Blaze (Steel Brothers Saga 21)

“Except it is affecting us, Dad. For God’s sake, someone tried to kill you.”

“We don’t know if that was related to our history. Besides, they weren’t successful.”

“But what if they are the next time? Or what if it’s Uncle Joe? Or Ryan? Or Marjorie?” I gulp. “Or Mom?”

Dad’s eyes go dark and fierce. “Nothing will happen to your mother on my watch.”

“On mine, either. Which is why Dale and I will figure this out.”

“Donny…”

“Dad, we’re all-in now. Someone went to the trouble to get this ring to me. To…” I shake my head. “I don’t get it. Why leave a safe-deposit box key? Why not just leave the ring? They obviously got in the house.”

“Would you leave this ring sitting around?” Dad asks.

“Good point.” I sigh.

Dad clears his throat. “Someone wanted you to have that ring. If it was truly my grandmother’s, it should have gone to my mother and then to Marjorie.”

“There are a lot of LWs in the world,” I say. “It could just as easily belong to someone else.”

“Then why would someone leave it with you?”

“Hell if I know.” I rise. “I’d like you to put it in the safe. For now, we don’t even know if it belongs to us.”

Dad nods. “Good enough.”

“And Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“If it turns out that it belongs to the family, I’d like to purchase it and give it to Callie. She’s meant to have it. I felt it as soon as I saw it.”

He stands, takes the box from me, and moves toward the wall to the right of his desk. “Well, someone wanted you to have it. I don’t see why anyone would object.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

On the wall hangs an oil painting of a pure-black horse. Dad’s horse. His name was Phoenix. Dad says he never had another horse that understood him so well.

I remember Phoenix. Dad taught me to ride on a much tamer animal, but once I could handle the best horses on the ranch, he let me ride Phoenix.

“He was gorgeous,” I say.

“Your aunt Marj wanted me to name him Barney.” Dad chuckles.

“No way.” A smile tugs at the corners of my lips.

“She did. I almost let her get away with it. She had me wrapped around her little finger.” He sighs, staring at the painting, as if he’s talking to it instead of me. “I think it was Marj who truly saved me when I returned. She was such a strong and beautiful baby. She helped me remember there was still beauty in the world.”

Still beauty in the world.

His words speak to me more than he knows. I’ve vowed to remember the same since driving by his old dive bar this afternoon.

“Let me get that for you, Dad.” I walk to him and remove the painting from the wall.

Behind the painting is the wall safe. I know the combination. We all do. Dad entrusted it to each of us when we turned eighteen.

The numbers are committed to my memory, but I’ve never once opened it.