Chapter 11 Dex
DEX
But Twisted Oak Ranch didn’t need the sun to make it warm. It had that because of the refuge it had always been. No place on this earth would ever feel safer to me.
I started for the front door, taking stock of Kol’s Forest Service truck and Wylder’s pickup. Of course, Mav, who’d required everyone’s presence, still wasn’t here. And I knew Orion wouldn’t show until he was damn sure everyone else had arrived. He wasn’t about to let someone come in at his back.
My boots hit the front porch steps, and I grinned at the thought that those boots would be getting their intended use now. It was a reminder that I needed to hit some trails. Maybe tomorrow morning, before the tourists packed some of my favorite spots.
Opening the screen door, I reached for the doorknob. But I knew I’d get no resistance. It didn’t matter how much Kol or I tried to get Waylon to lock his damn doors—he never did.
I shook my head as I stepped inside. “The front door was open,” I called.
“I meant for it to be,” Waylon grumbled, his voice coming from the kitchen.
But I didn’t hurry toward it. I took my time, savoring the feeling of home. Most would find it cluttered and a little odd, but I took in the walls full of clocks Waylon had created and random bits of art, and felt like I could breathe a little deeper.
The furniture in the living space was mismatched in a way that only made sense in Waylon’s brain—a brightly striped chair paired with a pastel, flowered couch and a couple of antique wooden chairs. And I was pretty sure the bench on the far wall had been a church pew at one point.
I moved through the space, past the tall grandfather clock whose painted base featured a battle between gnomes and fairies.
Whimsical, ornate, and so very Waylon. I moved deeper into the house and paused to place my hand on the tree at the center of it.
The trunk managed to be both smooth and rough at once, but it was the ultimate reminder of home.
“Took you long enough,” Waylon muttered from where he stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot.
A low moo sounded, and my gaze snapped over to the mini-Highland cow standing by the back doors—but most definitely inside—and the goat next to her.
“Seriously?” I asked Waylon.
“You want me to be safe. That’s my attack cow and my goat of protection.”
The two creatures ambled over to me as if responding to their duties being stated. The cow nudged my hand, and I knew exactly what she wanted. “I missed you, too, Tink. Even though you shouldn’t be in the damn house.”
The goat began nibbling on the edge of my shirt.
“Pepper,” I warned.
She simply headbutted my side.
“Tinky!” Skylar called, running in from another room. The cow was her favorite animal on the ranch, likely because Tink let Skylar play dress-up with her.
“Why are they inside?” Kol moaned. “It’s gotta be some risk for disease or contamination.”
“It’s definitely against the health code,” Wylder muttered, an amused look on his face.
“Who knew you lot were so touchy?” Waylon said, turning away from the stove and revealing that he was wearing an apron that made him look like Bigfoot itself.
Wylder choked on a laugh while I managed to stifle mine. Kol just stared at him in horrified awe.
“I loooooove having Tinky and Pepper over for dinner,” Skylar assured him. “I can make them salads, and they can eat at the table right along with us.”
Kol pinched the bridge of his nose. “I draw the line at eating with livestock.”
Skylar sent her dad a furious glare. “They’re not livestock. They’re my bestest besties.”
“Dude,” I said, my voice low. “Do not insult the Little Princess’s bestest besties.”
“Baaaaaad move,” Wylder agreed.
Skylar crossed her arms over her tiny chest. “That’s right.”
Kol scowled at me and Wylder but let the expression ease as he raised both hands in defeat. “Apologies, bestest besties.”
“That’s better.” Skylar’s stance eased.
Kol lifted her into the air, ruffling her hair. “I’m still not sharing a table with them, animal whisperer.”
Skylar giggled.
“What’s cookin’, fam bam?” Maverick called as he made his way into the kitchen.
Waylon gave one of the pots on the stove a stir. “Three-chili challenge.”
My brothers and I all met each other’s stares, grins starting to form. But Wylder muttered a curse. “I didn’t bring Tums.”
“Tums are for weaklings,” Mav accused.
“Tums are for people who don’t want to be shitting pure fire for the next twenty-four hours,” Wylder shot back.
“Swear jar, Uncky Wy,” Skylar singsonged.
“Yeah, yeah,” Wylder grumbled as he pulled out his wallet and stuffed a dollar bill into the massive mason jar Mav had painted with all sorts of starred-out bad words.
I patted my stomach as I crossed over to the stove. Inhaling, I swore my nostrils even recoiled at the ferocity of the spice. “Jesus. I think I’m out of spicy shape.”
Waylon looked up from his work. “Disappointed in you, boy. What’ve they been feeding you in DC? Rabbit food?”
“Something that’s not going to corrode my insides.”
Waylon guffawed. “I took it easy on this round. And you can stay with the beginner pot if you’re scared.”
Mav snickered. “You’re so going down.”
My brothers and I all had a thing for spicy food, but it had turned into a vicious competition somewhere along the way, each of us trying to one-up the others.
A clock let out a gong, signaling the top of the hour. But it wasn’t alone. Within half a second, dozens of others chimed in with everything from beeps to dings, birdcalls to songs, and bells. There was even a Bigfoot call.
As it ended, I stuck a finger in my ear, trying to get the reverberations to stop. “Someone tell me how we slept through that growing up.”
Mav snickered. “You always slept like the dead.” He carefully left out the fact that I slept like the dead until a nightmare grabbed hold. “Remember when I drew all over your face?” he asked with a shit-stirring grin.
My eyes narrowed on him. “With freaking Sharpies? Yes. Yes, I do. I had to go to school with foot licker written on my forehead for a week.”
Mav simply shrugged. “Shouldn’t have stolen my Oreos. Payback had to be made.”
Skylar stretched on her tiptoes, trying to see into the pots, revealing a T-shirt that read Feral like my uncle. “I think I’m ready for two chilis this time.”
Wylder hoisted her into his arms so she could get a better look. “You sure about that, Little Princess?”
She nodded with confidence. “Sometimes, you gotta grab ’em by the balls.”
The entire kitchen went silent and then erupted into laughter—everyone but Kol.
“Who the hell taught my daughter that one?” he demanded.
“Bad word, Daddy. And Uncle Mav said sometimes you gotta grab life by the balls. Balls isn’t a bad word. We play with them all the time at school.”
Kol’s face got redder and redder the longer Skylar spoke. “You aren’t playing with any balls.”
Mav started coughing, and Wylder smacked him on the back a few times. “You really know how to influence the youth, Mav.”
Mav winced as he looked at Kol. “Sorry?”
“Not yet, but you’re gonna be,” Kol growled.
“Now, boys,” Waylon warned.
The back screen door slammed against the frame, and we all looked up. Orion filled the doorway, his gaze sweeping the space, taking in every detail as if searching for enemy combatants before finally settling on me.
I couldn’t stop staring at him. He’d gotten bulkier since I saw him last. We were all pretty close in height, but Orion had gained an inch or so on everyone right around the time everything had happened, and he hadn’t lost it. Only now, he carried more muscle on that six-foot-five frame.
But it was more than that. The shadows under his eyes were more pronounced, and his eyes themselves were shot through with red streaks, telling me his sleep had gotten even worse.
Fuck.
Annoyance flitted through me that none of our brothers had shared just how bad things had gotten. But I also understood why: Orion wouldn’t let us help. He wasn’t open to assistance in any way.
“Hey, man. It’s damn good to see you.”
His throat worked as he swallowed, the scruff along his jaw shifting with the movement. For a moment, I thought he’d speak. But that was a false hope.
Instead, Orion’s hands lifted, moving in the sign language he resorted to when he didn’t have the option of texting or writing on a pad. “You, too.”
We’d all slowly learned it over the years as we gave up hope of Orion using his voice. At least this way, we could meet him where he was, in the ways that worked for him.
His hazel eyes, a shade darker than the rest of ours, scanned the room again. He stopped for a moment on each face, analyzing as if he thought any one of us could turn on him the same way our father had.
“How’s work?” I asked, testing the waters, hoping for a little more.
Orion’s gaze narrowed on me, hands lifting one more time. “Fine.”
“Geez,” Mav muttered. “Stop monopolizing the conversation, Orion. It’s a little much.”
It was Mav’s way of helping, getting the focus off our middle brother—the one who’d saved his life. The one who hadn’t spoken since the day he killed our father.