“You ready for this?” I asked.
He hesitated. “I don’t know what ‘this’ is.”
I shrugged. “Neither do I.”
That was a lie, sort of. I knew exactly what this was—the McKenzie family breakfast, a ritual equal parts meal and blood sport. The only thing that kept it from devolving into a full-blown brawl was the threat of Ma’s wooden spoon.
I led the way to the dining room, which was already packed. The table ran nearly the length of the house, warped by decades of elbows and hot dishes, but it was solid oak, built to survive wars and holidays.
Overhead, copper pots hung from a rack, reflecting the yellow glow of oil lamps. Every surface was crowded with food—eggs, bacon, biscuits, three types of gravy, a literal mountain of fried potatoes.
Ransom was at the far end, halfway through a stack of pancakes, syrup running down his wrist like blood from a wound. Harlow sat next to him, hunched over a bowl of oatmeal that looked more like cement than breakfast.
Ma stood at the head of the table, pouring coffee into mismatched mugs. She spotted me, then clocked Newt over my shoulder. Her expression didn’t change, but the temperature in the room dropped a good five degrees.
“Morning,” I said, steering Newt toward an empty chair. I kept a hand at the small of his back, not for show but because I could feel him trembling and didn’t trust him not to bolt.
He made it to the seat, barely. His eyes did a quick lap of the table, taking inventory—Ransom, Harlow, and Ma, then acouple of cousins whose names didn’t matter. All of them staring at him like he was the first snowflake in August.
Ma set down the coffeepot with a thud. “So you’re the Bridger boy.”
Newt went pale, then red, then something in between. “Uh. Yeah. Sorry.” He tried to smile, but his lips caught on the scab and he winced. “Thank you for letting me… be here.”
Ma didn’t blink. “Knox says you’re staying. That true?”
I felt the room contract, every eye flicking from me to Newt and back again. I squared my shoulders, made my voice level. “He’s staying. With me.”
Silence, thicker than the gravy.
Ransom made a noise that might have been a laugh, but Ma shut it down with a look. “You know what you’re doing?” she said.
I nodded. “Always.”
She snorted, then turned to Newt. “Eat up, boy. You look like you haven’t had a decent meal in a month.”
Newt flinched, but managed a shaky “Thanks.” He reached for the biscuits, nearly dropped the whole basket, then caught it and clutched it like a lifeline.
The others went back to their food, but the tension lingered, circling the table like a mean dog waiting for scraps.
Newt busied himself with breakfast, eyes on his plate. He ate with the cautious efficiency of someone used to guarding every bite. Every few minutes he’d glance at me, like he was checking to see if I’d vanished or if this was some elaborate setup for a punchline.
I didn’t mind. I watched him right back, noting the color coming back into his face, the way his hands steadied after a few bites. Ma refilled his mug, then nodded at me.
It was as close to an endorsement as I’d ever get.
The meal ground on. Ransom and Harlow argued over who got the last cinnamon roll, then split it in half and shoved the halves in their mouths at the same time. One of the cousins tried to bait me into talking about the old man’s will, but I ignored him and kept my focus on Newt.
Halfway through, he blurted, “Your table is really beautiful—is that oak? I love how the grain patterns look like little rivers. Sorry, that’s weird to notice, isn’t it?”
The entire table froze. Even the clock on the wall seemed to stop for a second.
Then Ma smiled, slow and razor-thin. “It’s old oak, cut from the property line back in ‘43. My husband built it.”
Newt looked relieved, then caught the smile and seemed to realize it was a challenge. He ducked his head, muttering, “It’s just really nice, is all.”
I reached over and squeezed his knee, felt him jump, then settle.
Ransom watched the exchange, one eyebrow arched. He had a piece of tattoo peeking from under his sleeve, something new and unfinished. I’d bet money it was a snake, or a skull, or both.
