The Baby Claim

Broderick gave a hefty exhalation as he sat back for the first time. “Dad, I think you’re expecting a lot awfully fast.” He turned to Glenna. “I don’t know about your family, but my brothers and sisters? They’re going to blow a gasket.”

Glenna was completely in sync with Broderick on that point at least. Because expecting her siblings to end a decades-long family feud after a simple conversation, expecting them to accept what appeared to be a blending of the businesses, too?

Blow a gasket?

Understatement of the year.

* * *

Broderick had eaten in restaurants around the globe, with food cooked by the finest chefs, and he’d enjoyed every meal.

But none of them outstripped the cuisine here at Kit’s Kodiak Café in the little town outside Anchorage. The diner, a rustic barn type structure, was perched along the bay’s edge. The paned windows presented a clear view of a dock stretching out into the harbor, an occasional whale’s back cresting through floating chunks of ice. Inside, long planked tables accommodated large, noisy groups—like his family.

Menus crackled in front of the others, but he knew what he wanted, so his menu stayed folded. He flipped his coffee mug upright to signify java would be welcome. The waitress took their orders with quick efficiency and no pandering, another reason they all enjoyed coming here. Their family was well known in this café, but they appreciated not receiving special treatment.

He and his siblings had been coming to Kit’s since they were children. Their father brought them most Saturday mornings and sometimes before school so their mother could sleep in. He would bundle them up. Half the time, their gloves didn’t match, but they always had on a hat and boots as they piled into the family Suburban.

Broderick hadn’t realized then how his billionaire father was trying to keep them grounded in grass roots values by taking them to “regular Joe” sorts of places, the kind that played country music and oldies over the radio. The air smelled of home cooking and a wood fire. Back then, he’d thought the stuffed bear was cool, the music loud enough and the food almost as good as his mom’s.

And he still did.

As kids, the Steele pack had ordered off the Three Polar Bears menu. He’d taught his younger siblings to read their first words from that menu, even though they always ordered the same thing: reindeer sausage, eggs and massive stacks of pancakes served with wild berry syrup.

These days, he opted for the salmon eggs Benedict.

Their dad always said their mom had the hardest job of all, dealing with the Steele hellions, and the least he could do was give her a surprise break. He’d rolled out that speech at the start of every breakfast, and reminded them to listen to their mom and their teachers. If there were no bad reports, then they could all go fishing with him. Looking back, Broderick realized his father had done that so they wouldn’t rat each other out and would solve squabbles among themselves.

It had worked.

He and his siblings had a tight bond. A good thing, sure, but both a blessing and a curse when they’d lost one of their siblings in that plane crash along with their mom…

Even when the table was full, it felt like there was an empty place without their sister Breanna there. Sometimes they even accidentally asked for six seats.

Today, though, their uncle sat with the five remaining Steele children, pulling up an additional chair as he joined them.

Uncle Conrad, their father’s brother, hadn’t been a part of building the Steele oil business. He was fifteen years younger than Jack, and had been brought into the company after finishing grad school with an engineering degree. He’d been a part of the North Dakota expansion. The Steeles had started in Alaska and moved toward the Dakotas, and the Mikkelsons had grown in the reverse direction, each trying to push out the other.

Uncle Conrad reached for the coffee carafe as he scooted his chair closer to the table. “Where’s my brother? He’s been in hiding since those rumors started flying yesterday morning. Damn rude of him to wait so long to meet with us. Marshall, Broderick? Somebody?”

“I only just got here. I was out with the seaplane, surveying,” Marshall pointed out. The family rancher, he oversaw their lands, as well as doing frequent flyovers of the pipelines.

Conrad cupped his coffee mug in his hands. “You’d think he would have returned calls from his own brother.”

The youngest Steele sibling, Aiden, reached for the pitcher of syrup. “You would think so. It sucks being discounted because you’re the last in line.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. A thick lock of hair fell over his forehead. “Right, Uncle Rad?”