His Spock ear.
The same genetic quirk that his own father had carried.
The same one that had made Rowan self-conscious as a teenager until Sierra had kissed him right there and told him it was perfectly imperfect, just like the rest of him.
His vision tunneled. Everything else—the sound of Sierra and Huck talking, the evening breeze, the distant lowing of cattle—faded into background noise as his mind raced through calculations.
That night—their last night together. He’d been wounded, broken.
And she’d comforted him.
And then, then they’d lost themselves, maybe, in the emotion of the moment, and…
What?
He forced himself to breathe, to think, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Huck.
How could he have been so terribly blind? The stubborn cowlick. The way he tilted his head when concentrating. The natural ability with tools and animals. The natural talent with a rope.
His stubbornness and eagerness and…
“Earth to Rowan.” Sierra’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he managed, though his voice sounded strange in his own ears. “Just tired.”
“Well, come on inside. Food always helps with tired.”
Sierra headed back into the house, and Huck started to follow, but Rowan caught his arm gently.
“Huck? Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“How old are you exactly? When’s your birthday?”
“I’m ten. My birthday’s June fifteenth.”
June fifteenth.
Rowan’s mind immediately calculated backward. Nine months before June would put conception around…September.
He’d left Renegade in early September, eleven years ago.
The math worked.
His legs wobbled. This boy—this bright, brave, patient, stubborn boy—was his son.
His son.
Sierra had been pregnant, and she’d never told him. She’d let him disappear from their lives, let him miss ten years of birthdays and Christmas mornings and first days of school and scraped knees and bedtime stories.
She’d let him miss everything.
The betrayal hit him like a physical blow, and he nearly stumbled. Caught the door frame. Then, the swell of it all swept through him and hollowed him out. Ten years of his son’s life, gone forever. Ten years of being a father…
“Mr. R?”
Huck’s voice snapped him back to the present. The boy was studying him, and Rowan realized he was staring.
