Promise Me: A Second Chance Romance

by Willow Winters

  Eight

  “Still moping about Remy?”

  Sawyer looked up from his spot at the kitchen table to find Colt sauntering into the kitchen. His brother was fresh from the shower, but he had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in days.

  “You look like hell,” Sawyer said. “Didn’t you go to bed at the same time as me and Walker?”

  Colt smirked and shrugged as Walker came in, catching the tail end of Sawyer’s words.

  “A hundred bucks says Colt was at some lucky divorcee’s house until the wee hours,” Walker said, opening a cabinet in search of a coffee cup. “Where are the cups? Three months here, and I still can’t find a single thing in this kitchen.”

  “To the left of the sink,” Colt said. “And we weren’t talking about me. We were discussing whether Sawyer is just grappling with his hangover, or whether he’s mooning over Remy River.”

  Sawyer snorted and shook his head. “No way, Colt. I don’t want any bad blood between me and Remy, especially considering the fact that we need a handshake agreement with her father to keep sharing land and water rights.”

  “So you didn’t drive back to see her after we came home last night?” Walker asked, handing Colt a mug and pouring coffee in his own.

  “Well… just to set things right,” Sawyer said. “I don’t have to defend myself to you two. Mr. Catahoula’s Prime Manwhore over here, and… Walker, I don’t even want to know how long it’s been since you got laid.”

  Walker’s answering scowl made Sawyer chuckle. “That’s what I thought.”

  “That’s a low blow,” Walker said.

  Sawyer shrugged. “It’s been four years, Walker. Nobody in the world has more sympathy than me, I promise. But you’ve stopped living your life.”

  “And you’re hung up on your high school sweetheart,” Walker shot back, setting his coffee cup down so hard it sloshed coffee onto the kitchen counter.

  “I’m not hung up on Remy,” he insisted. “There are other fish in the sea.”

  “And yet, I get the sense that you’re not exactly leaving anyone behind in D.C. No one expected you to find a new girl when you were deployed, but for the year since you’ve been back… nothing?” Colt asked, sipping his coffee.

  “No one I feel any need to get back to,” Sawyer said.

  Walker was still scowling into his coffee, Colt moving to pour himself a bowl of cereal. They were all quiet for a few seconds, lost in their own thoughts.

  “Y’all better eat something,” Colt said. “We got work to do today.”

  “Oh, really?” Sawyer asked, arching a brow.

  “Mmmhm. Barn roof needs patching. There’s a whole section of fence down by the river that’s about to rot away. That, and a bunch of other little stuff that has to be done whether we keep the ranch or sell it.”

  Sawyer looked to Walker, who nodded.

  “We need to figure out whether we’re staying or going,” Walker said. “Because if we’re staying, we need to bring on some better hired hands. I keep catching The Colonel’s men sleeping in the barn or sipping from flasks all day.”

  Walker poured two more bowls of cereal, passing one off to Sawyer as he took his spot at the table. Colt joined them and they all ate.

  “We gotta get a cook,” Colt sighed. “Cereal isn’t enough to start the day off with, and I can’t fry an egg to save my life.”

  “Yeah, not really what the military trains us to do,” Sawyer agreed. “But again, we only need a cook if we’re staying, right?”

  Colt shrugged. “You two are the only ones trying to decide. Me, I know I belong here. The idea of giving up the land that’s been in our family for so many generations, it doesn’t sit right with me.”

  “Even if you could make more money elsewhere?” Walker asked.

  “Money isn’t everything,” Colt said.

  Sawyer could only agree with that. They finished their cereal in silence, then washed up and poured themselves thermoses of coffee.

  After breakfast, Sawyer and Walker headed out to the front porch. To Sawyer’s surprise, Colt emerged from the house wearing a new Stetson cowboy hat. He held two identical hats, handing them to Sawyer and Walker.

  “Really?” Sawyer asked as he accepted it and put it on.

  “Feels good, huh?” Colt asked with a grin. “Besides, you’re gonna need it. We have to ride out to fix the fence, the road is almost impassable out there. Needs new gravel laid down before we risk driving on it again.”

  Sawyer only nodded, thinking of the driveway at the River farm. Apparently it was easy enough to let those kinds of things fall into disrepair.

  “When’s the last time you rode?” Walker asked Sawyer.

  Sawyer thought about it, then shrugged. “The last time I was home. I rode out to the swimming hole with Remy.”

  True to form, Walker and Colt went quiet when Sawyer mentioned Remy. He shrugged it off, figuring if they’d made it this far without telling him their Remy-related secret, it was theirs to keep.

  The brothers headed to the stables, and Sawyer took a minute to examine the structure itself, eyeing the state of the roof and walls. There were six horses stabled there, and two workers in the barn.

  Short and coffee-skinned, the two cowboys were busy shoring up one of the barn walls. Already, there was a marked improvement between that wall and the other three, which were leaning as bad as the Tower of Pisa.

  “Hola,” Colt said to the two workers, who nodded at him and continued their work.

  “You speak Spanish now?” Sawyer asked.

  “Hey, you’re not the only linguistically adept brother, okay?” Colt joked. “And yeah, I’ve just started to pick it up since I’ve been back in Catahoula. The majority of the men The Colonel hired speak very little English, so it’s practical.”

  “I see,” Sawyer said, walking over to check out the horses. Looked like four geldings and two mares, mostly mixed stock. Probably chosen for their calm temperaments and patience, like any good ranch horse.

  The Roman Ranch was a working stock ranch, supplying horses and various types of cattle to the surrounding areas. The horses were mostly imported and sold right away, though the ranch had another larger stable from the dude ranch days.

  The cows, they raised here on the property, maintaining a nice big herd of breeding stock.

  “You should probably take one of these three,” Colt said, pointing to two of the mares and a dappled gelding. “No offense, but if you haven’t been on a horse in three years, the others won’t be as easy to manage.”

  Sawyer shot Colt a glare, which made Colt laugh.

  “I said no offense!” Colt said. “Just take my advice, save yourself some trouble.”

  Walker was already in the stall with the biggest gelding, a beautiful dark gray beast. Sawyer picked the gelding that Colt had pointed out, 13 hands high with a brown and cream dappled coat.

  “What’s his name?” he asked.

  “Pericles,” Walker said.

  “The Colonel’s getting a little weird with the names these days,” Sawyer said, eyeing the horse. The horse just blinked at him, unconcerned.

  Thankfully, once he picked up a brush and spent a second greeting the horse, Sawyer fell right back into the rhythm of ranch life. He brushed his horse down and then saddled him, the muscle memory of it springing back to life.

  He led Pericles out, following Walker and Colt. Colt was putting tools into his saddlebag, things they’d need for working on the fence.

  It took two attempts to swing his leg over, making it clear that he wasn’t as nimble as his high school days. Still, he mounted with little trouble, taking the reins.

  “Ready?” Colt asked.

  “Always,” Sawyer said.

  Colt smirked and led the way. The area they were headed for was clear on the opposite side of the ranch, meaning that they’d have to ride on a scenic roundabout route.

  Sawyer eyed Colt as they started down the broad gravel road that circled the en
tire property. If he didn’t know better, Sawyer would think that Colt chose this particular task just to take them on a tour of the ranch, remind them how pretty the place could be.

  The sun beat down on them relentlessly, despite the early hour. As Sawyer looked out over the beautiful green pastures, skirting some of the marshier areas, he was glad for the Stetson on his head.

  Pretty soon they started riding past small clusters of cattle, the herds split up by gender and type. The ride was long and quiet, except the moments when they stopped to open and close a gate here and there as they passed through different sections of the ranch.

  They rode by the deserted cabins and mess hall that Sawyer’s mother had used to run her tourist business. When the dude ranch was bustling, the Romans had constructed and expanded to meet the demand.

  Sawyer checked his phone, knowing he’d lose signal soon.

  “Checking on your D.C. hos?” Colt asked.

  Sawyer slid him a smirk. “Maybe. You feeling jealous, brother?”

  “Naw, I just wish I was getting video chats like the one I overheard late last night,” Colt said.

  Sawyer snickered. Busted. “Oh, you heard that, huh?”

  “Some smoky-voiced chick telling you all the ways she’s gonna suck your dick when you get back? Yeah, maybe close your windows next time you want to have some private time,” Colt said.

  “Don’t hate the player, hate the game,” Sawyer said.

  “Fuck off with that,” Colt said with a laugh.

  They rode on, Sawyer’s mind filled with dirty images. No specific girl in mind, though if he were honest he’d say that he was on a bit of a blonde streak just now.

  He put his phone away and adjusted in his saddle a number of times before giving up the brain-smut, since it was just serving to make him uncomfortable as all hell now.

  Walker slowed to ride beside Sawyer, nodding at the abandoned buildings as they passed.

  “We could get it up and running again,” he said.

  Sawyer glanced at Walker. “Bring tourists in, you mean?”

  “Yeah, maybe. I poked through some of the old financial records, and the ranch was never as successful as when Mom ran the dude ranch.”

  “Hmm,” Sawyer said. “We’d need a lot of help with that, though. Mom was all about Southern hospitality, something you and I don’t know a thing about.”

  Walker nodded, looking off into the distance. “Just an idea.”

  “Not a bad one. Just… difficult.”

  Colt glanced back at them. “Will you two hurry up? I’m getting old up here, waiting on y’all.”

  Sawyer looked at Walker, who cocked a brow. Sawyer nodded, and Walker urged his horse into a gallop. Sawyer and Walker overtook Colt, although he caught up to them quickly.

  Riding hard, calling encouragement to their mounts, they flew across the gently rolling hills. The land began to slope down, small trees and shrubs springing up around them as they rode toward the river.

  As they got closer, the opposite side of the valley turned from dirt to sugarcane, an indication that they were riding near River Farm. Sawyer couldn’t see the farmhouse from here, but they did ride by a rickety pump house and a few feeble lean-to sheds.

  At length, they reached the barbed wire fence and rode west along it, heading for some specific spot that Colt had in mind. The fence was supported here and there with heavy wood posts, some in better shape than others.

  Colt stopped at a post that had rotted halfway up, the top half loosely hanging against the barbed wire lines that ran through it.

  “How many of the posts look like this?” Sawyer asked as they dismounted, giving their horses free rein to graze.

  “‘Bout 20, I’d say,” Colt said. “But a lot more of them need replacing. I’d hate to see the day that we wake up to find a big break in the fence, half the cows ranging downstream.”

  “Or worse, across Cur Creek in the sugarcane fields,” Walker said. “Braxton River would lose his mind.”

  Colt produced work gloves, pliers, snips, and a few small lengths of wire. “We don’t have to worry about that today. If we keep the ranch, we’ll eventually rebuild most of this fence.”

  “We’re just cutting the post free and linking the wire, huh?” Sawyer asked.

  Colt nodded. “Don’t know why anyone would build these with wood, anyway.”

  “Same reason we rode out here,” Walker said, squinting against the ever-brightening sun. “No good roads to move a lot of heavy metal, so I expect most of these posts are cut from trees down by the creek.”

  He pointed at the taller trees growing on the marshy banks of Cur Creek.

  “You know, I think you’re right,” Sawyer said, impressed with Walker’s analysis.

  “We need to spread out, do a quarter mile or so at a time, then come back and move the horses,” Colt said.

  Sawyer and Walker nodded, easily falling into a system. They each took every third post, working seamlessly together. It reminded Sawyer a little of back when they were teenagers; if they stepped out of line, which they always did, The Colonel would punish all three of them. To prepare them for the military, Sawyer supposed.

  So inevitably Colt would stay out all night, or Walker would provoke his father’s temper, or Sawyer would sneak off from the church social early. As a result all three of them would end up mucking out stalls, or transporting bales of hay. Furious at each other and at their father, barely speaking, but working as efficiently as possible.

  This was like that, but without all the simmering tension and anger. Well, mostly.

  Walker was silent, intent on his work. Colt, on the other hand, seemed to tire fairly quickly. Not that he said anything, of course, but he started to favor one leg and grumble as he went.

  His limp got progressively worse, and he seemed frustrated. Several times, Colt’s fingers slipped while he was working. Not uncommon, because the snips were a little tricky. Still, he would react a little wildly, even throwing his hat on the ground at one point.

  “Colt, man, you want to call it a day? Or go get some lunch?” Sawyer asked.

  Colt turned to him, cold fury in his eyes. “You calling me lazy, brother?”

  “Whoa, no,” Sawyer said, raising his hands. He looked to Walker for support.

  “I’m pretty thirsty, myself,” Walker said.

  Colt looked between Sawyer and Walker, then shook his head and shot them a disgusted expression.

  “Don’t you dare pity me,” he spat.

  Striding to his horse, he mounted without waiting for Sawyer and Walker.

  “I’m going all the way down to the end. We don’t need to be this close,” he said.

  “Colt—” Walker said, but it was too late.

  Colt turned and nudged his horse into a trot, leaving them behind. Sawyer made a face at his brother’s retreating back.

  “He’ll never grow up,” he sighed.

  “Don’t do that,” Walker said, giving Sawyer a hard look. “Don’t infantilize him.”

  “He’s being a child. There’s nothing to psychoanalyze there, brainiac.”

  “I’m just pointing out the obvious, if you take a second to think about it. He’s reacting to you coming home,” Walker said, crossing his arms. “Well, to both of us.”

  “What, because he was injured?” Sawyer asked.

  “Colt’s competitive as all get-out. You don’t think he’s worked up about the fact that he was medically discharged from service? Or that he served less time than both his brothers or his father?”

  Sawyer crossed his own arms, mimicking Walker. He stared off into the distance, thinking. “I can see how he’d be in his own head about that.”

  “Yeah, not to mention that he’s got some physical limitations now,” Walker said. “You haven’t seen his leg, since this all happened while you were gone, but… it’s pretty bad.”

  “Scarred?”

  “Burned, scarred. He got hit with a spray of small IED shrapnel, and it took a good couple
chunks out of his calf. His ankle is pretty busted up too, with burns and scars from where they put that steel rod in.”

  Sawyer gave a low whistle. “That’s tough.”

  “Yeah,” Walker said, shaking his head. “And he refuses to talk about it, won’t even acknowledge that it happened.”

  “PTSD?” Sawyer asked.

  Walker gave him a hard look. “Not like yours.”

  “Mmm,” Sawyer said, nodding. “Good for him.”

  They were both quiet for a minute, Sawyer lost in thoughts of Colt. He wished like anything that he could’ve come home when Colt was in the hospital, but The Colonel hadn’t even told Sawyer or Walker about it until after Colt had moved back home.

  “This tomcatting around thing he does, sleeping with any cute girl who’ll look his way,” Sawyer said after a moment. “You think that’s the same thing, him trying to compensate?”

  Walker arched a brow. “Now who’s the psychologist?”

  “Hey, I’m the oldest brother. That’s my thing. You’re the smart one, Colt’s the wild child. Let’s all just stick to our roles, huh?”

  Something dark flashed across Walker’s expression as he touched the brim of his hat.

  “I hope and pray every single day that we’re more than just our past,” he said.

  “Walker, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Sawyer said. “I didn’t even bring up—”

  “Let’s get moving, huh?” Walker said, cutting him off abruptly.

  Sawyer followed Walker back to the horses, letting silence reign. Apparently Colt wasn’t the only one who was working through some issues. Though Walker’s troubles were harder to see, since his scars were on his heart, rather than on his leg.

  “I’ll take the middle,” Walker said, riding off without another word.

  Sawyer rode east, decidedly happy for a bit of his own company. The day grew hotter and hotter, his body started to ache from riding, and his fingers sore from working the pliers and wire.

  Still, he savored it. His job in D.C. was satisfying in some ways, knowing he was making a difference in the lives of young soldiers. But it called for a lot of meetings, conferences, long days in offices where he hardly saw the sun.