His chuckle was good-natured. “I’ve been wonderinghow I ended up with so damn many tools over the years, but a lot of these came from my dad.” He shoved a set to the side, making them clatter together. “I feel bad leaving so much for Rhys, but I’m also grateful I don’t have to offload this heap onto you, and I’m not talking about the tools.”
Surprise filtered through me. I’d stopped in to talk to him about just that. “I was afraid I hadn’t done enough and that’s why you’re giving this place up.”
He frowned, turning to fully face me. “Why do you think that?”
“I was working for you and then this happened.” I indicated my left side. “And then I was useless. Even when I wasn’t useless, I didn’t reach out to see what you needed.”
He chuffed and put his chin down. His brow furrowed and he shifted his stance a few times. “Jonah...” Then he took his ball cap off and scratched his head. “I won’t lie. I was worried about you. Hell, I still worry about you. You just do with your kids, you know. But...” He dragged in a breath. “You know what I wanted to be when I was a teenager?”
“Excuse me?”
“I wanted to be a mechanic.” He looked up at the ceiling of the shop, a wistful smile on his face. “Classic cars.”
I gaped at Dad. He’d never told me about this. “We’ve never owned a classic car.”
He barked out a laugh. “Exactly. First, we had kids to take care of. Then we had a ranch to keep going. I admire them, but I couldn’t spend money on something like that. Then there was the time.” He shook his head. “The ranch sucked up every second.”
The guilt returned. If I had been working more, he might’ve had time to indulge.
“I can see what you’re thinking,” he said, “and you’d be missing the point. That was my dream as a kid, and I couldn’t do it. I was expected to take this place over. I was born to be a rancher, and that was all I could ever do. Don’t get me wrong, I love it. But it’s not my passion. I don’t want to turn my back on retirement because this whole place is on my shoulders. I didn’t want that for you. Neither did your mother. We could see you were the same as me, and we’d rather see you do what you love.”
Being outdoors. Experiencing the land instead of toiling away on it. “What about Eli?”
“Eli was different. There was nothing else he wanted to do.” Sadness took over his features. “It took me a long time to admit that I’d have to give up what’s been passed down because Eli was gone, but once your mom and I finally talked about it, we realized we were on the same page. We’ve given up a lot for this place, and we’re tired of it.”
“So you’re okay with the decision?”
He directed his gaze out the open overhead door. “All land changes hands throughout time. We’re lucky to be in a spot where we can decide to sell. It’s not getting taken away, and I’m not losing it. The Dunns’ time with this ranch is over. Rhys gets to raise his family on it and maybe pass it down to his girls. This burden of mine is his dream. And you’re free to keep kicking out that damn fine furniture you make.”
“I really enjoy it.”
“I know you do. It’s what’s kept your mom from bodily hauling you out of that place for a haircut.”
My laughter surprised me, but I sobered. “I thought I was letting you down, just like I let everyone else down.”
“As much as you feel like you failed Eli, so do we,” he said gruffly. “I’m not going to get into a competition about whose guilt is stronger. In the end, he made his choice and we’re all learning to live with it. Some days are easier than others.”
“Yeah,” I said hoarsely. I had based the last fifteen years of my existence on that guilt. Then I’d piled more on until I was ignoring every important person in my life. “I fucked things up with Summer.”
“Ah. I wondered about that.” He leaned against the bench. “What happened?”
“I think . . . IknowI’m scared.”
“You’ve never been scared of a thing in your life. You used to love when you saw bears out on your hikes.”
I was more concerned about moose. I had bear spray; nothing for the moose. “She’s different. She wants the family life. Kids.” The last word came out rough.
“I see.” He crossed his arms and frowned at the floor. “Are you scared of losing her or losing those kids?”
“I’ve lost her, and that sucks pretty bad.” I swallowed hard, pushing down the tide of anxiety. “But kids?” My tongue refused to work. “Fucking terrifying.”
His chuckle was dry. “Yeah. They are.” He pushed off the workbench and paced in front of me like I’d done with Teller. “I was scared spitless when you were born. If your mom wasn’t so damn excited, I might’ve been a goner before you arrived.”
I’d never talked to my parents about my birth, or me as a kid. I’d been interested in living life, not dwelling onthe past. Seemed like I was trapped by both the past and future.
“It was easier when Eli arrived.” His eyes misted over. “Then we lost him.” He dragged in a long breath. “And it fucking hurts every day. But everyone’s different, Jonah. Your mom and I are stronger, but it took a lot of work to get here. Would I skip having kids to prevent from having that experience?” He shrugged helplessly. “I can’t imagine not having had Eli in my life. I can’t imagine not having the memories of his little red baby face, or how he laughed at my stupid jokes, or the way he lived for doing the chicken dance at wedding receptions. The pain was excruciating. It still is, but there’s a lot of joy in my memories. A ton of laughter. A lot of love. Do I have regrets? Of course.” He dropped his chin to his chest. “Of course. But I’d regret not getting Eli for the nineteen years we had him.”
My throat grew thick. “I miss him.”
