Page 4 of The Wounded Warrior

Again, no shit. Somehow, Matthew LeBlanc was just another cowboy while Luke LeBlanc oozed hot asshole. Too bad said hot asshole was one, in a wheelchair, two, most likely straight and a former SEAL—making the possibility of getting to the aforementioned asshole highly fucking unlikely—and three, Matthew LeBlanc’s twin brother.

Of course, Rory did love a challenge. “Did they have a big bag of cash to deposit?”

“He looked pretty damned smug, boss.”

“Huh.” He bit his lower lip.

“I know, right? Weird.”

“Well, people are allowed to go the bank.” He hoped it had been to pay off the back payments.

“Yeah, and I’m allowed all the conjecture I want.”

“True.” Rory winked at her. “Thanks for lunch.”

“You bought it,” she said, waving before flouncing off.

Little turd. He did adore her. Rory stretched out in his chair, his back popping furiously. Damn. Maybe he needed to get out more. He felt as if all he’d done in the last few months was plot and scheme against a certain land developer.

Skullduggery was not a physically active job.

God, he cracked himself up.

He stood up as his phone rang and he tapped the Bluetooth headset. “Yeah, Lori?”

“I have Mr. Takashi calling from Tokyo.”

Oh, cool. Maybe there was something interesting going on—a catastrophe of mammoth proportions that would give him something fun to do. “Patch him through.”

“You got it.”

Rory geared up for a long discussion in Japanese-glish, glad that it would keep him from calling Elaine down at the bank and bullying her into jeopardizing her job by telling him what Matt and Luke LeBlanc were up to.

He kept telling people it was dangerous to let him get bored. No one ever believed him.

“Konnichi wa, Takashi-san. How are you today?”

Chapter Three

Luke wheeled his chair through the aisles at the Walmart, keeping his head down a little so he didn’t have to talk to anyone. God knew he hated this frickin’ store, but it was the only game nearby for some of the shit on Matt’s shopping list. Matt had taken off with the damned cart, and Luke had a lap full of toilet paper and Ziploc bags.

He couldn’t reach the fucking paper towels.Asshole stockers. Why did all the Brawny ones have to be on the top two shelves?

“You need a hand?” a warm, vaguely familiar voice asked.

The urge to snarl was huge and didn’t fade when he looked up and saw a hard body with the brightest blue eyes he’d ever seen and a shock of white-blond hair peeking under a 10X Stetson.

Fucking rhinestone cowboy banker butthead.

“Brawny,” he ground out.

“You got it.” The man attached to the voice pulled down a three-pack for him. “Here you go. Luke, right?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He got another of those smiles, like this McConnell dude wasn’t trying to buy the county. “I bet Matt is glad to have you home.”

“Yeah. I guess. Sure.” Christ. Small talk. Fuck. This guy was a real piece of work.

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