Page 28 of The Wounded Warrior

“Rory!” Mom sounded horrified, but he needed a glass of water to take his antibiotic and his pain pill, then maybe a cup of coffee.

“Hey, I told her I thought you manned up well. She hit me.” Pop sounded tickled as hell.

“Yeah, imagine the gay boy getting dragged by a horse, bullets flying.” He turned on the espresso machine.

“I’d prefer that the bullet part be tossed out,” Pop pointed out.

“It was the horse that did the damage.”

“You had to get stitches!” Mom’s voice rose dangerously high. “Damn it, Rory, you could have died. He’s not worth it.”

“You think I did that for Harris? I mean, his people were responsible, yeah, but I did what I did for the LeBlancs.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re neighbors, and because it was the right thing to do. Hell, I’d have stopped to put Doug Harris’s goddamn horses back in the fence.” He put the coffee cup down a little too hard and he’d be damned if the handle didn’t snap right off. “I swear to God, I get bitched at if I’m not cowboy enough, and I get bitched at if I’m too redneck for my own good. Pick one!”

“I don’t have to.”

“What?” He blinked at his mom, confused as all get out.

“I’m the momma, and you’re my son, and you’re hurt. I don’t have to make sense. It’s in the handbook.”

“Oh.” He blinked some more. “Well, if it makes you feel better no one drugged me this time.” He could have bitten off his tongue when her face went slack with shock.Not cool, Rory.

Pop’s eyes narrowed. “What? Talk, boy. I mean it. That is serious. Did you see someone? Get blood work?”

Oh, fuck him. Nothing like getting Mister Orthopedic Surgeon of the Stars riled up.

“I didn’t know that was what it was. I still don’t for sure.”

“Was that when you had food poisoning?” Mom asked. “I thought it was a bad beer?”

The words almost popped out again, those sarcastic words like, ‘I ought to know when I’m drugged’. He kept them in, shrugging instead. “It seems a bit much to be a coincidence.”

“Maybe we should shoot him,” Pop offered.

That made Mom pop off with, “We could sic Rowenna on him…”

“You could, I guess, but I would much rather put the bastard in jail after I make him destitute.”

Pop grinned over at him, jolly as fuck. “Get him where it hurts, eh, son?”

“Yessir. I intend to make him bleed.”

“Men!” Mom threw up her hands. “I’ll make eggs.” She stalked to the stove and tossed his pan on the burner.

“Let me look at all your things, son,” Pop murmured. He tried to protest, but he couldn’t argue. This was his daddy, after all, and the man loved him dearly.

He sighed, leading Pop back to the bathroom. “Doc did a good job patching me up.”

“I’m sure he did. I just want to look.”

Pop checked his leg cursorily, then turned to his hand, taking special care there. He flexed as much as he could so Pop could see the motion.

“Lucky it didn’t come right off, kiddo.”

“I know.” He smiled wryly. “I wasn’t thinking, just reacting.”

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