Redneck Romeo (Rough Riders) (41 page)

He shucked his coat and kicked off his boots. He headed directly to the liquor cabinet, pulling out the bottle of Koltiska that Brandt had given him to celebrate Jackson’s birth. He remembered missing his baby brother that day. Dalton had been a part of damn near every milestone in Tell’s life so it’d seemed…wrong somehow for him to miss that one.

Tell didn’t even bother with a shot glass; he just chugged straight from the bottle.

How the fuck could Tell ever look at his father again with anything except disgust? With this…Casper had gone beyond alcoholic asshole unhappy with his lot in life and taking it out on everyone around him. The man was a fucking psychopath. An evil manipulator. A fucking puppet master. An evil sonuvabitch.

Casper McKay had pitted his sons against each other. He wreaked havoc with his own brothers and caused a rift in the family that’d taken years to repair. He verbally abused his wife. All of those things were bad by themselves.

They should’ve washed their hands of him years ago. Fuck that forgive and forget mindset. Fuck that honor thy father tenet.

There was no doubt in Tell’s mind that Dalton was Casper’s kid. No doubt. If Dalton had spoken to their mother, he would’ve learned firsthand that Joan McKay hadn’t been unfaithful. Yes, she’d left Casper once. She’d gone to stay with her family in Nebraska. But her aunt and uncle had convinced her that marriage was a lifelong commitment in the eyes of God and advised her to return to her husband and work it out. So she had.

Tell had accidentally overheard that conversation between his mother and mother-in-law one night last year when he’d been up feeding Jackson. They’d talked about their struggles with being more afraid to leave a bad marriage than to stay in it. How long it’d taken to muster up the guts to leave for good.

He thought of Jackson and got that warm surge of love. How could a father do to his own child what Casper had done to Dalton? Plant the seeds that his son wasn’t really his son and watch that kid cut himself off from his entire family?

Because he could. Because Casper knew Dalton wouldn’t tell anyone. Just like he hadn’t told anyone about the years of physical abuse he’d suffered at the hands of their father.

Fury boiled through Tell like hot lava.

What a fucked up mess.

The booze hit him hard. He shoved the bottle out of reach and cradled his head in his hands. If he felt this lost and miserable for Dalton, how had Dalton felt the last three years?

After Dalton had first left, Tell had reached out to him, but when Dalton’s response times got longer, it’d gotten easier to put off making that phone call. If he had any guilt, he’d quickly squashed it with the self-righteous reminder that the phone lines ran both ways.

Dalton had shut himself off and they’d let him. They’d fucking let him.

He’d never felt more like a miserable fucking excuse of a human being as he did in that moment.

The floorboard creaked behind him. “Tell?”

He was too choked up to respond.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?”

He shook his head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” he said hoarsely.

A pause. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

Georgia draped her arms over his shoulders, hugging him from behind. “I’ll be right here, holding on to you until you’re ready.”

Tell took the strength and comfort she offered and began to talk.

After he finished, his beautiful, sweet wife rested her damp cheek against his. No surprise his tenderhearted love had shed tears for Dalton. “I’m sorry. What else can I do for you?”

“You’re doin’ it. Every day you do it for me. I’ve got so much…because of him. He’s the one who kicked me in the ass to tell you how I felt about you. He all but gave us this house. It’s fuckin’ killin’ me that he’s been dealin’ with this shit alone.” Tell didn’t bother to hide his tears. He just closed his eyes, held onto her and let them fall.

“You can be there for him now. You guys can get past this.”

“Why would he want to?”

“If he didn’t want to, he wouldn’t have come back.”

“He came back because me’n Brandt didn’t give him a choice. He’s staying here because of Rory.”

“Will Dalton go to her?”

“No. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t told her about any of this.”

“Tell. Baby. Rory deserves to know.”

“That’s not my call.”

“Then I’m making it mine.” Georgia retreated and unplugged her phone from the wall charger. She scrolled through her contact list and held the phone to her ear, sliding a notepad on the counter within reach.

“Georgia. What are you doin’?”

She held up her hand. “Hey, Rielle, it’s Georgia McKay. Look, I’m sorry to be calling so late, but I need to get in touch with Rory. No, it’s not an emergency. All I can say is it has to do with Dalton. Okay. I’m ready.” Georgia scrawled the numbers on the notepad. “Thanks, I appreciate it. I’m sure nothing is wrong, but I wanted to check in with her. Good-night.”

Georgia immediately dialed the number.

“Rory? Hey. It’s Georgia McKay. Your mom gave me your number. Have you heard from Dalton tonight? He went out with his brothers and Tell just got home. I wondered if Dalton drove to your place afterward.” Pause. “Don’t worry; they didn’t end up in a fistfight. And Tell…he’s a bit wrecked after what went down and he says Brandt is the same way. I don’t know how Dalton is faring, or if he planned to call you, but I figured you’d want to know. Uh-huh. As far as I know. I’d start there first. If Dalton needs anything, please call us right away—no matter what time it is. Thanks, Rory.” She hung up.

“Why’d you do that?”

Georgia set down the phone. “Whether or not Dalton tells her is his choice. But if they’re involved on the level I believe they are, it’s also Rory’s right to know if he needs her. It’s her right to be there for him.”

He closed his eyes when she wrapped herself around him.

“Come to bed.”

“In a bit. I should call my mom. She needs to know—”

“And you need some time to process this. Besides, didn’t you promise Dalton you wouldn’t bring it up with her?”

“No. We said we wouldn’t bring it up with Dad. I’ll honor that. But I won’t keep this from her.”

“You shouldn’t. But Joan will have plenty of sleepless nights after you talk to her. So let her have the rest of tonight.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

The porch light was off so Rory knew Dalton wasn’t expecting her.

She’d gotten a little freaked out by Georgia’s phone call. Whatever happened must’ve been bad.

Why hadn’t he reached out to her?

Because he’s always dealt with family stuff on his own
. Rory wondered if he’d ever told his brothers or even his mother how often their dad had taken a strap to him.

She remembered the first time she’d found him after Casper had finished with him. Dalton had tried to blame his red-rimmed eyes and wet face on hayfield dust, but she’d known he’d been crying. She’d never seen the marks, he’d never talked about it, but she had seen how Dalton winced sometimes when he sat down.

Except the summer he’d grown several inches. They’d met by the creek and she’d been shocked by Dalton’s giddiness. Now that he was bigger than his dad, the man no longer had the advantage and the beatings were over. Rory had hidden her horror at hearing the abuse Dalton had endured for years—she wondered if he remembered the rapid-fire way he’d blurted the whole thing out, almost like he was in shock.

She recalled crawling into her bed and crying herself to sleep. When her mom had asked her what was wrong, she couldn’t tell her.

What if Dalton didn’t want her here?

Tough shit.

Rory marched up to the door and banged on it.

No response.

She banged louder. “I know you’re in there.”

The door opened. “Rory? What’re you doin’ here?”

She ducked under the arm blocking the doorway before he could shut her out. “I didn’t hear from you today.”

“Yeah, well, sorry. I had shit goin’ on.”

“Since I’m here, let’s swap ‘how was your day, dear?’ stories.” Rory kicked off her boots and dropped her outerwear into a pile before she headed for the kitchen.

“You can’t just show up at someone’s house at ten-thirty at night without warning.”

She whirled around. “Why not? You do it to me all the time.”

Dalton stared at her.

Sweet Lord. His eyes were so…haunted. She automatically curled her arms around his waist and pressed herself against him. “I missed you, okay? Is that so wrong?”

Then Dalton squeezed her so tightly tears rushed to her eyes. “Not wrong at all. I was needing…missing you too.”

The fact he admitted he needed her, yet he hadn’t reached out to her, cut a little. She tipped her head back to look at him. “You know you can just call me up to chat about stuff any old time.”

Dalton pushed her hair back from her face. “Who called you and said I might need to chat about…stuff?”

Rory considered lying, but Dalton should know his family was worried about him. “Georgia.”

His eyes turned wary. “What’d she say?”

“Just that you had a meeting with your brothers and maybe you’d need someone to talk to. Which I took as the secret McKay code that you really needed sex. And you know I’m all over that and all over you whenever possible because you’re a beast in the sack.”

He smiled. But it was a sad smile. “Will you believe me if I admit I’m not in the mood?”

“I can see that. So what were you doing before I got here?”

“Spacing out.” He brushed his lips across hers. “I’m fine. You don’t gotta hang around like I’m on suicide watch.”

“Shoot. I was really looking forward to being all heroic by saving your life and shit. Way to wreck my night, cowboy.”

Dalton chuckled. “I see you’re in one of them moods.”

“So you gonna let me stick around?”

“You gonna be a pain in the ass while I’m tryin’ to watch my show?” he volleyed back.

“Probably. Are we watching porn?”

“You wish. I DVR’d the Universal Poker Tour.”

“Hate to point it out, McKay, but that
is
porn for you.”

“Busted.” He led her to the couch.

When she sat next to him, he grabbed her legs and draped them across his lap. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. “I am glad you’re here, jungle girl.”

For the next hour Dalton gave running commentary on every hand. Pointing out what he felt were mistakes and how he would’ve played it differently.

“You know…have you ever told me why you quit the poker circuit?”

“Most people assume I quit because I lost my ass.”

“I’m not most people, Dalton. But that’s not the case, is it? You let people think that.”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“It’s easier than tellin’ them the truth.”

“Which is what?”

He paused. “I made a fuck ton of money and quit while I was ahead.”

Rory shifted to straddle his lap. She held his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “A fuck ton? Is that an official financial term?”

“It is according to my accountant.”

“I’m not asking this because I want a detailed financial spreadsheet, but there’s one thing we haven’t talked about. The fact you don’t have an official job. You said in the last couple of years you were a logger, and a hunting guide. Now you’ve applied for the elk farm. None of which will make you rich, and yet you don’t seem to be struggling to make ends meet while you’re waiting for that decision to be handed down.”

He closed his eyes. “Do we really have to do this now?”

“Yes. And I’m not asking in an official capacity.”

Dalton remained quiet for a minute or so. “The truth is, I’ve got enough cash and investments that I don’t need a job.”

“For how long?”

Then those blue, blue eyes hooked hers. “Forever. Since I played my cards right.”

Rory groaned. “I’m ignoring your puntastic-ness to ask if you’re serious?”

“Yep. I can pick and choose what I want to do because the job interests me. Granted, I can’t buy a mansion in Beverly Hills or a fleet of sports cars or a yacht, but I’m comfortable.”

“Why didn’t I know this?”

“Talkin’ about it smacks too much of bragging. I got to this point by havin’ a successful run at poker for about four years prior to leaving here. I didn’t blow the money on booze and broads—well, not all of it.” He smirked. “Even though I was winning, I had a budget and I stuck to it.” He shrugged. “Getting paid once a year when I was ranching meant I was already used to stretching out my money. Early on Jack Donohue gave me good financial advice. Then Chase recommended an investment guy and he’s diversified my initial investments. Now I’m able to live off the income.”

“Who knows this?”

“My banker. My accountant. My investment guys.” He twirled a section of her hair around his finger. “And now you.”