by D. L. Roan
What was wrong with him? He was supposed to be the cool, collected McLendon, but lately, he’d swear he was having a midlife crisis, or worse, turning into Grey. Nothing had shaken him like this since the day Gabby was shot when she first came to Falcon Ridge and he’d thought he’d lost her forever. And now he was supposed to leave her here, alone and possibly pregnant, to go to Texas?
“Mason,” she whispered, her lips so close to his neck her sweet breath tickled his skin. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“Hey, Son?”
Mason startled at the sound of his dad’s deep voice. “Papa Joe,” he stammered, clearing the tension in his throat.
“We’re headed upstairs to take a gander at that plumbing problem Grey mentioned, before we start dinner. You comin’?”
Mason waved him off. “You go ahead.”
He watched Joe and his other dads follow Grey up the stairs.
“I need to get back and help your mom plate the rest of the food,” Gabby said when they were gone. “Want some aspirin for that headache?”
Mason nodded, forcing his lips into a tight smile as he watched her walk away.
“Hey, Dad.” Jonah walked in carrying a gallon of paint. “Where am I supposed to set this?”
“What’s it for?” he asked.
“It’s paint for the nursery,” Pryce, his new son-in-law, said as he and their wife, Chloe, walked in behind Jonah.
“Hi, sir.” Pryce reached out to shake Mason’s hand.
Mason clasped it and pulled him into a hug. Gabby had told them about the scene at the doctor’s. As far as he was concerned, if Pryce loved Jonah, his place in this family was irrevocable, Grunion or not. “I’ve told you before. You can call me Dad or Mason.”
“Yes, sir.” Pryce gave him a jerky nod. “I mean, Mason,” he said with enough hesitation to make Mason regret giving him the choice.
“Does Gran want this on the table?” Jonah turned and asked Chloe, the paint can dangling from his fingers.
“That’s what she said.” Chloe shrugged.
“Why?” Mason asked, clearing a place in the center of the table for Jonah to set the odd centerpiece.
“It was her idea to reveal the baby’s gender,” Chloe continued, walking over to give Mason a quick hug before she made her way around the long table to their usual seats. “Hazel and I stopped at the hardware store on the way home to pick out the color.”
“Hmm.” Mason stared at the can, wondering for the first time since Matt found that ad on the computer what color it might be. He’d been so damn distracted about Gabby, he’d almost forgotten the reason for tonight’s family dinner. Our first grandchild. How was that possible?
Carson ambled in, a beer in each hand and Connor behind him, who dropped two tablets into Mason’s hand. “Mom told me to give these to you.”
“And this,” Carson said, handing one of the beers to him. “Though, depending on what those are, I’d be careful about mixing it with that.”
Mason ignored him and tossed the aspirin to the back of his throat, then chased them down with several large gulps of cold brew. At this point, he was ready to get the horse tranq kit from his truck. If not him, someone was going to need it before this night was over.
The sound of the front door slamming echoed down the hallway, followed by their youngest son Cory’s shouted, “Sorry! The wind caught it!”
A few seconds later, Papa Daniel walked by on his way to the kitchen with a handful of grocery bags. Cory and Uncle Cade filed into the dining room a few seconds later.
“I’ll be right back,” Cory said. “Gotta take a shower and change.”
“Thanks for the ride over,” Uncle Cade shouted after him as Cory bounded up the stairs.
Mason took another sip of his beer to hide his worried expression. Their uncle’s shirt and jeans, three sizes too big now, hung on his thinning frame. His once sharp eyes were glassy and dulled, most likely from the medication that had become more necessary over the last month to manage his pain. The cancer was really beginning to take hold, making it more difficult for everyone to ignore as Cade had requested.
Despite his discomfort, Cade smiled at Hazel when she appeared in the doorway, who stopped short when she saw her brother. “Hey, sis.” He offered to take the covered dish in her hands, but she skirted around him and set it on the table.
“Hi.” Hazel’s voice was barely audible, her back stiff as she gave Cade the coldest damn hug Mason had ever seen.
Puzzled at her frigid response, Mason stared after her as she left the room without another word. His mom had a fiery temper, especially when his dads got ornery, but she’d seemed fine moments earlier. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her so uncomfortable. If anything, she was always the first to speak her mind when something didn’t quite sit right with her way of thinking. He made a mental note to ask Gabby about it later. Maybe their wife had another secret she hadn’t shared with him and his brothers.
Uncle Cade didn’t seem phased by the cold reception. He shrugged and turned to greet the rest of the room’s occupants, pinning Carson with a raised brow. “Well, if it isn’t Carson McCockblocker,” he said with a smirk.
“Ha! Tell me about it,” Jonah laughed, casting Pryce a sideways glance before he gave Carson a hard shove. “Seriously, dude. You need to learn how to knock.”
Connor howled with laughter. “He got you, too?”
“I swear to God.” Carson plunked his beer down on the table with a huff. “I’m getting every one of you new door locks for Christmas and a video tutorial on how to use them.”
Oh shit. “What did he do now?” Mason asked Uncle Cade, grateful for the distraction from his mom’s odd behavior, and Cade’s increasingly frail appearance.
“You don’t want to know,” Uncle Cade grumbled.
“Well, soon you won’t have to worry about me walking in on anyone,” Carson said, giving his twin a retaliatory shove.
Mason laughed, the feeling a refreshing change. “You walked in on Uncle Cade and—”
“Shh!” Carson covered his ears. “I don’t need a recap!” he insisted, his face flushing beet red as he turned to Connor. “Can we leave for the tour tomorrow?” he mumbled under his breath.
Mason furrowed his brows, setting his beer on the table. “You decided to go on the tour?”
Connor nodded.
“Yea!” Chloe squealed from the other end of the table. “I was hoping Breezy would say yes.”
Mason clamped down on his bottom lip. He wished he shared Chloe’s enthusiasm. Instead, a rush of anxiety flushed through his veins as he thought about the recent violent headlines, the terror attack on an international concert stage in Europe, and another closer to home. He understood he couldn’t give credence to those things, and that Connor and Carson needed to do the occasional gig for their fans. He was happy their music career was still going strong, but that didn’t mean he didn’t worry. And Gabby always worried about them when they were on the road for extended tours. Granted, it had been years since they’d done anything like this, and it was a shorter tour by comparison, but if Gabby was pregnant, this would only add to her stress and possible complications.
Breezy walked in and stopped short when she saw Connor and Carson. “You told them, didn’t you?” she asked, setting a basket of hot bread rolls in front of Uncle Cade, the fresh, buttery scent filling the dining room.
“You said we could.” Connor reached for her hand.
Breezy gave him an irritated nod as he pulled her to his side. “As long as you keep your promise to drive between venues.”
“Still hate flying, huh?” Jonah asked around a hot roll he’d rudely sniped from the basket, eliciting a scowl from both Pryce and Chloe. “What?” He shrugged innocently. “I’m hungry.”
“No flying,” Carson promised with a reassuring kiss to Breezy’s hand, but judging by the skeptical look on her face, Carson’s charm was less than convincing.
Mason watched her annoyance change to w
orry as she glanced at Uncle Cade, before offering Chloe a strained smile. “The first show isn’t until next summer, though, so don’t worry. I won’t miss seeing our first n—”
“Don’t say it!” Chloe, Jonah, and Pryce shouted in unison.
Breezy slapped a hand over her mouth with a giggle. “Oh my God, I almost spoiled it!”
“Nonsense,” Uncle Cade chuckled. “Everyone already knows they’re having a girl.”
“Uncle Cade!” Jonah admonished.
Mason sucked in a breath. “Is it?” He grinned as an image of Dani in pigtails and little pink cowgirl boots skipped through his memories. “Is it a girl?” The very idea of a granddaughter made his chest ache.
“I’m not telling,” Chloe insisted with an attempted pout, but even she couldn’t stop grinning.
“Don’t pay any attention to me,” Uncle Cade said with a lazy chuckle. “I’m talking out my ass. It was a fifty-fifty shot. What do I know?”
“We’re not confirming or denying anything,” Pryce said.
“That’s the motto I live by.” Cory bounded back into the room and collapsed into the seat beside Uncle Cade. “Admit nothing, deny everything, and demand proof.”
“I taught you well, kid,” Uncle Cade said with an encouraging nudge.
Matt popped his head into the room with a knock on the wall to get everyone’s attention. “Last call for drinks.”
“I’ll take a water, no ice,” Uncle Cade requested.
“I’ve got yours right here.” Papa Daniel maneuvered around Matt, two glasses of water in each hand.
“You missed your calling, babe,” Uncle Cade joked as he took a glass, winking as Daniel took his seat beside him.
Gabby returned with another plate of food as the others in the room completed their drink order.
“You want tea, darlin’?” Matt asked Gabby as she fiddled with the table arrangement.
“No. Just water, please. I’m trying to cut back on caffeine.”
Mason arched a brow, catching Matt’s gaze over Gabby’s shoulder. No flying. No caffeine. The clues were adding up, and it was looking more and more like Matt might be right.
“Joe! Nate! Jake! Dinner!” Hazel called up the stairs, and in a few hurried minutes, everyone was settled in their seats, their heads bowed in prayer.
“Amen,” Papa Joe said, the word echoing around the table.
Papa Jake rubbed his hands together and snatched a roll from the basket. “Good bread, good meat, good God, let’s eat!”
The room erupted in laughter. Some, including Gran, rolled their eyes at Papa Jake’s cheesy, jocular supplement to Papa Joe’s more formal rendition of grace. The laughter continued as they passed each dish around the table, and then the room fell silent for a brief respite as everyone dug into the food on their plates.
Sitting beside him, Grey elbowed Mason’s arm. “Papa Jake said it will be a piece of cake to rerun that water line.”
“Is he going to help you do it?”
“Na.” Grey stabbed at the piece of prime rib on his plate. “Told me everything I need to know. I’ll get it moved in the morning.”
Mason pursed his lips and gave him a skeptical scowl. Thousand-to-one odds they’d be taking showers at their parents’ house tomorrow.
“I still can’t believe you took out that wall,” Gabby protested from her seat on the other side of Grey.
“Why not, babe?” Grey dropped his fork and slid his hand over Gabby’s thigh. “I think I’ll get the extra-large tub,” he whispered with a chuckle. “What do ya think?”
Gabby laughed and pushed his hand away. “At this rate, I think you might as well build one of those tiny houses in the back yard.”
“Don’t give him any ideas,” Matt grumbled from Gabby’s right.
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Papa Joe chimed in. “Turn it into a bunk house, or a huntin’ cabin when the grandkids get older.”
“Keep it up and you’ll be livin’ in that tiny house,” Gran warned him under her breath.
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Grey admitted.
“See what you started?” Gran elbowed Papa Joe, casting Gabby an apologetic glance.
His appetite lax in the wake of the day’s events, Mason picked at the food on his plate as a din of conversations ebbed and flowed around the table. He tried to follow along, but his jumbled thoughts kept him from contributing more than a nod or smile when appropriate.
He looked around the table at the three generations of family. He wanted to freeze the moment; capture this time in their lives and never let it go. He knew life didn’t work that way, but one day soon he would sit at this same table, look at the same faces, hear the same voices, yet everything would be different. One of them would be gone forever. He glanced at Uncle Cade. In a few short months, he would look around and see his grandchild, or maybe even a new child of his own, sitting in a highchair in Cade’s place.
“Dad, are you okay?”
Mason snapped his head up, giving Cory a tight grin before taking a sip of water. “I’m fine, son.” His head pounding, he pushed away from the table. “I just noticed we forgot to get something to open the paint can. I’ll fetch it from the kitchen.”
“Someone’s impatient,” Papa Jake teased him on his way out. “Haven’t seen him that excited since that Christmas we bought him and Matthew their first dirt bikes. What were you, then? Ten?”
“We were thirteen,” Matt corrected him. “And they weren’t dirt bikes. They were lame first-generation mopeds,” his brother railed.
Mason laughed at the memory he’d long forgotten as he opened the kitchen utility drawer and pulled out a flathead screwdriver, overhearing Papa Joe complaining that their mom wouldn’t allow them to buy the real dirt bikes.
“You remember those ridiculous helmets your mother made you wear?”
Unaware Papa Nate had followed him, Mason startled at the calm timbre of Papa Nate’s voice. The bottle of aspirin he’d been reaching for tumbled from the shelf onto the floor. Mason stooped to retrieve it. “Yeah,” he sighed, tapping another tablet into his palm. “You mean the ones we lost the day after Christmas?”
Papa Nate raised a brow, then opened the refrigerator door. “Lost, my ass,” he mumbled and grabbed a cold beer. “Joe and I found them in the back of the equipment shed, buried under a dozen bags of rock salt.”
Mason choked back a laugh, heat rushing to the tips of his ears. He’d forgotten about that, too. “And you didn’t tell Mom?”
“Nope.” Papa Nate twisted the cap off the bottle of beer and took a swig. “Those bikes didn’t have enough muscle to do too much damage. Here,” he said, handing Mason the beer. “You look like you need it more than I do.”
Mason took the bottle and washed down the additional aspirin, then handed the bottle back, but Papa Nate refused it.
“I only wanted a swallow. I can’t drink much these days.”
Mason could appreciate that. It had been a while since he’d had more than one himself. “Thanks.” He was headed back toward the dining room when Papa Nate snagged his arm. “What?” he asked when his dad didn’t say anything.
Nate hesitated a moment longer, but then let him go and leaned his hip against the counter. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” he asked, though he knew better. He might have been able to fool his other dads, but Papa Nate could always see right through him. “I just have a lot on my mind right now,” he finally said when his dad’s scrutinizing gaze grew too intense to ignore.
“I suppose we all do these days.” Nate crossed his arms over his chest, a sure sign he wasn’t going to let it drop.
Mason set his beer on the counter and mimicked his dad’s pose. “How did you do it?” he eventually asked with a shrug. Nate’s brows pinched together into a deep V, and Mason rambled on to clarify his question. “How did you, Joe and Jake get through…life.” He shook his head. That didn’t come out right. Finding the words to describe what was going o
n inside his head seemed impossible. “I mean, what did you do when we grew up? Moved out? Got married? Had our own kids?”
“Ah.” Papa Nate threw his head back with a chuckle. “That’s an easy one. We had a lot of sex.”
Ugh. Mason dropped his head, his headache flaring to nearly unbearable.
“Seriously,” Nate insisted with a flat tone. “We had a lot of years to catch up on.”
“I didn’t need to hear that,” Mason whined, regretting opening his big mouth, and swearing he’d never say that to his own kids. Ever.
Papa Nate clapped a hand on his shoulder, snapping him out of the battle against the barrage of unwanted images. “There’s no trick to this part of life, son,” he said with his usual stern expression. “The future comes one day at a time. Most of those days are unremarkable. They come, they go, and we never think of them again. But, some of those days, we hurt.” He raised his head and met Mason’s gaze. “We hurt badly.”
Mason knew what he meant. Losing their first wife was at the top of those painful days. Uncle Cade’s passing would soon be another.
“However, there will be many more days that bring you joy,” Nate added, gazing over Mason’s shoulder, his voice holding a whimsical quality he rarely heard from any of his fathers. “Those days hold the memories that numb the pain of the bad ones, and make you grin every time you think of them, no matter how long ago they happened.”
His dad’s words conjured the memory of the first time he set Connor and Carson on the back of a horse. They’d been no older than two, far too young to ride on their own, but he could already tell they were naturals. Like Papa Nate had said, he grinned at the memory of their adolescent laughter. The wondrous looks on their innocent faces when they tangled their little fingers into the horse’s mane for the first time. That memory had been branded into his soul, knowing he’d passed his passion down to his sons. Even if they hadn’t followed in his footsteps, he’d known then that a part of him would forever be a part of them.