Page 257 of Josephine and Clay

She's looking at me the same way she used to when I was fifteen and trying to lie my way out of trouble. Patient and completely unimpressed. "The truth doesn't change because you've decided not to listen to it."

I look away again.

Because that's exactly what I've been doing ever since I found that account. Ever since I saw my name written on those papers.

Mom sets her coffee down. Then she says quietly, "Your father left accounts for all four of you."

For a second, I genuinely think I've misheard her.

I turn toward her. "What?"

"He started them while you boys were still kids. He wanted each of you to have something that was yours, separate from the ranch."

Mom looks at me before continuing gently. "Boone received his when he and Rose were starting their family." I blink. "Dallas got his when Lila was younger, and things were difficult. Nash got his when he started expanding the dude ranch."

The porch suddenly feels very still.

I think about all the things I never questioned.

The renovations and land purchases. The opportunities. I just assumed they'd figured it out.

Mom's voice softens. "And yours was waiting until you needed it."

I look down at my hands. "But mine was there for a screw-up, wasn't it?"

Mom's shoulders sag. “You were so young when he died, Clay. Why would he ever think that?”

I push to my feet and pace to the edge of the porch. "He knew Boone would take over the ranch. He knew Dallas would keep everybody organized. Hell, Nash somehow turned talking too much into a successful business model."

Mom snorts despite herself.

I turn back toward her.

"But me?" I spread my hands. "I was the wild one."

Her expression hardens. "You really believe your father looked at that stubborn, reckless streak of yours and thought you were destined to fail?"

I look away toward the pasture. The cattle move through the darkness beyond the fence line.

For years I've had an answer ready for that question.

Tonight it doesn't come nearly as easy.

Mom stands and walks over. "Your father did worry about you."

A bitter laugh slips out. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"Yes, actually."

I blink.

She plants a hand on her hip, looking every bit like the woman who raised four stubborn McCoy boys. "Boone stayed close to home. Dallas practically came out of the womb acting forty years old. Nash would've talked his way through any problem you put in front of him."

I rub a hand across my jaw. "And me?"

"You got on a bull and decided that sounded like a career."

I can't help it. A laugh escapes me.