Booted (Trails of Sin 3)

“He needs time.” I pick along the overgrown terrain, thinking back to the men I’ve met over the years. “A lot of guys come out of prison and isolate themselves from everyone. Doesn’t take long before they’re drinking too much and using medication to numb the pain.”

“He won’t drink. Not after his dad drowned in a bottle and beat on Conor.”

John used to talk about Dalton’s self-destruction with disgust in his voice. I don’t know if Dalton knew John killed his wife, but whatever happened between them left a fissure of hatred.

As we approach the stable, deep, somber vocals croon from within. Jarret opens the door for me, and a familiar cover song strums from the stereo on a nearby shelf.

Hurt by Johnny Cash isn’t exactly an uplifting song. I scan the space, searching for signs of Lorne as the bitter, self-loathing lyrics fill me with dread.

Beyond the farthest stall, a boot catches my eye, the rest of the man out of view behind the half wall. I nudge Jarret and point.

Heading in that direction, I pass the stereo and turn off the depressing song.

“I was listening to that.” Lorne’s growl drifts from around the corner.

“It’s a great song.” I glance at Jarret, grimacing. “If you’re thinking about killing yourself.”

Lorne’s scathing laugh shudders the air.

As I pass the rows of horses, I do a double-take at the cow cuddled up in her own stall. Her pristine white hair is neatly brushed, her bedding fresh and halter made with fine leather, as if she’s as pampered and loved as the purebred stallions.

“Keeping livestock as pets?” I raise an eyebrow at Jarret.

“That’s Chicken.” An affectionate grin lights up his face. “She’s family.”

A cattle rancher with a pet cow? That’s unexpected, but so is the warmth spreading through my chest. Maybe John’s sons aren’t a chip off the old block. One can only hope.

I reach the end of the walkway and stop beside Lorne’s boot.

He sprawls on the ground with his back against the wall, one leg bent, the other stretched out before him. Chin down and hat tipped low on his brow, he hides his face from view.

His arm hangs over his bent knee, and an unopened bottle of whiskey sits between his spread legs.

“What are you doing, Lorne?” Jarret crouches beside him. “You don’t drink.”

Lorne grips the neck of the bottle and moves it out of reach.

Jarret’s gaze follows the liquor. “Talk to me.”

Lorne unscrews the cap.

“Give it here.” Jarret holds out a hand. “Unless you’re aiming to turn into your—”

“If you mention his name, I’ll break your fucking face.” Every muscle in Lorne’s body goes rigid, his voice cutting. “Get out.”

He hasn’t cooled off. If anything, he’s even more keyed up, and his irritability is rubbing off, given the flex of Jarret’s hands. Two raging bulls in a small space are guaranteed to lock horns.

“Christ, you’re a stubborn fuck.” Jarret jumps to his feet. “If this is how you want—”

“Jarret.” I grip his shirt and gesture toward the exit. “Outside.”

“Or what? You gonna shoot me with an unloaded gun?”

“Nope. The one I aim at you will be loaded.” I walk to the door.

Thankfully, he follows. I guess he’s smart enough to realize his anger isn’t helping.

The moment we step outside, he clutches the back of his neck.

“I don’t know what to do. That guy…” He thrusts a finger at the door. “That’s not Lorne. That’s not the brother I grew up with.”

“Yes, he is. Stop making fists and screaming for his attention. You’re acting like a butt-hurt baby.”

“The fuck I am.”

“You waited eight years for his return. He’s finally here, and you still have to wait.” I soften my voice. “I can’t imagine how much that stings, but he needs you to be patient.”

“I only have patience when I’m not breathing,” he mutters.

“Not true. I was in there when you helped Maybe pack up her apartment.”

They thought I was asleep, but I heard them talking about their separation.

“You waited for her for eighteen months.” I give him a gentle smile. “And you’ll keep waiting for Lorne because that’s what he needs.”

His stark eyes tick between the estate and the stable before resting on me. “I won’t leave him in there alone all night.”

“I’ll be with him.”

His gaze dips to my chest and bounces away. In the distance, two silhouettes float across the field, heading toward us.

I squint. “Is that—?”

“Jake and Conor. I’ll head them off so you can…” He motions at the door. “Be alone with him.” He strides off toward his brother.

He thinks I’m going to offer my body to Lorne. Because that’s all I’m good for. Maybe the latter is true, but Jarret doesn’t know I already tried and was rejected.

I pull in a steady breath and return to the man and his whiskey.

Lorne hasn’t moved from his slouch against the wall. It’s more of a non-slouch with the amount of surly tension and developed muscle vibrating along his frame. He lifts his head, and his gaze rams into me with enough animosity to make me second guess why I’m here.