Page 17 of Badd Daddy

He didn’t answer right away. “Told you, car accident.”

I snorted. “Yeah, but I can’t help thinking there’s more to the story.”

“Ain’t there always?” he asked. “Nothing worth talking about.”

I looked at him for a moment, and then nodded. “If you say so.”

He was focused on the wall, on the paint, on anything but me. “It’s really not a very interesting story. Pullin’ a trailer behind my truck. Lost control, rolled it into a ditch. Totaled the truck, the trailer, and damn near myself. Broke my left leg and right arm—arm healed fine, leg hasn’t.”

I still sensed there was something he wasn’t saying. But I could tell by his stiff posture and the way he avoided my eyes that whatever it was he wasn’t saying, I wasn’t getting it out of him just yet.

And really, how much did I want to know? Why did I feel such a strange, powerful compulsion to know more about him? He was bad news. Bluff, coarse, and unhealthy. Everything I didn’t want or need in my life.

Yet here I am, in his house, helping him paint. Unable to stop thinking about him, or wondering what he is hiding.

“Eight nephews, huh?” I asked instead.

He sighed. “You are a curious woman, ain’tcha?”

I laughed. “I sure am.”

“Yeah. Eight nephews. I was estranged from my brother. We, uh…well, we had a falling out and he died before we could patch things. He and his wife had eight boys—Sebastian, Zane, Brock, Baxter, Canaan and Corin, identical twins, Lucian, and Xavier.”

I blinked, frowning. “Those names sound familiar, for some reason.”

He chuckled. “I imagine so. They’ve become what you might call local celebrities. They own a bar here in town, and co-own another with one of my boys, Roman. My other son has a tattoo parlor he runs with his fiancée and her cousin.”

“And the third triplet? What does he do?”

“He’s a wilderness guide. Runs hikes, hunts, fishing expeditions, shit like that, except he guides people interested in going way out where you gotta really know your wilderness survival to get in and out. The kinds of hunts where you get flown by seaplane into a remote lake, hike out into the forest, pitch a tent, and hike out to hunt, and then hike back to camp with your kill.”

“Wow.” I made a surprised face. “That’s…very manly.”

He cackled. “Yeah, my boys don’t exactly lack in testosterone, that’s for sure.”

I paused in my painting. “What’s that mean?”

He gestured at himself. “Picture me, thirty years younger, without the decades of bad food and…other stuff, and a serious dedication to fitness and weight lifting and such, plus just plain ol’ good genetics. Their ma was a fine-lookin' woman, just didn’t have a fuckin’ soul to go with it. And, believe it or not, I didn’t use to be s’damn soft and fat myself. You’ve had the misfortune of meetin’ me well past my prime, you might say.”

I snorted. “You need to be nicer to yourself, Lucas.” I went back to painting, focusing now on going around the baseboard molding. “Your sons sound impressive.”

“They are. Spent over ten years fighting wildfires, first as forest service regulars, then as Hotshots, and then as Smokejumpers. Then they…retired, and moved up here to try their hands at other stuff.”

“From what I hear, those wildfire fighters have to be in peak physical condition all the time.”

“Absolutely. My boys could hike eighty-pound backpacks up a mountain at damn near a run, get into their gear, fight a fire, and hike back out. Then they became Smokejumpers, which means they jumped out of an airplane as close to a wildfire as they could get, hike into it, and fight it without any hope of backup, using only the equipment they jumped in with.”

“Sounds frightening.”

“They like livin’ on the edge.” He sighed. “Comes from the way they grew up, though.”

“And how’s that?”

“Sorta the way I grew up—half wild. Or, maybe more wild than not. Their mom left and I didn’t have a single damn clue what the fuck to do with three maniac boys, and I don’t think I did a very good job of what I did do. They spent more time running wild than they did at home or in school. They were the terrors of the county, I’ll tell you. They weren’t bullies as far as I know, just…hellions. Trouble with a big ol’ capital T.” He sighed. “I think they joined the forest service to get away from me and from Oklahoma, if you want the truth.”

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself. All children seem desperate to get away from their parents, I think. They feel the drive to figure life out for themselves, do things their way, on their own.”

He was silent a long time. “Yeah, you may be right.”