The grandfather laughed. “Not a fan, eh? Me neither.” He handed him a glass of water and Jak took a grateful sip.
“I’m sure you have questions, Jak. What can I answer for you?”
“I’d like to hear about my father,” he said. “Agent Gallagher told me what happened with him and my . . . mother, but . . . what was he like? Who was he?”
He had a sad expression on his face and Jak wondered if it had been wrong of him to ask, but then the grandfather’s lips tipped upward and he leaned back in his chair. “Smart as a whip,” he said. “Everyone said so from the minute he was born. He picked up everything quickly, was good at whatever he put his mind to. He had so much . . .” His voice faded away and then he sat up straighter and his voice sounded strong again. “Potential.”
Potential. His father was smart. He picked things up. He had . . . potential. Hope. Hope for . . . a good life. Jak stored the word away. He liked that one. And he wondered if he had potential too. Maybe he’d gotten that from his father, along with the look of his face. He ran his hand along his jaw.
“You’ll want to shave, I imagine, once you get settled in your room.”
Jak nodded slowly, unsure. He kept his beard short with his pocketknife, but he hadn’t shaved his face since he’d grown face hair. It kept him warm in the winter. It told others he was a man who could mate and have his own offspring.
But the men he’d seen in civilization so far all had shaved faces. He guessed females in civilization thought other things were more important than mating and offspring. Jak ran his fingers along his jaw again, wondering what Harper would like.
“Anyway,” the grandfather sighed, “your father was a good man. He would have led a good life if that woman . . .” He seemed to grind his teeth together for a moment, and then he brought his own hand to his jaw, rubbing it before going on. “Well, suffice it to say, I wish things had been different, but here we are.”
Here we are.
The grandfather didn’t look happy about that, and Jak suddenly felt even more out of place. Be still, don’t move. Don’t become prey. He knew that wasn’t the right word, but it was the best one he had. Animals smelled confusion, and fear, and they took advantage of it. Humans did the same, he knew, but they couldn’t smell it. They used their eyes and their brains instead.
He didn’t yet know if the grandfather was good or bad, and he hoped he was good, but until he knew for sure, he would watch him. This house made him feel funny with its big, cold walls, and its beautiful caged birds, and the people who made strange looks and said things that made him think they were saying other things underneath if he knew how to listen right.
“Speaking of your father, Jak, his downfall began because of a woman.” He seemed angry. “I would hate to see the same thing happen to you.”
Jak sat back, staring at the old man. Harper. He was talking about Harper. A sharp prick of anger made his chest tight. “The woman you brought here today, she’s obviously not of our ilk.”
Jak had some idea what the man was saying, but stayed quiet. Waiting for all the words so he could put them together in his mind. Understand. “The name Fairbanks comes with much privilege, but it also comes with its share of difficulty. Namely, others will want to use you for what you can do for them. It’s why your father ended up on the path he did.” The grandfather gave him a stare and then sighed. “Do you know what a gold digger is, Jak?”
Gold digger. Someone who digs for gold? But he didn’t think the grandfather meant that. He shook his head slowly.
“It’s a woman who wants you for your money, son.”
“I don’t have any money,” he said slowly.
“You didn’t have any money. But you’re a Fairbanks now. All of this”—he waved his hand in the air—“is at your fingertips.”
“What?”
“What is at your fingertips? Why, this house, the opportunities the Fairbanks name opens up for you, perhaps the Fairbanks estate someday, Jak.” He leaned forward, looking thoughtful. “I’ll teach you the basics.” He raised an eyebrow. “And someday maybe . . . you can hire good people to deal with the business specifics.” He sat straighter, looking more . . . hopeful. “Someday you’ll have a son of your own and then all of this will go to him. It’s the way estates work, Jak. It’s the way a family name goes on and on.”
Jak ran everything the grandfather had told him through his mind. The grandfather believed his mother had ruined his father’s life. He thought Harper would ruin Jak’s life too. That she was a gold digger who wanted him for his money. But Harper, she had kissed him before she knew he had anything. Before she even knew he was a Fairbanks. Before he had a last name at all.
Plus, he trusted her. She was honest, and sweet, and she’d cried for Pup because Jak had loved him. And even more than that, he’d scented her. She was his mate. That was all.
The grandfather stood. “In any case, you must be tired. We can talk about this another time.” He looked at the watch on his wrist. “I’ve got to get going. Let me show you to your room. I took the liberty of having our housekeeper, Bernadette, pick up some clothing and whatnot for you.” Jak stood too. He followed him when he left the room, leading him to a staircase so big and wide, he could have lived right there.
His room was down a long hallway with carpet so soft it felt like springtime grass under his feet, even through his shoes. He hopped on it lightly as he walked and the grandfather gave him a look that made him stop. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here, Jak,” the grandfather said as Jak followed him into a large room with a huge bed in the middle with not just one blanket, not just three like Harper’s bed, but so many it looked like Jak would be sleeping on a cloud.
Jak stepped slowly inside. “The bathroom’s behind that door. Your new clothes are in the closet. Just leave your old ones on the floor and the maid will . . . take care of them.” Jak turned back to the grandfather, whose face looked like he’d eaten something bad, but then he changed it to a big smile that only moved his lips. “Welcome home, Jak.” Then the grandfather left, closing the door behind him.
Jak took a minute to look around the room and then inside the bathroom, walking to the mirror. He stood in front of it, turning his face slowly one way and then the other. Did he look like the man in the photo? His father? He couldn’t see it, but the grandfather said he did. Jak’s face was dark from the sun—both winter and summer—darker than the grandfather’s or Agent Gallagher’s. His cheeks were chapped from the wind and his beard was rough and . . . uneven. He had cut it using only the feel of his fingers.
Jak had a scar under his cheekbone from where the blond boy had cut him that terrible day.
He looked different than all of them. Strange. Wild. And that’s because he was.
He thought of the things he’d done—some because he’d had no choice, others because he had wanted to live. But he could be different now. He could be like them. Harper had accepted his looks and the part of himself he’d shown her, but she never had to know about the way he’d both crawled and killed. Never had to picture him the way he’d been in his lowest times. Never had to know that part of him even existed. Here . . . at Thornland, he could leave all that behind. Only Driscoll knew about that part of him and Driscoll was dead. He could be . . . civilized. He could be a man—all man, only man—so Harper never caught a glimpse of that beast within him.