A Cowboy's Home by RJ Scott Page B

him astray. There had been photos that were used to
blackmail Bryan into silence. He’d agreed not to say a thing. But,
not long after he’d left his work, Bryan had been jumped in an
alley and nearly lost his life, and Sam just knew his family
had been responsible. Bryan had been warned off, and that had been
it. Last he’d heard, Sam’s first lover had settled in New Orleans,
working relief after Katrina and then not moving on. Sam only knew
that because he’d seen the article on Google.
    How sad was it that he’d googled Bryan’s
name?
    He owed the man an apology, but Sam hadn’t
even considered that until he’d gone back home. Somehow he had
compartmentalized what had happened with Bryan and his family, and
had forgotten how raw everything was.
    He was determined not to forget this
time.
    And maybe he’d email Bryan.
    When he heard Gabe calling, Sam realized he’d
completely zoned out, memories of a different life filling his
thoughts. He didn’t know how much time had passed, enough to sing
three different Lady Gaga songs twice through, think
earth-shattering life-changing thoughts, battle guilt, and then
likely doze against the hot-water bottle that was Tom. “In here!”
he called.
    “Sam?”
    Sam scrambled up and walked out of the door,
aware that as he moved, Tom flinched in his sleep. Poor guy
couldn’t even rest while unconscious.
    Sam clambered out of the shack and over the
twisted roots. “Gabe! Over here.”
    The sound of a horse moving, some banging and
crashing, and then a flushed Gabe stepped into the clearing Sam was
standing in.
    “What the fuck, Sam?” Gabe asked.
    “There’s a man….” Sam had so many words in
his head that he wanted to get out and his chest was tight with
anxiety, but he couldn’t pull the words out.
    “Show me,” Gabe said.
    Sam realized that his friend was holding a
rifle, and although he wanted to say that Tom was unconscious and
incapable of much, Gabe looked determined to keep himself and Sam
safe from the guy on the ground.
    Sam led Gabe to the door, and Gabe cocked the
rifle.
    “You won’t need that.” Sam placed a hand on
the weapon. “He could have shot me, and he didn’t.”
    Gabe looked at him steadily. “We have an
armed man on my land,” Gabe hissed the words. “Only a couple
of miles from my family, from the kids. You won’t let me
call the cops, so I’m taking a rifle in.”
    Sam wasn’t going to argue with him. Gabe took
family very seriously, and by extension, friends. Even Sam was
probably included in that, although it was the first time he’d ever
shown his underbelly to anyone at Crooked Tree; the only time he’d
ever asked for help. That had to be why Gabe wasn’t running for the
phone to call the police out here. Sam hoped to hell he wasn’t betrayed this first and only
time he was asking for trust.
    “His name is Tom,” Sam said in lieu of
arguing. Just because Gabe had a rifle didn’t mean he was going to
use it. Still, it didn’t hurt to add a simple “Don’t hurt him.”
    Sam slipped past Gabe and went in first, much
to Gabe’s disgust if his tight-lipped grimace as Sam passed was
anything to go by. Freaking hero types.
    Then they were both in the cabin, and
everything happened so fast he didn’t have time to process it.
    Tom was awake, sat up, leaning against the
wall in half shadow, the gun in his hand, resting on his knee. He
looked devastated, shocked. Hell if Sam could make sense of it.
    Gabe gasped a horrified, half-choked sound
that chilled Sam to the bone. Sam looked at Gabe, at the way the
blood drained from his face, and then in horror as Gabe literally
slumped to his knees.
    “ Justin .”

Chapter Ten
    Justin’s world imploded.
    There was no other way to explain it. A small
part of him had known it could happen and that coming here would
lead to the inevitable conclusion where everything went to
shit.
    And it had. His hand shook, and the only
thing supporting his arm was his bent knee. He had a gun