Free A Cowboy's Home by RJ Scott Page A

then, gorgeous, let’s get you coffeed up.”
    Adam followed him in. Ashley was at the
counter, and they had maybe ten customers in three small groups,
all drinking coffee and eating Ashley’s pastries. The buzz of the
place was warm, and Sam felt any tension he’d been carrying slide
off him.
    “Everything okay?” Ashley asked
immediately.
    “Yes, I’m fine,” Sam said and rolled his
eyes. “Forgot to take lunch. I’m going back out, if that’s
okay?”
    Ashley smiled at him. “Kirsten is coming in
to help when she gets back.”
    Sam grinned. He loved Kirsten, with her
attitude and her fuck-off vibe, which despite having calmed a
little recently, was still front and center when someone pissed her
off. She was, however, very good and incredibly polite to people in
the restaurant, and that was enough to get into Sam’s good books.
She was on break, same as Luke, always with her head buried in
books, with a focused determination that never failed to amaze
Sam.
    He stepped past Ashley, leaving her to deal
with Adam, and went straight up the back steps to his place. He
closed the door behind him, and for the longest time just stood
there thinking about what he’d seen and what he was about to do.
What did Tom need? Blankets, a cushion or something? A fleece,
because hell, it would get cold up there at night.
    Quickly, Sam layered himself up: three
T-shirts, a baggy sweatshirt—because Tom was bigger than him. Not
broader, but taller and more stretched out. Sam added another
sweater for good measure, rolled wooly socks, two beanies, and two
blankets into a backpack, adding a cushion embroidered with the
words “I’m so gay, I can’t even think straight”—a present from an
ex who’d long since left his life—and forced it all in. Then he
slipped on his thick winter coat, stuffing the pockets with
anything else he could think of: the painkillers he kept in his
kitchen drawer, the antiseptic cream from the bathroom, a mirror,
toothpaste and toothbrush.
    “What else?” he murmured, doing a full
three-sixty around his room. He shoved his Kindle into his pocket,
and that was it.
    Sam made his way downstairs, pulled out
various parcels of food, and crept out the back door. Thankfully no
one saw him wrapped up like a freaking Abominable Snowman on a warm
day.
    He made his way in the opposite direction to
where he needed to go, and only when he was out of view of anyone
at Crooked Tree did he double back, high up at the tree line, and
make his way back to the cabin.
    Will Tom still be there?
    Hell, the man didn’t look like he could stay
conscious for long, let alone make a run for it.
    God knows why he was doing this, but
something about Tom, some spark in the man screamed that he needed
Sam.
    And right about then, Sam needed to take his
mind off the crap in his head and to feel good about himself.
    He needed Tom right back, because something
about Tom drew him in beyond the wish to help an injured man.
    He just wasn’t sure what it was yet.

Chapter Eight
     
    Justin placed the gun on the floor next to
him. What now? Sam said he’d be back, but what if he brought Ryan
with him? Or Gabe, or Nate… or Ethan?
    What would Justin say to any of them? How
could he find an end to his guilt when he couldn’t believe anyone
would accept what he ’d done, what
he’d needed to do?
    He curled up on himself and managed to get onto all fours. Pain lanced
through his thigh, but he’d been through worse. He’d endured years
of skin grafts, an agony he never imagined he’d live through. He
was hardened to it all.
    He hadn’t died then because he had a job to
finish. All those years, and always unspoken was that the
department’s blunt instrument, the man with no past, would die
before revealing who he was or that he was still alive. That was
the deal he’d made to keep his family safe, a devil’s bargain he’d
accepted long ago.
    Because I saw Adam die…. Because it was my
fault and I couldn’t live with