Page 28 of Finding His Redemption

River grinned in a way that suggested he’d already known the answer. “You learn by doing around here. Not much patience for classroom types. Grab the wire and pull it tight. I’ll show you how to anchor it.”

Jax followed the instructions. There was a rhythm to the work that he appreciated. Tension, staple, hammer, repeat. The wire bit into his palms despite the thick gloves, but he held on. River hummed while they worked, a raw, tuneless thing that wasn’t quite a song. The guy really didn’t like silence.

As the sun climbed, Jax finished anchoring the last staple and stepped back to survey their handiwork. The repaired section looked utilitarian, not pretty, but he could admit a sliver of satisfaction at seeing it hold. He hadn’t built anything since a botched attempt at a treehouse when he was twelve, but therewas something about making the fence whole that settled the restless itch beneath his skin. The one that kept telling him to leave.

River popped the gloves off and wiped his brow. “Not bad. Most city boys staple their thumb on the first go. We’ll make a cowboy of you yet.”

Jax flexed his hands, enjoying the ache along his knuckles. He felt the urge to say thank you, but it stuck in his throat.

River mounted up again, his horse side-stepping. “Let’s get back or Boone’ll have our asses. He takes the schedule real serious.” His voice dropped half an octave in imitation. “Men need structure, Beckett.”

Jax swung into the saddle, the motion already easier than it’d been a few hours ago. But, damn, he was going to feel the burn in his thighs for days.

He let Lazy Susan set the pace, which, no surprise, turned out to be glacial. But he didn’t mind. The sun was out and hot, but the air still held a bite of winter that kept his head clear. He found it almost restful, the slow clop of hooves and the clean mountain silence.

“I always wanted to be a cowboy when I was a kid,” River said, breaking that silence. “But my version was basically Clint Eastwood by way of Evel Knievel. Men in my family were all farmers until I broke the streak and joined the military. I’m the black sheep.”

He looked at Jax like he was waiting for a story in return. When none came, he didn’t seem offended. “How about you? Always want to be a badass SEAL?”

Jax hesitated, then shrugged. “Didn’t have a plan. Just didn’t want to be like my old man.”

“He a bastard?”

“No, a dentist.”

“Meh, basically the same thing.”

A reluctant smile tugged at Jax’s lips. “I didn’t want to be boring.”

River snorted a laugh. “Yeah, well, you accomplished that, didn’t ya?”

They crested a small hill, and the ranch buildings came into view below. Jax could see movement in the paddocks—judging by the rust colored hair, it was that Marine working with the horses. The kennels were quiet from this distance, but he found his thoughts drifting to the men he’d seen in the bunkhouse yesterday on his way out the door. He now knew River had been the one standing at the stove wearing bunny slippers. But he had no idea who the rest were.

“Yesterday…”

“Yesterday, what?” River prompted when he fell silent.

“There was a big guy. Built like a tank. Trying to dry off a dog.”

“Ah, you’re curious. That’s a good sign.” River glanced back at him with a grin. “That was Bear McKenna.”

“Bear?”

“‘Cause he’s built like one. His name’s actually Dane, but nobody calls him that. Former Army Ranger combat medic. Hands like sledgehammers, heart like marshmallow.”

“And the dog?”

“That oversized slobber factory is King. Bear found him abandoned at a rest stop as a puppy and loves him like a kid.”

“And X was the one in the boxers?”

“Yeah, you’ll get used to it. He doesn’t like wearing clothes.”

“That’s his real name?”

River nodded. “Xavier Vega. And, since I know you want to ask, the quiet guy in the flannel with the scars on his arms was Anson Sutter. And, no, I don’t know how he got the scars.”

“What about the guy glaring at everyone?”