Page 30 of Brett and Rowdy (Gomillion High Reunion #5)

Chapter Seventeen

“ S o, what’s the deal with you and this boy?”

“Well, that was delicate, Dad.” Really, Rowdy wasn’t going to pretend to be surprised. He’d been waiting for his dad to ask for a week and a half. He was kind of hoping Dad would wait for even longer, because to be honest, he didn’t have an answer either.

Brett seemed perfectly happy. He was working—and not in the kind of casual sort of way, but in that twelve-hours-a-day sort of way. The man was shoeing horses and working hooves for four or five hours in the early morning, and then he went to the forge and he started banging.

Metal supplies were coming in hot and heavy, and when Brett came back from the forge, he was sweaty and gross and happy as a pig in shit.

Horny too, which was kind of nice, but really, the man seemed fine.

Happy.

“You don’t pay me to be delicate, boy. Seriously, what’s the deal? Is he staying? Is he going? Is he moving in? Are y’all a thing? Is he just a fuck buddy? What do you tell Madison?”

“I didn’t tell Madison anything.”

That wasn’t exactly true, because Madison was disturbingly upfront about things like sex lives.

In fact, it was kind of terrifying and nauseating, and he didn’t want to know about the predilections of the boy she was dating either.

He listened because he was a good dad and modern and up-to-date and shit.

It still made him want to barf.

“I don’t know if he’s moving in. We haven’t quite gotten that far. We’re still at the getting to really know one another part. But he’s happy, he’s working, he’s—hell, he’s taken over the farrier position. So why are you pitching a bitch?”

“Have you gotten stupid? At what point did I do anything that sounded even vaguely like a bitch? I was asking questions because somebody is living in our house now.”

Oh, now Dad sounded all mad.

“You going to ask a bunch of questions when Maddie moves her boy in?” he shot back.

“No, I’m gonna ask you a bunch of questions, and the questions are going to start with why are you letting that girl have a boy live here when they ain’t married?”

“When did you get to be like a scary old fucker? You’re what, sixty? Do you remember the wild ’70s?” Dad didn’t have a right to sit there, acting like he’d never had women coming in and out of this house…

“Don’t make me beat you, boy.”

“I mean, seriously, weren’t you ever like a hippie? A swinger?” He had to tease. Had to.

“Watch your mouth.”

He licked his lips, fighting his chuckles. “Yep, you’ve just gotten old and crotchety in your ancient age.”

Dad snorted, clucking his tongue against the top of his mouth. “Why exactly do I let you live here, again?”

Oh, that was easy. “Because, Dad, I’m an amazing cowboy. Because I am good with the horses and with the hands. Not only that, you get one hell of a tax rebate because I’m blind.”

“Yeah. That last one makes sense anyway.”

Their joint chuckles started low and slow, and then just filled the air up like the smell of bacon.

“All right. At any rate, my point was, I like him. He can stay, no? But I do think it’s weird that y’all haven’t said nothing to each other about what’s what. I mean, doesn’t he have a house? Stuff that he’s wanting back, his art and shit?”

“I think that’s what he’s doing down at the forge.” Rowdy sighed and twisted his mouth up. “I got to tell you. It’s really weird that I can’t go out there and look.”

“You haven’t looked at anything for damn near?—”

He groaned. “You shut up, old man. You know what I mean? It’s totally because it’s not easy to get down there, that’s all. I just, it’s not very often that there’s something that’s going on at the ranch that I can’t access at all.”

“Well, have you asked him?”

Now, to be honest, Rowdy had kind of hoped that Brett would offer. Maybe something like—would you like to come and see my etchings? And then Rowdy could laugh and say he hadn’t seen anything in a bunch of years, and then he could go down to the forge and figure out what was what.

“You’ve got to stop waiting on someone else to ask for things, son.”

“Are you saying that I’m shy?”

“No, that’s not at all what I am saying, butthead. What I am saying, is that besides the fact that you’re a pain in my ass, especially when it comes to romantic stuff, you’re always letting the other person drive.”

He was not having this conversation. “I think that Brett would argue with you on that front. I’m sort of the one who offered to let him come here.”

“Good. The next thing you need to do is figure out whether or not he wants to live here. Do you want him to be here?”

Did he?

Yeah.

He loved having someone in his bed at night. He loved talking and proving to Brett all the things he could do. He loved… Brett, which freaked him right the hell out, because he hadn’t ever considered that he would go back in time and rediscover a man he’d known a boy.

He’d been stung by Brett before, but what he was feeling now wasn’t a teenaged fire.

What he had was threatening to become something absolutely deeper than flames that could be doused with the rain.

“I do. I like him a lot, Dad. Like kind of more than is reasonable a lot.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that.” All right. That was what he needed to hear, that Dad liked Brett well enough to approve. His dad knew folks and horseflesh, better than anyone he knew.

“No, I don’t really either.”

Now if he could just figure out what Brent wanted, they would be all set.

They sat there a while, the summer sun soaking into his bones and feeding his soul.

“You want me to take you down there?” Dad’s question surprised the hell out of him, pulling him out of his near-doze.

“Down where?” Rowdy wasn’t quite following. This conversation had just had too many twists and turns, and he was muzzy-headed as all get-out.

“To the forge so your happy ass can figure out what’s going on. I’d be happy to take you down there.”

Rowdy raised his eyebrows, knowing that his dad would be able to see them over the top of his glasses. “You don’t think that would be some sort of weird imposition?”

He didn’t want to interrupt Brett when he was working.

Okay, well, he wasn’t supposed to want to interrupt Brett when he was working…

“Son, that may be where he works, but it ain’t his land. It’s yours. You own everything here, and you can’t impose on that.”

He pondered that for a second. He supposed Dad had a point.

But he didn’t really want to insert himself into Brett’s joy, did he?

God, that sounded so touchy-feely. What the hell was wrong with him? “Fuck this shit. I’m gonna go down there and see what’s what.”

Dad’s chuckle was altogether too knowing for his comfort. “Good deal. Get your work boots on. I’ll tell one of the boys to get us a side-by-side ready.”

“Can’t we just take the golf cart?” That was so much easier when they were up at the actual house compound. Besides, he liked to drive that. He couldn’t get in near as much trouble as he could in a four-by-four.

“Maddie’s got it. She’s out doing some weird thing with the bulls. Possibly seeing if they need massage therapy so they make more calves. Who the fuck knows. I’m just glad she’s here and working.” Dad patted his arm. “I’ll be back. You get your hat and get Barney all harnessed up.”

His dad was the man who got shit done.

It was always how the man had been, and Rowdy was grateful for it.

Sometimes he got stuck in his own head, panicking about one of the ten thousand stupid-assed things he’d gone and done in his life—from bronc riding to being a father to coming out of the closet.

In all of those situations, his dad had been solid as a rock.

You made your decision, boy, now you live with it. You have faith that you were given this for a reason, and you make it work.

He’d heard those same words at least a thousand times.

So, why would he have thought for half a second that Dad was going to let this linger and fester?

He could handle that, and he really needed to know what Brett was doing—not because he didn’t trust the man, but because he was desperately curious to know. That was the shittiest part of being blind—he felt like he was always missing things.

He’d heard from the guys how cool it was that Brett had opened up the forge, how things were working there and how neat it was to see smoke coming out of the chimney and the ringing of the hammer on the anvil.

He guessed there was no taking the Old West out of a cowboy.

It was deeper than bones.

The more he thought about it, the more he figured he was going to have to actually hire a farrier, though. Brett was amazing with the horses, and the cowboys raved about how wonderful he was, but that wasn’t his calling, was it?

Horseshoeing took time away from his art.

Rowdy grinned as he headed into the kitchen to grab waters.

Brett was a fine artist—both as in his art was good, and as in he was high-dollar fancy. The man created sculptures that were inspired and wondrous, and Rowdy wanted to touch more of them.

If that was what Brett was called to do, then that was what the amazing son of a bitch needed to do.

He put the waters in a bag with a few apples from the bowl that lived on the island, before he grabbed his hat.

He didn’t reckon he needed to harness Barney. He’d just make somebody—his dad or Brett—let him hold his arm. Barney was off duty right now.

The shepherds did sort of herd him toward the front door, accompanied by a deep baying from Mr. Mann that made him grin. The pack had encompassed the goofy basset, deciding that he was one of them.

He bent down and rubbed ears and scratched necks—each one of the babies were so different, and each one of them came for snuggles. “Y’all are my best friends, I tell you what.”

“That’s pretty sad, son,” his dad teased, coming back in through the front door. “You’re not gonna take Barney?”

“Not today. He’s on ranch time.” He grabbed his cane and headed outside and down the three steps to the ground, then the ten steps to the path.