Free Long Road Home by Joann Ross Page A

stuck between pissing off my wife and staying true to the bro code. So, I really need your word that you won’t tell Heather I told you this part.”
    “We made a blood oath,” Sawyer reminded him of that time in the fourth grade when they’d taken his Buck pocket knife, made cuts in the tips of their index fingers, and mingled their blood, swearing to always be brothers. “That trumps even the bro code.”
    “Austin’s going to be there.” The words came rushing out as if he wanted to put them behind him.
    “At the New Chance. On Friday night.” As that idea hit home, Sawyer realized this dinner could be his new chance. He also knew that, once again, the timing sucked.
    “Yeah. Heather already asked her and she’s okay with it.”
    “Then the real reason we’re here having wings and brew is because your wife wants to play matchmaker.”
    “No. The real reason is what I said. That we didn’t get time to catch up at the party. And yeah, there’s a secondary agenda.”
    “Okay.”
    “But here’s the deal . . . What? Did you just say okay?”
    “Yeah. As long as neither of you try to marry us off between the appetizers and desserts.”
    “I’ll try to rein my wife in,” Tom promised.
    Sawyer laughed. Then realized he’d forgotten how something as simple as a laugh could loosen knots that had been tying up his guts for so long. “Good luck with that.”

8
    N ERVES TANGLING, HER mouth as dry as sawdust, Austin knocked on the door of the cabin. Sawyer’s truck was parked outside, and she’d seen him working in Duke’s stall earlier, but when he didn’t immediately answer, she wondered if he might have gone off with one of his brothers. She was just about to leave when he opened the door, wearing only a pair of Wranglers and a towel looped around his neck.
    He looked surprised to see her. But not all that disappointed, which Austin took as encouragement.
    “Sorry. I was in the shower.” He ran a hand down his chest. Above the unfastened button, it was hard and dark and wet. The thought of him in the shower, one hand braced against the tile she’d helped her dad install, while hot water streamed over his naked, ripped body, had her swallowing hard.
    “I can come back. After you get dressed.” Or, hey, maybe, since you’re already nearly naked, maybe you’d like to drag me into the bedroom and have your wicked way with me.
    “Why would you want to do that?” He moved aside. “Come on in. It is, after all, your place.”
    She looked up at him, searching for an edge of resentment that she’d ended up his landlady. But his eyes gave nothing away.
    “I thought I’d bring you a moving-in gift.” She held out the wildflowers she’d stuck in a mason jar.
    “Thanks.” He took them from her and crossed into the kitchen area. Some things never changed. Sawyer Murphy still had the best Wrangler butt of any cowboy she’d ever known.
    “You’re welcome.” She was feeling a little foolish about having brought them over. More so when she noticed the cabin was as empty as Jim and Janet had left it. A man who didn’t care about furniture probably didn’t have any need for posies. “Though it would be helpful if you had a table to put them on,” she said pointedly.
    He shrugged, calling her attention to the raised silver scar from a past surgery for a broken clavicle running across his bare shoulder. The sight brought back the memory of him crashing into the gate as the bull exploded from the chute. It wasn’t long after that the rogue animal had been taken off the circuit. Challenging bulls were what made the sport what it was. But there was no place for ones who’d try to kill the riders.
    Austin didn’t want to think about how he’d acquired those new scars marring that beautiful chest.
    “Not much need for a table when I’ve got this counter,” he said. Another shrug sent a bead of water off that curve between his neck and shoulder. When it disappeared into the happy trail of dusky