Page 2 of Doing Life

Luke got it. “Yeah, I hear you. Uh, I brought you apple fritters.”

“You really thought you were gonna bribe my ass, didn’t you?” Luke brought him doughnuts as often as hens grew teeth.

“No, I thought that I was just going to insist, and you were going to be a dick. But instead this is a what-a-great-idea-thanks-brother situation.”

One of the recovering soldiers came wheeling up onto the big wraparound porch on the main rehab building, sweatalready staining his collar. “Mr. Matt? I hate to interrupt y’all, but you got cows out on the road. I was just driving in, and I saw?—”

“Goddamn motherfucker.” He slammed his hat against his leg. “You get in the truck, Lulu, and you find out where that damn fence is down. I’m gonna go rope me some cattle.”

“I’m on it, brother.”

Matt whistled up his best horse. Mr. Sunny, and grabbed one of his ropes from the garden box. It was so good to be prepared.

This was way more fun than trying to figure out about a pool. It was time to cowboy up.

Chapter Two

Somehow, when Sloan Ferguson had envisioned this moment in his mind, it hadn’t happened in slow motion, the sickening knowledge that he wasn’t going to get there fast enough punching him in the gut.

Lance didn’t know he was there, but as his Seeing Eye dog swerved to avoid some asshole in a pickup truck who almost clipped the curb, Lance staggered, his bad leg crumpling a little, and he started to go down.

“Shit!” Sloan sprinted across the sidewalk from the courthouse, where he’d just been sworn in for duty, and tried to get to Lance before he hit the ground.

A man came running from the coffee shop, another from a van that hadRocking W Ranchpainted on the side.

None of them made it, and that huge German shepherd barked, warning them—whether to stay away or help, he had no idea. It was a sharp sound, and one that had him skidding to a halt.

“Abby! Side!” Lance called.

The dog pressed close, letting Lance lean on her harnesshand, catching his balance. He didn’t go down, but he did stumble out into the street.

“Good job, man. Good job, Abby.” The man from the van smiled as if Lance could see him, nodding. “You did a great job. Both of you.”

“Didn’t feel great,” Lance muttered, his head swiveling as he clearly tried to get his bearings.

“You kept your feet. Didn’t get run over. It was an unfortunate situation. You handled it well. So did Abby. She kept you from getting hit.” The guy looked at him. “Officer, I got the guy’s license plate number.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. I was a little busy running.” He bit back a nervous chuckle. God, what a clusterfuck. This was not the grand reunion he’d dreamed about.

This was supposed to be a situation where he could reintroduce himself to Lance as a civilian, not his first official day here in uniform.

Lance tilted his head, trying to recognize his voice, he thought. “I didn’t mean to cause a problem.”

“It’s fine. Not a problem. That driver was being an ass.”

“I think I want to go back to the ranch.” Lance’s shoulders had gone tense.

The guy from the van shooed them all away, and Sloan backed off a little, even though he didn’t want to.

“You’re gonna go meet Brick for a cup of coffee. Remember? He’s waiting for you over there.”

The man in question headed back toward the coffee shop, moving in nice and easy. No door-jingling or noisy entry for him.

“I hate this shit, man,” Lance was all red, the blush highlighting the blond beard. “I really do.”

“I know. But it is what it is. Go meet Brick for coffee. I’m going to take a nap in the van. I’ll be here when you’re done. I hear that the cinnamon toast lattes are the best.”

Lance grinned, and it hurt Sloan to see how the web of scars pulled on his face. “Cinnamon toast lattes. Really?”

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