The Legacy of Falcon Ridge: The McLendon Family Saga - Book 8

by D. L. Roan

  Clay spun around and stuck his hand back through the tent flap, his middle finger saying everything that needed to be said. He didn’t care what kind of pussy sleeping in a tent made him. Having a barrier between him and whatever slithered or rooted through their camp in the middle of the night was a necessity, not a luxury.

  The second he turned around, the tent tilted and swayed around him. He grasped for something to steady himself, finding nothing on his way down, hitting the hard ground with a thud. His brothers’ drunken snickers filtered through the tent’s thin fabric walls, and Clay grunted. “Assholes.” He twisted until he could reach his boots and pulled them off, the simple task stealing his breath. “It’s all fun and games until someone gets bit by an eight-foot rattler!” he shouted, collapsing back onto his bedroll. A clump of rocks pressed into his spine, but he was too numb to care as he closed his eyes and welcomed the oblivion that would hopefully bring dreams of making love to Dani.

  “Hey, Clay.”

  Sonofabitch. Clay squeezed his eyes closed at the sound of Jackson’s whisper, which was followed by the tent flap being unzipped.

  “Clay,” Jackson whispered again.

  Shit. He laid still in the darkness and didn’t reply. Maybe if he ignored him, he’d think he’d passed out and go away. “Ow—fuck!”

  “Shit! Sorry!” Jackson hissed, extracting the tip of his boot from between Clay’s ribs. “It’s dark. I can’t see shit.”

  “Get. Out.” Clay rolled to his side and drew his knees into his chest, breathing through the pain.

  “I’m not crashing your tent.”

  “Bet your ass, you’re not. It’s not my fault you didn’t think to bring your own.”

  “I need to talk to you for a second.”

  Christ. The pain in his side subsided to a dull ache and Clay rolled onto his back, a frustrated growl escaping with his last deep breath. “Fine.” He pushed himself up and forced open his eyes until Jackson’s shadowy frame came into focus. “What is it?”

  Jackson circled around in the cramped space and eventually hunkered down in the corner with a grunt. “Damn, this is a small tent.”

  Clay collapsed back down onto his bedroll. “You’re right. It’s clearly not big enough for the two of us, so why don’t you get the fuck out.”

  Jackson didn’t reply. He didn’t say anything. Clay finally lifted his head to see if he was still there, or worse, had passed out in his fucking tent.

  “Did you really mean it?” Jackson finally asked. “That toast to me and Pax?”

  Clay closed his eyes and dropped his head back onto his make-shift pillow. Were they really going to have this conversation?

  “Did you mean it?”

  Clay pressed his numb lips together, the words seemingly impossible after so many years. “Yeah,” he eventually said with a sigh. “I meant it. Against all odds, you have an incredible son, and I’m happy for you. I just hope you realize how amazing he is before it’s too late.”

  Jackson’s head bobbed up and down, or at least Clay thought it did. He wasn’t a hundred percent convinced it wasn’t the ground tilting beneath him, until Jackson said, “Yeah, me, too.”

  Clay raised his head at the unexpected admission.

  Jackson sighed, and in the dim firelight filtering through the tent, Clay could see his features twisted with remorse. “I’ve screwed up with Paxton so many times,” he said. “With Shannon, too, and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if I can be the person they need me to be.”

  Clay stared at his brother, wondering how much of this was real and how much was the whiskey talking.

  “I mean, I want to be that person, but somewhere things went so sideways. I don’t know how to get back where I started.”

  Definitely the whiskey talking. But it was the closest Clay’d ever heard him come to owning up to his mistakes. He pushed himself up, anchoring his arms around his knees so he didn’t fall over. Jackson probably wouldn’t remember a word of this conversation in the morning, but since they were talking and not yelling, Clay thought he’d give him the benefit of the doubt. “Maybe you don’t go back. Maybe you start fresh.”

  Jackson didn’t reply, just continued to nod in agreement.

  Clay swallowed back the question burning in his chest but it came out anyway. “Did you mean what you said? About me and Dani?”

  “Absolutely.” Jackson raised his eyes to meet Clay’s. “A hundred percent, man. Look, I know you’ll never forgive me for what I did with Shannon, but I truly am sorry. I regret what it—what we—did to you, every damn day of my life.”

  Clay braced for the gnarling ache in his gut that always came with the memories of the day Shannon had told him she’d slept with Jackson, and that she was pregnant with his child, but it never materialized. Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was something else. Either way, he welcomed the absence.

  “Me, too,” he finally admitted with an exhausted sigh, the whiskey zapping his strength. He was tired of talking. Tired of drinking. Tired of being so far away from Dani all the damn time, and sick and damn tired of holding on to a grudge that had gotten him nowhere. “Maybe we can start fresh, too,” he offered, shaking his head the second the words left his mouth. If the unexpected sentiment was any sign of how drunk he was, he probably needed to go to the nearest emergency room now.

  Jackson’s head popped up, the desperate look in his eyes confirming he had, in fact, said what he thought he had. “You mean it?” Jackson asked.

  Clay considered saying no. There were so many questions that demanded answers, namely why? Why had he betrayed him by sleeping with Shannon? Why had Jackson done everything he could to destroy their relationship and their family? All questions he’d asked before but never got more than a shrug and an ‘I don’t know’. Chasing those answers had been as futile as holding a grudge, though, and only added to his exhaustion from it all. If he was starting over with Dani, he needed to follow his own advice and let it go for good.

  “Sure,” he finally conceded with a shrug.

  Jackson lunged forward and yanked him into a hug. “You won’t regret it,” he promised, but Clay shoved him away.

  “What?” Jackson asked. “What’d I do now?”

  Clay scoffed. “Besides making this even more awkward?” The whiskey may have weakened his defenses, but it hadn’t made him stupid. He wasn’t too drunk to recognize Jackson was still playing games. “Stop with the hapless, helpless cowboy act.”

  “I’m not—”

  “That’s right. You’re not pulling that shit on me,” Clay interjected before Jackson could spout his standard rebuttal. “The idiot act might work on people who don’t know you, but I do.” Clay held up a staying hand when Jackson tried to argue. He’d heard all his excuses before, and knew exactly what he was about to say. “I get you’ve had issues since you wrecked on that bull, and the resulting coma, and I’m sure all the prior concussions haven’t helped, but I also know you like to play stupid to get away with shit.”

  Jackson sat back and folded his arms over his chest, his head hanging low as he stared at his lap.

  A part of Clay felt like a shit for being so harsh, but a part relished finally saying what had needed saying for far too long. “If you’re serious about starting over, then knock it off. And not only with me. With Shannon and Pax, too.”

  Jackson nodded. “Yeah, I got it.”

  “Just be yourself.”

  “Whatever,” Jackson said with a cynical snort.

  Clay collapsed back down onto his bedroll with a groan. He’d either change or he wouldn’t. Nothing he could do about it either way. “Can you get out of my tent now?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Jackson moved to get up but stopped. “Shit. I almost forgot.” Clay gritted his teeth as his brother leaned closer. “What do you think about Patch coming back?” he whispered.

  Clay’s brows furrowed at the unexpected question. “I think it’s great. Why?”

  Jackson looked over his shoulder where Pat
ch and his brothers still sat around the fire. “I don’t know,” he said when he turned back, his tone even lower. “You don’t think it’s weird? Him showing up out of nowhere after all these years—running into Beau in El Paso, of all places, and then all of a sudden trying to get Beau to partner up with him and his guide business?”

  Clay raised a brow. It was the first he’d heard of any kind of business deal between them. And it was odd that Beau hadn’t shared that with him. Although, considering all the traveling back and forth to Falcon Ridge he’d been doing, and the time he’d spent with the contractors trying to get his house built before the wedding, he hadn’t exactly been available to chat.

  “I’d say it’s a decision for Beau to make.” He turned onto his side, sucking in a pained breath when the lumpy rock beneath his tent cut into his sore ribs. “Stop looking for trouble. Patchy’s a good guy, and Beau can take care of himself,” he said, dismissing Jackson’s concern. “Now get out so I can pass out or throw up.” Whichever came first would be a godsend at this point.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “What the—” Clay was startled awake by a blow to his gut. Pain ricocheted around the inside of his skull as he forced one eye open, blinking until Jackson’s face came into focus. “Fuck,” he groaned and tried to push him away, but he didn’t budge. “Get out of my fucking tent,” he ground out, the words like sandpaper in his dry throat.

  Jackson groaned but didn’t move, his knee still buried in Clay’s chest.

  Like father like son. His nephew hated sleeping alone, too. Paxton always snuck into Clay’s bed when he stayed at the ranch. At least Jax hadn’t kneed him in the groin like Paxton usually did.

  The tent flap opened, the sudden burst of sunlight like a laser frying his retinas.

  “Wakey-wakey, cowboys,” a demon spawn said in a skull-piercing octave. “Aww, look how cute.”

  Clay managed to focus enough to make out Beau’s smug face. “Ugh,” he grunted as he rolled away from Jackson, only to find Levi sandwiched in on his other side, his face pressed into the flimsy fabric so hard Clay was surprised he hadn’t suffocated during the night.

  “That tent looks like a bloated carcass with the three of them stuffed in there,” Patch said from somewhere outside.

  Clay settled on his back with a groan, shielding his eyes from the abhorrent light. If he made it through this weekend, he was going to kick his brothers’ asses, right after he called Dani.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Wedding Countdown: Two Weeks

  “Your vitals are good today,” Uncle Cade’s homecare aide, Leon, said as he stuffed his stethoscope back into his bag.

  Standing outside Cade’s bedroom door with her mom, Dani sighed in relief, catching Papa Daniel’s equally relieved gaze from where he sat at the foot of Cade’s bed.

  Cade pulled his shirt over his head and stood to tuck it in. “Compared to the last few weeks, I feel like a million bucks.” He paused to sniff the air. “Is that French toast I smell?”

  “Grilled cheese sandwiches,” Gabby said, “but if you feel up to eating, we can make some French toast.”

  “I’m starving.”

  “Are you sure?” Papa Daniel looked to Leon for approval.

  “He can eat whatever he feels up to,” Leon confirmed, “but take it easy on the salt,” he warned Cade. “You’re still retaining a lot of fluids.”

  “Yeah-yeah. Whatever.” Uncle Cade shooed him away on his way to the bathroom. “Maybe we can take a ride over to the ranch after breakfast. See how Grey’s doing on that guesthouse he’s building.”

  Guesthouse? Dani looked to her mom for an explanation.

  Gabby’s head fell forward on a sigh. “Your dad liked the guesthouse at Clay’s ranch so much, he’s decided to build one like it down by the creek, but only after he finishes the upstairs nursery,” she added in a higher pitch so Cade could hear her, but didn’t get a response. “Come on.” She tipped her head toward the kitchen. “Let’s make him some French toast.”

  “Actually, Mrs. McLendon, can I speak to you for a moment?”

  Dani’s heartbeat quickened when Leon motioned for her mom to join him and Papa Daniel in the bedroom. “I’ll start the toast,” she said, giving them some privacy, though everything inside her screamed to know what they were saying. Was there something wrong? Uncle Cade was feeling better. His blood pressure and heartrate were strong, and his appetite was back. Even if only temporary, that had to mean something good, right?

  Her thoughts were as scrambled as the raw eggs she was whipping up when her brother and Chloe came through the front door carrying a large white box.

  “What’s that?”

  Jonah shrugged. “Matt told me to bring it over here to Mom,” he said as he handed it off to her. “Ooh! Are you making French toast?”

  “It’s for Uncle Cade,” she said, setting the box on the kitchen table.

  “He’s eating?” Chloe asked as she toed off her shoes.

  Dani nodded absently, inspecting the address label on the box as she stirred the milk into the eggs. “He’s feeling better today,” she informed them, wondering what her mom had ordered.

  “Oh! It came early!” Gabby yelped from the kitchen entrance and dashed to the table.

  “What is it?”

  With all the excitement of a little girl on Christmas morning, Gabby grabbed up the box, then snatched the mixing bowl from Dani’s hand and put it on the counter. “It’s your dress!” she said, tugging her into the living room.

  Dazed, Dani stumbled along behind her. “What did Leon say? Is Uncle Cade okay?”

  “He’s fine,” Gabby insisted with a dismissive tone. “Don’t give me that look,” she said when Dani frowned at the box in her hand. “If you don’t like it, I’ll send it back,” she promised, motioning for Dani to undress.

  “Now?” Dani looked over her shoulder into the kitchen where her brother and Chloe stood watching. “Jonah’s right there!”

  Gabby pointed at Jonah and he immediately turned around.

  “We’ll make the French toast,” Chloe giggled, tugging Jonah away from the threshold into the kitchen.

  “I’ll try it on when we go home,” Dani argued.

  “Honey, please? Just a sneak peak, so I’ll know if I need to send it back.” She ripped the tape off the box and flipped open the lid. “I’ll go tell Cade, Daniel, and Leon to give us a minute so they don’t walk in on us.”

  Dani stared after her mom as she disappeared down the hallway, wondering if she’d be disowned if she eloped to Vegas. An Elvis wedding wasn’t that awful, was it?

  “Hey, Bridezilla. Stop being such a spoiled brat,” Jonah said from the kitchen doorway, snapping Dani from her mutinous thoughts. “You asked her to do this, remember?”

  Dani gave him a hostile glare, contemplating a dozen ways to knock the smug look off her twin’s face.

  Jonah paced into the living room, picked up the box, and held it out to her. “She’s worked her ass off to make this perfect for you, and all you’ve done is bitch and moan.” He shoved the box at her. “Try on the damn dress.”

  Bitch and moan? Bridezilla? Dani glared up at her brother, ready to snap off a list of denials and insults until Chloe peeked in from the kitchen behind him, the truth in her uneasy smile.

  Her agitation wilted like a thirsty flower, the breath she’d been holding whooshing out in one long sigh of defeat. “You’re right.” She’d been awful, not only to her mom, but to Clay, and pretty much everyone. “Okay,” she shrugged and took the box from Jonah. “Hello?” She snapped her fingers when he didn’t retreat to the kitchen. “Get out, so I can get undressed.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Jonah blinked out of his trance. “I was stunned there for a second. You’ve never agreed with me before, you know, about you being an asshat.”

  She lunged and gave him a shove toward the kitchen. “Get out.”

  “Don’t be a hater,” he chuckled. “There’s a first time for everything.” He duc
ked for cover when she picked up a book from the coffee table and threatened to hurl it at him. “Okay, I’m going!”

  Dani narrowed her eyes at her pain-in-the-ass twin, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. Her brief respite ended when she opened the box. The odds of the dress being the one had to be at least a-million-to-one. Her fingers trembled as she peeled away the layers of tissue paper on top, then paused, staring at the lump of fabric folded inside like it was going to jump out and bite her.

  It’s just a dress, she chastised herself. How bad could it be? The box wasn’t big enough to hold one of those colossal dresses she hated, with miles of satin or hundreds of layers of frilly tulle.

  She opened and closed her clammy hands, shaking them out before she pinched the white slinky fabric between her fingers and lifted the dress from the box, surprised at how light it was.

  The hem fluttered to the floor, revealing a delicate, beaded trim that was both beautiful and simple. Curiously excited, she laid the dress over the arm of the sofa and peeled off her jeans and sweatshirt, cursing her trembling hands as she fumbled with the tiny zipper on the back of the dress. Why was she shaking?

  She stepped into the dress and had just pulled the bodice over her bra when she heard a masculine grunt behind her. Startled, she turned to see Uncle Cade standing in the doorway.

  “If that’s not the perfect dress, I don’t know what is,” he said as he leaned against the doorframe, his lips turned up into an awestruck grin.

  Her mom rounded the corner and jerked to a stop, her hand flying to her mouth to contain her gasp.

  Dani looked down at the dress. She ran her fingers over the sheer layer of muslin that covered the silky sheath beneath, loving the way it felt against her skin. Disbelief muted her surprise when she caught her reflection in the large glass panes in the china hutch across from her.

  The simple design hugged her curves in all the right places but didn’t feel tight or heavy. The sleeveless bodice was covered with tiny crystal beads, something she hadn’t liked on other dresses, but it was breathtaking on this one, with the way they shimmered in the sunlight coming from the window. She fingered the beaded illusion neckline, a design she’d loved but had given up hope of finding one that wasn’t overdone, or that didn’t make her feel like she was being choked to death.