by Vivian Wood
Sawyer’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a lot for a silent partner.”
“Tough shit, kid,” Arlo said, picking up his bourbon glass again. “Take it or leave it. And if you want to sell, you all have to agree. If you want to stay, you have to run it yourselves. No proxy coming into town, running the land that’s been ours since a grandfather so far back, I can’t even count the greats.”
“Why should you care?” Walker said, breaking his silence.
The Colonel set his glass down with a bang, glaring at Walker.
“Even the Navy could never beat the smug out of you, could they?” he growled.
Walker visibly stiffened, but The Colonel was already moving on to a lecture.
“You three think you’re so damned smart, think you know what the world’s about? You know nothing,” he spat, sloshing his drink as he slapped his palms on the table. “I got bigger things to worry about than what my whiny, trust fund-addled sons are up to. So figure out what you’re doing, and do it. My lawyer is putting the property up for auction in 30 days, unless you three figure this out and get it all in writing.”
The Colonel shoved to his feet, kicking at his chair. Sawyer and Colt stood up too, Walker remaining seated and stoic.
“Marilee, get up. We’re going,” their father said, snapping his fingers at her.
“Oh, I…” she said, blushing and making a face as she stood. She glanced at Sawyer and his brothers. “Well, it was nice to see y’all. We’ll come back and visit when your father’s not in such a state.” Arlo headed for the front door without so much as a single glance behind him to see if she was following or not.
“Mmhm, any day now,” Sawyer said.
The front door slammed, making Marilee jump. She just wiggled her fingers, picked up her purse, and trotted after her husband-to-be.
“She’s gonna break her neck running down those stairs,” Colt muttered.
Walker snorted. “I wish The Colonel would break his neck. It’d save me the trouble of strangling him one of these days.”
“Only if I don’t get to him first,” Colt said.
“Listen, listen,” Sawyer said, waving a hand and shaking his head. “Let’s forget about The Colonel. The worst case scenario is that we all go back to our separate lives, working in jobs we like. Right?”
After a moment, Walker and Colt nodded.
“Yeah. I guess this is our decision, no matter how The Colonel phrased it,” Walker said.
“So let’s just… talk about ourselves, forget about him. Hmm?” Sawyer asked.
“Agreed,” Colt said. Walker shrugged.
“Can we go sit on the front porch?” Sawyer asked. “This renovation is killing my vibe right now.”
Colt and Walker laughed. Sawyer grabbed three fresh beers, then followed them out to the front porch. They sprawled out on the rickety deck, popping the tops on their beers and staring up at the night sky.
“Okay,” Sawyer said. “I’ll go first. I love this place, this ranch is in my blood. I don’t want to run it, although I would be willing to make this my home base for a year. Travel as little as possible and try the satellite internet mumbo jumbo that Walker’s doing.”
His brothers nodded.
“Walker?” Sawyer asked.
“I’m easy,” Walker said. “I could stay, I could go. I don’t have any plans that are in direct conflict with being in Catahoula, but I also wouldn’t mind moving to some beach in Thailand and not looking back.”
“You’d expatriate?” Colt asked, looking as surprised as Sawyer felt.
“I’ve given this country all I’ve got. Here I am. I could do this very thing anywhere,” Walker said.
“All right, fair enough,” Colt said, taking a swig of his beer.
Sawyer looked to Colt.
“How about you, kid?”
“I’m 27, when am I gonna outgrow that nickname?” Colt asked, rolling his eyes.
“Never,” Sawyer and Walker said, then laughed.
“Screw y’all.”
“Just tell us what you want to do with the ranch, Colt.”
Colt sighed and stretched, rolling his neck. At length, he said, “I wanna stay, even if that means I’m running things by myself.”
Sawyer sat up straighter. “You wouldn’t have to do it all alone, if we stayed. Walker’s great at the business end of things, always has been. And me… I can help with anything but mucking stalls.”
Colt grinned. “You still trying to get out of the worst chores? Thought you were grown now.”
“Grown enough to know that there’s no amount of money in the world that would make me want to volunteer for all that,” Sawyer said.
Colt pursed his lips, then shrugged. “It sounds like we don’t hate the idea of staying here.”
Walker held up a hand. “I think it would be wise to use the next week or two to get involved in the ranch again, make sure that we all really want that.”
“And make sure we can make the transition from globetrotters back to hometown boys,” Colt said, looking out across the front yard. “After all, a lot’s changed here since we were in school. I’ve been here a few months, and I’m still adjusting.”
“Mooning over your high school girlfriends, more like,” Walker cracked.
“Shove it,” Colt said, unruffled. “So, are we decided? We’ll give ourselves a couple weeks and then reconvene?”
“Agreed,” Sawyer said. He raised the tip of his beer bottle at them and they all clinked the bottles together, as good a promise as a handshake or a contract.
“Listen,” Colt said, after a moment. “There’s something we need to take care of first thing.”
“What’s that?” Walker asked.
“Land rights,” Colt said. “The Colonel’s told me a little about the shared land usage rights we have with the three farms that border our land.”
“Yeah, and without the water from Cur Creek or the right to graze on some of the fallow fields, we won’t have much of a ranch to keep alive,” Walker chimed in.
“Exactly. The Colonel had agreements with everyone, but I don’t think a handshake can hold for more than a generation,” Colt said. “If we’re going to be the ones running things here, I think we need to reestablish the status quo.”
“Fancy vocabulary you got there,” Sawyer said, teasing Colt.
“I always was the smart one, y’all just never knew it,” Colt said with a chuckle.
“All right. We can split up the surrounding farms, then,” Sawyer said. “Walker, you take the Simmons, because Colt slept with Anna Simmons and never called her back.”
“Ten years ago!” Colt protested.
“People in this town have a long memory. Walker, Miss Arlene at the Ursulines likes you, right?”
“If she’s not blind and deaf by now, sure,” Walker said, unconcerned.
“Good. I’ll take River Farm, say hi to Remy.”
“Oh…” Colt said, looking at Walker. “Maybe I should do that.”
Walker scowled, and Sawyer glanced back and forth between them.
“What aren’t you two telling me?” he demanded to know.
Colt and Walker were quiet for a moment.
“Nothing,” Walker said, turning away from Colt. “We just figure, you know, you have kind of a history with Remy.”
Sawyer gave them a scornful look. “Yeah, a long history. We’re… friends.”
Neither Colt nor Walker batted an eye, which only made him more suspicious.
“We are!” Sawyer insisted. “Listen, if I get a bad feeling when I’m visiting, even a hint of bad blood, I swear I’ll come straight back and let Colt do it. No offense, Walker.”
Walker looked back at Colt, annoyed. “None taken.”
Sawyer set down his beer and fished out his keys.
“Where are you going?” Colt asked.
“No time like the present, right?” Sawyer said. “I should be able to catch Mr. River right before dinner.”
“I think maybe yo
u want to catch him in town. You know, right before dinner, he might be hungry and angry. Hangry, ha ha,” Colt said. He seemed a little nervous.
“Your sense of humor never was all that great, Colt,” Sawyer said, standing and brushing off his jeans. “So unless either of you has a real reason for me not to go, I’m gonna head over there and settle this once and for all.”
“You mean you’re going to see Remy,” Walker said, crossing his arms.
Colt snorted.
“What a shock, he’s been here all of 10 minutes and the first thing he wants to do is go see his girl.”
“She’s not my girl,” Sawyer said, trying to keep his cool. “Quit trying to piss me off.”
“Quit making it so easy,” Colt shot back.
Sawyer rolled his eyes. “This isn’t high school. I don’t want to fight with you, man.”
“All right, go ahead over to see Remy,” Colt said, a smirk on his lips.
“Wait a second,” Walker said, holding up a hand.
Sawyer and Colt both turned to him expectantly. Walker looked between them, then blew out a breath. “We need to talk living arrangements. The renovations on the main house were never finished, so we’re living in the bunkhouse.”
Sawyer arched a brow. “Isn’t it falling apart?”
“Naw, Marilee had the idea that she was going to renovate it into four studio apartments, rent it out to visitors with a lot of cash,” Colt said. Reaching in his pocket, he fished out his keys. “I got a full set of keys inside for you, but here’s a key to studio three. Should have everything you need, since it’s practically set up as a hotel.”
“Thanks,” Sawyer said, accepting the key his brother offered.
“Don’t thank me until you’ve seen the list of repairs and maintenance duties ahead of us,” Colt said.
“It’s a mile long,” Walker said, squinting off into the distance. “One day of hard work, might just send you running back to D.C.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re as much an outsider as me now,” Sawyer told Walker.
“I look so good in a Stetson, though,” Walker said.
Sawyer grinned. “You haven’t worn a cowboy hat in five years, I bet.”
Walker only shrugged, giving Colt a chance to jump in.
“You sure you don’t just want to go to town with us tonight?” he asked. “Even better, we could just sit here and drink beer in silence, like the cowboys we were supposed to be.”
“The Colonel would be so proud,” Sawyer joked. “How about this. I’m gonna go over to River farm for a minute, just to say hello. Then I’ll come back and crack open the bottle of Old Grand-Dad bourbon I brought from New Orleans.”
“Suit yourself,” Walker said. “I’m gonna go shower up.”
“All right, catch you later,” Sawyer said.
He turned and headed to his car, wondering at their strange attitude. Climbing behind the wheel, he spent the short drive over to River farm wondering just what his brothers were trying to hide from him.
If she wasn’t married, what was the problem with him dropping in on Remy River? The floodgates of speculation opened, and he started imagining different scenarios: she was disfigured in a car wreck, or maybe she’d joined a church so strict that she couldn’t talk to strange men.
None of that seemed like a secret his brothers would need to keep, though. As he sped past the sugarcane fields and closed in on the River family farmhouse, he couldn’t help his growing curiosity.
He frowned as his Range Rover bounced over the hard-rutted gravel road. It was way overdue for some new gravel and sand being laid down. The road needed some serious upkeep.
It was the end of a busy season for River farm; after planting, but before the first controlled burn, so maybe they just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
As he drove past their barn, he noticed that the roof was sagging, and the doors were chained shut. Strange that it should be in disuse, as the farm used to have a number of dairy cows and a few horses.
When he pulled up at the bottom of the hill where the house stood, he was surprised to see that the house wasn’t in any better shape. Parking and walking up the short, steep path to the house gave him a minute to examine the place.
The house was two stories, done in the style of a traditional log cabin, but it looked different than he remembered. Mostly it was that two of the front windows were broken, boarded over with plywood.
There was plywood laid over spots on the roof, too. No doubt a flimsy patch for places where the tarred shingles had come loose, letting water leak into the house.
Gone was the neatly manicured front yard. Now the flower beds were empty, the grass growing long in uneven patches. At the far side of the yard, a plastic toy fire truck lay in the grass, seeming forlorn.
Walking up the broken brick path to the front door, Sawyer couldn’t believe how far the place had fallen into disrepair. The porch creaked under his booted feet as he knocked on the faded red door.
From inside, Sawyer heard the sound of feet stomping on the floor, then a woman’s shout.
“All right, all right!” came a deep voice.
The front door swung inward to reveal Braxton River, Remy’s father. A friendly, blond giant, Mr. River had always been kind to Sawyer, never worried when Sawyer showed up at all hours, driven from Roman Ranch by a family fight.
Mr. River stared at Sawyer for three full seconds, blinking.
“Hi, Mr. River,” Sawyer said, trying for his most polite tone.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Remy’s father growled.
“Daddy, who is it?”
A dozen feet behind her father, Remy appeared in the living room. She froze when she saw Sawyer.
She was as beautiful as ever, her long blonde hair in a fancy braid, her big blue eyes wide. Her heart shaped face, petite frame, and stunning curves hadn’t changed a single bit. For a second, Sawyer felt every bit as tongue-tied as the day in fourth grade when he first met her.
Remy had that kind of effect on people, Sawyer in particular.
“What…” she started, but her father cut her off.
“You got some kind of nerve,” Mr. River growled.
“Daddy,” Remy said, a warning in her voice. She swallowed, her eyes wide.
“I just came to talk,” Sawyer said, feeling his palms start to sweat. “I thought—”
Mr. River’s whole face turned dark with rage. “If I see you on my property again, Sawyer Roman, I will shoot you where you stand.”
Sawyer knew he was probably gaping like an idiot. He just stood there, shocked, as the door slammed in his face. He heard the sound of the bolt being shot, like Mr. River wanted to be certain that Sawyer wouldn’t try to kick the door down and force his way in.
Turning, he walked back down the hill to his SUV, his thoughts disordered. Sawyer had done a lot of things, especially in his time serving as a Navy SEAL.
And yes, the last time he visited Catahoula, he’d spent a wild night with Remy River. A few drinks, a few kisses, a night with Remy in his bed… only hours before he left for a new deployment.
He’d sent her a few letters, care of his father. Never any response.
Sawyer just figured she didn’t want to get seriously involved with a soldier, which was good enough reason in his book.
Driving home through the sugarcane fields, he had no idea what to make of it all.
God knew he had a lot to atone for, his actions here in Catahoula the very least of it, but… could Remy hate him over something that happened four years ago?
No answers awaited him back at the ranch. His brothers were conspicuously absent, leaving Sawyer to brood in silence. He unlocked his studio apartment, a fastidiously white and exposed brick affair.
Was it possible that Remy felt slighted? Or worse, that she felt forced?
That didn’t make sense, though. That night four years ago, they’d kissed and explored each other’s bodies, whispered their secrets. The way he’d been with Remy, he
’d never given that much to anyone else. Not even close.
Sawyer had gone above and beyond to make sure that Remy was satisfied, over and over, until the sun rose. They’d fallen asleep holding each other.
In fact, Remy was the one who snuck out early in the morning, leaving Sawyer to wake alone. Not the actions of a woman who wanted more than a night, or so he’d thought.
Moving his bags in from the car, he puzzled through it all. Even after a shower in the apartment’s luxurious new bathroom, he still had no clue.
As he collapsed into the soft, king-size bed, Sawyer only knew one thing for certain.
He was going to get to the bottom of this, and sooner rather than later. He pulled out his phone to check his messages. He quickly skimmed a few emails and listened to a voicemail from work.
All the texts were from women, various booty calls in D.C. and New York. Another message from Amy, who’d gone from sexting to threatening.
You think you can ignore me???
Rolling his eyes, Sawyer scrolled through his contacts and silenced her incoming messages. If he talked to Amy again, it would be on his terms.
Checking his messages again, he perused the names. Eliza. Mary. Merissa…
“Oh, Merissa,” Sawyer said, opening the text. She’d also sent nudes, much more explicit than Amy’s paltry offering. “Damn, girl.”
She was hot as hell, but Sawyer was too tired to mess with her tonight.
Closing his eyes, he fell into an exhausted sleep, dreaming of being chased by a crowd of pitchfork-waving locals.
4
The second that her father shut the front door in Sawyer’s face, Remy turned and fled. Racing through the living room and kitchen, she ran right out the back door toward the tractor shed.
Flimsy corrugated steel, leaning precariously in some places, it was a silly place to take refuge. Still, Remy skirted around the shed, hiding out from her family. She sat on a big pile of firewood, pressing her face into her hands.
Sawyer Roman, knocking on her door. How many times had she dreamt of that moment?
And yet, the reality of it, seeing him again… she’d gone cold inside, breaking out into a sweat. The fantasy of Sawyer, remembering his touch and the way his smile lit her up inside, that was one thing.