Brokedown Cowboy. Maisey Yates

       Eli stepped inside, not saying a word. Another thing that seemed wrong.

       “Connor, go on and sit down.”

       He complied, because he’d never seen his brother look quite so desolate. Not even when their mother had left. Not even after their father had died.

       “There was an accident tonight,” he said, his voice breaking.

       And he didn’t even have to finish the sentence, because right then Connor knew. His whole body went cold, and something in his gut turned, and he knew. He knew it wasn’t Eli, his brother, just paying a visit, but a sheriff’s deputy doing his duty. A brother doing his duty.

       “Jessie died tonight, Connor.”

      * * *

      THERE HAD BEEN nothing after that. Just a kind of strange buzzing in his head that wouldn’t go away. And he was aware of saying things, but not of what he’d said. He couldn’t remember anything that had happened after Eli spoke those words. He couldn’t remember the rest of the night or the whole next day. A full twenty-four hours that were gone forever.

      A gift, he imagined.

      “Even knowing that,” Eli continued, “I want you to have more.”

      But Eli didn’t know everything. And Connor knew, in spite of his brother’s good intentions, he thought he understood and empathized a bit better than he did.

      “I want you to have what I have,” Eli said. “I didn’t think I wanted to find love, but then I met Sadie. And everything changed.”

       Everything changed.

      For some reason that part of the sentence stuck out in Connor’s mind. But he didn’t want to overthink it. “Yeah, and after what we’d been through as kids, deciding to go ahead and get married wasn’t the easiest decision for me. But that’s what happens when you fall in love,” Connor said. “I know Sadie is this new chapter of your life, and I think because of the timing, you don’t quite equate it with me losing Jessie. But that’s what it is. What if you lost her, Eli? Would you want someone else?”

      Eli looked away. “No,” he said, his voice rough. “But I only mean it... I was afraid, too. Remember, we had this discussion. That love came here to die. But I found love again, and there was no room for me to stay scared when I found it. Just stay open. And...maybe start small. Like with building a barn.”

      Connor cleared his throat. “I can do that.”

      “If Jack were here, he would suggest adding sex to that list.”

      Heat burst through Connor’s veins, because that word had become inextricably linked to the mint-colored thong. “I don’t want to have this discussion with you. We tried it once. Let’s never repeat it.”

      Eli shifted, obviously uncomfortable. “Well, I don’t want to have the discussion. I just worry about you, dammit.”

      “Stop it. I don’t need you to worry about me. I need you to focus on your woman and your campaign.”

      “Speaking of my campaign, and speaking of your barn...”

      Connor crossed his arms over his chest. “What about it?”

      “If you can get the barn built in time, I’d love to have a party out here on election night. We’ll set up a TV and watch the results and we’ll have a party. A big barbecue.”

      “Sadie has bewitched you. Because only six months ago you would’ve gagged and died thinking about having a party here.” Connor rubbed his chin. “Come to think of it, last time we had a party here, planned by Sadie, you burned my fucking barn down.”

      “And I’m willing to take the risk again. Because a barn is meant to be used.”

      Connor gritted his teeth and forced his brain not to apply that statement as a broader metaphor for life. Or for his dick.

      “Fine. If it’s on track to be structurally sound by election night, it’s yours.” And now the construction of the barn was for someone else, and that meant he had to get it done. “I’ll make some calls today.”

      Eli took a step forward and slapped Connor on the back, which was about the closest they ever got to a touching moment. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

      “This is your ranch, too. You live on the property. Name is on the deed. It’s not a favor. It’s your right.”

      “Stop trying to act like you’re a 100-percent-mean son of a bitch,” Eli said. “It’s only about 85 percent.”