Summary:
Can Connor show River a real family Christmas?
When Connor finds River on the roof of the campus admin building, he doesn’t know what to do. His friend is drunk, and shouting into a snowstorm, a bottle of vodka in his hand. The easy part is getting River down; the hard part is insisting River comes home with Connor for Christmas.
River doesn’t have a family, or any place outside of college that he calls home. Not that it matters to him; he’s happy being alone for Christmas in his budget motel, watching reruns of Elf. Only, Connor keeps telling wildly improbable stories of the perfect family celebrations at his parents’ ranch in Texas, and it’s wearing River down. He didn’t ask to be kidnapped. He didn’t want to fall in love with the entire Campbell-Hayes family. But he does.
From one Christmas to the next. This is Connor’s year to rescue River, and himself, for them both to mess things up, make things right, fall in lust and finally, for Connor to show the man he loves what being part of a family can mean.
Texas Gift #8Summary:
A gift for every single reader needed to know what happened next for to Jack and Riley…
When Hayley arrived on the steps of the D, Riley and Jack knew life would never be the same.
Told through Riley and Jack’s eyes, this is ten years in the life of their family and watching Hayley grow up, fall in love, and start her own life. Hurricanes, illness, babies, happiness, sadness, work, play, the barn, the office, horses, friends, enemies, and above all love.
Finding River drunk on the roof was the last thing Connor expected to see as he was preparing to head home to the Double D for the Christmas holiday but once he sees him in that state he can't just leave him. River doesn't want to spend the holiday with Connor's happy family but once he arrives in Texas will he open himself up to the welcoming environment of the Campbell-Hayes family and let man in or will he return to Denver as soon as he can? Will Connor be able to show River that love is possible and that he's not just a charity case?
It's a new Texas story!!!! YAY!!!! EEEP!!!! HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!!!! and a thousand other catchphrases that express pure joy! Okay, I got that out now on to the story. 😉😉
When I heard we were going to be visiting the Double D again, my first thought: Jack and Riley! Yes, they are here as are many in the Double D universe and that alone makes this a winner. But Home for Christmas is so much more. The old familiars are there, the land, the horses, but this is Connor's journey. What is it about the Texas series that makes them so amazing? Is it the land, the Double D, the characters, the horses? It is all that put together and so much more than words can say. As a farmer's daughter I can attest to how the land has a way of giving a person(in this case River) a chance to relax, to just stop and breathe. As with so many in this series, River needs more than relaxing but being able to breathe, to take stock, to see what makes Connor Connor, also gives River a chance to see who is looking back at him in the mirror. Basically, the Double D may not be what River wants but at that point in his life, its what he needs and whether you believe in fate or not sometimes life knows exactly where we should be to keep our journey going.
Connor was always the quiet twin but he has definitely found his voice, and speaking as someone who has one of those talkative types in the house it can be frustrating, but there is just something about Connor that even though there are times you know River wants to stuff a huge Christmas bow in his mouth you also know that he finds it endearing. And just like Connor does, there are times you want to wrap River up in bubblewrap just to protect him from the world but also from himself. That's not to say River is a danger to himself physically but emotionally perhaps and you can't help but want to give him a never-ending bear hug. RJ Scott has always had a way of making her characters, who should by all appearances be angsty and over-the-top, real and ones that you could meet pumping gas or buying stamps, Connor and River are no different.
Home for Christmas may be Connor and River's journey of holidays, friendship, discovery, and love it is also the perfect addition to the Texas series. Seeing the Double D again is never a bad thing and getting a glimpse of the Campbell-Hayes family as they grow and age is a true holiday treat. For those asking "can I read Home without having read the others?" my answer is "Probably." My personal opinion however, is to read the series in order but as this is Connor and River's story it can be read without prior knowledge of the others but I personally feel the "little moments" just flow better knowing the family(and ranch)'s history.
Texas Gift #8
Original Review November 2017:
HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!! And that was just my reaction to finding out there would be a new Texas entry, that we would get to ride along with Jack and Riley Campbell-Hayes to see what's been happening on the Double D. THEN, I read Texas Gift and there was a whole new level to my excitement: HOLY HANNAH JUSTICE LEAGUE AND AVENGERS!
Texas Gift is exactly what the title says: a gift. We get to see what the future holds for the Campbell-Hayes family and although its a HEA that doesn't mean it is an easy journey but it is an entertaining one. I won't touch on details but I will say that you won't be disappointed. Will we see more of the Double D down the road? Who knows, Texas Wedding was suppose to be the final one and yet apparently Jack and Riley spoke to RJ and said "we have more to tell you". You won't be sorry giving it a read, lets face it if you are already a fan than you know the amazing-ness that you will find within its covers and if you aren't than boy are you in for a treat. I re-read Texas every summer and it never gets old so having another installment to add is nothing but good for me.
If you have never visited the Double D crew, here is the perfect time to start because there is a level of "full circle" that Texas Gift brings to the table that makes it something special or even more special. I feel lucky to call RJ Scott a kindred spirit but if I didn't, if we were at odds about everything I would still be recommending Texas Gift and the rest of the series because there is just something about the Double D universe that she's created that touches my heart and has expanded my horizons. It was book one, The Heart of Texas, that was originally recommended to me by more than one of my book loving BFFs when I wanted to venture from slash fanfiction to M/M published works. I can safely say that I loved it and it was the creativity of RJ Scott's Double D that led me to seek out other authors in the genre and in doing so led me to wanting to blog about books so that if I could help just one person find what I did than I would be happy.
I know that this is suppose to be a review of Texas Gift and it is because when you find a book(or series in this case) that can effect you like RJ Scott's Texas has me than that says more about the book and author than anything I can come up with. So simply put, my review is: Texas Gift is an amazing read and whether or not it is truly the end to the series it will make you cry, make you laugh, and it will touch your heart.
Overall Series 4th Re-Read Review 2018:
I seriously have no idea what more I can say about Texas that I haven't already. This is the series that brought me into the world of published M/M genre so Jack & Riley Campbell-Hayes and the Double D universe will always hold a special place in my heart. No matter how many times I read this series, I always smile, cry, laugh, and just completely escape into their world. I may never experience that first time adrenaline rush but it still gets my blood pumping and heart racing. Texas is not just Jack and Riley's journey, yes they are the primary leads but we also get to see their children, their family, their friends all navigate life on and off the ranch. The Double D has a way of bringing people together, giving them hope and purpose, a fresh start, a place to grow and become who they are meant to be, but at the heart of each story is just that: heart. When RJ Scott wrote The Heart of Texas, I doubt she had any idea what she started, how far it would go or how many people it would touch but I'm just glad she gave life to Jack and Riley and everything that came from their love. This is one series that isn't getting old any time soon for me.
Home for Christmas #9
Chapter 1
Connor skidded to a stop.
The cold December wind whipped around his face, ice and snow knifing into his skin, and at first, he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.
Maybe he should have stopped, called 911, shouted for help, but it could’ve been too late, so he’d acted on instinct alone. He’d taken the four flights of stairs at a run, reaching the roof and throwing the door open. His lungs burned from the freezing air and his voice had gone. What now?
Why was River on the roof in nothing but jeans and a T-shirt, clearly drunk? Why was he standing on the ledge, his feet spread, his arms wide, and a bottle of vodka in his hand?
When the girl from his floor told him she’d seen River go up to the roof, he thought she’d meant something else. He often went up there to read or watch life go by. But not in a snow storm.
He didn’t expect to see River standing on the ledge in the snow.
Don’t scare him. He’ll stumble and fall. He might jump.
A gust of air slapped Connor. River swayed to the left but righted himself with the casual grace of a gymnast. River wouldn’t fall by accident. Hell, Connor had seen him balance on one hand on a diving board, perfectly still, before falling gracefully and accurately with spins and pikes into the water below. He’d never seen River falter.
“River?” Connor asked, only an inch from grabbing River’s shirt and holding him tight. He saw River tense, but he didn’t wobble in surprise or slip and fall to the ground.
“I canbalance. Look at me.” River sounded so damn proud of himself.
Connor took a small step forward, finally being able to hold River’s shirt, hoping to hell that would be enough to stop River from falling.
“Come down, buddy.”
River lifted the bottle over his head, sloshing alcohol over his hair, his tongue flicking out to catch any that ran over his face.
“Fuck,” he shouted.
Connor tugged at him, not knowing what else to do. “Come back,” he said, loud enough that River actually looked at him.
“Leave me alone,” he said.
“I’m not leaving you on the roof,” Connor snapped and got a better hold of River, hooking a finger into his belt. River wasn’t a big guy, a diver’s body, no more than five ten and a buck sixty soaking wet, but if he fell, would Connor be able to hold him long enough to save him?
River pulled against Connor’s grip, and for a second the world stopped turning as Connor had to use his entire body weight to keep him upright. Something about the action must have scared River. He cursed and rocked backward, but he still wouldn’t come down.
“Come down,” Connor pleaded. “You’re scaring me.”
“You think you gotta save me? Huh?” River threw his arms wide again, more alcohol sloshing over the top of the bottle. “I don’t need saving.”
“I want you to come down.” Connor tried for calm. What was he doing? He should have called the cops immediately when he spotted River. Or firefighters, negotiators? Or whoever the hell should’ve been here. He’d seen things like this on the television, the mediator knowing all the right things to say and do, standing by River and connecting him to his family or childhood or his faith. All Connor knew was that he needed to pull River down, use the only thing he had going for him; the fact that he was bigger and stronger.
“I like it up here!” River explained with another wide gesture. He wobbled a little but righted himself immediately.
“Come down, Riv.”
“Saint Connor tries to save everyone,” River shouted, ending with a hysterical laugh. He was clearly losing control of himself, and even if Connor did have the words to talk him down, he thought maybe he’d just yank River back onto the concrete roof of the building and worry about injuries later.
But River wasn’t finished. “Even if they don’t need saving!”
“River!”
“Who the hell cares if I can balance, huh?”
“I care,” Connor shouted back. This was so out of character.
“Yeah, right, telling me what Christmas and family is like for you, making me see it in my head, and then leaving me here alone.”
“River, please.” Connor tugged him, but River wouldn’t move back.
“Leaving me here, alone, because that’s all anyone ever does. They fuck off, leave me, and what happens when college is over, huh? What happens when I lose that?” He lifted one clenched fist to the sky. “Fuck you!”
Connor had never heard River curse like this, and he was done with holding on to him. So evaluating where they would end up if they fell backward and not caring how much it hurt, he yanked, hard. River tumbled with him, arms flailing and the vodka bottle slipping from his grasp and falling into the tub of snow-covered plants on the roof patio. The two of them fell onto the roof, Connor using his body to cushion River’s descent, getting his arms full of an icy cold man, the breath forced from his lungs when they hit the ground.
Connor enveloped him in his arms and locked his hands in place, fighting a frozen, wet, drunk River. He wouldn’t get free. Connor had his pappa’s height, a rancher’s build, and he was a solid anchor in the wind and snow. There was no point in River fighting, and somehow he must have realized he couldn’t get free and went still in Connor’s arms.
All Connor could think was that he’d wanted River back in his arms for a long time now, but he’d expected soft lighting and mood music, not driving winds and snow.
“What the hell are you doing?” Connor demanded.
“Let me the fuck go.”
“Jesus, are you trying to kill yourself?”
River attempted to wriggle free. Connor’s grip didn’t falter in his hold. With his arms securely around River, he shuffled them back so they were protected by the low wall. He wanted to get them back inside, but he wasn’t ready to let River go yet, and the door was at least ten feet away. What if River wriggled free and ran for the ledge? The idea of River on the ground, twisted in death, blood… Connor didn’t want to think about it. He opened his coat, one-handed, and then pulled River closer, trying to get as much of the material to go over him, attempting to keep them both warm. River’s skin was like ice. How long had he been standing up there?
“What were you doing?” he demanded, but River didn’t reply, only burrowed deeper into Connor’s hold. This was stupid. He needed to get them off the roof, or he needed help. His phone was in the car. The campus was emptying for Christmas. It was ten a.m., snowing. What the hell was he going to do now?
“I have no one,” River muttered, then laughed and buried his face deeper.
“What do you mean? Talk to me, River.”
“No.”
“We need to get inside.”
How the hell do I get River inside?
He imagined struggling with River’s weight, trying to get him down four flights of stairs and across to his room. Maybe if he could just get him to the car, with its heated seats and the warm air blower and the coffee in a flask that Connor had made for the start of his journey back to Dallas. Then he could call someone, the cops or a doctor? That seemed like a plan, a focus. He scrambled to his feet, bringing River with him, and stumbled inside. As soon as the door shut, warmth hit them, prickling at his exposed skin, and he moved toward the radiator, still gripping River’s belt. He let go of him long enough to remove his jacket and place it around the shivering man’s shoulders.
River buried himself in the coat, and Connor went into disaster assessment mode. He’d seen hypothermia back home at the D, and it wasn’t pretty. He remembered his pappa saying there were signs to look for, and when Jack spoke, Connor always listened. He pulled up the facts he could remember. Did River have hypothermia? His teeth weren’t chattering, and he wasn’t talking at all, so it wasn’t obvious if he was slurring. Then, even if he did talk and his speech was slurry, how could Connor tell how much vodka he’d drunk? Connor tried to remember the symptoms. The college hospital wasn’t far away. He could drive there, and they would help.
Why the hell did I leave my phone in the damned car?
“It’s okay. I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You can go,” River said dully. He wriggled closer to the radiator.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“But you are,” River murmured. “You kissed me, you got me off, and now you’re leaving today.” Then he hid his face in his hands. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Wait. Was this about what happened at the thanksgiving party?
Is this my fault?
Connor didn’t usually drink that much, but he’d had one beer too many at the party, to the point where he had all the courage he needed to wait for River to come out of the bathroom.
“Can I kiss you?” he’d asked, and River had stared at him, stone-cold sober and narrow-eyed.
But then, holy shit, River had pushed him back into the nearest bedroom, shut the door, and the kiss had turned into something more, hands tangled in hair, the two of them kissing and rutting against each other until they were coming in their jeans. Really unromantic. Nothing more than getting off, and River had left before Connor could even get his breath back. Not the best of outcomes. Then River had ignored him. Not returning texts, no more study sessions in the library, and he’d even missed the last lecture of the semester.
All of that told Connor on thing: River wasn’t interested in anything more with him. But that didn’t mean they weren’t still friends. They sat in silence for a few minutes, River’s face still buried in his hands, and he was clearly crying.
What the hell should I do now?
Texas Gift #8
Chapter One
Riley needed to apologize. Right now.
He’d fucked up big time, and he should have seen it coming, because everything he did went in cycles. He and Jack hadn’t argued in so long and maybe the tension that had been building inside Riley had needed an outlet; he’d provoked the argument. He’d pushed and prodded and sulked and shoved at Jack until Jack had snapped.
Not in loud, shouting temper, or anything like what Riley deserved. No, Jack had gone deathly quiet.
Absolutely. Utterly. Quiet.
Riley shouted at him, got everything out of his system, felt the weight of it all lessen by throwing it at Jack and what had happened? He’d stood there at first, confused, and then steadily calmer. Weirdly calmer.
They argued; no normal marriage went without arguments over things as important as the kids and as trivial as picking up wet towels. But they resolved things, Jack/Riley was a unit that worked. They sometimes bickered and teased, they shouted rarely, and on the odd occasion there would be sulking. Mostly from Riley. He considered it as thinking time but Jack just called him on his sulking like a child.
Their arguments always ended in love; talking, kissing, complete forgiveness that could only come when two people understood and loved each other.
This morning though, he’d made Connor cry, Lexie scowl, and Max hide under the table with Toby. Jack hadn't even stayed for that. The crying, scowling and hiding had happened after he’d left.
“Why are you shouting at Pappa!” Connor shouted back at Riley. “Stop shouting.” Then he’d started to cry, and Riley’s heart had broken into a million pieces. He’d sat between a crying Connor, and a sullen, angry Lexie and tried to explain that he had a bad headache and he didn’t mean to shout. For headache, read migraine, tight painful migraine that blurred his vision and made him feel sick. He’d taken meds and the sharp edges of the glass in his head were easing, but he couldn’t think straight. Connor stopped crying.
“You were so mean,” Lexie summarized, but she did give Riley a hug and kiss him on the forehead to make it all better.
Max on the other hand, while not angry with Riley and the shouting, was still under the kitchen table with Toby. The black lab, Riley’s black lab, was between Max and Riley in a protective furry wall.
“It’s okay Tobes, I got this,” Riley tried to fold all six-four of himself under the wood. He got caught on a bench, his neck burned, his stomach was in knots, but nothing was going to stop him from getting to Max. Toby did eventually move to one side but not too far. Toby may well have been Riley’s dog at the start, but he and Max were inseparable now.
“Max, buddy?” he began, and Max at least looked up at him for a split second. “You okay?”
“M’okay,” Max said. “You’re noisy.”
At least he wasn’t rocking, or stimming. He was just sitting with his dog in his favorite place under the kitchen table.
“Is everything okay?” Carol said from behind him. He scrambled back and brushed himself off. “Riley?”
“I shouted,” Riley explained simply.
“At the kids?” Carol asked, aghast, as if that was the ultimate sin in her eyes. Which, to be fair, it was in Riley’s as well. He and Jack didn’t shout, they cajoled, and bargained, and ran a happy house. Most of the time, anyway. Just not this morning.
“No, at Jack.”
“Is Max okay?” she peered under the table and smiled at Max. He adored her, the kids all loved their nanny, probably quite a bit more than they loved their dad today.
“He seems fine.” Riley peered out of the window at where Jack had gone. The damage had been done, but Connie and Lexie were chatting to each other, Max was with Carol and he needed to go and make things right with Jack.
“I think we’re okay in here,” Carol said, “Go find Jack.”
Riley shot her a grateful glance, and as he left the kitchen he heard Lexie telling Carol that her Pappa had a headache and that she’d kissed it better. When he closed the door it was just him and the ranch and finding Jack. It didn’t take him long; he was outside their barn, looking up at the siding, with his feet apart and his arms crossed over his chest.
Riley inhaled the fresh morning air and pulled back his shoulders. He could do this; he could ignore the pain in his head now it had lessened a little, he could push back the nausea, and he could go and apologize to Jack for being a fucking idiot.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, coming to a stop next to Jack, only a few inches separating their arms. Jack didn’t move.
“It’s okay.” Although it didn’t sound okay at all. Okay was one of those words that meant nothing in the context of an argument, it was a word that plastered over cracks in a relationship. Okay was quiet and tight-lipped silences and Riley recalled okay from when he was a kid.
He hated okay.
“It’s not okay, I have a headache and I didn’t mean any of what I said.”
“You didn’t mean to say that life would be easier if you didn’t have to listen to me?” Jack’s voice was low and serious, and Riley winced.
“You were saying too much, and I couldn’t think.”
Their discussion had started in the bedroom.
“I asked if you’d made an appointment to see someone about the headaches.”
“I know—”
“And why you were limping again—”
“Jack—”
“And why you weren’t sleeping, and why you spent so much time at the office, and why the fuck have we not used the barn in over a month?”
The barn wasn’t just the barn, it was a euphemism for sex. They hadn't been together in a month, over a month now. How did Riley explain that he’d been at the office, sometimes with the blinds shut, closing out the light, sleeping? How did he explain he didn’t want to see a doctor because the headaches scared him? And how the hell did he tell Jack he was limping because every single one of his muscles hurt, because he was tired, because it was all too much?
“Jack, I’m sorry.”
“You’re not, Riley, because you won’t listen to me.” Jack pointed at the barn. “I’m thinking we turn this into a games room for the kids.”
Riley gripped Jack’s arm. “No, what the hell?” His tension fled and in its place was panic. This was their space. Sometimes they came out here to talk, to hide away from the world, but it was also the one place they had the hottest sex he’d ever experienced. He wanted that again, but he was so tired, every time he turned over in bed his neck hurt, and his head pounded, and his leg ached, and he was fucking tired of it all. “Jack, I’m sorry, don’t…”
Jack turned to face him, and his expression wasn’t angry. “Either you go to the doctor, right here, right now, or I start clearing the place for a pool table.” He looked deadly serious, and Riley couldn’t tell if this was an empty threat. Then Jack softened, cradled his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Riley, please.”
Just those two words pierced the fear in Riley, he couldn’t stop the pain, or the threat of being sick, or not sleeping, but whatever was wrong, Jack would be there for him.
“I’m scared,” Riley murmured.
Jack gathered him close. “You think I’m not?”
“Please don’t,” Riley said against Jack’s neck. His words sounded slurred and fear made him sway. What the hell? “Please don’t let me chase you away.”
“I won’t.”
And that was the last thing he heard as his world went to black.
Chapter 1
Connor skidded to a stop.
The cold December wind whipped around his face, ice and snow knifing into his skin, and at first, he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.
Maybe he should have stopped, called 911, shouted for help, but it could’ve been too late, so he’d acted on instinct alone. He’d taken the four flights of stairs at a run, reaching the roof and throwing the door open. His lungs burned from the freezing air and his voice had gone. What now?
Why was River on the roof in nothing but jeans and a T-shirt, clearly drunk? Why was he standing on the ledge, his feet spread, his arms wide, and a bottle of vodka in his hand?
When the girl from his floor told him she’d seen River go up to the roof, he thought she’d meant something else. He often went up there to read or watch life go by. But not in a snow storm.
He didn’t expect to see River standing on the ledge in the snow.
Don’t scare him. He’ll stumble and fall. He might jump.
A gust of air slapped Connor. River swayed to the left but righted himself with the casual grace of a gymnast. River wouldn’t fall by accident. Hell, Connor had seen him balance on one hand on a diving board, perfectly still, before falling gracefully and accurately with spins and pikes into the water below. He’d never seen River falter.
“River?” Connor asked, only an inch from grabbing River’s shirt and holding him tight. He saw River tense, but he didn’t wobble in surprise or slip and fall to the ground.
“I canbalance. Look at me.” River sounded so damn proud of himself.
Connor took a small step forward, finally being able to hold River’s shirt, hoping to hell that would be enough to stop River from falling.
“Come down, buddy.”
River lifted the bottle over his head, sloshing alcohol over his hair, his tongue flicking out to catch any that ran over his face.
“Fuck,” he shouted.
Connor tugged at him, not knowing what else to do. “Come back,” he said, loud enough that River actually looked at him.
“Leave me alone,” he said.
“I’m not leaving you on the roof,” Connor snapped and got a better hold of River, hooking a finger into his belt. River wasn’t a big guy, a diver’s body, no more than five ten and a buck sixty soaking wet, but if he fell, would Connor be able to hold him long enough to save him?
River pulled against Connor’s grip, and for a second the world stopped turning as Connor had to use his entire body weight to keep him upright. Something about the action must have scared River. He cursed and rocked backward, but he still wouldn’t come down.
“Come down,” Connor pleaded. “You’re scaring me.”
“You think you gotta save me? Huh?” River threw his arms wide again, more alcohol sloshing over the top of the bottle. “I don’t need saving.”
“I want you to come down.” Connor tried for calm. What was he doing? He should have called the cops immediately when he spotted River. Or firefighters, negotiators? Or whoever the hell should’ve been here. He’d seen things like this on the television, the mediator knowing all the right things to say and do, standing by River and connecting him to his family or childhood or his faith. All Connor knew was that he needed to pull River down, use the only thing he had going for him; the fact that he was bigger and stronger.
“I like it up here!” River explained with another wide gesture. He wobbled a little but righted himself immediately.
“Come down, Riv.”
“Saint Connor tries to save everyone,” River shouted, ending with a hysterical laugh. He was clearly losing control of himself, and even if Connor did have the words to talk him down, he thought maybe he’d just yank River back onto the concrete roof of the building and worry about injuries later.
But River wasn’t finished. “Even if they don’t need saving!”
“River!”
“Who the hell cares if I can balance, huh?”
“I care,” Connor shouted back. This was so out of character.
“Yeah, right, telling me what Christmas and family is like for you, making me see it in my head, and then leaving me here alone.”
“River, please.” Connor tugged him, but River wouldn’t move back.
Connor had never heard River curse like this, and he was done with holding on to him. So evaluating where they would end up if they fell backward and not caring how much it hurt, he yanked, hard. River tumbled with him, arms flailing and the vodka bottle slipping from his grasp and falling into the tub of snow-covered plants on the roof patio. The two of them fell onto the roof, Connor using his body to cushion River’s descent, getting his arms full of an icy cold man, the breath forced from his lungs when they hit the ground.
Connor enveloped him in his arms and locked his hands in place, fighting a frozen, wet, drunk River. He wouldn’t get free. Connor had his pappa’s height, a rancher’s build, and he was a solid anchor in the wind and snow. There was no point in River fighting, and somehow he must have realized he couldn’t get free and went still in Connor’s arms.
All Connor could think was that he’d wanted River back in his arms for a long time now, but he’d expected soft lighting and mood music, not driving winds and snow.
“What the hell are you doing?” Connor demanded.
“Let me the fuck go.”
“Jesus, are you trying to kill yourself?”
River attempted to wriggle free. Connor’s grip didn’t falter in his hold. With his arms securely around River, he shuffled them back so they were protected by the low wall. He wanted to get them back inside, but he wasn’t ready to let River go yet, and the door was at least ten feet away. What if River wriggled free and ran for the ledge? The idea of River on the ground, twisted in death, blood… Connor didn’t want to think about it. He opened his coat, one-handed, and then pulled River closer, trying to get as much of the material to go over him, attempting to keep them both warm. River’s skin was like ice. How long had he been standing up there?
“What were you doing?” he demanded, but River didn’t reply, only burrowed deeper into Connor’s hold. This was stupid. He needed to get them off the roof, or he needed help. His phone was in the car. The campus was emptying for Christmas. It was ten a.m., snowing. What the hell was he going to do now?
“I have no one,” River muttered, then laughed and buried his face deeper.
“What do you mean? Talk to me, River.”
“No.”
“We need to get inside.”
How the hell do I get River inside?
He imagined struggling with River’s weight, trying to get him down four flights of stairs and across to his room. Maybe if he could just get him to the car, with its heated seats and the warm air blower and the coffee in a flask that Connor had made for the start of his journey back to Dallas. Then he could call someone, the cops or a doctor? That seemed like a plan, a focus. He scrambled to his feet, bringing River with him, and stumbled inside. As soon as the door shut, warmth hit them, prickling at his exposed skin, and he moved toward the radiator, still gripping River’s belt. He let go of him long enough to remove his jacket and place it around the shivering man’s shoulders.
River buried himself in the coat, and Connor went into disaster assessment mode. He’d seen hypothermia back home at the D, and it wasn’t pretty. He remembered his pappa saying there were signs to look for, and when Jack spoke, Connor always listened. He pulled up the facts he could remember. Did River have hypothermia? His teeth weren’t chattering, and he wasn’t talking at all, so it wasn’t obvious if he was slurring. Then, even if he did talk and his speech was slurry, how could Connor tell how much vodka he’d drunk? Connor tried to remember the symptoms. The college hospital wasn’t far away. He could drive there, and they would help.
Why the hell did I leave my phone in the damned car?
“It’s okay. I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You can go,” River said dully. He wriggled closer to the radiator.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“But you are,” River murmured. “You kissed me, you got me off, and now you’re leaving today.” Then he hid his face in his hands. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Wait. Was this about what happened at the thanksgiving party?
Is this my fault?
Connor didn’t usually drink that much, but he’d had one beer too many at the party, to the point where he had all the courage he needed to wait for River to come out of the bathroom.
“Can I kiss you?” he’d asked, and River had stared at him, stone-cold sober and narrow-eyed.
But then, holy shit, River had pushed him back into the nearest bedroom, shut the door, and the kiss had turned into something more, hands tangled in hair, the two of them kissing and rutting against each other until they were coming in their jeans. Really unromantic. Nothing more than getting off, and River had left before Connor could even get his breath back. Not the best of outcomes. Then River had ignored him. Not returning texts, no more study sessions in the library, and he’d even missed the last lecture of the semester.
All of that told Connor on thing: River wasn’t interested in anything more with him. But that didn’t mean they weren’t still friends. They sat in silence for a few minutes, River’s face still buried in his hands, and he was clearly crying.
What the hell should I do now?
Texas Gift #8
Chapter One
Riley needed to apologize. Right now.
He’d fucked up big time, and he should have seen it coming, because everything he did went in cycles. He and Jack hadn’t argued in so long and maybe the tension that had been building inside Riley had needed an outlet; he’d provoked the argument. He’d pushed and prodded and sulked and shoved at Jack until Jack had snapped.
Not in loud, shouting temper, or anything like what Riley deserved. No, Jack had gone deathly quiet.
Absolutely. Utterly. Quiet.
Riley shouted at him, got everything out of his system, felt the weight of it all lessen by throwing it at Jack and what had happened? He’d stood there at first, confused, and then steadily calmer. Weirdly calmer.
They argued; no normal marriage went without arguments over things as important as the kids and as trivial as picking up wet towels. But they resolved things, Jack/Riley was a unit that worked. They sometimes bickered and teased, they shouted rarely, and on the odd occasion there would be sulking. Mostly from Riley. He considered it as thinking time but Jack just called him on his sulking like a child.
Their arguments always ended in love; talking, kissing, complete forgiveness that could only come when two people understood and loved each other.
This morning though, he’d made Connor cry, Lexie scowl, and Max hide under the table with Toby. Jack hadn't even stayed for that. The crying, scowling and hiding had happened after he’d left.
“Why are you shouting at Pappa!” Connor shouted back at Riley. “Stop shouting.” Then he’d started to cry, and Riley’s heart had broken into a million pieces. He’d sat between a crying Connor, and a sullen, angry Lexie and tried to explain that he had a bad headache and he didn’t mean to shout. For headache, read migraine, tight painful migraine that blurred his vision and made him feel sick. He’d taken meds and the sharp edges of the glass in his head were easing, but he couldn’t think straight. Connor stopped crying.
“You were so mean,” Lexie summarized, but she did give Riley a hug and kiss him on the forehead to make it all better.
Max on the other hand, while not angry with Riley and the shouting, was still under the kitchen table with Toby. The black lab, Riley’s black lab, was between Max and Riley in a protective furry wall.
“It’s okay Tobes, I got this,” Riley tried to fold all six-four of himself under the wood. He got caught on a bench, his neck burned, his stomach was in knots, but nothing was going to stop him from getting to Max. Toby did eventually move to one side but not too far. Toby may well have been Riley’s dog at the start, but he and Max were inseparable now.
“Max, buddy?” he began, and Max at least looked up at him for a split second. “You okay?”
“M’okay,” Max said. “You’re noisy.”
At least he wasn’t rocking, or stimming. He was just sitting with his dog in his favorite place under the kitchen table.
“Is everything okay?” Carol said from behind him. He scrambled back and brushed himself off. “Riley?”
“I shouted,” Riley explained simply.
“At the kids?” Carol asked, aghast, as if that was the ultimate sin in her eyes. Which, to be fair, it was in Riley’s as well. He and Jack didn’t shout, they cajoled, and bargained, and ran a happy house. Most of the time, anyway. Just not this morning.
“No, at Jack.”
“Is Max okay?” she peered under the table and smiled at Max. He adored her, the kids all loved their nanny, probably quite a bit more than they loved their dad today.
“He seems fine.” Riley peered out of the window at where Jack had gone. The damage had been done, but Connie and Lexie were chatting to each other, Max was with Carol and he needed to go and make things right with Jack.
“I think we’re okay in here,” Carol said, “Go find Jack.”
Riley shot her a grateful glance, and as he left the kitchen he heard Lexie telling Carol that her Pappa had a headache and that she’d kissed it better. When he closed the door it was just him and the ranch and finding Jack. It didn’t take him long; he was outside their barn, looking up at the siding, with his feet apart and his arms crossed over his chest.
Riley inhaled the fresh morning air and pulled back his shoulders. He could do this; he could ignore the pain in his head now it had lessened a little, he could push back the nausea, and he could go and apologize to Jack for being a fucking idiot.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, coming to a stop next to Jack, only a few inches separating their arms. Jack didn’t move.
“It’s okay.” Although it didn’t sound okay at all. Okay was one of those words that meant nothing in the context of an argument, it was a word that plastered over cracks in a relationship. Okay was quiet and tight-lipped silences and Riley recalled okay from when he was a kid.
He hated okay.
“It’s not okay, I have a headache and I didn’t mean any of what I said.”
“You didn’t mean to say that life would be easier if you didn’t have to listen to me?” Jack’s voice was low and serious, and Riley winced.
“You were saying too much, and I couldn’t think.”
Their discussion had started in the bedroom.
“I asked if you’d made an appointment to see someone about the headaches.”
“I know—”
“And why you were limping again—”
“Jack—”
“And why you weren’t sleeping, and why you spent so much time at the office, and why the fuck have we not used the barn in over a month?”
The barn wasn’t just the barn, it was a euphemism for sex. They hadn't been together in a month, over a month now. How did Riley explain that he’d been at the office, sometimes with the blinds shut, closing out the light, sleeping? How did he explain he didn’t want to see a doctor because the headaches scared him? And how the hell did he tell Jack he was limping because every single one of his muscles hurt, because he was tired, because it was all too much?
“Jack, I’m sorry.”
“You’re not, Riley, because you won’t listen to me.” Jack pointed at the barn. “I’m thinking we turn this into a games room for the kids.”
Riley gripped Jack’s arm. “No, what the hell?” His tension fled and in its place was panic. This was their space. Sometimes they came out here to talk, to hide away from the world, but it was also the one place they had the hottest sex he’d ever experienced. He wanted that again, but he was so tired, every time he turned over in bed his neck hurt, and his head pounded, and his leg ached, and he was fucking tired of it all. “Jack, I’m sorry, don’t…”
Jack turned to face him, and his expression wasn’t angry. “Either you go to the doctor, right here, right now, or I start clearing the place for a pool table.” He looked deadly serious, and Riley couldn’t tell if this was an empty threat. Then Jack softened, cradled his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Riley, please.”
Just those two words pierced the fear in Riley, he couldn’t stop the pain, or the threat of being sick, or not sleeping, but whatever was wrong, Jack would be there for him.
“I’m scared,” Riley murmured.
Jack gathered him close. “You think I’m not?”
“Please don’t,” Riley said against Jack’s neck. His words sounded slurred and fear made him sway. What the hell? “Please don’t let me chase you away.”
“I won’t.”
And that was the last thing he heard as his world went to black.
Author Bio:USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott writes stories with a heart of romance, a troubled road to reach happiness, and most importantly, a happily ever after.
RJ Scott is the author of over one hundred romance books, writing emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, millionaire, princes, and the men who get mixed up in their lives. RJ is known for writing books that always end with a happy ever after. She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing.
The last time she had a week’s break from writing she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a bottle of wine she couldn’t defeat.
She’s always thrilled to hear from readers, bloggers and other writers. Please contact via the links below.
BOOKBUB / KOBO / SMASHWORDS
EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk
Home for Christmas #9
Texas Gift #8
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