Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Sam stopped at Ember Bluff again, knowing he could get service, and for a while his finger hovered over the 911 he'd typed in. Then flying by instinct alone, he deleted that and instead went to Contacts. Ethan wasn't on site—he was over in Missoula—but Nate was down there somewhere, as was Jay and Gabe.

He tried Nate. No answer. Then Gabe next, who answered on the second ring. "Yo, Sam." A smile in his voice.

"I need your help."

"What's wrong?" Gabe didn't make a joke. Evidently he'd picked up on the anxiety and urgency in Sam's voice. "Oh my God, is it Ashley, the kids? My brothers?—?"

"No," Sam interrupted before Gabe passed out going through a list of everyone he cared for. "Hell, no, I just have... something. Do you know the old shacks up behind Ember Bluff, about a mile up from them?"

There was a moment of silence. "Yes, kind of. There's about five of them, old cabins from before the ranch was officially here. Loggers' shacks, I think."

Five? Shit, Sam hadn't counted five, just the one he'd sat inside with Tom. "Is Nate around somewhere?"

"No, he left twenty minutes ago. He's out with a family on a trail with Adam. Is everything okay?"

"Jay?"

"Jay? He's gone to town. Shit, Sam, tell me what's wrong. You're worrying me."

"Can you get here?"

"Where?"

"The cabins up past Ember Bluff."

"What?"

"Gabe, listen to me. I found a man in one of the cabins. He has a gun and no ID. He's ill, and we need to get him help."

"Okay, I'll call the sheriff and the paramedics?—"

"No. He said no. Look, can you just get here?"

"Sam—"

"Gabe, please, just you. No 911." There was no way Sam wanted a man's life on his conscience.

"Jeez, Sam. I'll saddle up and be there as soon as I can."

"Take the top trail and look for my bike."

"On it."

Only when Sam was tracking back to where he'd left Tom did he think maybe he should have asked Gabe to bring a second horse. Or something.

I'm not thinking this through. He stopped the bike for a moment, the engine idling, his feet flat on the ground. What the hell am I doing?

"Saving a man's life," Sam answered himself out loud. "Finding cosmic balance and shit. Righting all my wrongs."

He bowed his head, focusing on his right hand, the fingers curled around the handlebars.

The last time he thought he knew better, everything had gone wrong. A man he thought he'd loved had lost his job and been shamed in the media. Sam pulled in the clutch, and twisted the throttle, considering turning the bike around.

That thought lasted all of a few seconds. And then, with determination, he forged on up toward the cabin.

He clambered through the twisted roots and into the shack. Tom hadn't moved from where Sam left him; his eyes were still closed, the scent of vomit heavy in the air.

"Tom?" Sam shook his shoulder. "I'm sorry, man; I can't do this on my own. Help is coming, but I'll stay with you all the time, okay. Gabe is coming. We can trust him not to call 911, and I won't let anyone hurt you. Unless, of course, you're an escaped murderer, in which case I will rat you out in a second."

He was rambling again, anything to hear the sound of his voice. He felt for a pulse and couldn't find it. Instead he pressed his ear to Tom's chest, all kinds of awkward and twisted. Tom's heartbeat was there, his chest rising and falling; he was alive.

So now what?

No way could he move Tom from where he lay. Sam sat down next to Tom, felt the heat of the man radiating to him, and placed a reassuring hand on his arm.

All he could do was wait for Gabe, and it was excruciating.

His thoughts wandered to Bryan, the man he'd lusted after at fifteen: the gardener, all sweat and muscles, and God, Sam had been so eager to try everything. Being gay wasn't an issue for him, losing his virginity had been. And he'd been reckless and stupid, demanding that Bryan show him everything. It had been a long hot summer of sex until he turned sixteen.

And then he'd come out; he was in love with Bryan, or he'd thought so, and he told his family.

Sam had come out of it smelling of roses, because his family paid Bryan off and blamed the older man for leading him astray. There had been photos that were used to blackmail Bryan into silence. He'd agreed not to say a thing. But, not long after he'd left his work, Bryan had been jumped in an alley and nearly lost his life, and Sam just knew his family had been responsible. Bryan had been warned off, and that had been it. Last he'd heard, Sam's first lover had settled in New Orleans, working relief after Katrina and then not moving on. Sam only knew that because he'd seen the article on Google.

How sad was it that he'd googled Bryan's name?

He owed the man an apology, but Sam hadn't even considered that until he'd gone back home. Somehow he had compartmentalized what had happened with Bryan and his family, and had forgotten how raw everything was.

He was determined not to forget this time.

And maybe he'd email Bryan.

When he heard Gabe calling, Sam realized he'd completely zoned out, memories of a different life filling his thoughts. He didn't know how much time had passed, enough to sing three different Lady Gaga songs twice through, think earth-shattering life-changing thoughts, battle guilt, and then likely doze against the hot-water bottle that was Tom. "In here!" he called.

"Sam?"

Sam scrambled up and walked out of the door, aware that as he moved, Tom flinched in his sleep. Poor guy couldn't even rest while unconscious.

Sam clambered out of the shack and over the twisted roots. "Gabe! Over here."

The sound of a horse moving, some banging and crashing, and then a flushed Gabe stepped into the clearing Sam was standing in.

"What the fuck, Sam?" Gabe asked.

"There's a man…." Sam had so many words in his head that he wanted to get out and his chest was tight with anxiety, but he couldn't pull the words out.

"Show me," Gabe said.

Sam realized that his friend was holding a rifle, and although he wanted to say that Tom was unconscious and incapable of much, Gabe looked determined to keep himself and Sam safe from the guy on the ground.

Sam led Gabe to the door, and Gabe cocked the rifle.

"You won't need that." Sam placed a hand on the weapon. "He could have shot me, and he didn't."

Gabe looked at him steadily. "We have an armed man on my land," Gabe hissed the words. "Only a couple of miles from my family, from the kids. You won't let me call the cops, so I'm taking a rifle in."

Sam wasn't going to argue with him. Gabe took family very seriously, and by extension, friends. Even Sam was probably included in that, although it was the first time he'd ever shown his underbelly to anyone at Crooked Tree; the only time he'd ever asked for help. That had to be why Gabe wasn't running for the phone to call the police out here. Sam hoped to hell he wasn't betrayed this first and only time he was asking for trust.

"His name is Tom," Sam said in lieu of arguing. Just because Gabe had a rifle didn't mean he was going to use it. Still, it didn't hurt to add a simple "Don't hurt him."

Sam slipped past Gabe and went in first, much to Gabe's disgust if his tight-lipped grimace as Sam passed was anything to go by. Freaking hero types.

Then they were both in the cabin, and everything happened so fast he didn't have time to process it.

Tom was awake, sat up, leaning against the wall in half shadow, the gun in his hand, resting on his knee. He looked devastated, shocked. Hell if Sam could make sense of it.

Gabe gasped a horrified, half-choked sound that chilled Sam to the bone. Sam looked at Gabe, at the way the blood drained from his face, and then in horror as Gabe literally slumped to his knees.

" Justin ."