Snow had recently purchased a home with his partner. Rowe supposed partner was a better word for Jude because boyfriend and Snow were two words that just seemed ridiculous together. Those two would no doubt end up married and honestly, Rowe was surprised they hadn’t run off and gotten hitched. He supposed that had a lot to do with Jude’s mother. And Ian. Hell, their younger friend had started planning a wedding for Lucas and Andrei before Jude had even sauntered into their world. For the longest time, Rowe had believed he’d be the only one of them to get domesticated.
The memory of Mel’s laugh washed through him, numbing his fingers on the wheel. He’d never stop missing her. He wished he could shoot Dwight Gratton all over again.
Rowe headed toward the river and parked his truck in the empty house’s driveway next door to his friend’s place. He didn’t want to block Jude when he got home. The houses along this street were part of a new development and Snow had been the first to snap one up before the flooring had even been chosen. Rowe didn’t blame him. He was closer to the water this time and the place was really gorgeous—a bricked A-frame cottage with a wrap-around porch in the back and side. It wasn’t nearly as big as Snow’s last place, but that had been ridiculous. What single man needed three floors? The new house had enough room for kids, though, should they choose to have them.
That thought no longer shocked him. It cracked him up. Snow as a father. He’d always been fiercely loyal, protective toward his friends, especially Ian, and quick to dole out whatever force was needed in a situation. But he also loved just as fiercely. He’d make a great dad.
Rowe shook his head and opened the truck door. A strong gust of November wind hit him as he climbed down. With the recently cleared land across the road, there wasn’t a lot to block it. He shivered and hurried to the front porch.
Snow opened the door before he knocked. He looked comfy in his loose, faded jeans, a red T-shirt and thick, white socks. Damn socks. Rowe frowned.
“It’s that kind of visit, huh? Come in.”
Snow had changed since he’d been with Jude. He still had the wicked sense of humor, could still be a complete ass at the drop of a hat, and he certainly didn’t give a crap about proper social subjects—not that Rowe had ever cared either. But he smiled a hell of a lot more than he used to. He grinned now as he grabbed the beer Rowe had stopped to pick up and walked toward the kitchen.
Rowe paused to admire the wide, wooden staircase at the end of the entry. The house had two floors, all covered in dark hardwood. The walls, a warm beige stucco, complimented the exposed dark wood beams lining the living room and kitchen. The doors all over the house as well as the cabinetry in the kitchen were the same color and some of the doorways had black trim. The combination gave the entire home an elegant yet comfortable feel and it suited the men who called it home.
Snow grabbed a couple of beers, then set them on the island in the kitchen. “Hungry? Jude and I found this cool place with imported meat and cheeses. Some of this shit is amazing.”
“I’m not hungry.” Rowe jumped when something squeaked and scampered past his feet. “What the hell?” Rowe squatted and peered at the amber eyes peeking at him from the side of the island. “You got a cat. You.”
“I know.” Snow sighed. “I’ve obviously lost my mind. We went to lunch in Covington last weekend and Jude couldn’t resist this little girl giving away kittens on the street.”
“And you can’t resist Jude. For shame, Doc. You’re nothing but mush these days.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
The gray and black cat inched closer and made a high-pitched mewling noise that pierced Rowe’s ears. He held out his hand, sure the creature wouldn’t come close to him because he had to smell like his dogs. “What’s its name?”
“It’s a boy.” Snow mumbled something after that.
“What did you say?” Rowe stood, unable to stop the welcome laugh building in his chest.
“Jude named that damn thing Sergeant. He thinks he has a sense of humor.”
The laughter escaped. He couldn’t help it because he’d repeatedly heard Jude refer to Snow as General. Personally, he thought the nickname fit the surgeon to a T. He’d seen him shouting orders in the ER a time or two.
“It’s not funny.” Snow came around the bar and handed Rowe a beer. The tiny kitten trotted to him and leapt, claws attaching to Snow’s jeans. “Ow! Shit!” He set his beer back on the island and used both hands to pry the kitten gently off his leg. He held it up to his face and it mewled again. He shook his head and set it back on the floor. It immediately curled up on his sock-clad foot. He nudged it off and nodded toward the arched doorway into the living room. He strolled to the couch and folded one leg beneath him on one end. “Come on. Tell me what’s wrong.”