Title: The Rancher's Son – Series: Montana, #2
When he wakes up in the 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.
Detective 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 destroy any kind of future they may have together.
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
“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.
“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?”
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.
“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
“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,
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?”
“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
“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?”
“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
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