will kill me if she ever found out I knew before she did.”
Somehow, Colin doubted that. Sure, his folks bickered from time to time, same as any couple who’d been married a million years. They were human, after all. But there’d never been any doubt that Sam Talbot still, after those million years, knew he’d struck gold with Billie, who’d known a good thing—or so the story went—the instant she’d clapped eyes on the tall, lanky cowboy when she’d been barely out of school herself, and wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize what they had. Even if she didn’t let him get away with bubkes. It was all about balance with his mother, for sure.
Something Colin would do well to figure out for himself. And by himself.
Leaning against a pantry cupboard, he crossed his arms. “I got offered a book contract from a big publisher, for a collection of my photo-essays over the past several years.”
His father’s brows shot up. “Really?”
Colin nodded. “But I want to add some new material, too. So I need...” His mouth set, he glanced away, then back at his father. “I need someplace quiet to work. To sift through my thoughts about the subject matter.”
“Which is?”
He felt his chest knot. “The plight of kids around the world.”
Something flashed in his father’s eyes. Colin couldn’t tell—and didn’t want to know, frankly—what. “Refugees, you mean?”
“Among others. Children living in poverty, in war-torn countries, whatever. I want...” He swallowed. “The whole reason I take pictures is so other people can see what I’ve seen.”
“Sounds like quite an honor. That offer, I mean.”
“I don’t... That’s not how it feels to me. It’s more that—”
“It’s your calling.”
“I guess. A calling that came to me, though. I didn’t go looking for it.”
A smile barely curved his father’s mouth. “That’s how callings work, boy. They tend to clobber a person over the head. But your own place wouldn’t work?”
“College kids in the next unit,” Colin said, hoping his face didn’t give him away. Although he wasn’t lying. Exactly. “One thing they’re not, is quiet.”
His father’s eyes narrowed, as though not quite buying the story. Hardly a surprise, considering he’d survived four teenage boys. Then his lips tilted again.
“And you know what? I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or question its motives. I’m just glad you’re here. For however long that turns out to be. And I cannot tell you how proud I am of you.”
Holy hell—he couldn’t remember his father ever saying that to him. About anything. Oh, Dad would occasionally nod appreciatively over something one or the other of them had done when they were kids, but actually giving voice to whatever he’d been thinking? Nope.
Old man hadn’t been kidding about the blood flow thing.
“Thank you,” Colin said.
And there was the nod. Because clearly Sam Talbot was as surprised as his son. Then he took another sip of his coffee, his brows drawn. “Josh also said Deanna’s cousin Emily showed up with you.”
Colin smiled. “I think it’s more that I showed up with her. We were on the same flight coming in from Dallas.”
“Pretty little thing.”
“She is.” Although not so little, actually. And of course now that Dad had brought her up, those mad, sad, conflicted eyes flashed in his mind’s eye. No wonder, now that he knew the reason behind the ambivalence. In some ways it was probably worse for her, since she was younger. Fewer life experiences and all that—
“Well. Just wanted to touch base,” Colin said, pushing away from the counter. For a moment disappointment flickered in his father’s eyes—a previously unseen glimpse of a soft spot that rattled Colin more than he’d expected. Or was about to let on. “I need to get in some supplies before I can start work,” he said gently. “But I’ll be back for dinner, remember? Or we can go out, if you’d rather. My treat.”
The right thing to say, apparently, judging from the way Dad perked right up. “That’d be real nice, either way. Depends on what your mother wants to do, of course.”
“Of course. I’ll call around five, see what’s up.”
They were back outside by now, where that chilly spring breeze grabbed at Colin’s hair, slapped at his clean-shaven face. Patches of old snow littered the parts of the yard that didn’t get direct sunlight, reminders that up this far, winter wasn’t over until it said so...images that at one time would’ve been nothing more than benign reminders of his childhood. Now, not even the bright sunlight could mitigate other reminders, other images, of how cruel—for too many people—winter could be when home had been ripped out from under you.
“Sounds good,” Dad said, palming the spot between Colin’s shoulder blades. “When you planning on seeing your other brothers? Zach, especially—you two were so close as kids.”
Colin supposed they had been, although age and isolation—and being roommates—had probably had more to do with that than temperament. Zach had been the quiet one, the steady one...the obedient one. The one Colin could count on to not judge when he’d go off about not being able to wait to get out of Whispering Pines.
“Maybe tomorrow,” he said. “After I get settled.” Although he supposed the sooner he got the reunion stuff out of the way, the sooner he could retreat into his work.
In theory, anyway.
Back in the rental car, Colin waved to his father as he pulled out of the driveway, then headed toward the only decent grocery store in town. He wished he could say he was looking forward to dinner that night. Except the problem with being around people who knew you—or thought they did, anyway—was the way things you didn’t want leaked tended to leak out. He’d put his parents though enough as it was, even if he honestly couldn’t say what he could’ve done differently while still being true to who he was. But for sure he wasn’t about to dump on them now, or give them any reason to doubt he’d made the right choices. If nothing else, he owed them at least a little peace of mind, assurances that he was okay.
And if he wasn’t...well, he’d figure it out. You know, like a grown man.
The store—all three aisles of it, more like some dinky Manhattan bodega than one of those mega suburban monstrosities—was mercifully empty on this weekday morning. And surprisingly well stocked with a bunch of chichi crap Colin had little use for. He could cook, after a fashion—at least, he’d moved beyond opening cans of soup and microwaving frozen burritos—but he was definitely about whatever took twenty minutes or less from package to stomach. Give him a cast-iron pan, a couple of pots, he was good.
He was about to toss a couple of decent-looking steaks into his cart when he heard, from the next aisle over, the women’s laughter...the same laughter he’d heard at the dinner table the night before. Same as then, it wasn’t so much the pitch of the laughs that set Deanna and her cousin apart as it was...the genuineness of them, he supposed. As in,
