Free A Cowboy's Home by RJ Scott

walking?
    “Are you a good guy? Or one of the bad guys?”
Sam asked, aware he sounded like a freaking idiot. That was a
stupid question, like Tom was going to admit he was a bad guy, when
he had Sam in front of him. Instead, Tom frowned and looked
completely serious for a moment.
    “Depends on your definition.” Tom ruined the
enigmatic statement by hacking a cough.
    Sam stood up and brushed off the seat of his
pants. “I’m going back down to the ranch.”
    Tom pointed the gun at him. “I can’t let you
go anywhere.”
    Sam put his hands on his hips and looked
right at him, hoping he came over as confident and self-assured.
“You need some blankets, and I’ll dig up some other things. I’ll be
back when I can.” The click of the safety on the gun was Tom
telling him that he really didn’t want Sam leaving. “I don’t
get that.” Sam gabbled through his nerves. “In the movies, the bad
guy always points the gun and makes a threat, and then you hear him
deliberately taking the safety off. I mean, it’s dramatic and all,
but if the safety is on, then any good guy worth their salt would
be able to jump the bad guy before he could shoot. Right? Or is
that just me?”
    “You’re not leaving,” Tom growled, ignoring
the rambling.
    Sam didn’t stop. He turned his back to Tom,
heading for the rickety door. “Last chance to shoot me,” he said
over his shoulder.
    And left.
     
     
    Sam stumbled out of the broken-down shack and
let out a harsh breath when he reached the bike, standing exactly
where he’d left it. Somehow he’d made his way through finding
Tom—and then actually survived finding Tom. He hadn’t expected to
find anyone, hadn’t thought there was anyone to find, had blamed
kids, or something else.
    But Sam had followed his gut instinct and
found Tom.
    Tom, with a gun. Tom, whose name probably
wasn’t even Tom. A man who’d been going to shoot Sam, and probably
wasn’t going to be there if Sam came back.
    Sam looked at the door, waiting for Tom to
stumble out, expecting him to try to leave or to shoot him.
    Nothing.
    Tom needed a doctor, or a hospital, and Sam
needed to talk to Ryan. The sheriff would know what to do. Or he
could call Ethan and ask him what the hell he should do. After all,
Crooked Tree was partly-owned by a cop. Might as well use him,
right?
    Sam started the engine of his dirt bike and
made his way back down to the ranch, much more cautiously than he
had done coming up.
    Riding up into the mountain had been all
about getting anger and temper out of his head. Going down was all
about not getting himself killed, because the only person who knew
that Tom was up there, alive, was Sam.
    Sam stopped his bike just before Ember Bluff.
There was a signal there, and he thumbed to his browser. He typed
in robbery , murder , and any other related keyword he
could think of, but there was only the report of a car accident on
the highway just outside Helena; nothing about escaped convicts, or
terrorists, or what-the-hell-ever.
    So, if there were no active manhunts, and no
missing persons, then who the hell was Tom?
    Someone who needs your help.
    Sam continued on down to the ranch, pulling
his dirt bike in next to his baby, his precious, shiny Ducati. Not
the newest of bikes, but it was all his and he loved it.
    “Saw you on the bike,” Adam said from behind
him.
    Sam schooled his features and turned to face
his new friend. “Was out riding,” he explained. “Clearing my
head.”
    “Yeah, man. Look, I’m sorry about your
grandmother.”
    Sam smiled, a natural smile, because Adam was
way cute and far too open for his own good. “How come Ethan caught
you first?” he asked, only so he could see Adam blush scarlet. He
had a way of doing that whenever Sam teased him. “Never mind.” Sam
added a wave. “Do you need me for something?”
    “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