Page 6 of The Wounded Warrior

“I know. I know, man. I just wish…” Well, it was pretty obvious what he wished. He wished that the scars and the weakness and the pain and the horseshit was a fucking nightmare so that he could go back to work.

And if frogs had wings they wouldn’t bump their froggy butts.

“Well, at least you know you have an admirer,” Matt teased.

“Hey, so do you.” He dropped his voice. “Miss Feezle the Dominatrix.”

“Dude! You are totally a perv! Do you kiss our momma with that mouth?”

“Like Mom doesn’t swear like a sailor. She’s the toughest broad alive. She eats nails to sharpen her teeth.” Luke adored her.

Matt chuckled, grabbing all the shit out of Luke’s lap and putting it in the cart. “She’s a tough bird, for sure. Had to be with us around.”

“Well, she is married to Preacher.” Dad’s name was in no way an indicator to his personality. Preacher was salt of the earth, stubborn as a bull, and stronger than an ox. He’d been a bulldogger and had still roped on the circuit up to the stroke. He said that since the years of being a baseball and a football dad were done, he got bored.

“She is, for sure.” Luke chuckled. That was how they all got named for apostles… She was a sick, amazing old girl.

“Come on. We need to buy hummingbird food.”

“You pansy,” he teased.

Matt snorted. “Sue me. I like tiny birds.”

“And cardinals and blue jays and finches…” Crazy obsession, bird watching. Matt even liked mockingbirds.

“There’s nothing pansy about feeding birds.”

“No?”

“Nope. Now, being your twin is like inevitable pansiness.”

Luke looked over at Matt. “What does that mean?”

“Shit, you’re a fucking stud. I’m a broke-dick cowboy. What is it supposed to mean?”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “I’m the one who’s short now. Bird food.”

“You’re still my hero. It’s in the garden center. Come on.”

Luke had to shake his head and grin, wheeling around to follow Matt. Still Matty’s hero, and he didn’t even have to stop cursing to be an example.

Felt pretty fucking good, to be honest.

Chapter Four

“Now, are you sure you don’t want to sell that other three acres, Mr. Lyons?” Rory asked. “I’ll let you use it indefinitely as long as you utilize it for pasture, and that way I’m paying the taxes on it.”

Poor old guy couldn’t afford the taxes on his hundred-acre spread, and Rory would be damned if Harris would get this parcel, as close as it was to the state highway. The three acres the house and barns sat on Lyons wanted to keep, and that would be enough for his two horses and dozen chickens.

This game of checkers he was playing with Harris was an expensive one, but it would be worth it. Harris wanted to sell to developers, but this was ranch land. There were condos everywhere—the world didn’t need more.

It didn’t hurt that Harris had outed Rory five years ago and tried to ruin his reputation. Well, tried was more like managed, and reputation was a strong word because, damn, folks discovered that a rich queer cowboy was just fine to do business with.

The rich part had taken some work and a lotof fast talking. The occasional blow job. Good thing Rory was exceptional on his knees.

He grinned as Lyons agreed to the deal. “I’ll come out to the house with the paperwork tomorrow, then. Sound good?”

“It does.” If the old feller had a tear in his eye, Rory wasn’t gonna mention it. “Thank you, boy. I couldn’t stay if you didn’t do this for me, and that damned Harris is pushing.”

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