The
Rancher's Son
Montana Series, #2
By R.J. Scott
Genre: M/M Romance
Release Date: March 25, 2016
A man without memories, and the cop who never gave up hope.
When he
wakes up in hospital, the victim of a brutal beating, John Doe has no memories
of who he is or who hurt him. The cops can find nothing to identify him and he
can't remember anything to help... except the name Ethan and one recurring
place from his dreams. Two words, and they're not much, but it's a start.
Crooked Tree.
Cop,
Ethan Allens, has never stopped searching for the two boys who vanished. When a
report lands on Ethan's desk that may give new leads he jumps at the chance to
follow them up. The man he finds isn't his brother, but it's someone who could
maybe help him discover what happened twelve years ago.
What
neither man can know is that facing the very real demons of the past could very
well destroy any kind of future they may think they have together.
Ethan
must have nodded off at some point, waking to another coffee from Clare and a
ten-minute warning that breakfast was about to be brought up to the patients.
His neck ached, and he was semi curled up in the hard chair.
“Thought
you needed this. If you want to go to the cafeteria, I can keep an eye on
Adam.”
“No,
I’ll stay here. Thank you, though.”
“I’ll
see if I can get someone to bring you up something.”
A quick
glance at his watch showed Ethan it was a few minutes after six. He checked his
email. He’d only sent the information to Navy Liaison at late last night, but
there was already a message back saying all efforts would be made to get the
information to Cole Strachan. There was a group joke sent by one of the shift
officers back at the precinct, and some spam. Other than that, nothing.
Ethan
stood and stretched tall, sipped his hot coffee, and watched the April morning
unfold before his eyes. Clare managed to scrounge up some pastries, and he ate
them at the window, a hundred thoughts racing through his head.
A nurse
disappeared into Adam’s room, and Ethan tensed in expectation. He desperately
wanted to go in there, but would Adam even be interested in talking to
him?
“Are
you Ethan?” the nurse asked. The tray in her hand carried untouched food.
“Yes,
ma’am.”
“You
can go in. He’s asking for you.”
As he
started to walk past her, she thrust the tray at him. There was a plate of
eggs, and a sorry-looking pancake. “Try to get him to eat some of this,” she
said.
He took
the tray, because he didn’t really have a choice, and went into Adam’s room,
kicking the door shut behind him. There was no one in the bed, but the bathroom
door was closed, so Ethan assumed that was where the errant Adam was. He placed
the tray on the table and waited, looking out of the same window Adam had been
standing at last night. From this angle and at this height, Ethan could see the
water of Lake Michigan and watch the hospital parking lot grow busier by the
minute.
The
bathroom door opened. Ethan instinctively turned and wished he hadn’t, because
now he was staring. Not so much at the pajama bottoms that rode low on slim
hips, or the broad chest that had a smattering of hair, tapering to a happy
trail downward, nor to the muscles in Adam’s arms. No, Ethan was staring at the
scars—new ones and some way older by the look of them—bruises purple and yellow
and green, and the tattoos.
Tribal
tattoos circled Adam’s arms, over his right shoulder, and down onto his pec:
big swathes of dark ink with finer detail in curls around muscles. Something
that looked like old burns marked his neck. A body that had seen a lot, felt a
lot.
“I
don’t remember them,” Adam said, his voice lost. He ran his fingers over the
tattoos as if touching them would bring back memories. “They must have hurt,
don’t you think?”
Ethan
thought of the small tattoo over his heart and recalled the discomfort of
getting it. His hadn’t hurt; the million tiny pricks into his skin were
nothing.
“Maybe,”
he offered.
Adam
turned a little and checked the tattoos in the mirror, peering close. “I wonder
what they mean?”
When he
turned, he exposed more marks on his back and the fine lines of a horse
standing on his hind legs. Ethan inhaled sharply.
“What?”
Adam snapped, attempting to see his back even though he couldn’t get the right
angle. “What is it?”
“Your
horse.”
Adam
frowned. “That is my horse? I want to see that again, the detective took a
photo but he didn’t have a copy for me.”
Ethan
pulled out his cell and snapped a shot of the beautiful tattoo, then passed the
phone to Adam, who stared at the picture.
“Why is
it—” Any energy seemed to leave him in the exhalation of a sigh, and he slumped
to sit on his bed. “—I remember this is a cell phone, but I don’t recall
patterns on my own skin?”
From
his research Ethan learned terms like brain centers and retrograde amnesia,
alongside traumatic stress, he didn’t understand a lot of it. “I have no
idea.”
Adam
curled into himself, hunching over his knees, looking utterly defeated.
Compassion
welled inside Ethan, and he sat next to his old friend, pushing the tray toward
him. “Eat your eggs,” he said gruffly.
Adam
side-eyed him and huffed before taking the tray and resting it on the small
hospital table. He forked some into his mouth, grimacing as he chewed and
swallowed, but at least he ate half of what was there, and one cold, dry
pancake.
“I need
a proper breakfast,” Adam grumped.
“Like
what?”
“Hot
fresh bacon,” Adam said immediately, paling at what he was saying. “I think
that I love bacon. I’d eat plates of the stuff if you gave them to me.”
“And
real pancakes,” Ethan added. He reached over and poked at the sorry excuse for
one that had been served. “But not like this one. Fluffy, steaming
pancakes.”
Adam
nodded and darted his tongue out to collect a small piece of egg resting on his
lips. “Maple syrup,” he added softly.
“You
always liked maple syrup.”
Adam
finished the eggs and grimaced again. “When we get out of here, will you find
me bacon?”
“Of
course.”
“Real
bacon, and pancakes with maple syrup. That sounds just like what I want to
eat.”
Ethan’s
chest tightened as Adam looked up at him under his eyelashes, his dark eyes
holding humor. Adam and Justin had spent their childhoods getting Ethan to do
what they wanted: the older brother with money from a part-time job, the one
with the car. And he’d done everything they asked.
“I
wouldn’t take you anywhere bad,” Ethan said
Adam
pushed the tray to one side. “I need a shower, and then we go, right?”
“Right.”
“You
should take photos of all my tattoos, so you could maybe find out more about
me.”
“I know
who you are. The rest will follow when your memories return.” He didn’t want to
say that he’d already decided to email the tattoo of the horse to Jen, just in
case she could track down where it had been done. It was a beautiful piece of
work, and likely whoever did it would have it in a portfolio somewhere. Of
course, that was a needle in a haystack. Who knew where Adam had been in the
last twelve years? Chicago, where he was now? Or had he traveled from Montana
to another city?
Adam
looked at him, confused. “You said I disappeared. How old was I when that
happened? Fifteen, you said?”
“You
were nearly sixteen.”
Adam
glanced down at himself, “And I’m twenty-eight now, so what happened in
between?” He stood up and half turned. “You should get them all.”
Ethan
did as Adam wanted, and pulled all the photos into one email, sending the whole
lot to Jen with a particular request about tracking down the artist. Meanwhile,
Adam went into the bathroom, closed the door, and left Ethan staring at the
wood.
“This series is a
winner because of it's cowboy theme - who can resist a gorgeous cowboy!” - Because Two Men Are Better Than One
“I always enjoy
cowboy stories and, as you would expect from RJ, this one is smoothly
well-written and pulls you forward chapter by chapter.” - Goodreads Reviewer
“This story pushed
every button that makes me fall in love with a book.” - Goodreads Reviewer
RJ Scott has been writing since age six when she
was made to stay in at lunchtime for an infraction involving cookies and was
told to write a story. Two sides of A4 about a trapped princess later, a lover
of writing was born. She reads anything from thrillers to sci-fi to horror;
however, her first real love will always be the world of romance. From
billionaires, bodyguards and cowboys to SEALs, throwaways and veterinarians,
she writes passionate stories with a heart of romance, a troubled road to reach
happiness, and more than a hint of happily ever after.
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