Secrets on the Mountain: The Hart Family of Moonshine Ridge (Moonshine Ridge Mountain Men Book 16)

Chapter 3

It wasn”t supposed to go this way.

That”s all I can think as I double-check on Donner, who”s thoroughly crashed out in the spare room he”ll share with me for as long as we”re stuck here in Cane”s house.

Cane made sure we followed him back to his place and, after a few phone calls, his brother dropped by with a couple of pizzas from a place in town and I got to meet Raine”s wife, April.

In the few hours I”ve been here, I”ve also met Cane”s little sister, Zephyr and their mother, May-Ellen, and overhead more than one conversation between Cane and his grandmother, Mable, who turns out to be one of the women we met earlier at the museum where I stopped to ask how to find Cane.

”Six hours.” Cane mutters, as he sets his phone on a charging pad. ”You managed to keep Donner a secret for five years and within six hours of walking into gran”s museum, the whole damn mountain knows about the both of you.”

”I didn”t keep him a secret,” I mutter back.

A dark, amber glare shoots toward me from behind a large piece of polished granite that serves as both kitchen island and breakfast bar.

”You keep sayin” that, but I don”t remember taking any birthing classes or handing out any cigars.”

I stand on the other side of the counter, making sure to keep space between us at all times.

You might think that”s because I”m worried about what he might do to me if he gets his hands on me, but honestly? It has a lot more to do with being afraid of what I”ll let him do to me.

Cane pours tea from a pitcher, filling two glasses while he continues muttering.

”...don”t remember--” he counts off with the fingers on his spare hand-- ”four? Four or Five? birthday parties...Christmases, Halloween costumes, fathers” days...”

He pauses to look at me, gesturing to the second glass of iced tea.

”...mothers” days...” he adds the words to his rant in a softer tone.

”How sweet is it?” I ask, meaning the tea. I”m ignoring his running commentary.

”Ain”t changed that much, Junie-bee,” he tells me in the same soft voice as he slides a sugar bowl across the island to go with my tea.

Cane never sweetened his tea. The stuff he makes is downright undrinkable, if you ask me.

He goes silent as he watches me measure several teaspoons of sugar into my glass before I deem it acceptable.

When I replace the lid on the sugar, I look up to see him staring at me, shaking his head with a vague smile ghosting his lips beneath the beard that”s grown out thick and full since I last saw him. For a second, I see a shadow of the man I loved.

Looking around, I catch a fleeting glimpse of the life I was supposed to have.

Reality crashes into me hard, bringing me back to the here and now that”s so far from what I”d expected.

”If we”re going to stay with you, we need to discuss what we”re going to tell Donner.” I finally speak, working hard to keep my voice steady and my mind focused on what”s best for my son.

Ourson.

Cane keeps saying there”s no way he”ll sign the papers I brought with me. He”s already put in a call to his family”s attorney and emailed the documents I brought so that they can be addressed.

He wants to be part of Donner”s life and he”s refusing to let us leave until we have an agreement in writing-- but I don”t know how I”m going to explain this to Don.

In a million years, I never thought I was going to have to introduce Donner to his biological father.

Cane motions to the deck through a set of French doors and I let him guide me into the cool night air.

”Here.” His deep voice is gruff as he wraps a wool blanket over my shoulders, like he”s mad at himself for being nice to me. ”I can light the fire too,” he motions dismissively at a stonework fire-ring filled with colored glass. ”It”s propane.”

He doesn”t wait for me to answer, just turns a key on the side of the structure and a moment later, flames lick through the colorful glass pieces.

We sit in Adirondack chairs, my feet propped on the wide edge of the fire ring and Cane pulling his chair close beside mine.

Just so we can talk without worrying about being overheard, but something inside me is all too aware of the cozy scene we make: a couple enjoying adult time after the kid”s asleep. Anyone who saw us from a distance would think we were a scene from someone”s honeymoon Pinterest board.

”You”ve really never told him I exist?” Cane speaks directly to the fire in a voice laced with pain. ”He”s never asked who I am?”

”He asked.” I answer the fire. ”I wasn”t ready yet. I didn”t think he”d start asking till later. Maybe when he got into school.”

”What did you tell him?”

”The truth. Or, at least, the closest thing to the truth that I thought a four-year-old would understand.”

”Which was what, exactly?” This time he”s not talking to the fire, in the shadows of moonlight and dancing flames, Cane”s head is turned toward me.

”Um...” Okay, June, if you could explain it to a four-year-old, you can explain it to the brick wall of muscle and scowl that still manages to turn you into a mess of hard nipples and wet panties despite making it all too clear that done is something he”s been with you for half a decade.

So what was up with that kiss when he first saw me today?

I shake my head like I”m trying to clear an Etch-a-Sketch, sip my sweet tea, and try to pick up my train of thought before it derailed.

”He asked if he had a dad and I said that of course he does. Then he asked if he”d ever get to meet his dad and I--”

”Please tell me you didn”t say I was dead.”

I shake my head. ”No. I just said I didn”t think he would.”

* * *

Hurricane

”He didn”t askany more questions?”

I”m trying to remember how we explained things to Zeph when she got old enough to start asking questions.

My brothers and I were old enough to remember our dad, but he and pops passed when our sister was still a baby. She doesn”t remember them and I guess she was about four or five when she started asking why she didn”t have a daddy.

Of course, up here on the Ridge, families tend to stay together unless something outside their control rips them apart. Zeph didn”t have other kids at school growing up in single parent households to compare her own situation to.

Maybe that”s why she asked so many questions.

Maybe kids are just different.

”Not really. He”s in a preschool with some other kids that don”t have dads around. He didn”t seem to think it was unusual.”

”We”ll figure it out, June-bug,” I promise, not even noticing the way my hand reaches for hers to give her a reassuring squeeze when I hear the concern in her voice. ”But I”m going to be part of his life from now on.”

Our hands stay connected. It feels so natural to have Junie”s small hand wrapped around two of my fingers as our hands rest on the arm of her chair. Like old times; Junie always said it hurt her hand when I”d try to lace our fingers together-- my hands are so much bigger than hers, it made her fingers spread apart too far-- so she”d change our grip till she had her delicate little fingers wrapped around just two of mine.

Just like they are now.

But it doesn”t take long before darker thoughts ruin the feel of having her beside me again.

”What did you mean earlier, when you said I”m the reason I didn”t know?” My voice is low and I don”t like the way it comes out sounding hurt when all I want is to be mad.

Something tugs inside me at that thought, letting me know that”s not exactly the truth. I don”t want to be mad at June-bug. I want her back. I want her to have never left me. I want to wave a magic wand and make the last five years look completely different.

That”s not gonna happen though. She didn”t come all the way up the Ridge to start over with me and our son, she came up here to sever the only claim I could still have on her.

Pulling my hand back, I hold on to that thought and grasp at the anger it gives me so I don”t make a damn fool of myself thinking the way she kissed me back earlier means there”s still a chance for us.

”I meant you”re the one who wouldn”t return my calls, Cane.” The irritation in her voice tells me she”s grasping at the same anger. ”You”re the one who blocked my number, you”re the one who instructed his people not to transfer my calls. You”re the one who returned all my mail unopened--” Junie”s voice is rising, she”s moved so she”s on the edge of her seat, twisted to stare at me in the low flames of the gas fire.

”You”re the one who had his lawyers threaten to charge me with stalking me if I continued to ”harass” you.

”The only reason you didn”t know about Donner as soon as I did is because you kicked me out of your house and cut me out of your life like a fucking tumor before I even realized I was pregnant...you made it crystal clear that you didn”t want to know what happened to me and you didn”t care.”

June”s not the only one balanced on the edge of her chair and the nonsense she just shouted makes it a lot easier to stay mad at her.

”What the hell are you talking about? You”re the one who walked out on me, June.”

”Fuck you, Hurricane! Don”t tell me what happened, I was there!”

”No, fuck you, June! Because I was there too. I know what happened too. You realized I wasn”t making shit up when I said addiction was a problem in my family. You found out I was quitting the game and you didn”t want to marry a junkie has-been, so you left.”

”Excuse me, I what?”

The house is built solid. I used eight-inch studs in the exterior walls to beef up the insulation to save on heating costs through the mountain winters. June and Donner”s room is on the front side of the house, with plenty of space between our sleeping boy and our rising voices out here on the back deck, but we both shoot glances toward the French doors now, aware that we”re shouting.

”What the fuck are you talking about, Cane?” Junie”s voice lowers in volume, but it doesn”t lose its bite. ”Rick came up to the house after you went on to rehab, gave me an envelope of cash and an apology for having to be your messenger boy.”