Before I let that thought weigh me down more, Jake handed me another beer. I gave him an odd look. “Two beers in one day, Jake? Really? You got some bad news to tell me?”
“Funny. Not bad news. But something you oughta know. Something you shoulda been told a long time ago.”
Jake wasn’t a guy prone to drama, so the fact he’d brought me out here in the middle of the ranch to talk to me set off all my warning bells.
“This is something you can’t tell anyone, Mercy. I ain’t kiddin’. Not Dawson. Hope don’t even know. And you cannot let on that you know of this, to any of the people who are involved. I gotta have your word.”
“You’ve got it.”
Jake took another gulp of beer. “You asked about the bad blood between the Red Leaf family and Rollie Rondeaux. It don’t got nothin’ to do with us. Mostly, it’s between the Pretty Horses family and Rollie. It started with Penny, Rollie, and Sophie.” He paused with the beer can in front of his mouth. “Because Rollie is John-John’s father.”
Shocked, I gaped at Jake for almost a solid minute before I could speak. “Are you serious?”
“Yep. Short version: Penny and Rollie had a fling while Rollie was married. Penny got knocked up, had John-John, but wouldn’t give him the Rondeaux name. Rollie refused to support her or the kid unless she did. Sophie got pissed off and said she’d tell everyone-including Rollie’s wife-about John-John’s parentage. Rollie made a threat-I have no idea what-and everyone involved clammed up. Most secrets don’t stay that way for very long, but in this case? It’s one that’s been kept for years.”
“How’d you find out?”
“Wyatt told me.” Jake crumpled the first beer can. “When he figured out that Levi was my son. I’m pretty sure your dad meant it as a warning, since John-John hates Rollie’s guts. He didn’t want that to happen between me ’n’ Levi when I told the boy I was his biological father. Not that it happened before Levi…”
I squeezed Jake’s arm. I sometimes thought he suffered the most from Levi’s death. He had the loss of what might’ve been. “Who all knows this secret?”
“The obvious ones: Penny, Rollie, Sophie, John-John. I’m sure he told Muskrat.”
“Devlin?” I asked, and then said, “Of course he doesn’t know. Devlin can’t keep his mouth shut. So how’d my dad find out?”
“He swore from the first time he saw John-John that the boy was a dead ringer for Rollie. Wyatt had no love for the man, after what happened to your mother, so he confronted Sophie and she told him the truth. She said she’d quit if he told anyone or treated John-John different.”
My dad had been pretty indifferent toward John-John, but I’d always chalked that up to the disturbing vision he’d had about my mother-a year prior to her death.
“John-John and me, for bein’ cousins, well, you know we ain’t never been close. Same goes with Luke and TJ.”
“Why? I’ve never understood that.”
“Just one of them things. When I found out this secret, around the time John-John opened Clementine’s… fifteen years ago, I showed up for a drink to support him. John-John wouldn’t serve me. Said he wasn’t gonna have his ragtag relations hanging out in his bar.”
“Because Clementine’s is so classy,” I said dryly.
Jake smiled. “That’s what I said. Then I did a dumb thing. Opened my mouth and asked if his father would be welcome. John-John punched me. Damn near knocked me out. He said if I ever told anyone, he’d cut out my tongue and watch me choke to death on my own blood.”
“He said that? Holy shit.” I had that bad gut feeling again. Verline’s tongue had been cut out. Had she somehow discovered that Rollie was John-John’s father? Had she threatened to spill the beans? Or maybe she wanted money to keep quiet about what she knew?
No, John-John couldn’t have killed Verline any more than Rollie could have.
But this was getting a little too coincidental and spooky for my liking.
“So now you know why none of the Red Leaf family is allowed to drink in his bar.”
“God. Jake. I’m absolutely… stunned. I never suspected. I mean, Rollie has been such a smart-ass about John-John over the years. When I think of all the shit he said…” Now I wondered if my dad had been trying to tell me something when he said Rollie didn’t give a shit about any of his kids, no matter who their mothers were. Stupid me, I hadn’t bothered to ask him what he’d meant.
“You can’t let on to Sophie or John-John or Rollie that you know the truth,” Jake warned.
“Trust me, I won’t. You know how good I am at keeping secrets.”
“Yes, I do.” He threw his beer can in the back of the feed truck. “Now that we’re done gossiping, let’s get them cows fed before dark.”
• • •
When Dawson brought Lex home a few hours later, he found me on the floor in our bedroom, sitting amid my guns, as I cleaned out the gun safe.
He leaned against the door frame and raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”
“No.”
“I remember a few months back when you pulling a gun on me was considered foreplay. So if you wanna go ahead and whip out that Glock, feel free.”
I smiled. “We already reminiscing about the good old days, Sheriff?”
He crouched down next to me. “No. But the last couple days haven’t been very good.”
“True.” Without looking at him, I said, “So you heard about the case we caught today?”
“Yeah. But I wasn’t talking about that.”
I looked at him.
“I’m sorry.”
“For?”
He touched my face. “For the way it’s been between us.”
“Me, too.” I leaned into his touch, needing a connection to something. Ever since I’d talked to Jake, I’d felt untethered. Not even being surrounded by all my beloved firepower had grounded me. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” He continued to gently stroke my cheek. “Are you okay?”
“Not really.”
“I can tell. It’s been so tense around here that even Lex is worried about you.”
“He is? Why?”
“In the last couple of days, you haven’t asked him even one time if he has his homework done.”
“I haven’t yelled at him for leaving his dirty socks on the couch, either.”
“I’ll remind him of that,” he said dryly. “But my son also has suggested that I do something… impressive to make up for my dickish behavior. His words not mine.”
“Like what?”
He grinned like he had a big secret. “Well, I know you’ve got a thing for bull riders, so Mad Dog is coming out of retirement this weekend to compete in the annual Sheriffs Association Fund-Raiser, which just happens to be a rodeo.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You impressed yet?”
The nickname Mad Dog had stuck during his bulldogging and bull-riding days. I’d tried calling Mason that right after we’d first met, but the name didn’t fit him now. Still, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’d imagined seeing him in all his glory on the back of a bull. Or more accurately, that I’d fantasized about seeing him in a pair of fringed chaps, tight jeans, a championship buckle, and a black hat. It appeared I’d get to see the real deal. “Okay, I am impressed.”
“So it’s a date? You’ll watch me ride Saturday night?”
“Yep, I’ll even be your very own buckle bunny.”
Dawson hauled me to my feet. Then he pulled me into his arms. I thought about protesting for a split second, but I wanted this. I’d missed this-how he and I were together. I finally felt some of that peace I’d been looking for today. I wrapped myself around him, buried my face in his neck, and sighed.
Mason murmured, “That was a happy sound.”
“That’s because I am happy.”
“Even when we occasionally piss each other off?”
“Yep. The best part of fighting with you is always the making-up part. We are about to make up, right now, aren’t we?” My hand slid down his body until it met the hard flesh pressing against his zipper.