Perfect Bastard (Mason Creek)

When he ended the call, he turned to face me. “It might not be until tomorrow morning before we can leave.”

We’d found shaky common ground, but nothing felt settled between us.

“I should go home and pack a bag,” I said.

“I can buy you whatever you need.”

Slowly, I moved my head from side to side. “I don’t want you buying me things, especially when I don’t need them. My house is twenty minutes away.”

“Fine. I’ll go with you.”

“I can go by myself.”

“But will you come back?”

And there it was. We’d lost something so fundamental. Trust.

My phone rang, and it was Dad.

“Hey, traitor,” I answered.

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t sweetheart me. I get what you were trying to do, but—”

“So you’re with him?”

“Yes. And for your information, I’d already decided not to go through with it.”

He sighed. “Good. But I need to talk to you both. Put me on speaker.”

Reluctantly, I did. “Dad wants to tell us something,” I said to Nate as I held out the phone.

“Nate, I told you there was something else you needed to know.”

“Okay,” Nate said, looking as weary as I felt.

“It was just a practical joke. I was mad at the world when my wife announced she was leaving me. Rather than watch her go, I drove and drove and somehow ended up near your place. I saw your dad walking to the mailbox. Then he went to the corral and just stood there for a time. It was already dusk when I arrived. With my lights off, he hadn’t spotted my car on the side of the road. I got out, ran across the paddock to a crop of trees. I made a sound like a dying animal my dad taught me as a trick for when we went hunting. Your dad, being who he was, wandered toward me and the noise. I was good at not being spotted and used the cover of darkness to backtrack my way to where he’d been. And this is where I’m not proud of what I did. I thought it was a practical joke, opening the gate to the corral. Then I took it a step further and stole the mail your father had put in the box—bills he was mailing. I tore them up and threw them away. I never thought it would lead to someone thinking he had dementia. I swear.”

“Oh, Dad,” I said and covered my mouth.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry, Nate.”

The line of Nate’s jaw as he looked away from me was tight. “Did you steal money from him? Feed our cattle lye?”

“No. It was just a joke. A bit of mischief from an old, jealous fool.”

“Dad, I’m ending the call,” I said and did. Then I reached for Nate to say something.

He skirted my extended arm. “I need some air.”

“Nate,” I called after him, but he disappeared out of the room.

I collapsed on his bed. My hormones got the best of me as I cried.

THIRTY-ONE

Nate

Holy hell. I wanted to break something. Avery’s father had caused nothing but problems for me and for my dad as of late. Even Avery had said his jealousy of our family had destroyed his relationship with his wife. The last thing I needed was to be irrevocably tied to this man for the rest of my life.

Too late for that. Avery was pregnant, and I couldn’t hold her responsible for the sins of her father.

But now what? Dad had always maintained his innocence about letting the horses free, not paying those bills, and wandering off that day. Her father had explained most of the big things, but not the missing money or our cattle. And Dad had been forgetful on some things, but forgetfulness was not enough for a dementia diagnosis. I’d have to have him tested again. The question was how to tell him he’d been right, and I’d been wrong.

“What’s going on, son?”

I turned to find my father had followed me out of the house. He wasn’t wearing a coat, but neither was I.

No better time for the truth. “Avery’s pregnant. Her father was the one who stole the mail and let the horses free out of jealousy over you.”

“I told you I was telling the truth,” he said. “But why would her father do that?”

“Apparently, he dated Mom once before you met her, and he lost the ranch to you in that card game.”

Recognition dawned on his face. “That old coot. The sly devil.” Dad didn’t get mad. “I can’t say I blame him. Your mom was a prize. More so than the ranch. And it was pure damn luck I snagged a pair of aces in that deal. Men have done worse things for less.”

“You’re not mad?”

“How could I be? I recall a heated exchange of words about how I wasn’t the right man for your mother. It almost came to blows and his ego wouldn’t let him fold in the next round and I won the ranch from him. I’m surprised he didn’t shoot me between the eyes that night. Instead, he waited nearly thirty years to exact revenge by freeing our horses and stealing some mail.”