Do not let Luke or Walker mess this up,” Jack barked into his cell phone, and a long pause stretched out between him and his aunt. “Jenna? Did you hear me?”
What he heard was a soft sniffle. Christ. Maybe it wasn’t his brothers he needed to worry about.
“Jenna?” he said again, drawing out her name, and she cleared her throat.
“We—we get to meet him? We get to meet Owen?”
He sighed. He should have realized this would be almost as big of a deal for them as it was for him.
“Yes,” he said. “But we’re going to be there in a couple of minutes, and I need your word that the three of you can handle this, that you can handle not letting him know who you are yet.”
Jack glanced in his rearview mirror to see that Ava’s red Jeep was still behind him. “Of course,” Jenna said. “We can handle this. We won’t tell Owen anything before you do.”
“We can handle it, asshole!” he heard Luke yell into Jenna’s phone. “She’s the one getting all weepy and shit. No worries, brother. We’re not going to blow your cover.”
Jack let out a long breath as they were pulling up the ranch’s driveway. He guessed he’d have to trust them.
Maybe it was a foolish, impulsive decision to invite Ava and Owen back, but something warred within him not to let them go home. Not yet. It had just been lunch, but it was also something entirely more. And Jack had no idea what to do with more. So instead of handling it himself, he’d pawn that responsibility off on the most dysfunctional of families—his own.
He hopped out of his truck and turned to where Ava pulled in behind him. He crossed his arms and tilted his head toward the sun, squinting.
Here went nothing.
He dropped his gaze toward his guests and was startled to see Owen mirroring his stance—arms across his chest and head raised to the sky. Something in his own chest sank. Or maybe it lifted. He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that the sight of this boy—and this place—knocked him off-kilter.
“What is it?” Ava asked, striding toward him.
Jack shook his head. “Nothing. Let’s—uh—go inside.”
Ava shrugged, and Owen’s head dropped so their eyes met.
“This is your house?” the boy asked. His eyes volleyed from the ranch, to the barn and stable, to the cows grazing in the pasture beyond the residence. “Is it a farm?”
Jack chuckled softly, grateful to Owen for breaking the ice, even if he didn’t realize he was.
“This is my house,” he said. “But I don’t live here anymore. My brothers do. And it’s not a farm. It’s a ranch.”
The three of them headed for the porch’s front steps, for the door he knew would open to let Owen and Ava in—to let them past the threshold that was his life.
“What’s the difference?” Owen asked, and Jack ruffled his hair, the strands thick and wavy beneath his fingers. Like his own, yet softer—and red like his mom’s.
His fingers twitched. Then he pulled his hand away.
“Well,” Jack said. “For starters, we don’t grow anything but cattle. And farmers tend to know a lot more about the land—about growing things from the earth.”
Owen nodded as they climbed the steps. “Like Mom and our family does with grapes?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Ava smiling at them. “Yep. Growing grapes is like farming. And it so happens I have some grapes of my own to tend to, and your mom offered to help me learn how.”
He pulled the screen door open and gestured for Owen and Ava to walk inside.
“She’s a good teacher,” Owen said, stepping into Jack’s childhood home. “She taught me how to ride a bike and tie my shoes. She even taught me how to memorize the fifty states in alphabetical order—but not a whole lot of my friends think that’s cool, so it’s kind of our secret.” He looked at his mom and then back at Jack. “I guess you’re in on the secret now, too.”
The boy, unassuming and unafraid, strode past Jack and his mom, his curiosity seeming to take over as he started down the hall and toward the kitchen.
“He knows how to ride a bike and tie his shoes,” he said, an unexpected twinge of envy socking him in the gut.
“Yes,” Ava said softly, keen understanding in her tone. “But there’s still so much for him to learn.” She paused for a moment, worrying her top lip between her teeth. “You just taught him the difference between a farm and a ranch. I’m guessing there’s a lot more you could teach him…if you wanted to.”
But there wasn’t time for him to respond because as the door clicked into place behind them, he caught sight of Jenna emerging from the kitchen, her hand outstretched to shake Owen’s.
What did he want? Jack wanted to do right by this kid who had no idea his world could be turned upside down at the drop of a hat. He wanted to do right by his brothers, his aunt, and the woman who’d sacrificed her own future to give him the one she thought he wanted.
The one he thought he wanted.
New York. He was moving to New York. That was his future—one where he could keep the ranch and vineyard financially afloat. One where he could make sure Ava and Owen never wanted for anything.
But even he knew that wasn’t what it meant to be a father. Or a brother. New York was the logical next step in his career. But was it still the logical next step in his life?
Owen turned to them as they caught up. “Mom. This is Jenna, Jack’s aunt, and she said that I can go to the stables with Jack’s brother and that I can ride a horse and go see all the cows, and I know you’re going to say that I’ve never ridden and I could get hurt, but please say yes. I’ll be careful. Please?”
Jenna smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I maybe should have asked you first, but I get a little excited around sweet kids like this one, and he just walked in here, introduced himself, and I couldn’t help myself.”
Jack understood Jenna’s nervous energy, but he kept quiet, knowing this was Ava’s call. He didn’t have a say in what Owen did or didn’t do.
Luke sauntered in from the laundry room off the back of the kitchen and tipped his cattleman hat to his guests. “Did Jenna say I’m taking Shortstop here for a ride?” he asked with a knowing grin.
“Shortstop?” Owen asked, crossing his arms again as he’d done outside. “I’m taller than most of the other kids in my grade. And I’m a pitcher.”
Luke crouched before his nephew, resting his elbows on the knees of his dirty jeans.
“A ball player, eh? Like your friend Jack.” Luke raised a brow at his brother before turning his attention back to Owen. “You may be taller than the other kids,” he said, sizing his nephew up. “But you sure as shit ain’t taller than me.” He winked. “Shortstop.”
Jenna playfully slapped her younger nephew on the back of the head as he stood. “Language, Luke.”
Owen shrugged. “It’s okay. Mom says it all the time.”
Ava gasped. “I do not!”
Jack’s eyes widened with amusement as he waited for the story to unfold.
Owen nodded. “Sometimes when you leave the window open in your painting room, I hear you when Scully and I are playing out back.” He pressed his lips together and looked at the rest of them. “Painting pisses her off.”
Ava’s mouth hung open, and Jack tried to ignore the implication of what Owen had just revealed. The Ava he remembered had loved painting above everything else. Painting didn’t make her upset. It was what she did when she was already pissed off in order to calm down.
“Owen,” he said. “This is my brother Luke. There’s two things you need to know about him. One, he knows horses, and there’s no one better to teach you how to ride one. And two—once my brother gives you a nickname, he’s not likely to call you anything else, so get used to Shortstop. Wear the name with pride.”
Owen let out a breath. “Can I ride, Mom? Please?”
Luke took his hat off and held it against his chest. “I’ll take him out on Cleo. She’s our gentlest, doesn’t mind being led. I’ll never let her go beyond a walk.”
Ava’s shoulders slumped. “You promise he’s safe?” she asked, squinting at the still healing wound on Luke’s cheek.
The man winked again. “Don’t worry. I’ll save the bull riding for lesson two.” Luke clasped a hand on Owen’s shoulder. “What do you say, Shortstop?”
Owen groaned, but he was smiling as Luke led him back the way he came. Ava pressed her lips together—a wince she seemed to be forcing into a smile.
“Don’t worry,” Jenna said. “Luke may be a daredevil when it comes to his own safety, but Owen’s in good, capable hands with him. No one knows those horses like he does.”
The back door opened, and Walker ambled in from the deck.
“Nice of you to make an appearance,” Jack said.
The youngest Everett brother raised the bottle of beer that was in his right hand. “Figured you wanted the family to make a good impression on the kid,” he said with a mild sneer. “And I wasn’t really in the mood to impress.”
Jack opened his mouth to say something but Jenna put a hand on his arm.
“Don’t,” she said softly. “Not today.”
There was enough genuine concern in her tone that Jack let it slide.
He hadn’t realized Walker’s drinking had become this—regular. And how often did Luke get injured with the rodeo shit? Was Jenna happy? And Christ, he had a son who already knew how to ride a bike, tie his shoes, and say the fifty states in alphabetical order.
“Jack?” Jenna said, and it sounded like it wasn’t the first time she’d said his name. “Are you okay?”
He shook his head softly, bringing himself back into the moment, and realized Jenna, Ava, and Walker were all staring at him.
“I’m fine,” he said, his words short and clipped. “Ava says we can get the vineyard up and running, that she can help. Once we see if we can turn a crop, we can decide whether or not to put it back on the market. So I thought we could all sit down and talk, figure out a game plan.”
Jenna clapped her hands together. “Is there going to be a tasting room? A gift shop? Y’all are pretty handy, right?” She looked Jack and Walker up and down. “You could, like, build something, right?”
Walker brushed past them, set his empty bottle on the counter, and tore open the stainless steel refrigerator to retrieve another. He peeked around the corner of the door.
“I’m assuming we’re going to be at this awhile. Who else wants one?”
Ava and Jenna both declined, using the fact that they’d both be behind the wheel soon as their excuse. As much as he’d love to dull them, Jack wanted to keep his senses razor sharp. Everything hinged on this damn vineyard—on getting it running so he could get his life back. Whatever that meant.
Walker shrugged. “At least no one can accuse me of not sharing.” He dropped into one of the high-backed wooden chairs at the long kitchen table that Jack still couldn’t believe his brother had made. Jenna and Ava took their seats as well.
“I’m going to grab the paperwork,” Jack said, and made a detour to his office before returning. He sat down, opened a leather-bound binder, and ran a hand through his hair as he started skimming pages.
He shook his head. “What the hell is a Burgundian varietal?” he asked.
Ava’s eyes brightened. “May I?” she asked, motioning for the binder.
“Please,” Jack said, sliding it in her direction. “Translate.”
She laughed. “We grow the same grapes,” she said. “This will be easier than I thought. I mean, I know the varietals and what we can make—pinot noir, maybe. Chardonnay. But I saw the plants, and they’ve not been tended to properly in quite some time. The trick will be producing a viable harvest first.”
“Well,” Walker said, popping the top off his bottle. “You gonna be able to teach us how to do magic?”
Jack shook his head, but she held his brother’s gaze.
“Yes,” she said. “If you’re all up to the task, then so am I.” She looked at Jenna. “And your aunt is right. You should think about a tasting room, something to get customers in the door so they learn the difference between Crossroads Ranch and Crossroads Vineyard.”
Jenna beamed. “Crossroads Vineyard. I don’t know about y’all, but I love the sound of it.”
Walker leaned forward, resting his elbows on the dark wood of the table. “There is a structure on the outskirts of the property. It’s not complete, but I’ve been out to inspect it. I think that’s where all the tanks and barrels and shit are supposed to go.”
“Liking the sound of it isn’t enough. I’m sorry, Jenna.” Jack rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Shit. It’d be easier to sell it at a loss. This is going to be more than an investment of time. You know that, right?” He hadn’t directed the comment at anyone in particular, but he was sure they knew he meant Walker.
“There is the life insurance payout,” his brother said, and Jack nodded.
“That might scratch the surface,” he added.
“And Jack Senior may have been pissing away his own savings, but I’ve been putting money away—my own account, not that one you set up for me. Plan was to build my own place eventually, but maybe I don’t need to. Not right now.”
Jack’s eyes widened, and the two women looked on, watching whatever was about to unfold—unfold.
“I can’t ask you—” Jack began, but Walker cut him off.
“You aren’t the only asshole who gets to make decisions around here, big brother. If this is what’s best for the financial state of the ranch, then this is where I’m putting my money. Luke can decide what the hell he wants to do, and if you want to add some of your precious lawyering cash to the heap, that’s your decision. But I’ve made mine.”
Jack gave his brother a slow nod. Issues aside, somewhere underneath Walker had a good head on his shoulders. And no matter their differences, his brother was still putting family first.
“I’m in,” Jack said. “Adding my cash to the heap.”
The corner of Walker’s mouth twitched into something that almost resembled a smile.
“Who’s in?”
Luke and Owen traipsed in from the mudroom.
“Are you done with your ride already?” Ava asked, and Owen shook his head.
“Luke showed me how to brush Cleo and put her saddle on and—I got thirsty.”
Luke clapped his hands together. “Came back for some lemonade, but it looks to me like I’m walking in on something pretty big.”
Jenna beamed. “Jack and Walker are investing in the vineyard. Ava’s going to help get us on our way to harvest, and…” She paused for a few seconds. “And I’m just so damned happy to see you three together again.”
Luke raised a brow but said nothing as he headed for the fridge and emerged seconds later with a pitcher of lemonade. He poured Owen a glass, then filled four more, setting one in front of Jenna, then Ava, and then Jack. He finished off the pitcher on a final glass—his own—then raised it.
“I’m in,” he said.
Walker held up his bottle. “To the damned grapes.”
“Language!” Jenna yelled, but she was laughing.
Jack laughed, too, and then the rest of them said in unison—Owen too, “To the damned grapes!”
Every single one of them bore some semblance of a grin, even Walker. It was one hell of a sight, one Jack wanted to enjoy awhile longer.
He’d tell them about New York tomorrow.