Page 3 of Doing Life

“The very best. They have just the right amount of spice and kind of buttery flavor.”

“All right, you sold me. Abby, cross.” Lance turned toward him, almost as if he could see him. “Did you need anything from me, officer?”

“No, sir. I saw what happened. Unless you’d like to press charges for vehicular assault, they’ll just get a ticket.” He wasn’t ready to do this in front of a crowd.

“I don’t want to press charges for nothing. Good day.”

He watched as Lance walked off, only looking away when the man from the van held his hand out.

“I’m Will Collins. I work at the Rocking W. I don’t think I know you.”

“You wouldn’t. I’m new. Sloan. Sloan Ferguson.”

“Officer Ferguson, I really appreciate that you were here to help, and if you could just let that person know that we do a lot of training of wounded warriors here on the square. It’s one of the things that the ranch does. And so I’d appreciate it if they just paid attention a little bit.”

“You have my word.” He glanced over at Lance again. “I hope he’s okay.”

“He’s a strong son of a bitch; he’ll figure it out. He’s had a long row to hoe. There is a lot of stuff to work through, but he’s going to get there. Abby loves him, and she’s convinced that he can do this.”

“Abby is his dog?” He was glad to see Lance had a dog. Sloan had done his fair share of dog training, God knew, and Seeing Eye dogs were at or near the top. Everyone ought to have someone that loved them like a dog did.

God. His hands shook a little at the thought of…what could have happened.

“That’s the dog. She’s a sweetheart, and she’s totally committed to Lance. No worries.”

“That’s great.” He studied the Will guy, wondering what he meant to Lance, if anything, or if he was here in a professional capacity. “So…you work with the rehab?”

“I do. I’m an occupational therapist, a physical therapist, and a sometimes driver. Lance is staying in town, so he needs to be able to get around on days he’s not on the ranch, and it’s Dan’s day off.”

“Ah. Well, I’m glad he has help.” That was what a cop should say, he supposed. He wanted to protest that all Lance needed was him, but that sure hadn’t been the case, had it?

“He does. He’s got a hint of peripheral vision, but it’s not reliable, and he’s got one damaged leg. They wanted to amputate, but he said no.”

“I guess that makes sense, huh?”

The guy shrugged. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But…well, I have to be honest, sometimes the amputation is less painful.”

“Yeah?” He walked the guy toward his van, since he’d said he wanted a nap. And he had a few people still milling about on that side of the street he might take a statement from.

“Yep. Limbs that are damaged often require a lot of surgeries, and the nerve damage can be agonizing.”

“That sounds awful, man.” Jesus. Just staying upright was a battle for Lance, and Sloan was proud of him, no matter what their personal issues were.

“Yes, but we all have choices to make. That was one of his, right?”

“Yeah.” Lance had made a hell of a choice leaving him too, and he’d tried to be understanding, but now it was time to take action again.

Sloan got it. He’d still been in, he’d not been able to be in Landstuhl with Lance for any length of time, and he’d been atFort Liberty when they’d shipped Lance to Cavazos. And then the son of a bitch had disappeared on him.

Thank God he could move from MP to police force and hunt his lover down.

Christ, that sounded stalkery. It wasn’t intended to be. Lance had sent him away because he didn’t want Sloan to have to take care of him. He wasn’t going to stalk, but he was going to put himself in Lance’s path and try again.

“Well, welcome to town, man. Here’s my ride.”

“Have a good nap.” He winked when the guy chuckled, the sound merry.

“I will.” He handed over the paper with the license plate scribbled on it. “Here you go. Gotta take ‘em where you can.”

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