by D. L. Roan
“Told you,” Matt grumbled behind Mason, eliciting another warning glare.
“Look,” Clay said with a resigned sigh. “I won’t lie. I want us married and her living here with me,” he declared. “I’d have done it the day she said yes, but I’ve made it clear from the beginning. Whatever she wants, whether it’s when we get married or where we live, it’s her decision. And as for this house,” he added before Mason could interrupt, “I’ve put everything I have on the line to get it built before we’re married.” He nodded at the drafting table behind him. “Yes, the floorplans have been drawn up for years, waiting on the right time, and the right person to share it with. When she told me she wanted to get married in October instead of next spring, I instructed my contractor to hire a second crew to get it done in time, not only because I refuse to move my wife into my father’s house, but I want her to have a place to call her own. She deserves that.”
“A double crew?” Matt asked, looking up at the bare boards on the roof. “That sounds expensive.”
“It is,” Clay snapped, holding Mason’s intense stare.
“I thought you said your business was just getting off the ground,” Mason argued, pinning him with a skeptical eye. “You have to borrow that money?”
Clay’s incredulous snort escaped his efforts to keep his tone civil. Mason was going to be one tough nut to crack. “No, sir. I didn’t borrow a damn dime,” he said with a cynical chuckle, which, judging by the look he gave him, Mason didn’t appreciate. “I sold my plane,” he finally confessed.
Mason blinked, his eyes narrowing to slits. “You what?”
“He sold his plane,” Matt repeated. “If you’re gonna be a hard-ass about this, you need to keep up.”
“I thought that plane was your mom’s,” Grey said, ignoring Mason’s nonverbal but very clear response to Matt’s comment.
Clay rubbed the pang in his chest he felt every time he thought about giving over the flight logs and the keys. “It was my mom’s, yes, but it’s worth it to do this for Dani.”
Matt thumped Mason on the shoulder. “Tuck it back in, man. You just lost this pissin’ match.”
When Mason next met his gaze, the smug look in his eyes had softened, replaced by a wary sort of shock. Shit, he hadn’t meant to turn this into the pissing match Matt had suggested, but he couldn’t stand by and let them believe he’d do something as underhanded as manipulating Dani’s decisions.
“Mason, I understand your concern.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” Mason interjected with a sneer.
Clay tipped his head back and sighed. “Fine, but my point in this weekend was to find some way to bridge this divide between us. I’d hoped to show you.” He glanced from Mason to Matt, then Grey. “To show all of you how serious I am about Dani. I’m crazy about her, and that will never change. I may spend the rest of my life trying to prove it to you, and that’s fine. I’ll do whatever it takes, but the truth is,” he said with a helpless shrug, “I could build her a dozen houses and it wouldn’t matter. She’ll never be truly happy here if doing so costs her your respect and support.”
Mason held his gaze for several tense seconds before he finally looked away. He stuffed his hands into his front pockets, his rigid stance less threatening as he stared at his boots. When he finally lifted his head, the cold anger in his eyes was gone, but a thousand doubts remained. “Ask,” he said, his lips pressing into a thin, hard line.
Clay’s cheeks burned with confusion. “What?”
“You said you were going to ask for our blessing,” Mason clarified. “So, ask.”
“Oh.” He snatched his hat from his head, his fingertips suddenly numb with adrenaline as he curled the brim into his fists. “I…” Shit. Everything he’d rehearsed flew straight out the hole in the wall where the window should be. “Sorry.” He chuckled nervously, his mind a sudden blank.. “I had what I wanted to say all planned out, but…” Looking at Mason, his heartbeat pounded in his ears. “I’ve already told you how much I love your daughter,” he began, glancing down at his hat. Dani’s smile came to mind, and his own lips curved up into a grin. It hadn’t been two weeks since he’d last seen her, but damn he missed her.
He closed his eyes and drew courage from the memory of her warm brown eyes staring back at him. She could say a million silent words with a single look, but the three words he lived for were always there, in the golden flecks that sparkled in the sun, nearly sending him to his knees every time she looked at him.
“I never thought I’d meet someone like Dani,” he continued, “and to know that she loves me, too... It’s a miracle I’ll never take for granted.” He raised his head and met each of their gazes, locking eyes with Mason. “Dani’s the most important person in my life. I want to spend the rest of my life with her by my side, and it would mean a lot to me—to both of us—to have your blessing to marry her.”
Mason’s eyes never left his, what seemed like a million silent seconds passing between them before his lips parted and he drew in a long, deep breath. “No,” he said, the single word stopping Clay’s heart, “but you will have it before the wedding.”
Numb, and more than a little confused, Clay clasped the hand Mason shoved at him, surprised when he pulled him into a stiff hug before stepping back to look him in the eyes again. “I appreciate everything you’ve said and done here,” Mason continued, looking around the house, “but I need some time to get my head on straight before I can agree to give away the most important person in my life.”
Clay’s grip tightened around Mason’s hand and he gave it an erratic shake. “I understand, sir,” he breathed out, unsure if the smile on his face was appropriate but unable to contain it. “Thank you, sir.” For the first time since he’d arrived, Mason smiled at him. Well, it was more of a forced, nauseous sort of grin, but it was progress.
“Please, stop calling me sir,” Mason insisted.
“Sorry.” Clay giggled like a freaking schoolgirl. “I slipped back into my military days there for a minute.”
“You can also stop shaking my hand now.” Mason glanced down at their clasped hands.
“Shit.” Clay jerked his hand free. “Sorry. Again.”
“Thank Christ that’s over.” Matt pulled him into a choking hug. “Welcome to the family.”
Grey loomed behind Matt, a satisfied smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “You did well, son,” he said, glancing up and around the empty shell of a house. “I’m assuming, since she hasn’t mentioned it, that you haven’t told Dani about this yet?”
“Hell no,” Clay exhaled. “I wanted to make sure it would be done in time, then I was hoping to surprise her with it as a wedding present.”
“Well.” Grey slung his arm around Clay’s shoulders. “If you don’t mind me giving you a little fatherly advice, I feel obligated to let you know how badly you’re screwing up if you don’t tell her before you go picking out all the finishing touches.”
“Oh, no shit!” Matt chuckled. “Women get funny about that stuff.” He poked Mason’s shoulder as they walked out the front door. “Remember Gabby and the kitchen cabinets?”
“Ugh,” Mason groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
“She practically slept with the wood samples, trying to decide which one she liked, until we finally restored the old ones ourselves, which she loved, thanks to yours truly,” Matt bragged.
Grey snorted. “You mean, thanks to Papa Jake.”
Clay thought about the blonde maple cabinets he was one click away from ordering. A thousand doubts flew in like a plague of locusts, dissolving his confidence. He liked them. He thought she’d like them, too. Would she? Shit.
Chapter Twelve
Grey leaned back in his seat and patted his full stomach. “Beau, those were the best barbecue spareribs I’ve ever had.”
“No kiddin’,” Matt added, mirroring Grey’s appreciation. “I feel like a busted can of biscuits.”
“It oughta be good,” Clay scoffed. “It’s the onl
y thing he knows how to cook.”
“One more than you,” Beau countered, tipping his beer bottle to Grey. “Hope that girl of yours knows how to cook, or those two are gonna starve by spring.”
“Just because I don’t hunt and slaughter my own food doesn’t mean I don’t know how to cook,” Clay argued. “And, yes. Dani can cook. She makes a mean lasagna.”
“I taught her that,” Mason bragged.
“Wrong,” Matt argued. “I’m the lasagna king.”
“Yeah, but I taught her not to burn it,” Mason said.
Levi laughed. “You two are as bad as Beau and Clay.”
The room erupted in laughter, and Grey followed their gazes to see Clay scratching his cheek with his middle finger. He shook his head and reached for his beer. Levi was righter than he knew.
“Seriously though, man…” Mason leaned around Matt to address Beau. “The ribs were great.”
“Thanks,” Beau said. “As they say, the secret’s in the sauce.”
Virgil dropped his last bone on his plate. “The secret’s in the prime beef I work my ass off around here to raise,” he said around a mouthful, shooting Beau a ribbing glance.
“You sayin’ I don’t contribute, Pop?” Beau challenged.
“Only want credit where credit’s due.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” Levi chimed in with a smug grin, tapping his finger against his temple, “then you should all be thankin’ me for my genetics genius that created that prime flavor and texture.”
Virgil paused, his napkin poised at the corner of his thick mustache. One white brow rose in ire as he finished the motion and laid the napkin on his plate. “Where exactly do you think that genius streak of yours came from?”
“Oh, shit. Here we go,” Clay said under his breath, elbowing Grey with a chuckle.
At the other end of the table, Levi picked up his beer and held it up in a toast. “Momma was one hell of a woman,” he answered with a wink.
“Here-here!” Beau and Clay raised their beers and stretched across the table to clink them to Levi’s.
Virgil rolled his eyes. “No respect,” he mumbled, even as he joined their toast. “But, no less true, God rest her soul.”
Grey laughed at their comradery and banter. A dozen years older than himself, he’d been surprised to find so much in common with Clay’s dad. He’d admired the man for years, for his reputation as a salt-of-the-earth cowboy and well-accomplished businessman, but getting to know the ranching legend personally had been a bit surreal.
Virgil was easy to like, both plainspoken and down to earth, and reminded him a lot of Uncle Cade. Which could be a good and bad thing, he thought with a private chuckle. But after touring their ranch, the behemoth operation that it was, Grey couldn’t help but feel a bit intimidated by his success, and a little envious if he was being completely honest. He was also relieved to know Dani would find a respectable friend and father figure in Clay’s dad.
A cellphone rang and the laughter in the room died down as Levi pulled his phone from his pocket. “Yep,” he answered, his gaze darting to Clay. “Uh-huh,” he said a few times. “You got it?” he asked whoever was on the line. “I’ll let him know,” he said curtly, then hung up, stuffing the phone back into his pocket before he picked up his beer and took a swig. “Jackson had a flat tire on his way back from Abilene,” he finally said, the news directed to Clay. “Says to tell you he’s gonna be late for dinner.”
“Ya think?” Beau snapped, motioning to the empty dishes that scattered the table.
“Did he say how late?” Clay asked, his annoyance obvious in his tone.
Levi pressed his lips into a hard line, his eyes darting between Clay and Virgil with a clear message not to ask more.
“Figures.” Clay threw his napkin on the table with a huff.
“That kid, I swear.” Virgil scratched his head. “I told him a month ago to change those tires.”
“He’s not a damn kid anymore,” Beau barked. “We all know there was no flat tire, and since when did you start defending him?”
All traces of their previous lighthearted mood had vanished. Unsure if they should excuse themselves, Grey looked to his brothers for direction but found none in their uneasy expressions. Dani had told them a little about Clay’s youngest brother, mostly about his addiction to the rodeo. He’d seen plenty of good cowboys succumb to the fever, but Grey got the sudden feeling there was a lot more to the story.
Virgil picked up his plate and pushed to his feet. “My apologies,” he offered to Grey, his eyes darting briefly to Matt and Mason. “My youngest has a problem telling time these days, apparently.”
“Unless it’s eight seconds or less,” Clay grumbled.
“No need to apologize,” Matt graciously insisted.
“Probably for the best, anyway.” Levi stood to help Virgil clear the table, sharing another coded glance with Clay on his way to the kitchen that left Grey convinced he was right; there was definitely more to the story.
After a few rounds of expensive whiskey and shoptalk, the tense moment was well behind them, and it was after midnight before Grey and his brothers retired to their rooms for the night. With Matt and Mason bunked up in Beau and Levi’s old bedrooms, Clay’d insisted Grey take his across the hall from them, opting to stay in the guesthouse instead.
Grey sank down onto the edge of the bed and pulled out his cellphone, typing out a goodnight text to Gabby before he toed off his boots. More tired than he’d thought, he stifled a yawn as he scanned the room, taking in the pictures on the wall. One particular photo of a much younger Clay in his Air Force uniform caught his eye, and a thought occurred to him: that picture would soon be added to the collection of their family pictures that dotted their staircase wall, along with new photos of him and Dani, and one day, pictures of their kids.
“Christ,” he sighed to himself, wondering how in the hell he’d gotten to this point in his life.
Before he could contemplate an answer, the bedroom door opened and Mason stuck his head inside. “Hey, got a sec?”
Grey bottled the maudlin feeling and waved him in, stripping off his socks as Mason quietly clicked the door closed behind him. He was removing his belt from his pants when Mason walked to the dresser and opened the top drawer.
“What are you doing?” he asked in a hushed whisper, bolting across the room to stop him.
“I’m just looking,” Mason insisted when Grey forced the drawer closed.
“Looking for what?”
Mason shrugged. “I don’t know.” His gaze scanned the room as he casually paced to the closet. “Porn? Women’s clothes? Whatever.”
Grey dropped his head with a regretful sigh. “Just…go to bed,” he ordered, tossing his belt into his bag at the foot of the bed. “Don’t you dare open that door,” he warned when Mason reached for the closet.
“Why the hell not?”
Grey bolted across the room and shouldered him away. “You’re not going to find anything. Christ!” He muttered a string of curses, swiping his hand through his hair. “I thought you said you were good with Clay.”
“I said I would be,” Mason argued, “as soon as I know he’s not hiding anything.”
“He’s not hiding anything—get away from the door,” he insisted through his clenched teeth one final time when Mason reached for the doorknob again.
Mason eyed him with contempt, then threw his hands up in defeat. “You’re the one who put these ideas in my head, with all your background checks and census stats on the ‘single male population’,” he said, mocking him with air quotes.
Grey rolled his eyes. “And if I remember correctly, you called me an asshole for that.”
“Yeah, well…maybe you were right.” Mason crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes daring Grey to contradict him, which surprisingly enough, he was about to do.
“Look,” he said, peeling off his shirt and tossing it into his bag. If Mason wouldn’t say it, he guessed he’d have to. “I wa
s wrong.” The admission came without the bitter taste he expected, but had a distinct, unappealing flavor all the same. “Clay’s a good guy, and as much as you might hate to admit it, you know it.”
Mason shook his head in denial.
“What’s this really about?” Grey asked as he ripped the covers back and crashed onto the mattress, propping his arms behind his head. He might’ve had his own issues with overreacting in the past, but had he truly been this exhausting?
Mason relaxed his combative stance and sank down onto the edge of the bed. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted, resting his elbows on his knees, holding his head between his hands. “Things are changing so fast.”
“No shit,” Grey snorted, his gaze wandering back up at the photo of the airman Dani was about to marry. “But this isn’t like you.”
“He’s not good enough for her,” Mason muttered a few moments later.
Grey thought about that, his brows furrowing with his efforts to not agree with him. “You’re right,” he said anyway. “No one will ever be good enough for her. But as you, Matt, and Gabby have mercilessly hammered into my ‘thick skull’ over the last few months,” he said with his own air quotes and enough sarcasm to make his point, “thinking like that isn’t fair to Dani or Clay.”
Mason pushed from the bed. “The last thing I’m worried about is being fair to Clay.” He paced the few feet to the door and back. “I know you’re right, dammit, but…what about this thing with Jackson,” he pointed out with renewed vigor. “You saw their faces when he called. There’s something there.”
Grey shrugged. “You’re probably right, but do you really want to start comparing family drama?” Growing impatient and ready to get the night over so he could get back home to Gabby, Grey flopped onto his side and settled himself into the bed. “To be honest, I’m glad the Sterlings aren’t as perfect as they seem.”
