Page 27 of The Wounded Warrior

“Hey.” He grabbed Rory’s wrist—not the tore up one, thank God. “Thank you for your help. Seriously.”

“I would say anytime, but that would be pushing even what I will do for goodwill.”

Luke laughed. “I bet. Next time I see your dick I want it to be not torn up.”

Rory grinned at him, then leaned down and kissed him, right on the mouth, bold as brass. “It’s a date.”

Luke tried not to sputter when Rory creaked down the steps, waving when he climbed up into his truck. The big diesel roared to life, and Luke was still staring, his fingers on his lips.

He heard Matt walk up behind him. “He kissed you.”

“Uh-huh. Does that make me a traitor?”

Matt snorted loud. “Hell if I know. I never expected him to get shot at for our horses.”

“I didn’t, either. What’s his story, do you know?”

“I got nothing, man, except that he’s out and proud, and that’s not something you see here every day.”

“No shit? Like everyone knows?” Luke hadn’t ever heard of anyone surviving that around these parts.

“Like everyone. I swear, he doesn’t hold back, but the McConnells are old money and, as much as I hate it, every old guy he’s bought out is living on that land and working it.”

“So why is he buying?” Luke scowled, ready to pick apart the mystery.

“Ask him at lunch.” Matt cuffed his shoulder.

“I will.” He did love himself a puzzle.

“Freak. Let’s go make sure no one got injured, huh?”

“Mother hen.” Luke would finish his chili later.

“Yep. I can’t believe that bastard kissed you, man. He’s ballsy, I’ll give him that.”

“He’s something else.” Luke wasn’t sure what, but he sure hoped he’d find out. Soon.

Wasn’t that amazing? He wanted to know about Rory McConnell. Wanted another kiss, too.

He’d call tomorrow.

Surely that wasn’t too soon for lunch.

Chapter Thirteen

Rory woke up in the morning so sore he could barely move, and he agreed to see Dr. Mellon, even if he didn’t want to.

The bandages were redone, and the cut in his leg ended up getting a couple of stitches, but that was it.

Too bad Lori had called Mom and Pop, who were waiting in his front room when he got home.

“This thing with Doug Harris has gone too far.”

“Hey, Mom. Did you want a cup of coffee or something?”

“I mean it, son.” She put her hands on her hips, making mom face.

“I was helping a friend. Horses and bullets were involved.” He went to the kitchen, limping along. “Y’all always wanted a more redneck son. I’m just a late bloomer.”

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