One burned and broken man finds his way home. Can he find peace in the arms of a man easy to love?Justin made the ultimate sacrifice for his country, battling domestic terrorism, never the man he really was, using hate to avenge the death of his best friend. The friend he’d killed.
What he doesn’t count on is getting shot, and if he’s going to die he wants it to be on Crooked Tree soil. Home.
Sam is as much a part of Crooked Tree as any of the families, and the offer to buy into the ranch is a dream come true. But falling for a hidden, secretive, injured man isn’t the way to keep his head in the game.
Justin woke from shaking too hard, cold, but his skin hot, and popped more pain pills. He stretched out from the position he’d been lying in and attempted to stand.
But that wasn’t happening. His thigh was on fire, his head pounded, and this could well be day three.
He was fucked. He’d managed two trips down to the restaurant, and one of those he’d taken the opportunity to get into the Strachan house, a round trip of two miles at least. He wasn’t going to be able to do it again, that much was obvious.
What am I going to do? What part of this is okay?
Stay alive. You have work to do.
He closed his eyes again and slipped into sleep. He had to stay awake, but when he slept, there wasn’t any pain.
The sound of the wind passed his head as he throttled back on his motorbike and sped down the Pacific Coast Highway, his favorite ride, the scent of the sea on the breeze.
He could feel the vibration, hear the engine, and knew that this was a dream so real he could almost touch it…
He snapped awake.
The sound of a bike.
Justin grabbed his gun, lying just beyond his hand, and let out a muffled yelp of pain. Every single muscle ached. He released the safety, only three bullets, and waited.
If this was him being found, then he wasn’t going down without taking at least three fuckers with him, headshots the lot of them.
Shakily he curled up to a sitting position, rested his hands on his right knee to steady the gun, and concentrated on thinking about how he was going to stand up.
No one could have any idea he was there; no one would even think to step inside what was left of an old drover’s place. The cabin had long since disappeared into the undergrowth, covered up and swallowed until it was nothing more than a gap in the trees with a damaged roof.
The engine died outside.