He picked up her hand from the table and kissed the back, then reached over with his free hand to pluck Ariel’s from her lap and held it, too.
“That’s why this afternoon happened,” he continued where Mandy had left off, “although we hadn’t planned for it to happen the moment we arrived. We were thinking we’d wait until the day after Christmas, let everyone enjoy the holiday in peace before we put Joe to the test, but as usual, events unfolded in their own time.”
Looking puzzled, Ariel asked, “What happened this afternoon?”
Hake winced dramatically. “You’ve forgotten it already? I must be losing my roleplaying mojo.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Her cheeks were rosy but she was smiling. “Trust me, I haven’t forgotten anything about that part of this afternoon.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He kissed the back of her hand. “But there was more going on than you were aware of, sweet girl. Mandy wanted to give you that role-play fantasy before we started the dialogue about the baby because there was a very real possibility we wouldn’t have a chance to do it afterward. We both knew the baby might be a barrier to our continuing as a group, and we wanted to do everything we could to cement the bonds between all of us ahead of time.”
Everything suddenly clicked into place for Brent. “I knew it. You were staking a claim, weren’t you?”
“I was declaring my love and making a commitment,” Hake corrected. “To all of you. You’re my cousin, Brent, so you were already stuck with me, but I wanted it clear that Joe and Ariel are mine the way Mandy is yours. The three of you have your own relationship, and I’ve kept my dick out of both of them for the last year—and Joe’s dick out of me—to give it time to take root, but this baby created its own deadline and I had to go with it. I think it’s obvious we all belong together, and I won’t let this relationship go down without one hell of a fight. That fight starts with Joe.”
“Thank God.” Brent sagged in his chair as most of the tension drained out of him. “I don’t think I can keep him from leaving by myself. It’s been brewing for months, maybe even since the beginning, and I’ve felt things trying to come to a head for weeks. This was just the excuse he was waiting for to run away from what we’ve got going. Sometimes it seems like he’s got more muscles than brains.”
“Which would be fun under any other circumstances,” Mandy said with a half-hearted grin.
Chuckling, Brent finally put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “Yes, it would.”
Hake pulled a visibly trembling Ariel around the corner of the table to sit on his lap and planted a kiss on her temple. “So Brent, you’re good with this?”
“Ariel Jane’s got plenty of love to spare, so yes, I’m good with it if she is.”
“I’m totally good with it,” Ariel told Brent softly, that love shining in her eyes—along with worry. “You won’t let Joe go?”
“Not if there’s anything I can do to stop him. Though we’re going to need a bigger bed,” he added with a grin.
Hake shook his head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There are too many unknowns right now, and we’ve all got some talking to do and decisions to make.”
“And Joes to hammer some sense into,” Brent said grimly.
“No time like the present.” Hake nudged Ariel off his lap and then stood. “Why don’t you girls keep each other company in the master bedroom tonight while we work on Joe.”
Exchanging a tentative smile with Ariel, Mandy said, “We can do that.”
Chapter Eight
The minute he stepped out the side door of the garage, Joe wished he’d put on his coveralls. The snow was flying sideways, so heavily he could hardly make out the sodium-vapor lamp on the machine shed across the road.
Committed now, he pulled the hood of his jacket down and hunched his shoulders against the wind-driven snow as he trudged down the driveway in the dark. Judging by the intermittent drifts he waded through, it must have snowed a good four or five inches already. At this rate they’d be snowed in by morning. AJ and Mandy would be thrilled, but the idea had Joe’s skin itching again—it felt like it had grown too tight to contain his body today, like he was about to burst from its confines in a fit of fear-driven angst and leave it in a gory pile in the snow. He had to have a way out.
When he reached the shed, he opened the walk-in door and flipped on the lights, stomping hard on the rubber mat to knock the snow off his boots. Then he leaned down and brushed off the fine coating of snow on his jeans, leaving them slightly damp.
The first order of business was plugging in the 210’s engine block heater and clearing a path to the snow blade so he could start plowing as soon as the wind died down tomorrow. The maintainer didn’t usually make it by here the first day after a big storm and right now he needed to be able to drive away. In fact, he might just call up Dykstra in the morning and see if they had a long-haul load for him. He’d kept the semi tuned up and ready to go, in case he couldn’t take being home-bound all winter—he just hadn’t expected to need it this quickly.
After he’d plugged in the engine heater on the semi too, he made his way across the shed’s pristine concrete floor to their newly finished, insulated workshop. It was warm enough inside for him to leave off his coat so he went straight to his workbench and started sanding the pieces of AJ’s second quilt rack by hand with fine-grit paper to take his mind off his growing feeling of doom.
His tension gradually ebbed, as it always did when he worked with hardwoods. Not only were they beautiful and durable, but they came in fascinating grains and textures that he loved to bring out in his carpentry projects. He had plans for a number of projects over the winter, including Adirondack chairs and a replica of his mother’s antique dry sink that he’d been stupid enough to sell for a song when he and Caroline split. But if he wasn’t going to be here to finish them…
He drowned out the thought, if not the pain it caused, by cleaning up the fine sawdust with the shop vac and then turned his attention to gluing and clamping the rack’s pieces together. The glue would have to dry overnight before he could apply stain and a clear finish, so he set it aside, wondering what he could work on now that would keep his hands and his mind busy but not require more than a few hours to finish.
A vision of a cradle came to mind, and Joe flinched. Dammit, just what he was working so hard not to think about.
Besides, he didn’t need to make another cradle when he already had…
All Joe’s breath left him like he’d been punched in the gut, and when he finally inhaled sharply, he could feel his ragged heartbeat in his throat. Dear God, could he do it? Could he open that box and put his hands on the first thing he’d ever made for his son, the only one he’d saved for himself when he and Caroline disposed of sixteen years’ worth of possessions along with their marriage?
Joe didn’t give himself time to think about it. He walked out the door, around the side of the workshop and straight up the raw pine steps to the open storage area above. There wasn’t much up here, just the few boxes he hadn’t quite been able to part with over the years. The one he was after sat right at the end, and like all of them, it was free of damage from pests—he was always careful to keep mouse bait nearby.
Brushing a couple years’ worth of country dust off the top with his hand, he scooped up the box and carried it downstairs. When he knelt beside it on the workshop’s low-pile gray carpet and reached for the packing tape sealing it shut, his hands shook. Part of the box’s outer flaps peeled away with the tape, but inside, the unbleached packing paper lay undisturbed.
He took a deep breath and pulled it all out to reveal the cradle.
It looked just the same, if a little smaller than he remembered—but then he’d always felt that way after Travis outgrew it and moved to a crib at six months. His chest hollowed with longing at the memory, and yet an echo of long-ago joy reverberated through him as he ran his hands over the smooth cherry-stained oak.
The last time Joe ha
d actually seen it, three-year-old Travis had found it in their storage room when Caroline was in there looking for the Christmas decorations. When he discovered his daddy had made it for him, he wouldn’t rest until Joe put it back in his room. That evening, an hour before bedtime, Joe had found him already dressed in his Buzz Lightyear pajamas and trying to squeeze into the cradle with his pillow and Toy Story blanket.
This time the memory startled a laugh out of him.
And then made him lay his body over the box and weep.
Chapter Nine
Well this didn’t look good—Joe already had his escape plan lined up and ready to execute.
Brent’s stomach churned as he and Hake inspected Joe’s preparations for a quick departure. They were going to have to make some serious dents in his fucked-up belief system. Or his head. “We could just slash all his tires.”
“Taking the keys would be cheaper,” Hake said laconically.
Brent raised his brows. “For him. If cleaning out his bank accounts is what it takes to keep him here, I’m all for it.”
“Just the same, let’s save that as a last resort, okay?”
Brent shrugged. “Whatever it takes.”
They’d given Joe a half-hour to cool down and come back in, but when he didn’t return, Brent figured he’d come over here to work on one of his projects. By the time they followed him across the road, his tracks in the snow had all but disappeared. The way the wind was blowing, they could have six-foot drifts by morning. Joe would have a hell of a plowing job on his hands if he wanted out that badly—he’d have to take the tractor all the way to the interstate five miles away.
“Think he needs another fight?” Hake asked.
Brent winced, remembering the last time he and Joe had gotten into a physical confrontation. He’d let Joe goad him into starting it, and then Joe had finished it with humiliating ease—right before he fucked Brent’s ass for the first time. The whole thing had been painful, from beginning to end, but he didn’t know that he’d change any of it if he could because it had finally opened Joe up emotionally. “He might.”
“Unless you object, I’m gonna top him.”
Brent would be up for anything right now if it kept Joe from leaving. “He could definitely use it,” he told Hake. “His control issues are rearing their ugly heads again.”
Hake just nodded, and Brent knew he could relate. They both could. Farming wasn’t a career for control freaks—you had to learn where the line was between what you could control and what was out of your hands, and just accept it. Prepare for it. Do what you could to capitalize on it when things went your way and mitigate the damage when they didn’t. Gnashing your teeth over things like grain prices and weather forecasts didn’t gain you anything except worn-down teeth.
Joe had learned that lesson long ago about farming, and the state of the nation, and he could even pinpoint where other people had control issues in their personal lives. But when it came to his own personal life, he had zero objectivity. Of course, it was always easier to see the flaws in other people’s reasoning than it was in your own—there was no mirror you could look into and compare yours with theirs the way you could with physical flaws—but there came a point where you just had to rely on your emotional anchors, the people in your life who kept you grounded, for perspective.
That was a lesson Joe was probably going to have to be taught several times before it took.
“You ready to beard the farmer in his den?” Hake asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be. You got lube?”
Grinning, Hake pulled his hand out of his jacket pocket and held up a travel-sized bottle. “Never leave home without it.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is,” Brent told him with a wry look. Then he got serious. “Hake…thank you. It’s always meant a lot to me that I could look to you for help or advice or whatever.”
“And you and Joe returned the favor when I needed you most,” Hake reminded him, “which is how we all ended up in this together. So thank you, too.”
After an uncomfortable moment, during which Brent thought about hugging his cousin and then discarded the idea as too maudlin, he nodded. “Well, then.”
“Yup.” Hake nodded too. “So….let’s go take a look at that workshop.”
* * * * *
Joe wasn’t caught off guard when the workshop door opened and Brent and Hake walked in—he’d heard the shed door slam a few minutes earlier and mopped his face with his shirt sleeve before quickly repacking the box and stuffing it under his workbench.
But that didn’t mean he was ready to face the two men who saw through all his bullshit and weren’t afraid to call him on it. After breaking down the way he had, he felt raw and exposed. Alone. And afraid, as if something was coming for him. Soon. He didn’t need them seeing that and using it to keep him here.
Picking up the rack he’d clamped a few minutes ago, he examined it as though it could possibly be ready for finishing. “Showing Hake around?”
Right. Because everyone dragged their guests outside after dark, during a raging snowstorm, to show them the machine shed and workshop.
“Since we were here,” Brent drawled.
Joe winced but didn’t quit inspecting his clamps to make sure they were tight and perfectly placed. He was such a fuckwit.
“You’re going to have to face us sooner or later, Joe,” Hake said. “We’ll just be right here whenever you’re ready.”
He heard the rustle of coats being shed, the sounds of snaps and zippers landing on wood, and then the creak of metal as one of them had settled on the high stool at Brent’s workbench. The subsequent creak of wood told him the other had probably sat on the workbench itself.
Fuck. They were going to wait him out. Which meant he had three choices. He could take up their challenge and start another project, make them sit there until they were too tired to do anything but go back to the house. He could go on the offensive and try to bluster it out. Or he could just go back to the house and barricade himself in his room.
The last one was his best bet—he was too tired for either of the others.
Hake met him at the door and tried to stare him down. “You’re not going anywhere, Josiah.”
The part of Joe that was aware he would have made it if he hadn’t stopped at the coat rack heaved a sigh of relief, because it wanted this confrontation. It wanted something it could actually fight. Actually beat.
He stared back. “Get out of my way, Hake.”
“Make me.”
“I could take you down as easy as I can Brent,” Joe sneered.
“But you’re not going to. Your safe word is red.”
A tremor ran through him and his heart began to pound. Hake wanted to fuck him?
Hake’s mouth curved into a little smile. “I told you you were next.”
Hardly able to drag his gaze away from that smile, Joe looked at Brent, who still sat on the workbench.
He was grinning too. “Go on and take him down, Joe,” he said with a shooing motion. “I got five bucks that says you can’t.”
“That’s it.” Joe tossed his jacket aside. “Get the fuck out of my way. Now.”
“You better have that lube handy, Brent,” Hake said without taking his smirking eyes off Joe. “I’m gonna need it here in a minute.”
Practically cross-eyed with fury, Joe reached for him. Hake ducked, but instead of trying to avoid Joe, he grabbed Joe’s knee and yanked his leg out from under him.
Joe barely had time to break his fall with his hands before he found himself on his back in a cradle hold, one knee pulled up to his chest. “The fuck!” he gasped.
“I’ll bet you didn’t know I was the 160-pound wrestling champion at State my senior year, did you?”
“You fuck, you used a ringer?” Joe snarled at Brent.
Brent shrugged. “When you’re in the fight of your life, you use all the dirty ammo you can get your hands on.”
Joe tried to buck free and Hak
e pulled his knee in even tighter. Fucker wasn’t even breaking a sweat to keep him pinned like this.
“God dammit!” Tears pricked at his already grainy eyes and he closed them, breathing hard as he slumped into Hake’s hold.
“That’s it,” Hake murmured. “Just relax, Joe. We’ve got you.”
“Fuck you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Joe couldn’t even smile. “This is bullshit.”
“I know. Now I’m going to let your leg down, Joe,” Hake said as he eased his hold on Joe’s knee. “Don’t move. I mean it. Just lie here with your eyes closed and relax.”
Then he released Joe from the headlock and let his head and shoulders down on the carpet. Joe thought about rolling over and jumping up, but Hake pressed a hand against his breastbone. “Don’t make me come after you again, Josiah.”
Joe took a shuddering breath and obeyed while the feeling of impending doom hovered at the edge of his consciousness like the darkness just beyond the halo of light from the sodium-vapor lamp. Maybe fucking would keep the darkness at bay a little longer.
Firm hands unbuttoned the cuffs of his cotton work shirt and the buttons down the front, and then urged him up to pull the shirt off his arms. Next came his boots and socks, his belt, and finally his jeans and boxer briefs, leaving him fully naked on the workshop floor. He didn’t have to look to know he didn’t have a hard-on.
“I want you on your knees.”
Hake’s abrupt command did wonders for the hard-on situation, sending a flash flood of hot blood between Joe’s legs as he rolled to his side and then pushed up to kneel. The first thing he saw was Hake’s boots, still mottled from the melted snow.
“Look at me. And open your knees wider.”
His heartbeat accelerating, Joe spread his legs, feeling vulnerable enough already without looking up. But Hake didn’t wait patiently—he grasped Joe’s chin and pulled his face up to bore into him with his eyes.
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