by BJ Wane
“Like Leland has with everyone, including me.”
She chuckled and gave his arm a slight push. “Go, take care of your horse and I’ll tell him you’ll be in shortly.”
Kurt drove around to the stables where they housed the Thoroughbreds and ushered Atlas out of the trailer. With a coat color somewhere between white and tan and white tail and mane, the stallion was a striking animal and one he’d grown fond of since buying him six years ago. Spending time riding Atlas every day instead of having to settle for weekends at the boarding stables was one of the perks of returning to the ranch he was looking forward to most.
“Here you go, boy.” Opening the gate into the pasture behind the stable, he unhooked the lead from his halter and slapped his rump. Atlas took off at an exuberant gallop and it was a pleasure watching his enthusiastic acceptance of his new surroundings. He found a small group of other horses and after a few nips and head butts to establish territory, everyone seemed to get along. With a sigh of inevitability, Kurt turned toward the house and strode across the lawn to check in with his parent before unpacking.
He could hear Leland’s brittle tone as he veered toward the master bedroom suite on the south side of the house. Reaching the double doors to his parent’s room, he pushed one open and saw him sitting in a wheelchair facing the wide window where he must have watched him walking from the stable. Kurt cut a quick glance toward Cory, his father’s private aide, who gave him a welcoming smile.
“Sir, it’s good to see you again. Mr. Wilcox is happy you’ve come back to stay.”
Shaking his hand, Kurt glanced at Leland with a lifted brow. “Is that so? Nice to see you again, too, Cory. Dad, have you been giving him a hard time?”
Leland grunted. “Boy’s always pestering me to do more. Man can’t even get any peace in his own damn room. You’re late.”
“So I am,” he returned without an explanation. Leland’s frail appearance jolted Kurt, kept him rooted in place for a moment as he took in the lost weight and the lack of muscle tone in his right arm and leg. So much for hoping for more progress by this time. “Babs said the doctor will be here soon. Anything you want to tell me before he gets his say.” Nodding to Cory, he waited until the younger man slipped out before padding over to the man who, for the first time, looked all of his seventy-two years. His mother had been ten years younger than Leland, and yet, had still died in her mid-forties of a cancer all their money couldn’t buy off.
“He’s okay, he lectures but knows when to quit, unlike Cory.” Leland scowled, irritation flashing in his eyes. “That young therapist is a thorn in my side. You know her, she married one of the Dunbar boys.”
“I heard last year, Connor and Cade held a double wedding. I was sorry I couldn’t make it.” As much as he’d wanted to attend his friends’ wedding, he couldn’t get away from Houston in July. Having spent two weeks here the Christmas before, he’d had a chance to meet Sydney, Cade’s wife, and he remembered Tamara from years ago as a cute kid who had eyes only for her neighbor, Connor. The Dunbars lucked out with those girls, both of whom proved to enjoy their dominant control as much as spending time at their private club, The Barn.
Leland snorted again. “About as sorry as you are for taking off in the first place. Your choice.”
Kurt couldn’t keep from flicking a glance at the ten-by-ten picture of Brittany sitting on the small bedside table with some of her collectible knickknacks surrounding it. His tone carried an edge of warning as he returned his gaze to his father and said, “I’m not going down that road again. You’re dealing with a lot, I get that, Dad, and I’m willing to do all I can to ease your burden in running the ranch and help you recover, but I will not rehash Brittany’s death or let you continue blaming me. Understood?” He’d decided to pull off the gloves first thing regarding his father’s health and any accusations about the drunken car accident that had taken his twenty-year-old sister’s life along with three others.
Leland’s face clouded with sorrow, his dark eyes shifting from Kurt to out the window and the small, fenced family plot up on a hill. His grandparents, uncle and aunt, mother and sister were buried there, resting, he hoped, in peace.
“I saw you unloading a quarter horse. Nice looking animal.”
Kurt shook his head, as if he hadn’t heard him right. “Not the response I was expecting. What gives?”
“People change, Kurt, and sometimes life throws you a curve ball that knocks you in the head and wakes you up to a few things.” He waved his hand without looking at him. “Go, get settled back in. We’ll talk again when the doc gets here.”
Reaching out to him for the first time, he squeezed Leland’s unaffected shoulder, the muscle bulk a small relief. At least he wasn’t letting his good side deteriorate along with the weak side. “Give me an hour.” He turned to go, but swiveled his head to say, “His name is Atlas. Maybe, when you’re ready, we can go for a ride. I’ve heard that can be good therapy.”
“Don’t push it, boy,” he growled and Kurt felt better at the return of his disagreeable attitude. It had been so long since he’d seen his accommodating side, he didn’t know how to handle it.
As he started hauling his things in from the truck, Kurt listened to Babs bustling in the kitchen and smelled something good as he veered down the hall opposite the one leading to his father’s quarters. Four rooms, each with a private bath, were in the east wing of the six thousand square foot house, his room since birth the first one on the right. His sister’s across the hall remained closed and he knew, if he were to peek inside, it would look the same as it had almost ten years ago when she’d died. That closed door bothered him as much as the shrine arranged on a table next to the fireplace, right below the big screened television in the den. You couldn’t watch TV without her eleven by fourteen inch picture surrounded by the ceramic animals she loved to collect filling your peripheral vision. Her smiling face tugged on his conscience, and his heart.
Grief he understood. Hadn’t he succumbed to that emotion upon hearing about the accident that had ended four young lives? Following their mother’s death three years earlier, Brittany had turned to alcohol and drugs for solace instead of to him or Leland. He’d tried, God knows how hard he’d tried to straighten her out, get her help and counseling, but nothing stuck. Their father was too awash in his own heartbreak to do anything except tell him to watch out for his sister, and then blame him every time she resorted to her wild ways.
Setting his two largest bags on the bed, he refused to rehash the two years he’d tolerated his father’s constant blame following Brittany’s death. When he’d made the decision to return home to take over the ranch he’d been groomed to run since childhood, as well as take care of Leland, he’d vowed to let the past go. Now, if only his parent would come around, they might salvage something of their relationship that, at one time, had been very good.
By the time Kurt was putting away the last of his clothes, he heard a car door shut from his open window. Looking out, he saw a tall man with salt and pepper hair and matching goatee carrying a black bag and striding up to the porch. Beating Babs to the front door, he smiled at the short, round woman who tried scowling but couldn’t quite pull it off.
“I’ve got it, Babs. I believe it’s the doctor.”
“I know, that’s why I was in such a rush. I may be pushing sixty, but I’ve got eyes and that Dr. Hoffstetter is as much man candy as you.” She wiggled her eyebrows with a smirk.
Shaking his head, he shooed her back, grabbing for the door handle. “Go finish lunch. I’ll invite him to stay.”
“On it, but don’t take long. We’re having fajita chicken salad.”
Opening the door, Kurt tried not thinking about marinated chicken tossed with black beans and homemade barbeque ranch dressing, one of his favorites. “Dr. Mitchell Hoffstetter.” He held out his hand. “Kurt Wilcox, Leland’s son.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you.” Shaking his hand, the doctor removed his Stetson as he entered. “And
no, I didn’t believe half of it.”
Kurt liked him already. “Smart man. You can tell me over lunch what you do believe. It’s been a while since I’ve visited Willow Springs, but I know the town must be grateful for another doctor.”
They turned together toward the hall leading to Leland’s rooms. “It’s a nice place, smaller than I’m used to, but the slower pace suits me. Your father is doing well, but could do better.”
“That’s just one of the reasons I’m back to stay. With luck, I can help there. I may not be his favorite person, but he’ll listen just to get me off his back.” It still hurt, even after all this time, to think he might never measure up in his father’s eyes again.
Mitchell flicked him a scrutinizing look. “I think you underestimate his feelings for you. I saw his face when he got your call saying you were coming home. I made it my business to do a little digging into your family. You two had it rough losing two family members so close together.” A spasm of sorrow crossed his face and darkened his eyes before he cleared his expression. “I’m sorry, I know how difficult that must have been.”
Kurt caught the fleeting glimpse of sadness; it was a similar look of heartbreak he’d seen reflected on Leslie’s face, in her blue eyes. Like her, this man seemed to want to hide his own painful loss, and he gave him the respect of not prying. “It was, and likely still will be since Leland deals with part of his grief by blaming me for my sister’s recklessness that led to her death.” He figured airing the dirty laundry was best if the doctor planned to stay this diligent in his care for his contrary patient. “I’ll work with him the best I can, that’s all I can promise.” With a short rap, he entered the bedroom. “Dad, Doc’s here.”
Kurt stood off to the side while Mitchell did a quick vitals check and made notes before asking Leland how much he was getting out of the chair.
“That girl is a ball buster,” Leland snapped, but Kurt noticed the softening of his face when he mentioned Tamara, the physical therapist and his friend, Connor’s wife. “Always carrying on about gettin’ up, gettin’ movin’.”
“That’s the only way you’ll get your strength back, what’s possible anyway. You keep sitting around on your butt, you can forget ever sitting on a horse again,” Mitchell told him with a bluntness Kurt approved of. Better than anyone else, he knew that was the best way to handle his dad and it appeared it hadn’t taken the doc long to learn that.
“If you’d spend less time giving everyone a hard time and put that effort into your therapy, I can clear you for more activity outside the house that much sooner. The choice is yours.” Mitchell softened the lecture by patting Leland’s shoulder as he pushed to his feet. “Can I tell Mrs. Dunbar to step it up a notch this week?”
Leland cut a quick glance toward Kurt before replying, “Sure. Now that I can rely on my boy to handle things, I can concentrate on myself.”
“If you’re trying to shame me for staying away, you should know by now it won’t work,” Kurt retorted. “But the reason for that will remain tabled. I have a lot to do, as you just pointed out.” Pivoting, he left as Cory returned for the doctor’s instructions.
Veering into the kitchen, he asked Babs, “I’m sorry. I should have asked if you had enough to include the doctor for lunch.”
“Already planned on him, so yes.”
She waved her hand toward the two place settings on a round, six seat kitchen table under a bay window that offered a sweeping view of their manicured green backyard bordered by low hedges of Taunting Spreading yews. The evergreen foliage of short, dark green needles offered color when the grass died and tolerated winter burn, making it just one of the markers they could rely on when they were forced to deal with chores during the snow season. It had taken Kurt just one time getting disoriented and turned around when he’d tried to find his way from the farthest barn back to the house during a white-out to never make the mistake of not heeding the safety markers around the ranch again. He’d been all of eight years old and had paid the price for disobeying the foreman’s instructions to wait for him before heading back. Later, after he’d spent almost an hour lost, came close to succumbing to hypothermia, got his butt blistered and saw tears in his father’s eyes for the first time, he realized how lucky he’d been.
For a bad memory, that poignant moment when he’d seen his father’s vulnerability when it came to his love for his family was forever seared in his heart. If only Leland could see past his grief over losing both Angela and Brittany long enough to acknowledge his sister, and her inability to cope with their mother’s death, was to blame for the events that led up to that car accident. Kurt was no psychologist but suspected his father’s difficult struggle with Angela’s death hadn’t helped Brittany cope, and then to turn her over to Kurt to handle when she lashed out compounded the volatile tenseness they all lived under.
Babs laid her hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to the present. “He’s perked up these past weeks, since hearing you were coming back to stay. It won’t be like before, Kurt. I just know it, and he’s changed since the stroke, mellowed, believe it or not, since he’s had time to reflect on his mistakes.”
“Let’s hope you’re right, because I’m in no mood to return to a constant pissing match with him. I can fulfill my obligations to the ranch from another house, if it comes to that.”
“Save that threat for when it’ll do the most good,” Mitchell said, entering the kitchen. “I’ve seen a change in him lately, one that gives me hope for a fuller recovery. That smells good, if your offer for lunch is still open.”
Kurt nodded. “It is. Have a seat.”
“You too.” Babs pushed Kurt toward the table when he made to help her dish out the salad.
“I can see she’s not a woman to argue with.” Mitchell’s mouth curled, softening his rugged features as he slid into a chair.
“No, definitely not if you want to get fed. Dad’s checkup pass the muster?”
“It did.” The doctor nodded his thanks as Babs set a large bowl in front of each of them, along with chips and salsa. “I’ll take Mr. Wilcox and Cory theirs then head home for a few hours. See you at dinner.”
“Thanks, Babs.” Kurt sent her a grateful smile, knowing she was giving him a private moment with the doctor and time to settle back in. They discussed Leland’s health, a game plan for therapy and prognosis as they ate, the doctor’s detailed suggestions and schedule affording Kurt hope his dad would enjoy another ten healthy, if not as robust years.
“That all sounds good,” he commented, refilling their iced tea glasses. “I’ll see he keeps to the schedule and start bringing him in for checkups, and therapy if needed. We can’t expect Tamara to keep coming out here.”
Mitchell hesitated before asking with seeming nonchalance, “Do you know her and her husband well?”
“The Dunbars? Yes, Caden a little better than Connor as he and I went through high school together. I hung out with both of them some, along with Grayson Monroe before I moved to Houston. Why do you ask?”
Shoving back, Mitchell crossed one ankle over his opposite knee and pinned Kurt with a direct look. “If you know them that well, I’ll assume you’ve heard about a private club they own.”
“The Barn.” Kurt cocked his head, sizing Mitchell up, reading between the lines. “Are you interested as an experienced Dom or for checking out the lifestyle?”
“So, I guessed right. You’re a member?”
“Not officially. They opened the place a few years after I left. I’ve attended as a guest numerous times since then, whenever I’ve made the trip back, but never joined. I planned to discuss it with Caden this week. We’re getting together at the diner for dinner on Thursday. Care to join us?”
He huffed a rueful laugh. “That was easy enough. Thank you, yes. And to answer your previous question, I’ve been a player since my twenties, married my third sub and we were members of a club in Denver for ten years.”
Kurt frowned, glanced at his bare ring finger and lift
ed an inquiring brow. “Divorced?”
“Widowed,” he returned curtly. “Two years now. I just turned forty-two, she died of ovarian cancer. No kids.” He shrugged. “I figured I’d save you from either asking or speculating. I also figure you have an inkling of how difficult it’s been, given your own losses.”
“I’m sorry, and yes, I do. A spouse, though, is a different, more intimate relationship than a sister or parent. Especially, I imagine, when you are lucky enough to enjoy a Dom/sub lifestyle together.” Unbidden, Leslie’s face popped into his head, her features etched with emotional pain, and he wondered if she had lost someone, or had anyone else to fill the void. Maybe not, since she had chosen to ease her pain and loneliness with a one-night stand with him. Since it would be a waste of time mulling over questions about last night, he shoved aside those thoughts. She’d intrigued him, had drawn on his protective instincts as much as his dominant cravings more than anyone else, but the odds of seeing her again were minimal, at best.
“No experience in commitment yourself?” Mitchell inquired.
“Not yet, and at forty, it’s not likely to happen. Although, the Dunbars’ marriages just last year came unexpectedly, so anything’s possible.” Rising, they rinsed their dishes and Kurt walked him out, saying, “I’ll meet you at the diner, say six-thirty. Does that work for you?”
“It does, thanks.” Mitchell jerked his head toward the house as he opened the truck door. “Good luck with your old man.”
“I’m going to need it.”
How could I have been so stupid? Leslie lost count of how many times she asked herself that question by the time she sat down to dinner Saturday evening. Due to her hangover, food hadn’t appealed to her all day until now. If she could just quit rehashing her idiocy of the night before, she would enjoy the plate of shrimp linguini sitting before her.
With a sigh, she twirled the pasta on her fork and admitted for the hundredth time she should never had let her melancholy mood get the better of her, for all the good that did. As if relocating from Reno, the only place she’d ever lived, to Billings, Montana hadn’t been enough to adjust to three and a half years ago, giving up all contact with her sister and friends had turned out to be an even bigger sacrifice than she’d imagined. Her sister’s tear-filled, devastated voice when Leslie broke down and explained how a threat from the defendant’s rich father following her damning testimony jeopardized her safety would be forever etched in her mind. Despite the eight-year gap in their ages and the fact Roslyn lived in Canada and she didn’t get to see her much, she missed talking to her and her sons desperately.
