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Tucker grabbed me, and though I wanted to shrug his hand off me, I turned and faced him out of respect. Anger was boiling through my veins, turning my blood into magma. I knew Ryan was a hot-headed idiot, but I had given him the benefit of the doubt when we’d turned twenty-one and he had taken up ownership of the ranch, per Daddy’s wishes.
Never in my life would I expect him to risk everything we owned, an inheritance more valuable than gold or oil, for a hand of goddam poker.
Tucker’s steely gaze met mine. “I know you’re pissed, son. We all are, but we’re counting our mercies that we’re still here. You might not believe it, but Ryan got the ass-reaming he had coming. Fact is, we all want to beat the snot out of him, but your grandaddy got to him first.”
Thinking of Grandpa over in the retirement home in Austin made a lump form in my throat. The man had had three strokes in less than a year and was already weak—why the hell was my idiot reckless brother putting this on his plate?
“How?” I asked.
“He’s been disowned,” Mom said, “and will work as a regular ranch hand with us instead of being the owner….”
My brows furrowed, “If he’s disowned, then—” I looked around the room, and a frightening eureka moment dropped on me like a ton of bricks. “I’m taking over, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” Tucker said. “Old man Cyrus did the right thing. He should have done it years ago, but we knew you had to find your way in the city, son. You had a life ahead of you that was more than the ranch could give you. Still, we’d all hoped you’d eventually make your way back to us. Sad you had to come back home this way.”
I rubbed my face as the thought from earlier came to me. I laughed hollowly. “Funny you should say that.”
Tucker’s piercing gaze searched my face when I didn't say more, but I shot him a question before he could form his own, “Where is Ryan now?”
“In the bunkhouse where he’s been left to dry out and think on the mess he’s made,” Tucker said.
I spun in place, fighting the urge to find Ryan and plant my fist in his face. How could he do such a dumb, insane, reckless thing?Jesus. I may play with glass beakers and computers most days, but I damn well knew my way around a punching bag, and right now, I was picturing Ryan’s face on one I was itching to hit. Mom seemed to see my frustration and laid a hand on my shoulder.
“Come on, Rhys. Let me make you a cup of coffee.”
Numbly, I nodded, and she towed me to the kitchen while the men spoke amongst themselves. I slumped on the island while she had the percolator going. Leaning on my forearms, I stared at the clean tile under me. It was starting to sink in: no wonder Mom had not told me this over the phone. I would have broken everything in my apartment and charged home with a shotgun.
Ryan.
Damn it, Ryan, what were you thinking?
Were you thinkingat all?
Mom’s back was turned to me when I gave in to impulse, turning on my heel to race out of the room. I jumped the back porch’s railing and took off to the bunkhouse. I might have heard Tucker’s shout, but I could not stop.
I nearly kicked the damn door in, and then I blasted down the hall—just as Ryan came out. I grabbed him and slammed him into the wall, snarling. “What the fuck is wrong with you? How could you do that to Mom, the guys, and Grandpa? What the hell were you thinking, Ryan?”
To his credit, he looked like roadkill twice run over. His face was grey, his hair matted, and a shiner was starting to show on his left eye. I didn’t know if Tucker had put it there or if his drunk ass had fallen.
Hands grabbed me and pulled me away as Ryan slumped to the floor. I shook Tucker off me and glared. “I’m waiting for an answer, Ryan!”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“Damn right you weren’t,” I seethed.
Ryan looked up, his eyes tired, and while a part of me could see that he was suffering, it was right for him to feel like shit. I had no sympathy for him, not yet.
“I got ahead of myself,” he said more to his shoes than me. “I’m sorry.”
My fist clenched at my side, but I could not kick a man when he was down, no matter how much I wanted to. “You better be.”
He looked up. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? Dear old Grandpa made you the head of the ranch. You can kick me out if you want.”
My jaw worked. “No. you’re gonna stay here and work off your stupidity for as long as you need to.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”
I was so disgusted I couldn’t look at him, so I turned and walked out of the bunkhouse and trudged through the dew-dusted grass to the back porch, where Mom was waiting for me with a cup of coffee in hand. She handed it to me. “There’s a shot of bourbon in there.”
I barely had it in me to smile. Taking a sip, I felt the burn down my throat and savored it. After rolling the taste over my tongue, I said, “Tomorrow, I will visit Grandpa, see what he has to say, and then get my stuff in order.”
She looked at me with hope. “You’re coming home?”
I stared into the darkness beyond the bunkhouse, the fields where the cattle were, up the gibbous moon above, and felt the cool country air flicker over my face. My job back in Austin was my passion, and I did it well, but there was no way I would hold onto it and cast my family aside.
Family comes first, always.
It would take some time to arrange things so that I could walk away from my life in the city, but I had to do it. There was no possible way I could stay away.
“Yes, Mom, I’m coming home.”
