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Wes sat back in his chair. Sure, the child was Daniel St. Claire’s granddaughter, but he’d never heard his father say such nice things. Not that his dad was an unkind man; he was just more…serious. Business. Get things done. Do what’s expected of you. It was why he was as successful as he was. But Wes could see Annalise chipping away at that tough exterior, and it was…nice. Weird and would take some getting used to, but nice.
“Well, I came in to tell you that Annalise is napping. I think the events of last night tuckered her out. She fell asleep in my lap as we read a story so I put her in my bed to rest.”
Again, Wes found himself shaking his head. The little girl had found a way into the old man’s heart as well as his oversized bed that could fit four people. He’d had it made special when their mother got sick. He wanted her to be comfortable. She teased him that she didn’t need room for a party to be comfortable in her own bed, but Wes knew his mother loved the attention, how his father doted on her. Tough as he might be, Daniel St. Claire had adored and loved his wife on every level until death tore them apart. Wes hadn’t desired the same kind of love in his own life so far, but he appreciated having a loving example in his parents.
And he couldn’t argue with Annalise having his dad wrapped around her little finger. The little girl had both her uncles, as well as her aunt, at her beck and call and they wouldn’t have it any other way.
“And I came in to tell you, Wesley…” his father’s deep voice pulled him from his thoughts “…that I have volunteered you for a charity event in town.”
All thoughts of Annalise, his mother, and his mystery woman fled from his brain. His brother’s smirk didn’t go unnoticed by Wes either. He sat up tall in his chair again.
“Dad. I’m not here for long.”
His father waved a hand at him. “You have plenty of time. You can work from anywhere, certainly from here.” He waved a hand around the room, drawing attention to the fully functioning office Wes sat in.
Wes leaned his elbows on his desk and ran a hand down his face. Stubble had formed on his jaw, not unlike his brother’s, both men aware that in Montana, they could relax a little.
“Dad…”
“Don’t argue with me, son. It’s for a good cause.”
After thirty-five years in Daniel St. Claire’s household, Wes knew better than to try and argue.
“I met with my friend from the Crawford County Group and he said they’re working on turning an old house on Church Avenue into an after-school center for kids. It will provide a safe place for them to be in the afternoons and on weekends as well as a place they can receive help with homework.”
“I heard about that,” Mike said. “They want to call it Harry’s House after the first responder who died not long ago.”
“Yes. He was killed by a hit-and-run while helping an elderly couple change a flat tire. His family runs the largest grocery store in town.”
“And what exactly does this have to do with me, Dad? Or our family?”
His father cleared his throat as if needing to collect his emotions for a second. “Your mother loved it here. She was connected with the ladies in town, the quilting group and such.”
Wes was aware of how much his mother was liked in Marietta. But he was still trying to wrap his head around what that had to do with him and his father volunteering him for a fundraiser.
“But the rest of us,” his father continued, “well, we are somewhat seen as ‘the wealthy family on the hill’ if you will.”
Wes was also aware of that image his family had and in all honesty, it never bothered him. His brothers showed frustration with it sometimes and McKenna hated it for sure, but he didn’t give it much thought.
“Maybe it’s one of those bachelor auctions I heard they’ve done. You’d get to strut around Grey’s with no shirt. Show the ladies what they’re in for if they fork over some dough,” Mike teased.
Wes’s heart rate accelerated and his face flushed warm. There was no way on God’s green earth his dad had volunteered him for something like that. Or had he? The old man was doing things he’d never done before, making decisions Wes had trouble understanding. God help him if his father had tossed him to the wolves.
“Well…”
“Dad. Tell me that’s not it.”
“No. Well…” His dad dug his hands deep into his pants pockets.
In Wes’s lifetime, his dad had never stumbled over words. Ever.
“Dad.” He’d also never spoken to his dad in such a stern tone, but his patience was wearing thin.
“It’s a bachelor auction, but nothing like that.” His dad waved a hand at Mike as if to bat away all that his brother had said. “You’ll be baking. That’s all.”
Wes leaned forward in his chair. Did his father just say baking?
“Baking?” Mike asked.
