Forever Falcon Ridge (The McLendon Family Saga Book 7)

by D. L. Roan

  “Easy boy.” Jackson uncoiled a rope and was tying it to the trailer’s back gate when Clay got his first look at what was inside.

  “Are you out of your motherfucking mind?” White-hot rage blazed through Clay’s veins as he crossed the remaining distance between him and his brother, burning through every ounce of control he had left.

  Like a freight train barreling down a straightaway, he drew back and punched Jackson square in the mouth, knocking him flat on his ass beside the trailer. Intent on making Jackson feel the same pain that had raged to life inside him, Clay followed Jackson down into the dirt, landing, blow after blow, until several pairs of steely arms banded around him and dragged him away.

  Stunned and bleeding, but clearly not down for the count, Jackson rolled to his feet and stumbled back into the light.

  “You selfish bastard!” Clay spat dirt from his mouth, struggling against whoever had a hold on him. He caught a profile in the light, recognizing Jenkins, the ranch hand who’d run off with Jackson. “Get your fuckin’ hands off me,” he growled, yanking free of Jenkins’ hold.

  Jackson leered at Clay as he swiped at the blood pouring from his nose. Clay smirked with satisfaction, having felt the bones break beneath his fist.

  “You wish I was a bastard, don’t you Clay?” Jackson slurred with a chuckle.

  “What in hell’s goin’ on out here?” Virgil’s voice called out from the shadows, stopping Clay in his tracks as he headed toward Jackson again, hellbent on finishing what he’d started.

  “Clayton?” Virgil stepped into the light, his thick hair disheveled from sleep, his pant legs bunched up at the top of his boots. “Jackson, what are you doin’ here?”

  “Go back inside, Pop,” Clay warned, hoping against hope, his dad would listen before he figured out what Jackson had done.

  The wild saddle bronc inside the trailer kicked again, slamming its hooves against the slats in a round of pent-up rage, sending a cloud of dust billowing into the beams of light from Jenkins’ truck.

  Clay’s gaze darted to his father. The pain he saw in Virgil’s eyes took Clay back to the worst day of his life, of all their lives. In an instant, he was transported back into the center of that rain-soaked corral, his mom’s body lying limp in the mud. He could still hear Virgil’s mournful, desperate cries.

  “You brought another bronc onto my ranch?” Virgil’s voice shook with anger and rage, as did his hand as he pointed an accusing finger at Jackson.

  “He’s a winner, Pop. Got good form and comes from good stock.”

  Clay stared at his younger brother in disbelief. Was he honestly trying to defend this?

  “I’m going to breed him,” Jackson declared, raising his chin in challenge, but never fully meeting Virgil’s gaze across the shadows.

  “We don’t breed rodeo stock,” Virgil ground out from between his teeth.

  “But with Levi’s help, we can,” Jackson argued. “I’ve got my eye on several more, bulls too, and I’m in good with the right people on all the circuits to get my foot in the door. I’ve even rounded up—”

  In the middle of Jackson’s argument, Virgil turned on his heels and marched toward his pickup truck parked in front of the house, leaving Jackson staring after him. Clay sighed in relief, glad to see him leave. The man’s blood pressure was probably through the roof by now. Clay took a step toward his brother, his fists balled at his sides, when he heard a feminine gasp from the shadows.

  Clay squinted into the darkness to see Dani standing at the corner of the main house, her eyes wide with shock. Damn Jackson to hell for this.

  The sound of a shotgun shell being racked into the chamber chilled Clay to the bone. He turned to see Virgil marching back through the darkness toward Jackson.

  “Pop, no!” He rushed to Virgil, but the old man shouldered past him. Genuine fear gripped Clay’s gut like a vice. Their dad had been forgiving, more forgiving than anyone of Jackson’s antics, which all paled in comparison to this, but surely, he wouldn’t shoot his own son. “What are you doin’, Pop?” Clay chased after him, putting himself between Jackson and their dad.

  “Clay, don’t!” Dani cried out, but Clay ignored her.

  “I’m doin’ what I should have done the first time.” Virgil stopped and leveled the gun at the horse trailer.

  “Whoa-whoa-whoa!” Jackson jumped in front of him, his hands raised in surrender, more concerned for the horse than himself. “You can’t shoot him!”

  “The hell I can’t. Now, get out of the way!”

  “Pop, no.” Clay gripped the shotgun barrel, forcing it toward the ground. “This isn’t the horse’s fault.” Relieved as he may be Jackson wasn’t the target, he still couldn’t stand by and let the animal be slaughtered in anger. “Let Jackson take him.”

  “Take him where?” Jackson demanded. “I have as much right to this ranch as you!”

  “Jackson,” Clay warned, his insides shaking.

  “Mom supported you!” Jackson shoved Clay and he stumbled back, but was so numb inside he had no will to fight back, not in front of Dani. “She taught you how to fly. Made sure you and Levi and Beau never gave up on your dreams! She would want me to do this!”

  “Your mother is dead!” Virgil spat.

  Jackson drew back as if he’d been slapped. He stared at Virgil unseeingly, and in those few seconds, Clay knew Jackson was reliving that day just as he had, but then he blinked, and the asshole version of his kid brother was back.

  “And there it is,” Jackson said with an incredulous huff. “After all these years, why don’t you just say it, Pop? Mom’s dead because of me.”

  Clay drew in a sharp breath. “Is that what you think?”

  “Isn’t that what you all think?” Jackson spat.

  “No!” Clay shook his head in immediate denial. He’d never blamed Jackson for that. “It was an accident!” A terrible, senseless tragedy.

  Virgil stared at Jackson through the dust and harsh light. Clay watched the anger drain from their dad’s eyes, resignation and regret taking its place.

  “Pop? Tell him it isn’t true.”

  Virgil lowered the shotgun. “Get this beast off my ranch,” he ordered Jackson, then turned and limped off toward the house.

  Clay stared after him until the darkness swallowed his dad’s retreating form, then turned back to his brother, who was still staring after Virgil, blood still dripping from his nose and mouth.

  “Jackson.” He reached out to his brother, but Jackson turned away. Confused and numb, inside and out, Clay couldn’t make his legs move to chase after him as he and Jenkins got into their trucks and left without another word, trailer in tow.

  Dani sat on the tailgate of Clay’s truck, looking up at the clear night sky, the stars like sugar strewn across a black velvet canvas. She couldn’t help but think of Uncle Cade and all the times he’d taken her and Jonah camping. After roasting hot dogs and s’mores on an open campfire, they’d pile up in the back of Cade’s pickup truck, no tent, just blankets and pillows, and Cade would tell them stories about the constellations. She thought about texting Uncle Cade, but her thoughts were still too scattered, racing to try and piece together what she’d just seen.

  She checked the time on her phone again, glancing over at the main house for any sign of Clay. Thirty minutes had passed since he’d asked her to wait there for him, and then went inside to check on Virgil. Thirty minutes that seemed like a lifetime.

  Having followed Clay outside, she’d seen and heard everything, but had more questions than ever. Whatever feud Clay had with Jackson, it was clearly no more settled than it had been her first night there. The pain she’d seen in Jackson’s eyes, and in Clay’s…the only time she’d seen that tortured look was in her own brothers’ eyes the night their girlfriend was killed in a tragic car accident. The same crash that had killed Breezy’s brother. Whatever was at the root of what she’d seen tonight, it ran deep, and despite her desire to help him, she knew from her own brothers and dads that Clay
would probably rather pull out his toenails than talk about it.

  Still, she’d never been more scared in her life than when Clay’d stepped in front of that shot gun. Her hands still shook. She may not know all the dating rules, but they’d made some sort of commitment before all hell had broken lose. She didn’t want to push him, but he owed her some sort of explanation if every time Jackson came around, Clay stood the chance of getting his head blown off.

  The familiar creak of a screen door opening and closing sounded in the distance. Dani glanced over to see Clay’s shadowy frame amble down the porch steps toward the truck. It was difficult to read his expression in the dark, but judging by the two beer bottles hanging between the fingers of each hand, either he wasn’t planning on doing much talking, or it was going to be a long conversation.

  “Hey.” She scooted over to give him room to sit beside her, then took the two bottles he silently offered her in return. “You okay?” She hadn’t seen any cuts on his face, but his knuckles on his right hand were an angry red.

  He didn’t answer. The truck bed dipped with his added weight as he slid onto the tailgate beside her, taking a long pull from his beer before he set it down and stared out into the darkness.

  “Is your dad okay?”

  Clay nodded. “I’m really sorry you had to see that.” He looked down at his boots, at hers, but never at her.

  She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing, reaching out to take his uninjured hand instead, entwining her fingers with his.

  Long quiet seconds turned into longer silent minutes, but when he did finally begin to talk, he didn’t stop.

  “I always wanted to fly, from as far back as I can remember. Our mom used to say I should have been born with wings.” His lips turned up into a grin, then turned down into a wavering frown. “Anyway,” he shook his head, “Beau always wanted to be an explorer, like Magellan or some shit, livin’ off the land, and Levi wanted to be a scientist.”

  Clay chuckled, leaning back on one hand and propping his boot heel on the edge of the tailgate. “I remember this one time, Levi and our mom made this ‘secret potion’. It was a putrid green shake of some kind and smelled horrible. Mom was probably tryin’ to get him to eat his vegetables, but Levi believed every word of the nonsensical spell they’d said and drank the whole thing. It turned his tongue green and mom convinced him it was because the potion was working. Believing he’d wake up the next mornin’ as the Hulk, he refused to even wear pajamas to bed that night, but when it didn’t happen, he refused to brush his teeth for two days, convinced he was having a delayed reaction.”

  Dani laughed. “Sounds like Levi and my Uncle Cade would get along great,” she said. “He and Papa Daniel are huge comic book fans.”

  Clay’s smile never reached his eyes before he tipped back his bottle and took another drink.

  “Then there’s Jackson,” he continued after his last swallow, his expression twisting with the same deep sadness she’d seen before, his shoulders slumping forward. “Jackson wanted to be a rodeo cowboy, champion saddle bronc rider to be exact. Still does to this day.”

  That explained the wild horse in the trailer. Even growing up on a ranch and participating in the local rodeos, she’d never understood the desire some cowboys had to strap themselves to a fifteen-hundred-pound raging beast.

  Clay pushed up and braced his hands on the edge of the tailgate, drawing in a deep breath before he continued. “Our mom, who taught me how to fly, and took Beau on survival camping trips, and bought Levi his first chemistry set, wanted no less for Jackson. She knew nothin’ about broncin’ horses, so she read every book she could get her hands on, and went to every rodeo with him, and for his fourteenth birthday, hired a competition rider to give him lessons. She even tried it herself once.”

  “Wow.” Dani crossed her legs under her and took the first drink of her beer, wincing as the cold brew fizzled against the back of her throat. “Your mom was a brave woman.”

  “She was amazing. Beautiful. Headstrong and independent.” Clay said. This time his smile did reach his eyes, and she could see his dimples even in the dark. “You remind me a lot of her.”

  The generous compliment left Dani feeling awkward and unsure how to respond. She’d never thought of herself as particularly brave, except when she was around him. She’d have never climbed that turbine if he hadn’t been there, or have flown in a prop plane, or come to Texas at all. She’d have been just as happy on Falcon Ridge, having never known the difference. But now…

  “One day,” Clay continued, “the man who was trainin’ Jackson brought one of his broncs out to the ranch. Jackson wanted Pop to see him ride, and anyone else who’d watch him.” Clay snickered. “Pop took one look at the animal and ordered the guy to take it back to whatever hell it came from. And he was right. There was somethin’ off about that horse. It had a screw loose, somethin’ more than just bein’ unpredictable. There was a mean streak in him a mile wide. But Jackson begged, and Mom and Pop argued until Pop finally gave in.”

  A sinking feeling stirred to life in Dani’s gut.

  “One day turned into two. The horse was still here a week later. Jackson worked with him every day, but that horse just got crazier and meaner. It kicked down half the damn corral within days, kicked out slats in the barn, busted the lock on his stall door. Jackson got trapped inside with him one day and it kicked him in the stomach.”

  Dani sucked in a sharp breath.

  Clay scratched his eyebrow, then downed the rest of his first beer, twisting the cap off the second with a wince. He shook out the pain in his hand, then took another long swig.

  “Pop had had enough. He called the guy who owned the bronc and told him to come get the damn horse or he was gonna shoot him. There was a big fight at the dinner table that night. Slammin’ doors and all.” Clay shook his head. “Pop wouldn’t budge, though. The owner was supposed to come the next day to pick the bronc up, but there was a big thunderstorm that mornin’. A real soaker, lots of lightning, flooded half the roads in hours and the horse trailer got bogged down and stuck on the way here.”

  Dani’s imagination began filling in the blanks, but the scenarios she was coming up with—all of them bad—couldn’t have prepared her for what he was about to say next.

  “A big tree had fallen over and took out a big chunk of fence with it. All the horses in the field were spooked and runnin’, some of them jumpin’ the broken fence. The bronc had been locked up in the barn, but managed to unlatch the stall door somehow and was runnin’ loose with the others. Jackson ran out into the storm to try to catch him, Mom runnin’ behind him, yellin’ for him to get back inside. But Jackson…he wouldn’t listen.” Clay ground out the last words with a frustrated growl.

  “We managed to get a lead on the horse and wrangle him into a stock corral, but a bolt of lightning hit close, and the bronc spooked. He had Jackson pinned up against the railing in a blink and our mom…she, um…she shoved herself between him and the bronc and…”

  The brokenness in Clay’s voice brought tears to Dani’s eyes. She laid a cautious hand on Clay’s back. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

  Clay shook his head, but didn’t continue. He was silent for a long while, staring at the ground, his shoulders rising and falling in an erratic rhythm. Dani sat in silence with him, afraid to move or speak lest she say the wrong thing. The air was still, the only sounds those of the night, strange birds and other desert wildlife she didn’t recognize.

  She startled when he sucked in a deep breath and gazed up to the sky, releasing it with a low keening groan. “The bronc kicked her,” he blurted out quickly, as if he didn’t the words would escape him. “Snapped her neck. She died instantly.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Sunlight was just beginning to leach into the morning sky as Clay stood over the coffee pot, his eyelids heavy, waiting for the gurgle that signaled the morning brew was done. His whole body ached. Bruises had formed over his ribs where Jacks
on had gotten in a few good jabs. The swelling in his knuckles had gone down, but the bones in his wrist crackled like a bonfire when he rotated it. And his thighs and glutes were tight as hell, no doubt from climbing the turbine the day before, as well as his extracurricular activities with Dani.

  Despite the clusterfuck that had happened the night before, the corner of his mouth ticked up into a satisfied grin. She’d been fast asleep when he’d slid soundlessly from the bed earlier, too peaceful to disturb, though he’d sure as hell been tempted. Making love to her was like no other kind of heaven, but he’d already demanded more of her than he should have.

  He hadn’t planned on making love to her when they’d gone to bed. The adrenaline dump after his fight with Jackson, and reliving the worst day of his life, had left him drained, but sometime in the middle of the night their bodies had come together in a half-conscious haze of sleepy desire. If it weren’t for the spent condom he’d found on the floor that morning, he would have thought it just another in a long line of wet dreams he’d had since meeting her.

  “You gonna drink that or stare at it all day?”

  Clay turned at the sound of Virgil’s deep voice, narrowing his eyes when he saw the sweat stains already forming on his work shirt. “Care to explain why you’re up so early workin’ when the doctor clearly said you needed more rest?” he asked with a raised brow. He didn’t like to harp on the old man, but it was clear he hadn’t slept a wink.

  “Nope,” Virgil grumbled. “Care to explain the tire marks runnin’ through my yard, which happen to stop at the guesthouse front door?” Virgil grinned as he took a seat at the breakfast table with his tablet and began scrolling through the day’s herd stats.

  “Nope.” Clay scrubbed a hand over his face and grabbed the carafe, filling his cup before offering some to his dad.

  “Na.” Virgil waved him off. “Already had my two-cup quota for the day.”

  Clay leaned against the counter, considering his dad as he took a sip of coffee. His shoulders, usually broad and proud, seemed slighter somehow as he slumped over the screen. It looked as if the events of the night had visibly taken another year or two off the man’s life. Damn Jackson for being such an asshole.