long before Jack and the ranch hands had arrived for their workdays.
He’d watched the sun rise over the prairie with an appreciation that reminded him of how he’d felt returning to the ranch after being released from the hospital after his accident—full of gratitude and hope. The longer he soaked in the views and scents of the backcountry, the land he adored, the more at peace he became with the new direction his life was going. Becoming a father was going to change a lot, but it wasn’t going to change everything. He would always have this land, this Colton legacy. And now he had someone to pass it to. The realization brought a smile to his lips.
The irony wasn’t lost on him that the very reason he couldn’t give up fighting for his rightful place in the Colton legacy was the very reason he was about to be back to square one with his family on that very topic. When his dad and brothers learned about Brett’s impending fatherhood resulting from a one-night stand, he was going to lose their trust all over again, along with whatever leverage he’d fought for over the past four months.
When the alarm on his phone chimed, alerting him that it was almost time for the family meeting that his older brother Ryan, a detective with the Tulsa PD, had called in order to share the latest developments in their mother’s assault case, Brett’s resolve faltered for a split second. Nerves settled in his gut like stones. Ryan wasn’t the only one with news to share.
A click of his tongue and a slight wiggle of a rein was all the direction Outlaw needed to turn away from the ridge and trot in the direction of the ranch buildings. Brett urged him faster, relishing the feel of unadulterated power in Outlaw’s muscles and stride. Brett knew that Outlaw loved this part, too, the wind in their faces and the open range at their feet as they shot across the plains, the sensations of speed and freedom potent enough for Brett to almost imagine it possible to outrun his past and his reputation.
The circular driveway in front of Brett’s family home—the Big House, as it’d been called since long before Brett’s birth, and where now only he and his dad lived, and his mom before her attack—was crowded with vehicles, including his half brother Daniel’s truck and the farm truck that Jack’s fiancée, Tracy, liked to drive around the place. Even his brother Eric had deigned to make a rare appearance, by the looks of it. Greta, they’d already been informed, couldn’t break away from her job until the next day, when she planned to swing through the Big House for a short stay.
Brett walked around to the back of the house, then climbed the four steps up to the wraparound porch. The stones in his stomach that had been sitting there since seeing Hannah yesterday seemed to double in size with every step. He swallowed hard, then opened the door and entered through the mudroom attached to the kitchen.
The aroma of onions and garlic and roasting beef wafted past his nose as he removed his hat and boots. Maria, the chef, must be slow-cooking a roast for supper, if he had to hazard a guess. For Hannah’s first meal there, he’d requested something hearty and homey that showcased the ranch’s prized steer, and judging by the mouthwatering smells, Maria was going to knock it out of the park.
A smile worked its way onto his lips at the sudden vision of the look on Hannah’s face when she’d crunched into that first slice of bacon the previous morning. Oh, man, he couldn’t wait to watch her reaction to Maria’s cooking. The anticipation of it was almost enough to quell his nerves over coming clean to his family about the many ways his life was about to get turned upside down.
From the kitchen, he crossed the foyer to the living room on the east side of the house, where a collection of male voices could be heard. As opposed to the kitchen, the foyer invariably smelled of fresh flowers from the arrangement that graced the circular marble table at the center of the grand entrance, which his mother insisted on having delivered weekly. To her warped way of thinking, the flowers were a display of power and wealth, but since Brett’s brush with death, he’d come to think of the arrangements as reminders of how beautiful and fragile life was.
Even after his mom’s attack, Edith had maintained the fresh flowers in the house. The only change was that the smaller arrangements that used to grace his mom’s room got sent to her room at Tulsa General Hospital.
He’d taken no more than three steps through the foyer when a blond ball of little-boy energy bounded toward him, squealing his name. Despite Brett’s nerves, he felt another grin coming on. Nobody made Brett feel like a rock star more than his five-year-old nephew, Seth, Jack’s only son. The two were fast friends, and had been since the day Brett first held Seth in his arms when he was nothing more than a red-faced potato head wrapped in a hospital blanket. He opened his arms as Seth launched himself into them.
“Hey, cowpoke.”
“Hiya, Uncle Brett!”
“Wait, what’s this in your armpit?” With that, Brett dug his thumbs into Seth’s prime tickle spot under his armpits. Seth squealed with delight, writhing and arching.
Brett redoubled his efforts. “Just a sec, I think I’ve almost got it,” he teased. “Lemme just dig in there a little deeper.”
Seth’s legs kicked out, and one of his feet accidentally nudged the marble table. The flower arrangement’s vase wobbled. Brett lunged for it as best he could while being careful not to drop Seth, but Jack was quicker.
Jack steadied the vase, casting his signature stern look at Brett that got right under his skin, as it always did. “Careful, you two. Edith works too hard to keep this place up to have you messing it up by roughhousing.”
As though Brett needed to be scolded like a child. He was about to say as much when Tracy appeared. She wore her dark blond hair pulled into a ponytail and a dark shirt and jeans that emphasized her pale, slim figure.
“Oh, now, Jack, they were just having a little fun. No harm done.” She rubbed his shoulder and offered him a sweet smile. Jack instantly relaxed, a phenomenon that Tracy got full credit for cultivating. Truth be told, Brett was fascinated by the soothing and centering effect she’d had on Jack since coming into his life the month before.
“Seth, why don’t you go outside and play so the grown-ups can talk?” she said to her soon-to-be stepson. “See if you can find your kitty friend, Sleekie, in the barn.”
Brett managed to ruffle the little guy’s hair before he bounded outside, half skipping and half jumping.
Brett followed Jack and Tracy to the living room that doubled as a library of sorts. When he’d been a kid, this had been a place of fascination for him in the house, the one room his parents had forbidden the kids from entering, not just because of all the breakable trinkets and pieces of art, but because it was where they retired with their guests for cocktails after the occasional dinner parties his dad was so fond of hosting.
His dad, Big J, was seated in his usual chair near the fireplace, chatting up Brett’s older brothers Ryan and Eric. Daniel sat apart from the others, bent over his smartphone and keeping to himself as usual.
Dad was still fit and youthful, even after a lifetime of working the ranch and raising six kids, largely on his own when Brett’s mother, Abra, decided to check out and skip town, which was a lot. Brett saw a little bit of all his siblings in Dad. They shared the same nose and same shape of their face, but Brett was the only one of the Colton kids who’d inherited his dad’s boisterous laugh and love of good times, or so Edith, their housekeeper, was fond of saying.
Dad gave Brett a wave and his signature beaming smile. “I saw you race out of here this morning before dawn. You get some kind of sticker in your paw about something?”
Brett most certainly
