The Heart of Falcon Ridge (The McLendon Family Saga, #1)

by D. L. Roan

  “Hey, darlin’.” He blew out a breath as he slid into the swing next to Claira and pulled her legs over his lap. “I’m sorry about our plans tonight.”

  Claira leaned up and placed a soft kiss on his bare shoulder. He wore only a pair of faded Wranglers, no shirt or shoes. His hair was still damp and he was sporting the stubble of a new goatee. She liked it.

  “Please don’t be sorry. Your boys come first. Besides, we had all that time to ourselves while you were here by yourself dealing with sick twins. I feel sort of guilty.”

  Matt chuckled, his fingers massaging gentle circles at the base of her neck. “Well, you shouldn’t, but if you insist, I can think of a few ways for you to make it up to me.” His eyebrows jumped in his signature playful way and she couldn’t help but laugh.

  The setting sun cast a red glow on his tanned skin as she looked up at him, studying his features. “There really is no jealousy between the three of you, is there?”

  Matt shook his head and reached up to wrap one of her soft curls around his finger. “Nope. Not with you.” He studied her for a moment wondering how else he could explain their feelings to her. “It’s not just a sexual preference, darlin’. Although, I have to say watchin’ one or both of my brothers make you come ‘til you’re screamin’ all our names is one hell of a turn on for me.”

  Claira blushed a beautiful rosy color and the picture of what he’d just described morphed into technicolor in his mind. Tamping down his arousal, he focused on the curled clip of hair he was fingering.

  “There was a time when I thought this way of life, our way, was...awkward. Then one day, I noticed how many kids around us never had a homemade lunch, or parents who showed up at baseball and football games. A lot of kids only had one parent. Even those that had two were home alone more than not because their parents worked crazy hours just to pay the bills.” Matt shrugged. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. Bein’ able to hang out at my friend’s house with no parents around was awesome, sometimes, but I couldn’t imagine what that would be like every day.”

  Matt let go of the stray curl and entwined his fingers with hers. “With the three of us, we can provide our wife and our kids with more love and support than they could ever need. With our mom and three dads, we always felt safe and loved. Some of the kids growin’ up had a few snarky comments and opinions about the way we live, but most of the people around here are pretty open and accepting of it—the Grunions excluded, of course.”

  Claira thought about what he was saying and could find no fault in his thinking. She’d witnessed the outcome with her own eyes. Their boys were extremely well adjusted and no one man had the sole responsibility of providing for them all.

  But one question kept niggling at her. “Does it ever bother you that your brothers might have...” Claira shrugged, unsure of how to word her concern. “Do you ever feel insecure, or does your male pride, or ego, or...whatever get stepped on sometimes and you fight?”

  Matt chuckled. “Not really. I mean, we argue and fuss like any normal family, but not the usual macho caveman type stuff you’re thinking of. We all have our own relationship with the twins.” He paused and kissed the tip of her nose. “And with you, but we’re also a family, with the same love and family ties that other traditional families have.” He chuckled again and tipped his head. “Now that you mention it, though, I’m going to have to one up Grey on that hickey you’re sportin’.” He pulled at the collar of her shirt and traced the small bruise. “Jealous we’re not, but competitive doesn’t even begin to define us.”

  Claira looked down at the little, purple spot on her shoulder and her cheeks heated with embarrassment. She’d hurried through her shower so that she could help with the twins, never noticing the small bite Grey had given her that morning. She blushed at the memory and pulled her shirt over to cover it.

  “Hey, don’t be embarrassed.” Matt tilted her face to him. “I plan to put my mark on you, too. As soon as I can gather enough energy to get you naked.”

  Claira laughed and gave him a dubious glance. “Remind me to hide the hammers.”

  Matt’s brows drew together in confusion before he remembered the story he’d told her about marking his truck. He burst out laughing. The first bout of laughter morphed into a contagious belly laugh that led to them rolling on the porch floor, holding their stomachs and gasping for air. That’s where Mason found them when he came out to dump the last of the bleach water he’d used to clean up the boys’ bathroom.

  “What the hell is going on out here?”

  Matt and Claira took one look at him and lost it. Matt clutched at his stomach as he rolled on the porch, his face red from lack of oxygen.

  Mason looked down at his black t-shirt and mumbled a curse. Splotched in bleach was the perfect outline of the toilet seat he’d just cleaned.

  “Sonofabitch!” In his attempts to pull the shirt away from his chest he dropped the bucket of dirty bleach water, jumping back as it splashed up onto his Wranglers, some landing precariously near his crotch. “Fuck!” He toed off his boots then stripped off his pants and boxers, sprinting for the water hose at the side of the porch.

  That’s where their dad Jake found him when he stepped out of his truck and ambled up the porch steps.

  Papa Jake took one look at Mason, naked as a jaybird with a water hose in his hand, and then swiveled around to look at Claira and Matt on their sides, gasping for breath between bouts of laughter. He made the sign of the cross over his heart as he shook his head and opened the front door. “I don’t even want to know.”

  Mason washed himself off and stumbled up the stairs, using his hat to cover his dick which seemed to have escaped any harm. “It’s real funny ‘till someone loses his balls.” He reached down to help Claira off the floor when he heard another car door slam.

  “Mason Nathaniel, since when do you prance around outside buck naked in broad daylight? I know I’ve taught you better than that!” Hazel climbed the front steps, her arms laden with plastic shopping bags. “Oh,” She glanced down at Matt and Claira who’d stopped howling, but kept up a steady stream of chuckles as they watched Mason turn fifteen shades of red.

  Hazel narrowed her eyes at Matt, and then looked back at Mason, then back down at Matt again. “Are you boys using condoms?”

  Matt and Claira glanced at each other before they burst out laughing again. Mason swore under his breath. “For Christ sake, Ma. It’s not what you think, and turn around!” Mason cupped his dick and balls and moved his hat to cover his ass.

  Hazel looked back down at Matt then followed Mason into the house, shouting after him. “Well, why not? You know she’s perfect for you boys. What the heck is taking you so long?”

  Matt sat up and helped Claira do the same. Both breathless, he reached for her face and drew her into a sweet, lingering kiss. “She’s right, you know. You are perfect. For all of us.” Claira smiled shyly but didn’t respond. “I love you,” he breathed as he licked her taste from his lips. “You don’t have to say it back, but I want you to know.”

  “I love you, too.” The words came with no regret or second thoughts. She loved them all. Now she just had to hope and pray it would be enough.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Hazel and her husbands had been a godsend over the last couple of days. Claira helped Hazel make her coveted homemade chicken and slippery noodle soup for the twins, writing down every single step so that she’d be able to make it for them next time. Not that she expected it to be near as good. The woman could cook her under the table any day of the week and twice on Sundays.

  Jake, Joe and Nate had filled in for Matt, Mason or Grey’s shifts with the boys when they needed to tend to any of the ranch business. After two days of vomit duty rotation and two full days of rest, both Con and Car were back to their rambunctious selves and the elder McLendon’s had vacated the premises.

  Claira watched from the kitchen window as the boys played outside with a toy airplane their grandparents had brought them.
Matt and Mason were somewhere close by; most likely in the barn. Grey had hidden himself away in his office to catch up on the paperwork he’d let slide while tending to the boys.

  With all the commotion and family members coming and going, Claira hadn’t yet told the men about her past. She’d tried once, but Hazel had called just as she’d gotten them all gathered at the kitchen table and said that Josiah was on his way over with new bed linens she’d bought for the boys’ beds. She decided then to wait until this current crisis was over before she started a new one.

  At the moment her thoughts were consumed with the dirty words Grey had whispered in her ear after breakfast. The boys were going to stay the night at their Uncle Cade’s house while they planned to corrupt her with all sorts of blissful debauchery, which, she’d been told, included Grey taking her ass with his mammoth cock. A shiver shuddered along her spine and she braced herself against the kitchen sink.

  When she raised her head and glanced out the window, the twins were nowhere in sight. She grabbed a dish towel to dry her hands then walked to the back door to see where they’d gone. Her heart plummeted to her toes when she spotted Con climbing after Car up the old, dead tree beside the half-finished feed shed.

  Her feet flew over the uneven ground, her singular purpose to get to the boys. “Carson! Connor! Get down from there right now!”

  Claira reached the base of the tree and was half way up when Con slipped from the branch just above her. She screamed as she reached out to grab ahold of anything she could wrap her fingers around. Thankfully he stopped in mid-air, but was still out of reach, the back of his shirt snagged on the branch above his head.

  “Con, don’t move,” she whispered, afraid even the slightest wisp of her breath would send him crashing the fifteen or twenty feet to the ground. She looked down and her head spun. She didn’t know how far it was, but it would hurt if he fell.

  She glanced over to Carson perched on a nearby limb, and then back down to Con.

  “Both of you, don’t move.” She gathered her skirt around her knees and looked around at the other branches. She needed to get a better grip on the branch above her to be able to reach out for Con and not drop him. Twisting around onto her other foot, she glanced out toward the barn to see if the guys were coming to help.

  At first she didn’t see him, only the outline of a long rifle perched on the roof of the feed shed. She followed the long, dark extension to the man’s outstretched arm to see Mr. Kendal, staring down the barrel at her.

  ~*~*~*~*~

  Mason heard Claira’s shouts from the training corral behind the barn and ran around to see what all the fuss was about. When he saw Claira teetering on a limb, twenty feet in the air as she reached for Con, he took off at a dead run. “Matt!” He cleared the first fence and sprinted for the second that stood between him and his boys. “Claira, don’t move!”

  Everything else from that moment on seemed to happen in excruciatingly slow motion. Con had stopped climbing about midway up and slipped, his shirt catching on a gnarled knot on the side of one of the smaller dead branches. Claira climbed up after him, her long, red skirt trailing behind her. She’d settled into the crook of the two main branches and was reaching out to grab him when a loud crack filled the air around them and she crashed to the ground below.

  Mason wasn’t sure where he’d come from, but Matt reached the base of the tree the same time he had. While Matt stopped to help Claira, Mason bolted up the tree trunk toward his sons. As he reached for Connor another crack sounded a few hundred yards away and chunks of tree bark exploded around his head. What the fuck! Someone was shooting at them!

  Without thinking, he grabbed a hold of Carson’s pant leg, yanking him down into his arms then lunged for Connor, grasping him around his waist as he leapt from the tree, landing in a tangle of arms and legs.

  “Ow! My arm!” Con screamed when Mason moved to cover him.

  Two more shots cracked around them, only these were louder and much closer than before. Mason gathered his boys beneath him and covered them the best he could as he looked up to see Matt holding Claira to his chest, covering her lifeless body with his own. God no!

  Mason looked to his left to see Grant rushing toward them, a black gun in his hand and a rifle swung over his shoulder. “Stay put and call an ambulance!” he ordered as he tossed his cellphone to him and jogged off toward the south pasture from where some of the shots had come.

  Mason scrambled to his knees, but kept hunched protectively over his boys, Connor still screaming and holding his arm. “Shh, Con, it’ll be okay. Daddy’s got ya and we’re going to get you to the hospital, buddy.”

  He looked over to Car as he dialed 9-1-1. Other than a few scratches and his wide eyes filled with shock, he seemed to be ok. “You ok, Car? Are you hurt anywhere? Talk to me!”

  Lying on the ground next to Con, Car held perfectly still as he stared at his twin. “I’m ok, daddy,” he whispered.

  Mason gave a brief rundown to the emergency operator before he dropped the phone and reached for Connor, pulling him into his arms. He heard Matt and Grey’s voices somewhere in the distance, but nothing seemed to be making sense except the sound of his son’s cries.

  He laid Con back onto the ground and tore his shirt open, running his hands over every bit of skin he could touch. No blood, no holes. He checked his scalp and then his legs. When he got to his arm, he groaned in both relief and sorrow. There was no blood, but he could see the odd angle of the bones below his elbow and a swollen lump beginning to form. His tiny limb was definitely broken.

  What seemed like an eternity passed before they heard the emergency sirens. Grey ducked and ran toward the house to meet them. He’d never felt so helpless in his whole damn life. He didn’t know what to do. Did he gather his boys and run? Grant had said to stay put, but he was gone. He didn’t know who the hell was shooting at them or if they were still out there.

  He held Con to his chest and pulled Car closer. Taking a chance, he slowly raised his head and saw Matt bent over Claira, doing something he couldn’t see through the tall grass that surrounded them. Had she been shot? He couldn’t see, damn it! She needed help! Con needed help! How the hell would the EMTs make it out this far if someone was shooting at them?

  ~*~*~*~*~

  Grant dropped back a step and stopped, closing his eyes to heighten his other senses to the woods surrounding him. One o’clock. He held his .45 close to his chest and crept silently toward his prey. This was easier than hunting deer with a spotlight. His gut told him that this wasn’t the threat he was sent to neutralize, but it was a threat all the same.

  Stupid fucker. Not many people had the balls to pull the trigger on another human being. He could say he was slightly impressed, but this had crazy written all over it. Crazy led to stupid.

  A round, balding head came into view as he crept up to an outcropping of rocks just inside the tree line. On the other side of the largest boulder, a middle-aged man paced back and forth, only his bobbing head visible.

  Grant held back a chuckle as a mental picture of a carnival game came to mind. Ducks. He laughed to himself. It was like playing ‘Duck Shot’. Little yellow ducks with bullseyes painted in the middle, traveling in a row across a big target board. Three shots in a row wins a prize! Grant closed his eyes and gave himself a mental shake. He needed to get this job done and get the fuck away from humanity.

  He studied his target a moment longer. The guy was nervous, talking to himself. This fucker was coo-coo for coco puffs, alright. He could take him out from here, but he might be useful alive, if nothing else but to confirm his target. It wouldn’t matter in the long run if things went to shit. His cover was blown to hell.

  Taking a deep breath, he tucked his pistol into the waistband at his back and sauntered out calmly from his hiding place.

  “Hey! What-cha huntin’?”

  Stupid Fucker stopped in his tracks. Judging by the crazed look on the man’s face, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see a s
tain of piss bloom down his pant leg. He didn’t appear to have any injuries, which pissed him the hell off. He’d been sure he’d gotten in at least one good flesh wound.

  A .38 revolver shook in the man’s right hand, his finger off the trigger. Beads of sweat dripped from the fucker’s face as he glanced to his right at the rifle leaning up against one of the rocks...four feet away from him.

  He didn’t answer Grant’s question, so he took another cautious step toward him and gestured to the woods behind them. “Great place to catch a buck. Saw some pretty deep tracks about thirty yards in. Thought that may be what you were shootin’ at.”

  Stupid Fucker stared blankly at him for a moment, then drew his arm up and aimed the revolver at his own bald head.

  “Don’t come any closer. I’ll pull the trigger!” Stupid Fucker shouted. This is where stupid turned to crazy. He didn’t know jack about this guy, yet he was supposed to care if he pulled the trigger? Normally Grant would help him out with a bullet, but easy didn’t seem to be on the agenda.

  Whatever. He didn’t have time for these kinds of games.

  Grant pulled his pistol around and raised it to Stupid Fucker’s face. The man’s beady eyes widened. He was shaking now, violently, but still didn’t have his finger on the trigger. What was left of his pasty-white coloring suddenly turned to putrid green.

  Yeah, you really shouldn’t play with guns.

  “You’ve got until I finish this sentence to either pull that trigger or drop the gun, or I’ll blow your head off for you.”