I concentrated on loosening my grip on the steering wheel. The road wound closer to the house. I hadn’t visited Dad, but I’d been on the land. I’d taken a road that overlooked the house. And it’d pissed me off. The place wasn’t run down. He’d done some work on it and dammit—I’d been furious.
“Do you think he’ll be there?” Autumn asked.
I’d been so angry that he’d kept up the house enough to look decent and then sobered himself up enough to fucking sell it.
“Gideon?”
And then he had the audacity to tell me that he wouldn’t talk about the sale on the phone. I had to come home.
“Gideon.” A warm hand landed on my forearm and my rising anger dropped like a boulder in water.
My knuckles were white and the speed of the car was creeping up. It wouldn’t have mattered that her all-wheel drive handled nicely on the dirt road, I’d land us both in a ditch.
“Do you need a minute before we arrive?” she asked softly.
“No.” I wanted to see his face when I showed up with a Bailey bride talking about kids.
My gut heaved again. Kids. I wouldn’t think about it yet. How did Autumn know she could have them? Howdid I? I had enough on my mind. The idea of a baby I was responsible for would have to wait. I had time.
My determination to avoid the topic didn’t stop my dick from waking up and reminding me how kids were made. My cock wanted to berate me for not taking Autumn up on the sweetness she had offered last night.
I had never had a hard time being an honorable man until her. After watching her moan over my food this morning, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep from being rabid when I was in bed with her again.
How quickly I returned to my roots—wild and dirty.
I rounded a curve and the house came into view, dousing my libido. Mom had been so proud of this place. We’d gone from a small, manufactured home to a stick-built two-story ranch house with an attached two-car garage.
So much space, Giddy!Mom’s voice was clear as the summer Montana sky. I’d been six.We can even expand it. Maybe someday you’ll fill it with kids.
My heart twisted as hard as my stomach. Mom had wanted more kids, but she’d hemorrhaged during my birth and doctors had performed a hysterectomy.
I swallowed rising stomach acid. “Home sweet home,” I said bitterly.
“I’ve never been this far onto your land,” she said. The awe in her voice made me want to puff my damn chest. “I always thought your place was beautiful when we drove by the pastures.”
“He painted.” I could tell her everything about the buildings and land. I could tell her that there was an abandoned cabin in the foothills to the north where my grandparents’ ranch manager used to live. The old stable and shop were falling down, but a newer shop and barnstood a few hundred yards behind the house. Both had been built by Mom and Dad. The place had prospered after Mom had taken over. Those buildings now loomed isolated against the stark, brown landscape. As if all the life on this place had died with Mom.
I parked by an old, beat-up flatbed truck. The white paint on the front was covered in a thick layer of dust and dirt. I was tempted to turn around and leave. Tuck myself into Autumn’s small house and attempt to make babies.
Babies. I could fucking puke.
I didn’t have a weak stomach, and I wasn’t vomiting in front of my wife.
I opened the door and got out, taking a deep inhale before I realized I was sucking in all the fresh Montana air like I’d been suffocating for the last twenty-five years. Oxygen infused my veins. There was no smell of cigarettes or pot, no scent of exhaust or hot asphalt. I didn’t even smell dust. Just pure, fresh mountain air.
A door creaked open. “Giddy?”
I faced my dad, unprepared for the shock. He was older. But where he had once stooped with a permanent grimace on his face and lank, greasy hair, his fist shaking in the air at me while I drove off, he was now hale. He wasn’t hearty, but some of the muscle tone that had wasted away when he’d been in his darkest years had returned.
His hair was grayer and thinner but neatly trimmed, same with his salt-and-pepper beard. The mustache portion of his beard was thicker and in a horseshoe shape. His shoulders were rounded but no longer bowed, and his clothing looked clean. The worst shock was the clear gaze.
“Hank.” My voice wasn’t as strong as I’d intended.
He stepped out farther. The screen door slammed behind him. It’d be an easy fix. I’d helped him repair more than a few doors growing up.
A lump formed in my throat as memories rose from the depths of my brain. Usually, I thought about Mom when I recalled my time growing up. But this time, I could picture myself walking next to Dad as he talked about growing seasons, soil conditions, and moisture levels. I could see him next to me beside one of the tractors, handing me a tool and telling me to try it myself.
The back of my throat burned hot. I refused to recall those times. He’d ruined them all.
