

“Really?” Sawyer asked as he accepted it and put it on.

“Feels good, huh?” Colt asked with a grin. “Besides, you’re gonna need it. We have to ride out to fix the fence, the road is almost impassable out there. Needs new gravel laid down before we risk driving on it again.”

Sawyer only nodded, thinking of the driveway at the River farm. Apparently it was easy enough to let those kinds of things fall into disrepair.

“When’s the last time you rode?” Walker asked Sawyer.

Sawyer thought about it, then shrugged. “The last time I was home. I rode out to the swimming hole with Remy.”

True to form, Walker and Colt went quiet when Sawyer mentioned Remy. He shrugged it off, figuring if they’d made it this far without telling him their Remy-related secret, it was theirs to keep.

The brothers headed to the stables, and Sawyer took a minute to examine the structure itself, eyeing the state of the roof and walls. There were six horses stabled there, and two workers in the barn.

Short and coffee-skinned, the two cowboys were busy shoring up one of the barn walls. Already, there was a marked improvement between that wall and the other three, which were leaning as bad as the Tower of Pisa.

“
Hola
,” Colt said to the two workers, who nodded at him and continued their work.

“You speak Spanish now?” Sawyer asked.

“Hey, you’re not the only linguistically adept brother, okay?” Colt joked. “And yeah, I’ve just started to pick it up since I’ve been back in Catahoula. The majority of the men The Colonel hired speak very little English, so it’s practical.”

“I see,” Sawyer said, walking over to check out the horses. Looked like four geldings and two mares, mostly mixed stock. Probably chosen for their calm temperaments and patience, like any good ranch horse.

The Roman Ranch was a working stock ranch, supplying horses and various types of cattle to the surrounding areas. The horses were mostly imported and sold right away, though the ranch had another larger stable from the dude ranch days.

The cows, they raised here on the property, maintaining a nice big herd of breeding stock.

“You should probably take one of these three,” Colt said, pointing to two of the mares and a dappled gelding. “No offense, but if you haven’t been on a horse in three years, the others won’t be as easy to manage.”

Sawyer shot Colt a glare, which made Colt laugh.

“I said no offense!” Colt said. “Just take my advice, save yourself some trouble.”

Walker was already in the stall with the biggest gelding, a beautiful dark gray beast. Sawyer picked the gelding that Colt had pointed out, 13 hands high with a brown and cream dappled coat.

“What’s his name?” he asked.

“Pericles,” Walker said.

“The Colonel’s getting a little weird with the names these days,” Sawyer said, eyeing the horse. The horse just blinked at him, unconcerned.

Thankfully, once he picked up a brush and spent a second greeting the horse, Sawyer fell right back into the rhythm of ranch life. He brushed his horse down and then saddled him, the muscle memory of it springing back to life.

He led Pericles out, following Walker and Colt. Colt was putting tools into his saddlebag, things they’d need for working on the fence.

It took two attempts to swing his leg over, making it clear that he wasn’t as nimble as his high school days. Still, he mounted with little trouble, taking the reins.

“Ready?” Colt asked.

“Always,” Sawyer said.

Colt smirked and led the way. The area they were headed for was clear on the opposite side of the ranch, meaning that they’d have to ride on a scenic roundabout route.

Sawyer eyed Colt as they started down the broad gravel road that circled the entire property. If he didn’t know better, Sawyer would think that Colt chose this particular task just to take them on a tour of the ranch, remind them how pretty the place could be.

The sun beat down on them relentlessly, despite the early hour. As Sawyer looked out over the beautiful green pastures, skirting some of the marshier areas, he was glad for the Stetson on his head.

Pretty soon they started riding past small clusters of cattle, the herds split up by gender and type. The ride was long and quiet, except the moments when they stopped to open and close a gate here and there as they passed through different sections of the ranch.

They rode by the deserted cabins and mess hall that Sawyer’s mother had used to run her tourist business. When the dude ranch was bustling, the Romans had constructed and expanded to meet the demand.

Sawyer checked his phone, knowing he’d lose signal soon.

“Checking on your D.C. hos?” Colt asked.

Sawyer slid him a smirk. “Maybe. You feeling jealous, brother?”

“Naw, I just wish I was getting video chats like the one I overheard late last night,” Colt said.

Sawyer snickered. Busted. “Oh, you heard that, huh?”

“Some smoky-voiced chick telling you all the ways she’s gonna suck your dick when you get back? Yeah, maybe close your windows next time you want to have some private time,” Colt said.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game,” Sawyer said.

“Fuck off with that,” Colt said with a laugh.

They rode on, Sawyer’s mind filled with dirty images. No specific girl in mind, though if he were honest he’d say that he was on a bit of a blonde streak just now.

He put his phone away and adjusted in his saddle a number of times before giving up the brain-smut, since it was just serving to make him uncomfortable as all hell now.

Walker slowed to ride beside Sawyer, nodding at the abandoned buildings as they passed.

“We could get it up and running again,” he said.

Sawyer glanced at Walker. “Bring tourists in, you mean?”

“Yeah, maybe. I poked through some of the old financial records, and the ranch was never as successful as when Mom ran the dude ranch.”

“Hmm,” Sawyer said. “We’d need a lot of help with that, though. Mom was all about Southern hospitality, something you and I don’t know a thing about.”

Walker nodded, looking off into the distance. “Just an idea.”

“Not a bad one. Just… difficult.”

Colt glanced back at them. “Will you two hurry up? I’m getting old up here, waiting on y’all.”

Sawyer looked at Walker, who cocked a brow. Sawyer nodded, and Walker urged his horse into a gallop. Sawyer and Walker overtook Colt, although he caught up to them quickly.

Riding hard, calling encouragement to their mounts, they flew across the gently rolling hills. The land began to slope down, small trees and shrubs springing up around them as they rode toward the river.

As they got closer, the opposite side of the valley turned from dirt to sugarcane, an indication that they were riding near River Farm. Sawyer couldn’t see the farmhouse from here, but they did ride by a rickety pump house and a few feeble lean-to sheds.

At length, they reached the barbed wire fence and rode west along it, heading for some specific spot that Colt had in mind. The fence was supported here and there with heavy wood posts, some in better shape than others.

Colt stopped at a post that had rotted halfway up, the top half loosely hanging against the barbed wire lines that ran through it.

“How many of the posts look like this?” Sawyer asked as they dismounted, giving their horses free rein to graze.

“‘Bout 20, I’d say,” Colt said. “But a lot more of them need replacing. I’d hate to see the day that we wake up to find a big break in the fence, half the cows ranging downstream.”

“Or worse, across Cur Creek in the sugarcane fields,” Walker said. “Braxton River would lose his mind.”

Colt produced work gloves, pliers, snips, and a few small lengths of wire. “We don’t have to worry about that today. If we keep the ranch, we’ll eventually rebuild most of this fence.”

“We’re just cutting the post free and linking the wire, huh?” Sawyer asked.

Colt nodded. “Don’t know why anyone would build these with wood, anyway.”

“Same reason we rode out here,” Walker said, squinting against the ever-brightening sun. “No good roads to move a lot of heavy metal, so I expect most of these posts are cut from trees down by the creek.”

He pointed at the taller trees growing on the marshy banks of Cur Creek.

“You know, I think you’re right,” Sawyer said, impressed with Walker’s analysis.

“We need to spread out, do a quarter mile or so at a time, then come back and move the horses,” Colt said.

Sawyer and Walker nodded, easily falling into a system. They each took every third post, working seamlessly together. It reminded Sawyer a little of back when they were teenagers; if they stepped out of line, which they always did, The Colonel would punish all three of them. To prepare them for the military, Sawyer supposed.

So inevitably Colt would stay out all night, or Walker would provoke his father’s temper, or Sawyer would sneak off from the church social early. As a result all three of them would end up mucking out stalls, or transporting bales of hay. Furious at each other and at their father, barely speaking, but working as efficiently as possible.

This was like that, but without all the simmering tension and anger. Well, mostly.

Walker was silent, intent on his work. Colt, on the other hand, seemed to tire fairly quickly. Not that he said anything, of course, but he started to favor one leg and grumble as he went.

His limp got progressively worse, and he seemed frustrated. Several times, Colt’s fingers slipped while he was working. Not uncommon, because the snips were a little tricky. Still, he would react a little wildly, even throwing his hat on the ground at one point.

“Colt, man, you want to call it a day? Or go get some lunch?” Sawyer asked.

Colt turned to him, cold fury in his eyes. “You calling me lazy, brother?”

“Whoa, no,” Sawyer said, raising his hands. He looked to Walker for support.

“I’m pretty thirsty, myself,” Walker said.

Colt looked between Sawyer and Walker, then shook his head and shot them a disgusted expression.