Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Sam stepped back and away from Gabe, who looked dangerously pale, so much so that Sam thought he was going to join Tom flat on the ground.

No, not Tom, Justin .

Gabe had Justin's full weight on him. "What do we do, then, if we can't take him home?"

Wait? He's asking me what to do? Think.

"If we get him out of this place, to the horse, down to the cabins, there's one that's empty. It's why I called you. I couldn't do it on my own. Then we can get Ryan's brother out here, Aaron, the paramedic, he's a nice guy, he'll know what to do."

"Fuck, Sam." Gabe blinked at him, his expression suddenly blank, and his mouth open.

That was shock, as clear as day. Sam clenched his hands into tight fists and focused. Whatever the shit in his head, he needed to be the strong one here. He dropped to his knees next to Gabe, who was cradling Justin. "Let's get him up, and out to your horse. We'll think about everything else later."

Gabe looked at him steadily for a few moments and then snapped out of his fugue, gripping Justin's arms and letting Sam take the weight of his legs. Between them they manhandled Justin's dead weight to the broken door. Sam walked backward. He used his body to wedge open the door and cursed as something stabbed into his ass; he wriggled away even as the combined weight of Justin and Gabe pressed him back and out the door onto the damn branches. Only at the last moment did he regain his footing and manage to stay upright. Together they scrambled across the tree roots, Gabe deadly silent, and Sam cursing at each step. They got Justin over to the huge horse—Gabe's horse, Lightning—and Sam wasn't surprised when it rolled its eyes, snorted, and tried to tug away from where it had been tied.

Probably spooked by the smell of blood.

"Hold still, Lightning," Gabe muttered, shifting positions so he could half manage to press Justin against the horse. To its credit, the horse stopped moving immediately, and not for the first time, Sam was relieved the horses at Crooked Tree were so well trained.

Now the difficult part: they had to get Tom—Justin—up onto the horse.

"How about I get up there first," Gabe said, shifting Justin's weight, his face contorted with determination.

Justin groaned and opened his eyes, but they were unfocused, and he stumbled as Sam let his legs drop gently to the ground. At least if Justin was half-conscious he could assist them to get him up on the horse.

Somehow they managed it, with Gabe scrambling up on Lightning's back to support Justin.

"Rob will kill me," Justin muttered—moaned—his words slurred. "He'll have to."

"C'mon buddy. Stay upright," Gabe said as Justin listed to one side. "I'll meet you down there. Stay aware," he added to Sam, and then he pressed his heels into Lightning's flanks, and with a skitter of hooves, they moved off.

Sam wheeled his bike away from the scene and then stopped. He went back into the shack and found and pocketed the gun. He scouted around and picked up anything that looked like it might be Justin's, plus the bag with the clothes. Then he was back on the bike and on his way down the mountain.

He caught sight of the horse and men ahead but stayed back. There was no way he wanted to spook the horse. At least Gabe had succeeded in keeping his seat, gripping Justin hard. Sam had visions of them sprawled on the ground, and Sam not knowing what the hell to do next.

When they reached the cabins—and thank fuck no one had seen them yet—Gabe chose the most remote of them, a cabin Sam knew was empty, and had been all season because of some issue with subsidence in the rocks behind it. Nate had taken Sam out there a couple of months back to get input into the kitchen they were refitting.

At least it would be a roof, and a bed, and maybe hot water.

He killed the engine, stowed the bike in the trees, way off the path, and slid his way down the remainder of the slope to the back of the cabin. By the time he got there, Gabe had almost managed to get Justin off the horse, but at the last slide, Sam was there, taking his weight and stumbling back. Justin was taller than him and built under his scruffy clothes, solid and muscled.

"We don't have keys," Gabe said.

The cabins were all built to be sturdy, strong and safe, and Sam shook his head. What the hell were they going to do? He tried the door in hopes that somehow their luck would be in, but the damn thing was locked up tight.

Gabe smacked the flat of his hand on the wood. "I guess we could go to the office for a key."

"Yeah, and explain that how?" Sam snapped. He couldn't help it; adrenaline was fading and he felt shaky and confused by it all.

"Do you have any better ideas?" Sam wished he did. "We need to break a window," Gabe added.

"Really? Shit." They lowered Justin to the ground gently, and Sam looked around for a brick or something, finding a large chunk of rock about six feet away. He hesitated before he smashed in the glass by the door. This was them saying that instead of doing the right thing, what medical concerns dictated, and getting Justin to a hospital, they were hiding him away, even as ill as he was.

"Sam?" Gabe was kneeling now, with Justin's head in his lap. The look was asking for Sam to make the ultimate decision.

So Sam did. He took off his jacket and sweatshirt, and then broke the pane, muffling the sound as best he could with the sweatshirt wrapped behind the rock. The glass fell in, and in a second he was reaching around inside to find the internal lock. He had to stretch right up on his toes to do it, hoping he wasn't digging into the remnants of the glass. Finally, he closed his fingers on the lock and managed to undo it. He immediately opened the door. Between them, they got Justin inside, Gabe supporting under one arm, Sam the other.

The cabin was dark, all the drapes drawn, and it had the smell of disuse. On the counter in the kitchen were tubs of paint, along with cloths and paintbrushes, and piles of wood leaned against it. The cabin was obviously scheduled for maintenance, but God knew when. The image of people appearing and finding Justin shot into his mind.

"This is wrong," Sam blurted. Loudly, because even though Justin had made him believe they needed to stay quiet, he was too much out of his depth. "I need to call 911. We need to get help." He was getting close to losing his shit completely, and he shook his head. Justin wasn't dying; he just had a fever, right? They could leave it a little while, get him cleaned up, and see what was happening under the grime?

Because Justin was one of the boys who'd vanished, right? Ethan's brother. And he was in pain, and desperate, and Sam didn't want to put his life in danger.

"Yeah, it's fucking wrong," Gabe snapped, grunting with exertion as he supported Justin. "But he said if anyone knew he was here… shit, I don't know…. Bedroom?" Gabe huffed.

They managed to get Justin onto the bed. Sam yanked at a drape, letting daylight flood into the back of the cabin. He looked at Justin, at the mud and blood and vomit. They had to clean him up; Justin needed medication, painkillers, bandages, and a doctor. Anything but just him and Gabe, who didn't know what the hell they were doing.

Sam's chest tightened with fear and he bent at the waist, his hands on his thighs.

What are we thinking?

"Get him out of those clothes, get him clean, call a fucking doctor," Sam snapped, his head telling him what they needed to do.

"Sam, he said we shouldn't. Sam?" Gabe sounded lost, torn between what to do for the best and what Justin had asked them to do. "If he's here and alive, and someone wants him dead…. Sam, I need him alive." Desperation tinged Gabe's words.

Gabe stared at Sam with confusion, utter loss and devastation that Sam couldn't ignore. Sam had promised Justin he wouldn't tell anyone, and he'd even broken that with telling Gabe. But Justin was so ill, what did Sam do now?

Shit. Fuck. Shit.

"Can you at least help me see where he's hurt?" Gabe asked, ready to make that one decision.

Sam stood, immobile, considering ways around this. How could they get a doctor there? There was only one main road in, and if a doc came onto Crooked Tree, it would be obvious. Hell, Nate was uber-observant, and the only local doc was familiar to everyone on the ranch. But shouldn't Nate know? And what about Ethan? And Marcus? Justin's brother and father had the loss defining their lives, and they needed to know he was alive.

Justin groaned but didn't regain consciousness. Alive? For how much longer, Sam thought darkly.

Gabe looked up at Sam. "Sam?"

"Please stop asking me what to do," Sam snapped. Then, in a smooth motion, he fell to his knees next to the unconscious Justin. He eased down Justin's jeans, exposing the bandage he'd put on what seemed like forever ago. There was no sign of blood, but Justin's skin was hot to the touch.

"He has a fever," Gabe said, placing the flat of his hand on Justin's forehead. He pressed a hand to the thigh wound and winced at the localized heat and swelling there. "Something isn't right, Sam."

Justin muttered something, moving his head from side to side.

"He's been taking these." Sam reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of pills. Now he looked closer, he could see the name on the side of them: Adam Strachan. Justin must have helped himself just as he had done in Branches. Hadn't Adam noticed they were gone? "These are just painkillers, that's not enough to fight the infection, is it?"

Unspoken was Sam's fear: Are we killing him? It was surreal, not how it was supposed to go.

Gabe looked at him again, his expression bleak, and Sam realized it was still up to him.

He pulled the jeans down, realized he needed to untie the boots, and cursed as he fumbled with the laces. The skin under the denim was rough to the touch behind the knees, the calves, but he didn't stop to check why, focusing on removing all the denim, then Justin's T-shirt and sweatshirt. Between them they managed to pull up the material, and with Gabe supporting Justin's weight, Sam rolled him away slightly, to pull the material up at the back.

He was horrified at what he saw there: twisted skin, old scars, so much past pain. The scarring, from the nape of his neck, twisting down his back, and disappearing into his boxers, then on again below that thin material, down the strong, muscled thighs and beyond his knees, tailing away just above his ankles.

Burns. A hundred burns or one burn, it wasn't obvious, but those were old scars.

"What?" Gabe asked urgently, "what is it?"

Sam shook his head mutely. Who was this man, lying injured on the ground, to have so many scars and a bullet wound, and to have lived through it all?

Justin. His name is Justin. He's a kid who vanished, and he's here for us to mend.

A fierce rush of protectiveness for Justin was followed by a need to hurt whoever had injured him, this brother of a friend. "He has so many…." Sam tilted Justin a little more and Gabe peered over, then blanched and sat back on his haunches.

"Adam said he saw him burning," Gabe murmured. "Oh fuck, Justin, what happened to you?"

Sam inhaled a calming breath and pulled back the bandage he'd applied. He needed to see the bullet wound closer, look at the detail of it with more light. God knows what he would do then.

The wound looked clean, a little swollen, but there could be something hidden under the skin.

"He said he was shot, that there was metal in there," Sam said as he touched the area.

"What? You think the bullet is still in there?"

"The wound is a mess," Sam said.

"This is fucked-up," Gabe snapped, tension and fear in his voice. "We have to call 911."

Justin opened his eyes, reached up, and gripped Gabe's hand. Was he alert, really conscious? Sam couldn't tell.

"No, 'm'okay," Justin said. "Hit… 'rush… 'cush…." He raised his other hand. Sam thought he was going to touch his head, but there was no energy in the move and Justin's hand fell limp at his side.

Gabe fumbled with his phone, dropping it on the floor and scooping it up. Everything slowed to a halt in Sam's eyes as Gabe thumbed to dial out. He caught the fear, the absolute bone-numbing terror in Justin's half-open eyes as he tried to reach for the phone, but couldn't.

Sam acted on instinct, placed his hand over Gabe's, and stopped him from dialing. "I think we need to listen to Justin," he said.

Gabe looked at him, horrified; he was lost, close to tears, and his fingers tightened on the cell.

Sam eased the phone away and pocketed it, and Gabe didn't argue.

Sam then gently pressed his hand where Justin had indicated and felt a lump just behind the ear. He pushed aside the filthy, matted blond hair and located the swelling. There was no blood, but it looked like Justin had hit his head falling. Maybe he'd been trying to say concussion ?

Sam thought back to what he knew about concussions, learned from watching hockey and football. Sickness, dizziness, ringing in the ears. Or was Justin's confusion just because of the infection?

"Let's get him in a bath." Was that right? Sam didn't even know. "A cool bath, and then get him to take some more painkillers?"

For a few seconds, Gabe just stared, and then something must have clicked inside and he nodded. "Let's do this."

With Justin somewhat lucid, they made it to the bathroom.

Sam cursed when he saw that there was no bath, just a huge walk-in shower. "Okay," he said, "we can do this."

Leaving Gabe to support Justin's weight, Sam scrambled out of the bathroom to get a chair from the living area; he placed it right in the middle of the shower cubicle and turned on the faucet. Was there even going to be hot water? He waited and hoped to hell there was some warmer water, and finally it came through. Thank fuck for solar panels and the cabin not being decommissioned fully while waiting for repairs.

He placed Gabe's phone along with his own on the counter. Then Sam considered how the hell they were going to get Justin onto the chair.

In a surprise move, Justin heaved himself away from Gabe and half slid, half fell onto the seat. The damn thing nearly upended, but Sam used his body to counteract the move. Tepid water sluiced over him and Justin, but all Sam did was push back the spray from his face as he concentrated on the man on the chair.

He lathered soap and gently started to wash Justin from the head down. Sometimes Justin would curse, at others he would let out a full-body shudder, but during all of it he never tried to get away.

They skipped the groin area because Sam wasn't about to strip the poor guy. Hopefully the grime would soak away. Gabe was gently washing from Justin's feet up, and he didn't seem inclined to strip him either. With a groan, Justin eased up off the seat. Gripping the wall, the shower, and any part of Sam and Gabe he could use, he managed to stand. He pushed down his boxers, and with his back to Sam, Sam could see the scarring was as bad across the left cheek of his ass and down to the thigh crease.

Fuck, the pain Justin must have gone through didn't bear thinking about.

Sam did his job, squirted soap onto his hands and gently, carefully, attempted to clean as much skin as he could reach. Finally, they had him wrapped in some towels Gabe had managed to find in airtight packaging under the bed. At least they had some towels and limited bedding, which Gabe used to make up the king in the large bedroom. Justin stumble-walked to the room, waving away help, only stopping three times to lean against the wall. Sam called that a win.

He made it to the bed, slumping to sit on the side. Gabe hovered by the door. He seemed to be in another world, looking from Justin to Sam and back again.

"Justin." Gabe's voice was husky; he had tears in his eyes and seemed in as much need of the wall as Justin had been.

"Later, G," Justin murmured. "Just don't let me… sleep. Not too long." He rolled onto his side, his back to Sam, and in stiff, awkward movements, he rolled more onto his side and closed his eyes.

"Should we let him sleep at all?" Sam asked.

Gabe slid down the wall to the ground, bent up his knees, and rested his forehead on them. He mumbled something.

Sam crouched next to him. "What?"

"I don't know," Gabe mumbled again, but that time Sam heard him. "We should let Ethan know, and Marcus, and?—"

"He didn't want us to," Sam warned. "Something about danger and shit. That if people found out he was here, they would kill him. I don't know. All I know is I told you because you were the only one here, and I couldn't do this on my own."

"That's Ethan's brother there. Hell, his dad is less than a mile from here." Gabe lifted his head and looked right at Sam, and instead of shock in his eyes, Sam read determination and a spark of temper.

How could he argue against that? Justin had gone missing when he was just sixteen, alongside Adam, who had come back with amnesia so bad he'd barely been able to remember his own name when attempting to recall his past.

"What do you want to do?"

Gabe buried his face again. "I don't know." His words were muffled in his damp jeans.

They sat that way for a few minutes. Then, with tears in his eyes, Gabe held out a trembling hand. At first Sam didn't understand what was happening, or what Gabe meant. Then he stood, went and found their phones, and gave Gabe's to him.

"Just Ethan," Gabe said, more to himself than to Sam. "Please, we need to tell him. He can help."

Sam was torn. Cops meant this shit was real—but Ethan wasn't just a cop. He was Justin's brother. Sam yielded. "We don't have any choice."

Gabe scrolled to a number and put the phone to his ear. "Hey," he said, clearly Ethan had answered. "When are you home?"

Sam wished he could hear the other side of the conversation. What was Ethan saying?

"No, there's no problem. … Well, kind of a problem, there's this man. … No, it's not Adam, he's out with Nate, where are you? … Come straight to the cabins, the one that was hit by subsidence. … Yeah, Forest 6. … Don't—fuck, please drive safely, Ethan." And then he ended the call.

"What did he say?" Sam asked, although he guessed Ethan was likely confused as hell.

"He was worried something was wrong with Adam. I had to tell him it wasn't."

"I heard."

"He was about thirty minutes from home, anyway."

Sam nodded. Thirty minutes he could handle, and Ethan wasn't like the cops he'd dealt with before. Ethan was a good man who would know what to do. "Wait, what if Ethan sees Adam on his way through? What will he say?"

Gabe shook his head, and that pretty much answered that. If Ethan saw Adam, he'd say that Gabe wanted him at Forest 6. And if Nate was there? They'd think something was wrong with the cabin, or…. How would they tell Ethan his brother wasn't just alive, but he was here sleeping, or unconscious, on a bed in one of the cabins they didn't use?

"This is freaking stupid." Gabe's tone was sharp, his eyes wide with shock. "Justin is clearly ill. We should be getting him to a hospital. We should tell Adam, Marcus, everyone—Shit, Justin is alive."

Sam didn't know what to say. Justin was hot to the touch, sick… that could be serious. But Justin had said he was in witness protection. "He said they'd kill him. Put him, and us, in danger." Sam knew he was repeating himself, but he actually had to keep saying the words to believe them.

He looked up at the bed, all he could see was the white of a towel, and he considered whether they should strip Justin and try to get some clothes on him. T-shirts, sweats, something they could at least get him into. "What now?" he asked, restless to get something going. He was agitated and needed answers and something to do.

Gabe beat him to it. He scrubbed at his face. "Okay, look, Ethan will know what to do. I'll go down to the gate and catch him as he comes in."

"I can do that," Sam said.

"No," Gabe pushed himself to stand and stared over at Justin. "I need to… I need time to process."

Sam swallowed his instinctive response that he need processing time himself, but he was only dealing with the shock of finding Justin, not the long-held grief that Justin had died, as Gabe was. "Are you okay?" he asked, and he knew the question was lame even as he spoke.

"No. Shit, no." Gabe stared down at Justin, closed his eyes briefly, and then shook his head. "I need to go."

He stumbled out of the cabin like a man who'd downed too much tequila, and Sam watched him stop dead on the path outside and stare up at the sky. Sam almost went out to ask him if he needed help. Then it appeared Gabe made a decision because he mounted Lightning and trotted away down the path toward the ranch buildings. Would he just bring Ethan here? Or would he tell Adam and Marcus? All Sam knew was that they needed help.

Gabe's leaving left Sam with nothing to do except stare, so he grabbed some of the wood offcuts and went to the broken window, wedging planks in the hole the best he could. There were signs of other new wood along that side of the cabin, probably to fix the damage from the subsidence. A quick glance at his watch and Sam realized Justin had been asleep for twenty-five minutes.

How often do you wake someone up when they have a concussion? Every hour, I think. Should I wake him up even if he isn't concussed?

So Sam, restless with energy, forced himself to sit next to the bed, on the side where he could look at Justin's face, and wonder what the hell had happened for Justin to get to this point.

Justin's hair was blond, fluffy from air drying, neither long nor short, not styled, just kind of average. His eyes were gray, although the color was hidden at that moment behind his closed lids. He had a baby-faced look about him at rest, when the pain wasn't marking lines on his face, and his long lashes rested on pale skin.

Did Justin look like his brother? Sam had checked Ethan out more than once in the past—lately to tease Adam—and Ethan had the same intriguing eye color: a clear gray. Although from what Sam recalled Ethan's were more of a stormy, darker gray when he was angry. Other than that, Justin looked younger, but broken. Ethan always looked so neat and groomed and in control.

There was nothing controlled in Justin at the moment. He was just hot and all kinds of bad-boy sexy. And why the hell did Sam think that when Justin was so ill?

The scarring on Justin's back was visible as he rolled to his side, ropes of raised skin and parts that were so smooth, darker in color than the rest of him. He murmured something in his sleep, moving restlessly under the towel, and on instinct Sam pulled up a sheet and tucked it around him. That not only hid the scars but seemed to soothe the restlessness in Justin's sleep.

The man had clearly known pain. And he didn't want anyone on the ranch to know he was here, so why had he come here? Why risk his family knowing he was alive? Where had he been for the last however many years it was he'd been gone? Could he fill in any of Adam's lost memories?

There was a faint scar on Justin's face, but nothing else marred the pale skin. Not only was he handsome, tall, lightly muscled, he was likely a looker when he wasn't unconscious and beaten half to shit. He was unshaven, and the hair on his face was the same blond as his head, his lips generous and soft. Mostly the kind of man that Sam was attracted to. Apart from the fact he looked like he'd been ridden hard and put away wet. All rough and tired and near broken.

Oh, and shot.

Justin was only a few years younger than Sam, but it looked to Sam like he'd seen a hell of lot in his life.

Not least of which was the fact he'd been somewhere, doing something, for so long, and he hadn't told his family he was alive.

Sam woke him up when the hour passed, to grumbles, curses, and a flailing hand that attempted to push him away.

"Live with it, Tough Guy," Sam said firmly, which had Justin subsiding quietly. "Open your eyes. Come on, let's see 'em."

Justin did open his eyes, and the pupils shrank as they should.

"Who is the president? What is the capital of Montana? What is your brother's name? What is your name?"

He asked the questions and heard the replies, including the hesitation over the brother question and that of his own name, as if he had to dig really deep for both those things.

But, at least he answered.

Justin fell back asleep quickly. Sam stayed with him, sitting on the bed and leaning his head against the wall. He closed his eyes and considered the catering for Gabe and Ashley's wedding.

If there's even going to be a wedding.

Because sure as eggs were eggs, having the other missing man from all those years ago laid out on this bed was going to cause so much shit Sam didn't even want to think about it.

Not least of which was seeing Ethan's face when he saw his brother.

Or Marcus when he realized his son was alive.

Things could go to shit, families could tear apart, and Sam would be left as the outsider.

Again.