The Hot Brother (Romance Love Story) (Hargrave Brothers - Book #5)

by Alexa Davis

  “Good man, Logan. Even if we can’t take those pictures to the local PD in Bismarck, we can take them to Standing Rock.”

  I nodded, then cut him off. “Boyd, what’s that up ahead?”

  He leaned forward then swore. “It’s a bunch of pissed-off damned poachers, that’s what. Shit, Logan. We’re out in the middle of nowhere, and no one knows we’re here.”

  “Well, Heidi can track my phone, but I think the best bet is if they see us using it. I don’t care who you call, just do it, quick.” He tugged his old flip phone from the pocket of his shirt and keyed in a number before pressing it to his ear.

  I slowed the truck down and drove around them, staring into angry faces as we rolled past. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why I’d thought they would run away. It was stupid to assume that men who liked to kill things illegally would suddenly run and hide from a couple of unarmed hippies with cameras.

  “God. If George could see us now, he’d be smacking us both up the backs of our heads for coming out here unarmed,” I scoffed, my voice overly loud from relief and adrenaline letdown.

  “I’m not going to start carrying to make the Hargraves dislike me less. But I’m sure George would tan us both, no doubt.” He stared out the window, chin in his hand as he thought.

  “I don’t think any of my family dislike you,” I assured him.

  “Yes, they do. It’s part and parcel for men like me to lose friends because of who I am. But with your folks, it’s because they’re afraid I’ll do something that gets you hurt. Something exactly like I did today.” He rubbed his beard, and it reminded me how much more gray than brown I’d noticed in it lately.

  “Don’t go soft just because of my family, Boyd. You know they support you. They’d just rather do it with their wallets than their son,” I quipped.

  “They think I’m a communist, and in Texas, you know there’s no bigger insult.”

  “No, they think you’re a hippie. It’s slightly less undesirable, and they’re hoping safer than another son going off to a ‘real war,’ right?”

  “Right now, we need to get to Standing Rock and get their sheriff your photos. Then,” he checked his watch, “we need to get you back on a plane. You ready to see your girl yet?”

  “I was ready to go home the second I fastened my seatbelt on the plane, Boyd.”

  He laughed at my sardonic honesty and hugged his hurt arm to him as the ground got even bumpier than it had been. We were in a washout, and the ground was pitted and run through with rocks and gravel and tiny ruts that made driving a truly teeth-chattering experience.

  I took it slow to keep from jarring Boyden too hard, but when I glanced over at him, his face had gone paper white, and he listed to the side to rest his head on the window, despite the bumpy terrain causing his head to bounce against the doorframe. I headed toward Standing Rock reservation, but stopped as soon as I saw the now-familiar outline of the sheriff’s old crown Victoria.

  I pulled over and waved down Sheriff Song, still looking around me for a sign that we’d been followed. The only silver lining to Boyd’s eccentricities when it came to people was that he had an abiding respect for the indigenous people of the land, and they returned it with hospitality and, from what I could tell, honest appreciation for his work. His good relationship with the people of Standing Rock would’ve been something his shooter wouldn’t have guessed.

  As if reading my thoughts, a dark truck with KC lights rolled up slowly over the ridge we’d just come over and stopped in plain sight. I looked around for a signpost that said we were on reservation land, but as the sheriff put her hand up to shield the glare from the sun, the truck engine roared, and it barreled down the hill straight at us. The sheriff dove past the front of the truck toward the ditch, and I slammed my door shut, sliding over and out the passenger side with Boyden, just before they reached the bottom of the hill.

  They sideswiped the truck, lifting it up on two wheels for a moment before it fell back onto all four and then they sped down the road and spun around, making a giant dust cloud in the gravel road as they spun around and started back toward us.

  Sheriff Song was shouting something into her radio that I couldn’t make out. Boyden grabbed my arm and pulled me down into the deep ditch. I looked back just as the sheriff followed us down the side, all of us clinging to the cattail reeds to keep from sliding out of control. At the bottom, the mud seeped through the mesh of my hiking shoes and flowed into them around my ankles.

  The three of us were silent for what seemed like an eternity as the driver revved his engine and spun his wheels, sending gravel down the embankment onto our heads. With imitation Indian war whoops, the men shrieked and the truck roared. With a final cascade of gravel into the ditch, it sped off toward Bismarck, away from us, and the reservation.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, Boyden Grimness, but I thought maybe you’d slowed down a bit in your advancing years,” she quipped as we clambered out and sat on the side of the road, letting the water run out of our shoes.

  “I suppose you wouldn’t be averse to me getting stitched up from this gunshot wound, would you, Sheriff?” he replied, patting the now dirty bandage wrapped around his arm.

  “No, Boyd, I wouldn’t mind getting you patched up… again. But I hope you know who did this, and that it happened on federal land, because those boys don’t seem too worried about running over a Blackfoot sheriff.”

  “Sorry, Sheriff. We caught those poachers on reservation land. And by caught, I mean, I have pictures of all their faces,” I offered, pointing at the truck. “The shooting was accidental, I think. The scare tactic though?”

  “That’s just trailer park speak for ‘hello’ around here,” Sheriff Song sighed as we all got to our feet. “Well, let’s get you boys cleaned up and stitched up. No offense, but I hope your work here is done. We need that evidence in court, not a couple of white men getting themselves killed on our land.”

  I reached into my bag and pulled out a camera and removed the memory stick. “I’ve got everything we need to get the foundation and the reservation an infusion of money, and I’ll give you the pictures I took of the poachers before Evil Knievel here decided to run into the line of fire.”

  The sheriff sighed again and shook her head. “Follow me into town, fellas. We’ll get you patched up and on your way. And stop poking the white men with guns, Boyden Grimness. We got enough problems around here without you stirring up trouble.”

  Boyden dropped his gaze to the ground, and I cleared my throat. Sheriff Song glared at us until we both muttered our agreement, then chuckled. She motioned us to follow her, and I climbed into the cab of the truck because they’d damaged the driver’s side too badly to open.

  “My truck,” Boyd sniffed, patting the dashboard. “Man, I hate those guys.”

  I shook my head. We’d made enemies who had shot at my friend, deliberately attacked us, and knew we were staying on the reservation. That meant I couldn’t just walk away and forget about North Dakota like I’d hoped.

  “I have to get on that plane, Boyd, but I promise, I’ll be back to help with the cleanup for this.”

  Boyd laughed and patted my knee, like an old man. “You go take care of that girl. Nothing will happen to those guys. Nothing ever does. You just tell the story the way you always do, and I’ll buy a new truck… again… and life will carry on. Trust me. I know a thing or two about women. You don’t want to blow this and lose her before you get a ring on her finger.”

  “Boyd. You’ve been married three times.”

  “And it was never wrong to marry them. It’s keeping a good woman that I’m lousy at, Logan. You don’t have to be me.”

  “I can’t ask her to commit to me after six weeks. We hardly know each other. Besides, you were shot. That requires some justice.”

  “So? I’ve been in love before, and I’ve been shot before. I can tell you with some expertise to back me, that they’re equally surprising, explosive, and sometimes pain
ful. Go get your girl. Don’t lose her because you think there are rules to this stuff. There ain’t.” He fell silent and stared out the window the rest of the way to the reservation, and I pondered his words.

  Heidi had exploded into my life, all right. Her tenderness and generosity had surprised me, and her illness had wounded us both beyond words. But every minute away from her felt like a century of torture, and even with my friend bleeding in the seat next to me, all I could think about was returning to her. Even the tiny, sharp needle of fear that pierced my thoughts was for her. I had lost a love already in my life. Now that I’d found the perfect contradiction of innocence and lust, brilliance and naivety, shyness and generosity, I couldn’t let her be taken from me.

  “Boyd, don’t stay too long, hey? I’m gonna need a best man.”

  He didn’t answer or even turn back toward me, but grabbed my shoulder and squeezed it while he sniffed and looked out the window. “Let’s get you home to your girl.”

  24. Hannah

  The worst part of illness, I’d found, was the boredom. When you were too wasted from chemo or radiation to think clearly, you couldn’t read. Television lost its appeal after a couple of days, and even bathroom trips were so onerous, I put them off until I was in physical pain from the need to void.

  My treatments left me too weak to go for a walk, too nauseated to eat, and too irritable to want company, even though Logan’s family was treating me like a queen. I wanted to give up at least three times a day, despite the last confirmation from Dr. Patel that the therapies were working. He’d given me a surgery date and sent me home to wonder how I ended up in a house of strangers.

  They took good care of me, cleaned up my first rounds of vomit when I’d been too weak to get help or get myself to the bathroom before I puked. Hope was walked, fed, and brushed, then she’d get up on the bed with me and sleep until it was time for someone to pamper her again. I felt guilty for not doing more for myself or for little Hope. I felt uncomfortable staying with the Hargraves when I didn’t know where Logan and I were even headed.

  Our conversations when he had called since being away were stilted and centered mostly around how awful I felt and platitudes from each of us to the other. He would tell me that it wouldn’t last forever and I’d be okay. I’d respond that he should be out doing what he loved and I wouldn’t be a burden.

  What I wanted was to tell him I was scared, that by the point we’d reached in treatment, I had always been more functional, and my continued reliance on his family was causing me to cry myself to sleep every night and sometimes wake to more tears in the morning.

  Ever the mind-reader, as soon as I started thinking about how much Hannah had done for me, I heard her light knock at the door, and she poked her head in to ask if I could handle some solid food. I accepted, even though I knew I would just throw it up if I ate it. Dr. Patel had suggested that I eat as much as possible, even though I wouldn’t keep it all down. Whatever did make it through my system was vitally important, and I needed to get as many nutrients in me as possible.

  “Mrs. Hargrave, could you please help me get my clothes together? I think I need to get home. I can’t keep waiting for Logan to return. I’m starting to feel like a leech,” I said, carefully draping my legs over the side of the bed as I prepared myself to attempt to stand. The pain in my legs and back had gone from episodic to constant as the radiation weakened not only the tumor, but my spine and hips as well.

  “Starting to feel like a leech? Who do you think you’re kidding? You’re family. No matter what.”

  The tears spilled over, and I fell heavily back onto the bed. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ll get in there on my own in a minute.” I wiped my face with my sleeve and sniffed as I tried to control my shaky breathing. Hannah sat beside me on the bed and waited with her hands in her lap. “I think I’m going to be here for a little bit. I can make it on my own; I was just asking because I thought we’d be faster together.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Heidi.” Hannah chuckled and patted me on the knee. “You might have noticed this already, but Logan is more like me than his brothers.” I glanced sideways at her, and our eyes met. “You need to shower because you’re getting really ripe.”

  I burst out in surprised laughter. “I bet I am.”

  “Then, we’re going for a ride.” I started to protest, but she held up a hand to silence me. “We’ve already figured it out; you’ll be fine. Hope can come, too!” She stood and held out her hands to me, and I gripped them tightly and pushed down on her to leverage my way to my feet. The now-familiar nerve pain shot through my back, down into my legs, and I gasped and held on until it abated a little.

  “There is so much about this that sucks,” I panted, and Hannah nodded her understanding. “You have these strong, gorgeous women all around you, then Logan brings home the half-lame, scrawny stray nobody wanted and left her with you when he took off again.”

  “Wow. I hadn’t looked at it that way,” Hannah blurted. “My boy always had a soft spot for strays.” She started walking backward, and I followed exactly in her footsteps. We both knew that a few feet in, I’d be able to walk on my own. But those first steps were excruciating, and my reflexes slow to react.

  “I’ve got it,” I panted, then hissed a little as something twanged in my hip, like the snap of a rubber band.

  “How does it feel?” she asked.

  “Like the treatment is worse than the disease. I’m okay. It’s just that loose feeling in my hips your doctor warned me about. I guess that means everything is happening the way it needs to, right?” I bit my lip to concentrate, and Hannah gasped.

  “Oh, my God, you’re bleeding.” I put my hand up to my mouth and came away with blood on my fingertips. Embarrassed, I wiped my mouth on my sleeve.

  “I guess they’re a bit dry to be chewing on,” I chuckled lamely. “I’ll have to find my Chapstick again.” Once alone in the bathroom, I painfully stripped off my clothing and stared at the stranger I’d become.

  My ribs and hips jutted out from my body, and my stomach caved in. I pressed my hands against the inward curve between my hips, and they both fit without touching the countertop when I leaned my hips against it. My hair had started to come out in clumps, and Verica had shaved my head for me. Tears slid down my cheeks as I looked at my face, not child-like anymore, but with the same dark hollows under my eyes. It was almost impossible to think that I could ever get better when recovery looked so much like death.

  “Not your first rodeo, remember?” I asked my reflection and tried to make a face at the ugly, tear-stained girl looking back at me.

  The mirror was starting to steam up from the running shower. I watched my growing fog obscure my face until I guiltily realized how wasteful it was to my hosts. I showered and turned off the water before the heat made me too dizzy to stand, then dried off and dressed. I had a mountain of paperwork to do to finish out my time with the park, and I was still avoiding the worst task on my list, now weeks overdue.

  I wiped condensation from the mirror enough to look into my own cowardly eyes. Daddy didn’t need to hear about my relapse. For him, I’d died the day I walked out of the hospital, cancer-free, and took away his excuse for “having to go away to work.” Mom, on the other hand, who blamed me for her husband’s affairs, ignored me unless she needed money, then wrote long, sad letters about how I needed to give her grandchildren. In her twisted, lonely way, she loved me.

  “That’s what you get for not telling her you had a boyfriend, Heidi,” I chided my reflection. “That would have been a much better phone call to lead with after three months of not talking.”

  “Not talking? Sounds like you’re doing plenty of talking, even though you’re all alone. You are alone, right?”

  I jumped and let out an embarrassing, girly shriek and gripped the counter.

  Logan laughed, then crossed the distance to me and took me in his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just wanted to surprise you.”

  I p
unched him in the arm, and he chuckled.

  “My heart almost exploded. You can’t do that, Logan,” I panted and let him hold me upright while I got my legs under me again. “Wait. It’s you! You’re really here, and three days early?” I relaxed into his chest and sighed. “I’m glad you’re here, but I wish I looked better.”

  “Your face is my favorite thing to see, and the one reason I came back at all, let alone early.” He stroked my cheek and wrapped his arms around me tighter. “I had to be home for your surgery. It was wrong of me to leave at all. I wasn’t staying away one minute longer than I had to.”

  I chuckled. “That’s very sweet of you, Logan, and I’m really glad you’re home in one piece. After Mr. Grimness called to apologize,”

  “Boyd called?” Logan’s voice lifted almost an octave, and I hid my smile in his firm chest.

  “Yes. He told me all about the shooting and the hunters. You’re lucky you weren’t seriously hurt, or worse,” I chided him. “I wasn’t expecting you back; I even rescheduled my pre-surgical appointment like you asked.”

  “After Boyd got himself in hot water with the townies, he suggested I leave early, to make us less of a target. Personally, I think he has the hots for Sheriff Song and wanted to let her nurse him back to health.”

  “Can’t blame him for that.” I smiled. “Look, how about I meet you downstairs after I get ready?” I didn’t want him to see how bad it was, not first thing after he’d arrived.

  “Uh, okay,” he replied. “I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy.” He looked unhappy that I was sending him away, but I didn’t have anything extra to give for his ego. His surprise return was amazing on so many levels and painful on a few more.

  “No problem,” I assured him. “I’ll be down in a little bit. But I’m sure your fur child would love to see you, too.”