Matt took a deep breath, trying hard not to scream at his twin brother Luke. Shouting did more harm than good most days, but that fact didn’t ease the temptation, really. The truth was that Matt needed help on the ranch, and Luke should’ve been able to do some of the lighter jobs, but he was still lying around on his ass feeling sorry for himself.
Guilt immediately clawed at Matt’s gut. Luke deserved some downtime. Thirty-two missions with an eighty-two percent success rate meant nothing to Uncle Sam once that rate went down the toilet, thanks to an IED, a bunch of shattered bones, two surgeries and a scad of scars. Luke had given up a lot to be a SEAL and was now giving up even more of his life trying to recover.
So, instead of ramping up and stomping his damned boot heels, Matt counted to ten. “Hey, bud. I need some help with the foals.”
“Help doing what? I’m no cowboy.”
He peered into a face that ought to have been as familiar as his own, but somehow it wasn’t. He was the older by eight minutes, but Luke seemed like he was in his forties, lines around his mouth that Matt didn’t share, a hardness in his eyes.
“No, but you’re what I got, and I need help.” Luke was all about helping people, right? Matt was trying to appeal to his basic nature.
“Okay.” Luke moved himself from the sofa to his wheelchair using his upper body strength, the heavy braces on his legs brutal as all get out. The doctors said he’d walk again without them and the crutches as long as Luke did his therapy, but Matt knew Luke didn’t believe it.
Matt needed Luke to start believing.
Hell, he didn’t give a living shit what the ornery son of a bitch believed in—Santa Claus, flying monkeys, yetis. He was easy. Matt wanted his easygoing, laughing twin back. Damn it, he was the quiet, serious one. The frickin’ cowboy.
He held the door open for Luke, waiting for the wheelchair maneuver that caused the most trouble. Door jambs.
He’d fixed the ramp up, but the door would have to wait until he figured out where Luke was going to light for good. God knew his brother had always said he hated living in the back of beyond, which was why he’d gone into the Navy.
Luke managed to get out of the doorway without scraping his knuckles too bad. He’d suggested those fingerless leather glove deals, but Luke had responded poorly. His belly showed the bruises from Luke’s no.
Luke still packed a hell of a punch.
They got down to the barn without too much trouble because Matt had graded the path a bit, and the foaling stalls would be a simple in and out, even with the wheelchair. He’d stabled a couple three foals when he fed, just to give Luke something to do.
The horses knew they were coming, hooves slamming against the dirt. In the barn, the whinnies started right away.
“They love you,” he told Luke. “I don’t fucking understand it.”
Luke snorted. “They love the idea of some company, is all. Takes me longer to groom them, so I stay with them. They like that.”
“Uh-huh.” Matt didn’t give a shit on the whys. He just cared about the love. His best mare, Shana, nosed over the stall door, her time in quarantine obviously chafing her. She had a cut just below her hock. “Hey, baby girl. How you doing today?”
He rubbed her velvet-soft nose, let her nibble on his palm.
She blew, bobbing her head up and down.
“Soon. I promise. Maybe today.” He looked over at Luke. “You need help or you good?”
“I got it.” Luke started with the last stall, and Matt headed out to check the yearlings.
He was beginning to think this whole thing was going to work, he really was. The horses were thriving—the cattle were working the back forty. All he had to do was hold on for a little longer.
* * * *
Luke would never tell Matt, but working with the horses soothed him deep down. Calmed his rage, for sure.
He had a lot of rage these days.
There was no way to be pissed around these long-legged beauties, though. No way in hell. The foal he was working with, a bay with a white star on her forehead, nuzzled his cheek, that nose so soft.
“Hey, sweet baby.” He grabbed the brush and started working, making sure to touch the foal all over, gentling her as easily as he could.
She nibbled at him, curious but not nervous. She trusted him, and Luke felt honored. This was the one good thing in a mess of shit. He worked up a sweat grooming her to make up for the big plastic syringe of meds he was going to stuff down her throat.
It was necessary, though, and Matt was a psycho about taking care of things—horses and broken soldiers and Dad and everything.
He did love Matt for it—he really did. Luke grinned. Loved Matt, but wanted to beat him.
Like, with a hammer.
He chuckled when the foal lipped at his shirt because he’d stopped.
“You greedy girl, pushing me.”
She snorted hard, blowing his pocket open. Yeah, she was hunting treats.
“So smart!” He rubbed her ears, giving praise. He could hear Matt in the pasture, whistling up a storm, the sound as familiar as his very bones, sunk deep into Luke’s skin. His chest tightened, because he loved his brother, damn it, and that was what kept him going right now.
The whistles stopped for a half-second and he knew Matt was wondering if he was okay, if Matt should come check on him. Luke held his breath, willing Matt to just go back to work. Fine. He was fine.
Sometimes being a twin sucked. When he’d learned all he wanted to know about shrapnel, Matt had been in the ER with a migraine bad enough that he’d been convulsing. There was a thing between them, whether or not they wanted it.
The whistling started up again, and if it sounded strained, well, who was gonna mention it?
Not him, sure as shit. He just wanted to play with the foals and pretend he wasn’t broke-dick.
The foal’s head lifted, the sound of a pick-up truck that wasn’t Matt’s humming in his ears.
“Oh, goddamn motherfucker.” Matt’s words floated in, carried by pure rage.
Interesting.
He eased out of the stall after giving a piece of apple to the foal, and rolled to the barn door to peek out. A shiny black GMC king cab sat out there, and a man stood next to it, his pressed Wranglers and suit coat speaking money.
Now, who the hell was this and why did Matt look like he was fixin’ to open a can of class A certified whup ass?
The guy was young enough, maybe early thirties. He had pretty smile lines and a flat belly under big silver buckle, and he was giving Matt a wry grin. “Now, don’t be sore, Matt,” he began. “You’re still having trouble making payments and you know it.”
“Go to hell, McConnell. Shit, go to fucking Arkansas. I don’t care, but get off my land.”
“They’re going to drive you off, Matt. It’s inevitable. I’m trying to get you a fair deal in the process.”
“No, you want that acreage and that’s all you give a shit about.” Matt slapped his hand against the hood of the pick-up. “Off.”
“You are one stubborn, stupid asshole, Matt Blanchard.”
Oh, now. That was getting personal. Luke wheeled out into the yard, following the path he knew Matt had graded for him. “Who the hell are you to call my brother an asshole?”
“Must be the soldier come home from the war. Thank you for your service.”
“I was a sailor.”
“Right.” The guy chuckled. “Rory McConnell. I went to school with your brother John.”
He tilted his head. John was the baby, a good five years younger than them, eight years younger than Mark. “You’re just a baby, then.”
“It’s not the age, it’s the experience.” Rory winked at him, blue eyes merry. The expression made Luke want to smile back, except that this guy had called Matt an asshole.
“Get off my land, McConnell. I mean it.” Matt sounded about as mean as a snake. Luke glanced at him, noticing the narrowed eyes and pressed-together lips.
“I’m going. I’m not trying to be a dick, Matt. I’m really not. Better to sell now than to get your ass foreclosed on, you know? Just think about selling me that back fifty acres, if nothing else.” McConnell slapped the hood of his truck before walking back to the driver’s side door.
“Sell? Foreclosed? What the fuck, Matt?”
“I missed a few payments back when Dad went in the hospital.” Matt’s shoulders drew up around his ears. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
The big pickup pulled out in a rush of gravel and exhaust, McConnell not smiling now.
“Matty! I got cash. I wouldn’t fucking leave you hurting.”
“I know that, Lu. I do.” Matt relaxed enough to give him a wry smile. “You also have a long recovery ahead of you and the VA sucks.”
“Yeah, yeah. How much? And don’t lie.”
Matt swallowed hard, his throat working visibly. “I’m catching up. I am. I was three months in the hole and I still owed half the taxes. I only owe about three thousand.”
“I’ll give it to you. I can write you a check right now.”
Matt’s mouth took on a stubborn, flat line. “I can do it. I’ve got a sale coming up, and I think that one yearling I have will pay off the whole back debt.”
“Fine, but let me cover it until you do. Hell, I’m staying here, eating your food, everything. Let me have some fucking worth, would you?”
Matt blinked for a moment, then nodded, coming to put a hand on his shoulder. “Okay, Lu. I get it. I do. We’ll draw up a quick loan, though. So, you’re actually the owner if I default somehow.”
“What? We’re going to be partners now?” He smiled, though, because the thought didn’t suck.
A slow smile spread over Matt’s face. “Would that work for you? I like the idea.”
“Don’t you grin at me, Matty.” Still, they just grinned at each other like monkeys.
“Yeah. Well. Let me finish with the yearlings and we’ll clean up and go into town. We’ll need a notary.”
“Does that mean you’ll feed me Mexican?”
“Hell, yeah. I’ll even spring for El Chico.” Matt gripped his shoulder a moment longer, the gratitude clear in his expression. “Did you finish up with the babies?”
“I got one to dose, that’s it. I was wondering what the fuck was up with McConnell there.”
Matt snorted. “He’s in some development war with that asshole Doug Harris down at the bank.”
“Development war? Here? Are you shitting me?”
“Nope.” Matt sighed. “Harris bought up about three hundred acres before anyone knew what he was doing. This place is like the iceberg blocking his cruise ship or something. McConnell owns about fifty acres behind us, but there’s no road access. It was a stupid buy. I reckon he’s going to try and buy me—us—out and then sell to Harris and make a fortune.”
“Well, he can’t have it. Either one of them.” Luke put on his determined face, knowing it would make Matt laugh.
“No. No, this is ours.” Matt grinned when he said ‘ours’. Hugely. “Okay, get the dosing done. El Chico awaits.”
“Dude, tableside guacamole and apple pie.”
“You pig.”
“Oink oink.” Luke winked before turning his chair and rolling back to the barn. He felt better than he had in weeks, as if he finally had a purpose.
He wasn’t sure what the fucking purpose was, but at least he had one. For right now, he’d take it.
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