“Since when?”
“February.”
“That’s impressive. While I’ve been dinking around with our kitchen cabinet remodel, you wrote a whole book. I want to hear all about it when you come in today.”
“That’s why I called. I—uh-oh. That’s Lucky trying to get me. I didn’t think about what would happen when I sent that text.”
“Your phone’s gonna be ringing all day. Wish I could give you the time off, but I need you here.”
“You’re already at the Buffalo?”
“Yessir. Tyra and I came in early to prep for Christmas Eve. Lots to do before then. We wondered if we’d get snowed in, but the plows are out, both in town and on the two-lane. You should be able to make it, no problem.”
“Then I’ll see you soon.” He disconnected and called Lucky back.
Lucky didn’t bother with a greeting. “You wrote a whole damn book and didn’t tell me until it was finished? What the hell? Did you tell anybody, because if you told anybody and didn’t tell me, I’m gonna?—”
“Granny. I told Granny. I had to since she was living with me. I didn’t let her read it except the parts with Irish dialogue.”
“Okay, Granny, then. I get that, but bro! You had to be writing it for a while, months, if not years. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“I’ve been writing since February. You of all people should know why I didn’t tell anybody. Oksana kept hers a secret even after it was finished. She’d already started the second book before she told you.”
His brother exhaled. “Yeah, but she’d only known me for something like a year. You, on the other hand… we’re… dammit, you could’ve trusted me with this.”
The hurt in Lucky’s voice hit him hard. “I’m sorry. The truth is, I was scared shitless. I didn’t trust myself… to keep going, tofollow through. I didn’t know with absolute certainty I’d finish it until I did. Even then I kept tweaking it, looking for weak points, rewriting dialogue to make it snappier.”
“What made you call it good and announce it to the family?”
“When Lani read it and didn’t puke.”
“You gave it toLani? When I could’ve?—”
“I decided my first reader should be someone who didn’t love me, someone who would tell me the unvarnished truth.”
“I would’ve done that! Mom would’ve?—”
“Would you? Would she? C’mon, bro. You would have sugarcoated it.”
“Would not.”
“Would so. Admit it. You worship the ground I walk on.”
“Not anymore. Damned turncoat.” But his muttered words had lost their bite.
“By the way, I did just give it to Mom about fifteen minutes ago. And I told her I was submitting to a small publishing house, specifically Lani’s, because I want to do this on my own, not through her, her agent or her publisher. I need to know?—”
“All right, all right.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m starting to see the method to your madness. Mom and I might be slightly prejudiced.”
“You think?”
“And there is a difference between Mom helping Oksana move up the ladder and anointing you as the prodigal son.”
“Big difference. Oksana’s not writing Westerns. I am. I could easily piggyback on Mom’s career. That wouldn’t work for me. And… and now Angie just popped up on my screen. Shoulda known she’d be next. I’ll call her back.”
“Who were you talking to when I called?”
“Clint, to find out if the Buffalo’s open today.”
