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Could it?
He watched Wyatt eat, amused when a blob of ketchup sat on the bottom edge of his lip and Wyatt didn’t seem to notice for several more bites of his burger. For all that his life was about cattle, Jackson wasn’t huge on red meat. He’d eat it when it was in front of him, of course, and every chance he got he talked up Woods Ranch beef. No reason to let his own food preferences hurt his employment, or the livelihoods of people he cared for and respected.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like this,” Wyatt said after he’d finished his burger.
“Quite like what?” Jackson had finished eating first and was leaning to the side, his left arm braced on the wheel well. Purposely adopting a semisexy slouched position.
“This washout. The road just stops and when you look across the gulch, it starts again. Like someone up and decided to break these two sides of the creek apart because of a feud or something. They just cut ties to family because of their beliefs.”
Jackson studied Wyatt’s pensive profile, surprised by the deep statement from someone his age. And also curious if the “cut ties to family” remark was just about the Civil War, or if it also applied to Wyatt and his reasons for leaving his hometown. And what exactly those beliefs were.
“It does look like that a bit,” Jackson replied. “I know it was nature that did it, but sometimes in life it feels like we blow up a bridge or cut ourselves off literally from other people. People who say they love us or who we’re supposed to love. And sometimes blowing up those bridges is exactly what we’re meant to do. What’s best for us.”
Wyatt wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “You’ve got experience with that?”
“A lot of it, yeah.” The only reason he said more was because Wyatt watched him with an open, curious look. Not the hungry gaze of someone looking for gossip or ammunition. “I was one of many kids adopted by a couple who couldn’t have kids of their own. As little kids, our middle siblings helped take care of us, while the eldest kids worked the family farm. Our parents basically took in hired help and got tax credits for it. They didn’t care about us, our emotions, or our well-being. As soon as I was old enough, I got out.”
“Wow.” Genuine misery crept across Wyatt’s face. “I’m sorry that happened to you. You have no idea who your biological parents are?”
“Nope. They gave me up when I was three, and I’ve got no clear memories of them. Records didn’t say why, and I honestly don’t care. I shoved that part of my life aside a long time ago and wanted to forget about it. Live in the moment and for the now. For Dog and my job, not people I’ll never meet again. Well, except for maybe two of my adopted brothers. I keep in contact with Kirby and he keeps in contact with me and Donnie. None of us loved our parents. Most of us resented them, but they’re both dead now so what’s the point in holding on to old anger, right?”
“Right.” Wyatt squeezed Jackson’s thigh. “I’m sorry. I can’t say I understand, because I had a good family growing up. My mom loved me, even if my stepfather could be pretty hard on me sometimes. I had grandparents and some extended family around. You grew up in the farm life and I didn’t. Guess the only thing we really have in common, besides being born in Texas, is not knowing who our bio dads are.” His face flushed bright red.
Jackson studied Wyatt, confused by both the admission and embarrassed reaction. Not knowing a biological parent wasn’t anything to be ashamed of; they were part of an exclusive club of millions. And Wyatt had specifically mentioned not knowing his biological dad. “Your mother didn’t know who he was?”
“She knew.” He studied a broken potato chip, as if it held the answers he wanted. “She refused to say before she died, and my grandparents won’t tell me. I know they know, but all they’ll say is he was a selfish asshole who gave me up, signed away his rights, and that I’m better off not knowing who he is.”
“But you don’t agree?”
“Not really. I mean, even if he is this horrible person, it’s still my truth to know, right? It’s my family history. My genetic history.” He turned wide, curious eyes to Jackson. “Don’t you ever worry if you get sick and need, like, blood or an organ or something, that you don’t know who your parents are? Or siblings?”
“Sometimes but not much, no. That’s why blood banks and transplant lists exist. I can’t spend my life planning for the worst to happen or I won’t be able to live my life in the moment, and that’s how I prefer to live it.”
Wyatt waggled his eyebrows. “I dunno, if you really lived in the moment it wouldn’t have taken a full week for us to finally fuck.”
“Last week was different. I thought you were some vulnerable runaway who wasn’t sure what he wanted.” Jackson deliberately gave Wyatt’s lean body a once-over. “I was very wrong about those things and I’m glad we waited until I was sure.”
“So am I. I like you, Jackson, and I’m not trying to take advantage of you, I promise. I also don’t regret a single thing we’ve done this morning.”
“Neither do I. But I meant what I said. This thing we’re doin’, fuckin’ around, it stays off the ranch. When we’re workin’, we’re workin’. I owe the Woods family too much to take advantage of them.”
“I hear you and I get it, swear.” Wyatt scooted to the edge of the truck bed and let his legs dangle over the tailgate. “Can you tell me more about this brother you still talk to?”
“I guess.” Jackson moved to sit beside him. A chilly breeze had picked up but the sun kept him perfectly warm in his denim jacket. “His name’s Kirby. He’s a few years younger and lives in Nebraska. Because of the age difference, I was one of the kids taking care of the youngers while our elders worked the farm. We just clicked as friends and he was the only person there, girl or boy, who really felt like a sibling. When I was eighteen I left, but the internet was a newish thing back then so I was able to leave him an email address. When he turned eighteen and left, he emailed me.” He closed his eyes and smiled at the sky. “We still use that same email.”
“It’s good to keep connections to people who mean something to you.”
“Yeah. Do you have siblings? I honestly can’t remember if I ever asked.”
“Two step-siblings, both older. Sister, Lily, and brother, Peter.” Wyatt shrugged, his attention somewhere in the distance. “They’re okay. We were never close but we didn’t hate each other. I was young when our parents got married so I don’t really remember a time without my stepfather around. I just...sometimes really want to know who my bio dad is. If I’ve got another family out there.”
“I kind of envy you wanting to know that.” Jackson bumped Wyatt’s shoulder with his own. “And I’m not patronizing you. Guess I figured since both my parents didn’t want me, there was no use in lookin’ or hopin’. But it sounds like you had a mom who loved you. She kept you and raised you when your father couldn’t be bothered, for whatever reason. Don’t discount that on your quest to find the other half of yourself.”
Wyatt’s jaw twitched several times before he turned his head and looked at Jackson. An interesting mix of determination and acceptance floated in his green eyes, and Jackson wanted to know more about that. But he wasn’t sure Wyatt would tell him, and he didn’t want the young cowboy wannabe to shut down. Not when he’d been so open today.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Wyatt said. “I do love the family I know, even if I don’t always agree with them. I just...can’t explain why I need to know my father. And whatever family he might have.”
“You don’t have to explain it, not to me or anyone. Your reasons are yours.” Something shot from the back of Jackson’s mind directly into the forefront. “You got reason to think he lives around here?”
