“I love it. How come I’ve never heard any of them?”
“You kept the subject locked down so they decided you didn’t want to talk about him.”
“I didn’t, but it’s nice to know they were hating on him behind my back.” He finished buttoning his coat and crammed his hat on his head. “Let’s do this.”
Andy unhooked a towel from the coat rack. “For Sam.”
“Good call.”
Reaching for the door, Andy pulled it open to reveal a world transformed. A few flakes drifted down from the cloud-covered sky, but the storm was over.
A crust of snow had formed against the bottom of the door. Stepping over it, Andy walked out on the porch, his boots crunching on several inches of the white stuff. Sam streaked past him, scattering snow as he bounded down the steps and leaped through the drifts with yips of joy.
“There goes your fresh paint job.” Rance closed the door behind him and stood beside the man who’d been more of a father to him in the past two years than his biological parent ever could be.
Irving Quick had zero chance of gaining parental status. The position belonged to his mom, Andy, Buck and Marybeth, the four people he credited with molding him into a decent human being.
Even some of the other dads had treated him with fatherly affection, bringing gifts and encouraging him in whatever activity he happened to be into when they visited. Gestures like theirs emphasized that his father was, in Andy’s words, a dick.
He let out a breath, creating a cloud of condensation. “Thanks for reminding me I have a cheering section.”
“I’d say it’s a lot more powerful than that.” Andy fished gloves out of his coat pocket and put them on. “Quick has no idea what he’s getting into. He left a woman surrounded by little kids and akindly couple who were helping her raise them. The McLintocks have become a force to be reckoned with and he’s inflicted harm on one of their own. I don’t envy him.”
“Do you feel sorry for him?”
“Hell, no.” Andy chuckled. “I can’t wait to see his scared rabbit expression when he realizes who he’s dealing with and what he’s up against. I don’t want him here, but since I agree with your mother that you should confront him, I’ll take pleasure in watching you reduce him to a sniveling shadow of a man.”
“I don’t know if I can?—”
“Of course you can. You’re a writer. Use your words.”
“Speaking of that, why did you want to help me get the manuscripts?”
“I needed to find out beforehand if you dedicated it to your mother.”
“Sure did.”
“Good man. Did you by chance put the dedication page in these manuscripts?”
“I did. Probably an amateur move to include it in a submission, but I wanted her to see it was there, ready to go once it was published.”
“I don’t care if it’s an amateur move. It’s the right move, and I intend to make sure she opens to that page immediately.”
“I hurt her feelings by not giving it to her first. I know she was disappointed, but?—”
“It has to be complicated when you want to write and your mom’s already a well-known author.”
Andy’s kind words eased the turmoil in his gut. “Very complicated.” Watching Sam cavorting in the snow helped, too.
“At least she doesn’t write under her own name. I didn’t think to ask. Are you using a pseudonym?”
“I’m not planning to. Rance McLintock sounds like a Western writer. But if I want another layer of anonymity, I could go that route. Her real name is getting out there and it’ll be in the dedication.”
“It’s out there but it doesn’t have traction. Not many will make the connection. If you don’t draw attention to it, you should be able to use your real name and find your own success independent of hers.”
“I hope so. Eventually it won’t matter, but with this first book, especially since it’s a Western….”
“I totally get it. She does, too. And seeing the dedication will go a long way to soothe her ruffled feathers.”
