“Keep working,” Larry ordered, but his voice lacked conviction. He was as transfixed as the rest of us.
The front door of the main house opened, and Pete emerged, his expression thunderous. He stalked across the yard toward Evelyn, black cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. His gait was a little cockeyed, and he seemed to lack his usual presence.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, coming onto my property screaming like a banshee?” he demanded when he reached her.
Evelyn didn’t back down an inch. If anything, she stepped closer, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Don’t you ‘what the hell’ me, Pete McGrath. I’ve known you too long to take any of your bullshit.”
“This isn’t the time or place, Evelyn,” Pete growled, glancing our way. “I’ve got men working,” I heard him say.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your men right now.” Evelyn’s voice carried across the yard, sharp and unforgiving. “What I care about is what you did to that boy.”
The other guys exchanged confused glances, but my blood ran cold. I set down my hammer, every muscle in my body tensing as I strained to hear more.
“Keep your voice down,” Pete hissed, grabbing Evelyn’s arm.
She yanked it away with surprising strength. “Don’t you dare touch me. You’ve done enough damage with those hands.”
Larry shifted uncomfortably beside me, his face drawn. He knew something, that much was clear. And whatever it was had been eating at him all morning.
“Evelyn, this is family business,” Pete said, his voice lower but still carrying on the still Montana air. “You have no right?—”
“No right?” She laughed, a harsh sound with no humor in it. “I held that boy when he was three days old, Pete. I’ve watched you destroy him bit by bit for twenty-two years. And now this?”
Pete’s face darkened. “He disrespected me in my own home. He’s lucky all he got was?—”
The sharp crack of Evelyn’s palm against Pete’s cheek silenced him mid-sentence. Even from where I stood, I could see the red imprint of her hand blooming on his weathered skin.
“Holy shit,” Joey whispered beside me.
“He finally fought back, didn’t he?” Evelyn said, her voice suddenly quiet but no less intense. “And you couldn’t handle it, could you? You fuckin’ sack of shit.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. Had Ryder fought back? Against Pete? Jesus Christ, what had happened after I’d left him at the wedding?
“That ungrateful little shit raised his hand to me,” Pete snarled, touching his jaw gingerly. “After everything I’ve done for him?—”
“Everything you’ve done TO him, you mean,” Evelyn cut in. “That boy has endured more abuse from you than anyone should have to bear. And for what? For looking like his mother? For being born?”
The other guys had completely abandoned any pretense of working now. We all stood, rooted to the spot, watching the confrontation unfold like a car crash in slow motion.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pete said, but his voice had lost some of its conviction.
“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” Evelyn’s voice broke slightly. “I know what you told him last night. That you never wanted him. That he killed his mother just by being born.”
My stomach lurched. I gripped the fence post beside me, my knuckles white. Pete had said that to Ryder? His own son?
“I was drunk,” Pete muttered, glancing around as if just realizing they had an audience.
“And that makes it better?” Evelyn stepped closer until she was nearly nose to nose with him. “You always have an excuse, don’t you, Pete? You were drunk. You were grieving. You were angry. Well, guess what? The rest of us manage to be human beings without terrorizing our children.”
Larry finally stepped forward, placing himself between Pete and the rest of us. “Alright, that’s enough of a show. Back to work, all of you.”
Nobody moved. This was too important, too raw to just walk away from. I couldn’t take my eyes off Pete’s face, searching for any sign of remorse, any indication that he felt even a shred ofguilt for what he’d done to Ryder. But all I saw was the same hard, unyielding expression he always wore.
“Where is he?” Pete demanded, his voice lower now. “Where’s my son?”
“Somewhere safe,” Evelyn replied. “Somewhere you can’t hurt him anymore.”
Pete’s face twisted with rage. “You can’t keep him from me. He’s my son. My blood.”
