Cowboy Brave

by Carolyn Brown

  “I’m meeting Ava for lunch.”

  The two of them barely looked up, let alone acknowledged, he’d said anything at all. He got it. After a morning of manual labor, nothing stood between a man and his next meal.

  “She’s bringing her nine-year-old son,” he added. Luke offered a nod, and Walker grunted something that probably meant I don’t give a shit. So Jack decided to go in for the kill. “His name is Owen. And he’s mine. Which means you two assholes are uncles. Congratulations.”

  Walker coughed on a piece of roast beef he’d just shoved in his mouth. Luke stopped mid mustard spread. Jack crossed his arms and raised his brows. Silence rang out for a beat. Then another. And one more after that.

  Finally Walker swallowed. “You got a kid?” he said.

  “It appears that I do.”

  “Did you know?” Luke asked.

  Jack ran a hand through his shower-damp hair, hoping the gesture would mask his erratic heartbeat. His first reaction to the news had been fight or flight, and he’d chosen flight. Now—now he was going to meet this portion of his past head-on. He still didn’t think he had what it took to be a father, let alone a good one, but he owed it to the boy—to Owen—to see.

  “No,” he told them. “And before you start talking shit about Ava for keeping this from me, know that the whole situation is complicated as hell.”

  Walker finished piecing together his sandwich and took a savage bite. “You know how you keep things uncomplicated, big brother?” he asked without giving two shits that half his snarling mouth was full of food. “Cover your dick, or keep it in your prepubescent pants.”

  Luke snorted.

  Jack ground his teeth. Some things were funny as hell, but his past with Ava—how Owen came to be—sure as shit wasn’t. “Everything’s a joke to you, asshole,” he said. “Christ, we were eighteen. We used protection. It didn’t work. I didn’t know until two days ago. End of story.”

  “Didn’t know what?”

  Jack pivoted to see Jenna standing in the doorway, tote bags in each hand with what looked like groceries.

  She wasn’t kidding. His brothers would probably starve without her help.

  He strode to where she stood and relieved her of half the bags, welcoming the diversion even though he knew it would be short-lived.

  “That we’re uncles,” Luke said, standing to peek at what she’d brought them. “Eggs,” he added. “I like eggs.”

  Jenna deposited her bags on the counter and spun to face Jack, who was ready and waiting for her reaction.

  “Why are they uncles?” she asked, and his brows pulled together. Jenna backhanded him on the shoulder. “Why are they uncles, Jack?”

  He could hear the hysteria building, which was not a good sign considering Jenna didn’t get hysterical. She didn’t get anything, really. They’d gone from walking on eggshells around Jack Senior to someone who rarely let them see her angry at all.

  He put a hand over hers, hoping the gesture and his attempt at a soothing tone would reassure her. “Ava,” he said. “Ava Ellis. We were—well, we—that spring—”

  “Let me spell it out for you,” Walker interrupted. “He knocked up the Ellis girl and then skipped town for a decade.”

  Jenna gasped, and Jack whirled on his brother, who was standing now as well. He grabbed Walker’s collar, fisting it between his fingers.

  “I didn’t know, damn it!” Jack said through gritted teeth. “Christ, I didn’t know. So cut me some slack or shut the hell up.”

  Walker’s cheeks flamed with a building rage Jack hadn’t seen before. He let go of his youngest brother and took a step back.

  “There’s a lot of shit you don’t know, Junior.”

  Jack winced at the nickname. His father had first called him that when he was child not much younger than Owen. Later that name became a warning.

  Watch it, Junior. You better shut the hell up, Junior. Pour my bottle down the drain one more time…Junior.

  Walker threw open the fridge and found himself a beer. “Lost my appetite,” he said, brushing past them all and out through the back door.

  Jack pressed his palms against the counter where Walker had stood. He knew being back in this house would have its challenges, but he hadn’t anticipated his brothers being one of them. They’d been allies once. He’d been their protector, and he didn’t expect recognition or thank yous or anything like that. Yet he’d somehow taken for granted that they’d remember what he had done—assumed that being there back then, when he knew they truly needed him, would make up for being gone.

  But intermittent visits, emails, and texts hadn’t been enough. He didn’t know his brothers anymore.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and knew the gentle gesture came from his aunt. When he turned, he saw Luke striding out the front door, sandwich in hand, and he wondered what his brother’s ever-present grin hid beneath the surface.

  “I didn’t think it’d be this hard,” he said, and she gave his shoulder a soft squeeze.

  “If it was easy, everyone would do it.”

  “If what was easy?”

  Jenna shrugged. “Coming home, facing your past, mending fences. Meeting your child for the first time?”

  He let out a long, shaky breath. “I have a son,” he said, the word still so foreign on his tongue. “She named him Owen.”

  Jenna’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp—or maybe a sob. Because the word—his son’s name—was like an automated switch, and a tear that seemed to come from nowhere sped down her cheek.

  Jenna Owens. It was her name, too.

  He was ready to apologize for—he wasn’t sure what. But he knew that whenever he opened his mouth lately, someone seemed to get upset. Before he could say anything, though, she dropped her hand to reveal a beaming smile.

  “I’m a great-aunt!” she said, laughing. “Well, shit. You just aged me a half century.”

  Her joy was contagious, and Jack found himself smiling, too.

  “We’re not telling him who I am. Not yet, anyway,” he said.

  It took less than ten words for Jenna’s expression to fall. “Of course,” she said, feigning nonchalance. “Of course. You and Ava have a lot to figure out. I didn’t think—” But she stopped herself, and Jack could tell she was fending off a different kind of tears.

  He hugged his aunt. “I don’t know how you do it,” he said.

  “Do what?” she asked, wiping the back of her hand under each eye. “Turn into a basket case almost every time you see me?”

  He shook his head. “Your first instinct with me and Luke and Walker—when you hadn’t seen us in years—was to take us in. You have this heart that’s bigger than anything I’ve seen. You haven’t even met Owen yet, and you love him already.”

  “Family is everything,” she said. “And you feel something too, Jack. I won’t let you pretend you don’t.”

  He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Maybe. But I don’t know how to love like that—like you do.”

  Jenna pressed her palm to her chest. “Oh, honey. You were too young to remember, but I do—how your mama and daddy looked at you like you had the power to make the sun come up in the morning. I was so jealous of all the attention my big sister gave to you.” She smiled wistfully. “They loved you like that. And I know somewhere in that protected heart of yours, you have the capacity, too. You just need to unlock it.”

  Jack’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate what his aunt was trying to do. But the only father he remembered was some sort of funhouse mirror reflection of the man she tried to recall for him now. Where she remembered smiles, Jack saw a sneer. Terms of endearment were twisted into angry words filled with disdain and blame.

  If she didn’t have to work so hard taking care of you boys, she never would have gotten sick.

  “That’s not the man I knew,” he said with such force it made her flinch. “Shit, Jenna, I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay,” she inte
rrupted. “I mean, no. It’s not okay to talk to me like that, but I’m going to let it slide. You’ve come against more than I reckon you bargained for coming back home, and I’m sure it’s a lot to take in.” She reached up and brushed off his shoulders and then slapped her hands against his cheeks. “You look good, nephew.”

  He looked down at his checked shirt and worn jeans. It was fine attire for a barbeque, but for meeting his son?

  “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here. I really don’t.” He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “I’m out of my goddamn element. I don’t know how to talk to kids. And he could hate me the second he meets me. Not sure if you noticed, but I’m not exactly the easiest guy to be around these days.” He cleared his throat. “And I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m sorry. You’re right about that much.”

  “I know I am, darling,” she said with a grin.

  “But,” he added, “it doesn’t help to hear what kind of man my father used to be. Because that’s not the man he was in the end.”

  He kissed her on the cheek and backed toward the front door.

  She pointed a finger at him. “It also says nothing about the man you are, Jack Everett.”

  He swallowed hard but kept moving, wishing he could believe her. But Jenna had just reminded him that his father was someone else entirely before his mother got sick. Maybe once he’d seen his son as someone who could light up the world. But then he plunged himself into complete darkness at the bottom of a bottle, blaming his own children even though they had lost their mother, too.

  He was at the door now, but neither of them had broken eye contact. He thought about making his aunt flinch, about slamming his hand against his truck when he was at the Ellis Vineyard, of all the times he’d had to remind himself to rein in the anger before he simply exploded like he had with Derek Wilkes.

  You’re not good for either of them.

  Ava’s father’s words ran on a continuous loop in his head.

  “Actually, Jenna, it says everything.”

  Chapter Nine

  Owen squirmed in the wooden booth next to her. “Mo-om. I’m so hungry I think I’m going to die.”

  Ava laughed, hoping her son couldn’t see through the reaction to the nerves that lay beneath. Normally she’d give him a snack in the car—a bag of goldfish crackers or one of those squeezie applesauce pouches—but she hadn’t wanted him to be full once they got to the restaurant. He needed the food to keep him from getting bored. And to keep him from being idle enough to scrutinize anything about Jack he might not want scrutinized.

  “In a few minutes, bud. Promise.”

  But it was five minutes to one, and Jack wasn’t here. Yet. Because of course he was coming. She hadn’t spent the whole hour mentally reassuring herself only for him not to show.

  Oh shit. What if he didn’t show?

  She’d chosen to sit with their backs to the door. Otherwise her eagerness to see Jack enter would get the best of her. But this only made things worse. More than once she’d attempted to casually look over her shoulder only to meet the curious eyes of several BBQ on the Bluff patrons.

  “Are you two ready to order, or are you waiting on someone else?”

  Ava startled as a young woman with a blond pixie bounced a pen against a pad of paper. “It’s cool if you’re still waiting. I’ve got a couple of nephews, though, probably around your little guy’s age, and all they ever do is eat. Figured he might be hungry.”

  Ava smiled and turned to Owen, who gave her a pleading look.

  “We are waiting for someone, but I guess it couldn’t hurt to—”

  “Lily Green, since when do they let the cook out of the kitchen?”

  At the sound of Jack’s voice, a warmth spread through Ava’s veins like chocolate fondue, hot and sweet and delicious. She shook her head. This was not the place to let his smooth baritone start—doing things to her.

  “Since I’m short two servers this afternoon,” the other woman said with a grin. “And how about you tell me why I’ve already seen you twice in the span of four days? Luke told Tucker you’d be hightailing it out of Oak Bluff first chance you got.” She turned her attention to Ava. “My husband and Jack’s little brother, Luke, are good friends. Best friends, actually. But me and Luke? We butt heads like you wouldn’t believe. Wonder if big brother here is as difficult as the other.” She winked at Jack.

  He smiled and slid into the booth across from Ava and Owen.

  “Am I late?” he asked, and Ava shook her head. He glanced back at the woman with the notepad—Lily. And Ava couldn’t help the surge of relief she’d felt when the woman said husband.

  “Start us off with that cornbread you sent over the other night, will ya?” Jack added. “I’ve been craving it ever since.”

  Lily shoved her pen behind her ear and dropped the pad into her apron pocket. “You got it. I’ll get the rest of your order when I deliver the goods.”

  Only after Lily was gone did Jack give Ava his full attention, and she had to remind herself to breathe when he looked right past her and let his eyes fall on Owen.

  “Hey, bud,” he said. “You like cornbread?”

  Owen narrowed his eyes at Jack—at his father—and Ava watched as the boy studied the man. Finally, her son nodded.

  “Yeah, I like it,” he said, then looked back and forth between his parents. “My mom calls me that, by the way. Bud.”

  She held her breath, and Jack cleared his throat. He was nervous, and Owen was already giving him the third degree. But then Jack crossed his arms and smiled. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but he seemed ready to take whatever Owen had to dish out.

  “What should I call you, then?” Jack asked him, and Owen crossed his arms as well.

  “You’re a friend of my mom’s?”

  “I am,” Jack said.

  “A good friend? Because if you were a good friend I think I would have heard of you before.”

  Jack let out a nervous laugh while Ava seemed to ignore her earlier directive reminding herself to breathe.

  “Truth is,” Jack started, “your mom and I used to be real good friends. Then I left town, and we lost touch for a while.” He turned his attention to her, his blue-eyed gaze steady and intent. And Ava’s heart stuttered like it had the first time she saw him in high school. “But I think I’d like for us to be friends again.”

  Owen tilted his head toward her so that both of their gazes were fixed on hers.

  “Do you wanna be friends with him again?” Owen asked.

  Ava cleared her throat. “Yeah, bud. I think I do.”

  Because friendship she could admit to wanting. Friendship was a start. What she wouldn’t do was hope—this early on—that it would lead to more.

  Owen nodded and faced Jack again. “One more question.”

  “I’m all ears,” Jack said, his lips hinting at a grin.

  “Marvel or DC?”

  Jack’s brows raised, and Ava bit her lip.

  “And here I thought I was going to get a hard question,” Jack said. “Because the only right answer is Marvel, and the top Avenger, of course, is the first Avenger, Captain Steve Rogers.”

  Owen pumped his fist in the air and shouted, “Yes! Okay, Mom. This guy’s cool. I think you two should be friends again.”

  Ava’s breathing finally steadied, but she had a rising tide of emotion. Because Jack and Owen had connected. Her son had just given his own father the seal of approval. And she—well, she’d never expected this day to happen, let alone have it be a success.

  “Cornbread for all my friends!” Lily said, placing a basket on the table.

  The spell was broken, but a new one took hold as Owen devoured a piece before Lily even had time to leave the table. They all watched as he sank into the booth as he swallowed—satiated for the moment.

  “Did he even chew that?” Lily asked.

  Owen grinned and rubbed a hand over his belly. “Whatever I did, I’m gonna do it again.” He reached for piece nu
mber two, but Ava’s hand landed on his wrist before he could swipe another golden square.

  “Drink something, bud. You’re gonna choke or make yourself sick if you don’t slow down.”

  Jack scratched the back of his neck and squinted at Lily. “I remember my brothers saying this place had the best strawberry lemonade. You still got that?”

  She shook her head, and Ava watched as Owen deflated.

  “I change the menu monthly. But I’ve got a frozen strawberry limeade that’ll knock your socks off. What do you say?”

  Owen perked up again. Ava smiled and lifted her shoulders. Jack slapped a palm down on the table.

  “I guess that settles it,” he said. “Three strawberry limeades, and judging by this guy’s appetite, I think we’re ready to order.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Owen was working off his short ribs at the vintage Pac Man machine with a stack of quarters—courtesy of Jack. Ava was still picking at her brisket sandwich as she watched Jack take a long, slow swig of his limeade.

  “You’re good with him,” she said softly, and the anticipation of his response made everything inside her constrict.

  He set his glass down on the red and white checkerboard tablecloth, running his thumb down the cool condensation. “I’m flying by the seat of my pants, here. I’m just lucky you raised an amazing kid,” he said, eyes trained on the hand still holding the glass, his voice rough. “Made today a whole lot easier.”

  She took a chance, bold as it was, and laid her palm over his free hand. “We made an amazing kid,” she whispered. “That’s not all me, there.”

  His eyes met hers, clouded with too much emotion for her to read. She guessed there was still anger—at her in particular. She owned that and would continue to do so. But pain lay beyond those blue irises, too. A pain she’d always wanted to take away, even when they were teens. But she learned too late that she hadn’t possessed that kind of power. And maybe she never would.