Grey leaned back in his seat and patted his full stomach. “Beau, those were the best barbecue spareribs I’ve ever had.”

“No kiddin’,” Matt added, mirroring Grey’s appreciation. “I feel like a busted can of biscuits.”

“It oughta be good,” Clay scoffed. “It’s the only thing he knows how to cook.”

“One more than you,” Beau countered, tipping his beer bottle to Grey. “Hope that girl of yours knows how to cook, or those two are gonna starve by spring.”

“Just because I don’t hunt and slaughter my own food doesn’t mean I don’t know how to cook,” Clay argued. “And, yes. Dani can cook. She makes a mean lasagna.”

“I taught her that,” Mason bragged.

“Wrong,” Matt argued. “I’m the lasagna king.”

“Yeah, but I taught her not to burn it,” Mason said.

Levi laughed. “You two are as bad as Beau and Clay.”

The room erupted in laughter, and Grey followed their gazes to see Clay scratching his cheek with his middle finger. He shook his head and reached for his beer. Levi was righter than he knew.

“Seriously though, man…” Mason leaned around Matt to address Beau. “The ribs were great.”

“Thanks,” Beau said. “As they say, the secret’s in the sauce.”

Virgil dropped his last bone on his plate. “The secret’s in the prime beef I work my ass off around here to raise,” he said around a mouthful, shooting Beau a ribbing glance.

“You sayin’ I don’t contribute, Pop?” Beau challenged.

“Only want credit where credit’s due.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Levi chimed in with a smug grin, tapping his finger against his temple, “then you should all be thankin’ me for my genetics genius that created that prime flavor and texture.”

Virgil paused, his napkin poised at the corner of his thick mustache. One white brow rose in ire as he finished the motion and laid the napkin on his plate. “Where exactly do you think that genius streak of yours came from?”

“Oh, shit. Here we go,” Clay said under his breath, elbowing Grey with a chuckle.

At the other end of the table, Levi picked up his beer and held it up in a toast. “Momma was one hell of a woman,” he answered with a wink.

“Here-here!” Beau and Clay raised their beers and stretched across the table to clink them to Levi’s.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “No respect,” he mumbled, even as he joined their toast. “But, no less true, God rest her soul.”

Grey laughed at their comradery and banter. A dozen years older than himself, he’d been surprised to find so much in common with Clay’s dad. He’d admired the man for years, for his reputation as a salt-of-the-earth cowboy and well-accomplished businessman, but getting to know the ranching legend personally had been a bit surreal.

Virgil was easy to like, both plainspoken and down to earth, and reminded him a lot of Uncle Cade. Which could be a good and bad thing, he thought with a private chuckle. But after touring their ranch, the behemoth operation that it was, Grey couldn’t help but feel a bit intimidated by his success, and a little envious if he was being completely honest. He was also relieved to know Dani would find a respectable friend and father figure in Clay’s dad.

A cellphone rang and the laughter in the room died down as Levi pulled his phone from his pocket. “Yep,” he answered, his gaze darting to Clay. “Uh-huh,” he said a few times. “You got it?” he asked whoever was on the line. “I’ll let him know,” he said curtly, then hung up, stuffing the phone back into his pocket before he picked up his beer and took a swig. “Jackson had a flat tire on his way back from Abilene,” he finally said, the news directed to Clay. “Says to tell you he’s gonna be late for dinner.”

“Ya think?” Beau snapped, motioning to the empty dishes that scattered the table.

“Did he say how late?” Clay asked, his annoyance obvious in his tone.

Levi pressed his lips into a hard line, his eyes darting between Clay and Virgil with a clear message not to ask more.

“Figures.” Clay threw his napkin on the table with a huff.

“That kid, I swear.” Virgil scratched his head. “I told him a month ago to change those tires.”

“He’s not a damn kid anymore,” Beau barked. “We all know there was no flat tire, and since when did you start defending him?”

All traces of their previous lighthearted mood had vanished. Unsure if they should excuse themselves, Grey looked to his brothers for direction but found none in their uneasy expressions. Dani had told them a little about Clay’s youngest brother, mostly about his addiction to the rodeo. He’d seen plenty of good cowboys succumb to the fever, but Grey got the sudden feeling there was a lot more to the story.

Virgil picked up his plate and pushed to his feet. “My apologies,” he offered to Grey, his eyes darting briefly to Matt and Mason. “My youngest has a problem telling time these days, apparently.”

“Unless it’s eight seconds or less,” Clay grumbled.

“No need to apologize,” Matt graciously insisted.

“Probably for the best, anyway.” Levi stood to help Virgil clear the table, sharing another coded glance with Clay on his way to the kitchen that left Grey convinced he was right; there was definitely more to the story.

After a few rounds of expensive whiskey and shoptalk, the tense moment was well behind them, and it was after midnight before Grey and his brothers retired to their rooms for the night. With Matt and Mason bunked up in Beau and Levi’s old bedrooms, Clay’d insisted Grey take his across the hall from them, opting to stay in the guesthouse instead.

Grey sank down onto the edge of the bed and pulled out his cellphone, typing out a goodnight text to Gabby before he toed off his boots. More tired than he’d thought, he stifled a yawn as he scanned the room, taking in the pictures on the wall. One particular photo of a much younger Clay in his Air Force uniform caught his eye, and a thought occurred to him: that picture would soon be added to the collection of their family pictures that dotted their staircase wall, along with new photos of him and Dani, and one day, pictures of their kids.

“Christ,” he sighed to himself, wondering how in the hell he’d gotten to this point in his life.

Before he could contemplate an answer, the bedroom door opened and Mason stuck his head inside. “Hey, got a sec?”

Grey bottled the maudlin feeling and waved him in, stripping off his socks as Mason quietly clicked the door closed behind him. He was removing his belt from his pants when Mason walked to the dresser and opened the top drawer.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a hushed whisper, bolting across the room to stop him.

“I’m just looking,” Mason insisted when Grey forced the drawer closed.

“Looking for what?”

Mason shrugged. “I don’t know.” His gaze scanned the room as he casually paced to the closet. “Porn? Women’s clothes? Whatever.”

Grey dropped his head with a regretful sigh. “Just…go to bed,” he ordered, tossing his belt into his bag at the foot of the bed. “Don’t you dare open that door,” he warned when Mason reached for the closet.

“Why the hell not?”

Grey bolted across the room and shouldered him away. “You’re not going to find anything. Christ!” He muttered a string of curses, swiping his hand through his hair. “I thought you said you were good with Clay.”

“I said I would be,” Mason argued, “as soon as I know he’s not hiding anything.”

“He’s not hiding anything—get away from the door,” he insisted through his clenched teeth one final time when Mason reached for the doorknob again.

Mason eyed him with contempt, then threw his hands up in defeat. “You’re the one who put these ideas in my head, with all your background checks and census stats on the ‘single male population’,” he said, mocking him with air quotes.

Grey rolled his eyes. “And if I remember correctly, you called me an asshole for that.”

“Yeah, well…maybe you were right.” Mason crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes daring Grey to contradict him, which surprisingly enough, he was about to do.

“Look,” he said, peeling off his shirt and tossing it into his bag. If Mason wouldn’t say it, he guessed he’d have to. “I was wrong.” The admission came without the bitter taste he expected, but had a distinct, unappealing flavor all the same. “Clay’s a good guy, and as much as you might hate to admit it, you know it.”

Mason shook his head in denial.

“What’s this really about?” Grey asked as he ripped the covers back and crashed onto the mattress, propping his arms behind his head. He might’ve had his own issues with overreacting in the past, but had he truly been this exhausting?

Mason relaxed his combative stance and sank down onto the edge of the bed. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted, resting his elbows on his knees, holding his head between his hands. “Things are changing so fast.”

“No shit,” Grey snorted, his gaze wandering back up at the photo of the airman Dani was about to marry. “But this isn’t like you.”

“He’s not good enough for her,” Mason muttered a few moments later.

Grey thought about that, his brows furrowing with his efforts to not agree with him. “You’re right,” he said anyway. “No one will ever be good enough for her. But as you, Matt, and Gabby have mercilessly hammered into my ‘thick skull’ over the last few months,” he said with his own air quotes and enough sarcasm to make his point, “thinking like that isn’t fair to Dani or Clay.”

Mason pushed from the bed. “The last thing I’m worried about is being fair to Clay.” He paced the few feet to the door and back. “I know you’re right, dammit, but…what about this thing with Jackson,” he pointed out with renewed vigor. “You saw their faces when he called. There’s something there.”

Grey shrugged. “You’re probably right, but do you really want to start comparing family drama?” Growing impatient and ready to get the night over so he could get back home to Gabby, Grey flopped onto his side and settled himself into the bed. “To be honest, I’m glad the Sterlings aren’t as perfect as they seem.”

“Yeah but—”

Grey’s phone dinged with Gabby’s ringtone, and he fished it from his pocket, smiling when he saw her saucy, sweet reply. Love you, too, baby, he typed back. God, he couldn’t wait to get home.

“Is she okay?” Mason asked.

Grey laid his phone on the nightstand, pausing when he saw the worry in Mason’s eyes. “She’s fine. Why wouldn’t she be?”

Mason stared back at him, his jaw ticking in that way Grey knew meant he was holding something back.

“Mason, what the hell?”

“Nothing,” his brother insisted with a dismissive wave, pacing back to the door. “I just haven’t talked to her all day, is all.”

Grey scrutinized his response but didn’t see anything but the schitzo-reactive mess he’d been for the last six months. Satisfied, he settled back into the bed. “Well,” he said with another yawn, “the sooner we can get to sleep, the sooner we get back home to her.” Their return flight was scheduled for the next afternoon, but as enlightening as their trip had been, it couldn’t come soon enough. Texas might be home to some of the best ranches on the planet, but he wouldn’t trade a square inch of Falcon Ridge for a million acres of it.

Catching his yawn, Mason slumped down on the bed again, but then bolted back to his feet like he’d been stung by one of the Texas scorpions Dani’d warned them about.

“What is it?” Grey asked, flipping back the covers.

Mason stared at the bed in wide-eyed shock. “You don’t think Clay and Dani…you know…” He raised his eyebrows, glancing between him and the bed until Grey got his drift.

“Shit!” Grey shot out of the bed like it was on fire, spitting a string of grumbled curses, fighting the invading images of Clay and their daughter doing…that…on the bed…that bed. Sonofabitch!

“Why in the ever-loving fuck did you put that in my head?” He snatched up the pillow and flung it to the floor, then yanked the blankets from the mattress. “Now I’ll never get to sleep.”

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” He shoved off his jeans and threw them in the general vicinity of his suitcase. “Get out before I fucking knock you out,” he ordered, spreading the sheet out before he crashed on the floor.

“Sleep in my room,” Mason insisted.

Grey flipped the comforter over his head and snapped his finger toward the door. “Out.”

“Fine.” Mason yanked the door open and it quietly clicked closed but not before giving him the finger when Grey asked him to turn out the light.

The dark minutes churned into hours. Dull pain radiated through his bones as the floor bit into his shoulder. He rolled over onto his back, then onto his other side, punching the pillow until it was bunched under his head enough to ignore the ache in his neck. He was almost asleep when he heard a muffled thump in the hallway outside his room. He raised his head, listening closer. When he heard nothing more, he closed his eyes with a frustrated sigh. The second his head hit the pillow he heard the sound again, this time accompanied by a rush of hushed whispers.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” What were his brothers up to now? He rolled to his feet and fumbled in the darkness until he found his jeans and pulled them on. When he inched open the bedroom door, Matt stood across the hall, mirroring his curious stance, peeking down the dark hall.

“Is that Mason?” he mouthed silently, and Matt shrugged.

Shit. Grey inched into the hall, toward the living room. Matt fell into step behind him, bumping into him when he stopped short at the sound of another thud.

“Shh, you’ll wake them,” a male voice whispered.

A feminine giggle echoed through the darkness but was quieted with the unmistakable sounds of two people kissing. “You’re not foolin’ me, cowboy,” the woman teased with a playful hum. “You want to get caught.”

As Grey approached the end of the hall, a faint light from the kitchen illuminated the couple’s shadows near the front door, groping at each other’s clothes. Embarrassed, yet relieved to not find his brother snooping, Grey turned around to leave whoever it was to their private moment, but came face to face with Mason, the murderous look in his eyes visible even in the darkness.

“I knew it,” Mason ground out as he charged past them.

“Mason!” Matt tried to stop him, but it was too late.

“What the—”

Before Grey could find a light switch, the muted sound of a fist connecting with flesh and bone preceded a high-pitched scream.

“You sonofabitch!” Mason fisted his hands into the man’s shirt, the fabric ripping when he yanked him to his feet. “I told you what I’d do if—” Mason paused, his arm cocked back and ready to land another blow as he studied the man’s face. “You’re not Clay,” he finally said, letting him go with a shove.

“No shit.” The man stumbled backward.

“Jax? Baby?” The woman scurried to his side. “Are you okay?”

“What in Sam hell’s goin’ on in here?” Virgil rushed into the room, clothed only in his whitey-tighties, and a shot gun tucked under his arm. “Jackson?” His bushy white eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as he glanced between his son, the woman, and Mason.

One night. Grey closed his eyes, hanging his head in disgrace. All they had to do was keep their shit together for one night. How was he going to explain this to Gabby?

Clay’s youngest brother, who—in Mason’s defense—did look a lot like Clay, swiped the blood from his lip and turned to Mason. “Jackson Sterling,” he grunted, shrugging his shirt back into place. “This here’s Kathy.”

“Kaylee,” the young woman corrected with a pouty frown.

“Oh, shit.” Mason looked over at Grey, his eyes wide with stunned regret, and Grey shook his head. He had no words of advice for this kind of fuck-up. “Man, I’m sorry,” Mason said, offering Jackson his hand. “I thought you—”

“You thought I was Clay,” Jackson finished for him with a sneer. “Yeah, I got that part.”

The back door flew open and Clay rushed in with another shot gun raised and ready to fire. “Shit,” he breathed when he saw his brother, dropping the barrel of his gun. “I thought I heard a scream.”

“You did.” Kaylee glared at Mason. “Me and Jax were just havin’ a little fun when he attacked him. I thought he was tryin’ to kill us.”

“You—I,” Mason stammered to explain as he glanced between Jackson and Clay. “You look like each other. In the dark, I mean.”

“So what!” Jackson jerked away when Mason tried to examine him, jutting his chin at Matt. “You look just like your brother and you don’t see me throwin’ punches at you—shit, that stings.” He winced as he pressed on his split lip, glancing over his shoulder at Clay. “Whatever the fuck you did to deserve this, bro, I’d run.” He stumbled to the couch and collapsed onto the well-worn, leather cushions with a groan. “You owe me one—aw man!” He fingered the rip in his sleeve. “And you owe me a shirt!”

“Are you drunk?” Virgil barked at Jackson. “Never mind,” he scoffed before Jackson could answer. “Stupid question.” He set his shotgun against the wall and turned back to the kitchen. “I’ll get some damn ice.”

“This is bad,” Matt muttered beside Grey. “This is really bad.”

Speechless, Grey stared at Clay who was staring at Mason as the pieces fell into place.

“You thought he was me,” Clay finally said to Mason, his words laced with disappointment. “That I was cheatin’ on Dani with-with…” He snapped his fingers at the woman.

“Kaylee,” she supplied with a huff. “My name is Kaylee.”

“Kaylee,” Clay repeated. “Nice to meet you,” he added with a polite nod.

“Thanks.” Kaylee grinned, all offense forgotten. “You do look a lot like Jax,” she said, glancing between them. “Are you two twins or somethin’?”

“Or somethin’,” Clay replied dryly, his eyes snapping back to Mason. “Jackson is my kid brother.”

“Clay, I’m…I’m sorry.” Mason gripped the back of his neck, looking to Grey once more for help.

Grey shook his head as he and Matt turned back toward his room. “You’re on your own with this one.”