“Jesus, Frank. What is it?” Peony said quickly. “I know that look. Something’s up. Enough with the paperwork and will reading. Why are you really here?”
Frank gazed around the room and nodded. “Okay, okay. Now that the death certificate is stamped, I can let you in on Brett’s final wishes. He asked me not to until it was time.”
“Time for what?” Tanner asked, setting the papers down and folding his arms, his eyes snapping fire. He was close to popping, his famous temper simmering near the surface, his jaw so tight he could probably pulverize diamonds between his teeth.
“Well, I don’t know how much you know. But I was able to contact Jake,” Frank said, frowning. “He’s due here this afternoon, and then I can read your father’s will.”
“Who the hell is Jake?” Brady asked, coming around to perch on the desk, his own arms folded in mirror of his brother’s.
“So you don’t know. Shit,” Frank muttered, and ran a hand down his face. He glanced at Liz’s mother, who looked guilty and averted her eyes, hunching with the stress of that statement.
“Know what?” Tanner growled through his teeth, standing up and balling his fists. Brady put a hand on his shoulder, then shook his head when Tanner looked back at him. Seeing Peony’s hands move to her chest, Liz went to her mother’s side.
“Mom?” she murmured, but her mother wouldn’t look up. Her mother knew who Jake was. That much was certain.
“He’s their older half brother. Your, uh, step–half brother, I suppose,” Peony said quietly, gesturing over at Tanner and Brady. “Heather’s son.”
Tanner sat back on the desk with athunk, and Brady went a little wide-eyed and ran a hand over his head, his hair flopping through his fingers.
“Wasn’t she Dad’s girlfriend when he took over the ranch?” Tanner said into the awkward silence. “I heard him mention her once to someone, but he never talked about her.”
Peony looked up at Tanner. “Yes, that’s the one.”
Tanner snorted and looked away, his lips a thin line of frustration.
A new brother? Liz didn’t know much about Brett’s personal life—let alone any other kids—before Tanner and Brady’s mom Veronica, other than rumor and gossip. If Brett had secrets, obviously he’d never shared them with either of his sons, and neither had Veronica. Liz turned to Frank, who was waiting quietly, eyes darting between everyone in the room, obviously uncomfortable as the family grappled with the news.
“What brother? They don’t have another brother, so you’d better explain this one more time, in detail,” Liz said for them, after absorbing for a moment the shock of what her mother had just revealed, which had obviously left the West brothers speechless.
Which, honestly, was a first.
Chapter Two
Jake hung the gas nozzle back on the pump, and the machine spit out his receipt, the buzzing abrupt and irritating.
He snatched it and folded himself back into his rental car, his dress shirt already sticking to his arms due to the oppressive heat. He still had a few miles to go, and he’d gotten away from the airport later than he’d wanted. The line to grab his rental car had taken over an hour, the gas pumps here pumped fuel like it was molasses, and of course, the air conditioning in the car they gave him wasn’t working worth a damn.
As he pulled out of the gas station, he reflected that he wasn’t in New York anymore and needed to stop being such an asshole. Out here, life was slower. People had a different pace. He lifted his shoulders and let them drop, pushing out some deep breaths and trying his best to inject calm into the stress that had crept in only two days before.
Two days ago, he’d found out his father had died. A father he didn’t remember, but who had requested he be at the reading of his will. A lawyer from Calgary had called Jake, and now here he was, driving out to West Line Ranch, a place he and his mother had apparently left when he was three, and a place he knew nothing about.
The radio was pure static so he switched it off, preferring to think in the relative calm of wind noise from the open windows. He was headed southwest, according to his phone’s GPS. Into prairie, crops, cows, and country people.
Which was the exact opposite of his life, all the way across the damned continent in New York City.
Three weeks ago, he had been sitting in his restaurant in a swanky part of Greenpoint, signing paperwork to close its sale to the Urban Lumberjack Entertainment Group.
Shitty as it was, he was relieved to be signing it. Brooklyn was changing. Classical French cuisine was just not bringing people in the door anymore. Patronage was down, and there were nights he’d had to send waitstaff home early. It made it hard to keep people, and sometimes he’d been the one serving tables, instead of barking orders in the kitchen.
People these days wanted to drink everything out of thrifted crystal and eat strange concoctions off plates shaped like old tractor seats or barn boards. He was so done with hipster bullshit and the trend toward obtuse, weird food.
Just as he had crossed theTon the last signature, the restaurant door had swung open and his ex-wife, Ashley had waltzed in. Perfect timing, as always. Like a frigging TV show.
The law clerk had gathered her papers and run out of there. After seeing the look on Ashley’s face, Jake would have, too, if he could’ve. But she had a big envelope in her hands, which meant she needed something from him.
She had flourished the divorce settlement papers, and he had endorsed them with the same efficiency he’d just applied to the sale papers, his mind numb from the sheer impact of what he was signing away in the mere space of five minutes. She’d left, papers in hand, without saying more than a dozen words to him, and he’d helped himself to a few shots of the best scotch behind the bar before he’d closed up the last five years of his life for good. The sun through the big, retractable windows cast a sad, spiky pattern on the far wall from the chairs upended on the tables, and he’d had one last look at it before locking the doors.
On impulse, he’d taken the bottle home, along with his favorite expensive crystal tumbler from behind the bar. They wouldn’t miss it, and if they did? Screw them.
