Chapter One
How hard can this be? I mean, come on, it’s meatloaf, for God’s sake.
It had seemed like such a good idea. The cookbook Greg had given Joshua for Christmas had been sitting on a shelf in the kitchen since…
well, since Christmas. Not that he’d needed to cook, with Micah and Greg around.
Those two had taken over the cooking, and Joshua hadn’t stopped them.
Even when they had taken off for San Diego for a trip to see Greg’s mom and stepdad, they’d made batches of food beforehand and frozen it.
Joshua had found little plastic containers in the freezer, all with neat labels.
It tickled him how they took care of him.
It was only after they’d been gone a few days that the sobering thought first occurred to him.
They’re gonna leave. Once Micah’s art show is over, and this damn trial is done with, they’ll move to Jackson.
It made sense. Greg had that cute little house his dad had left him, and they’d already spent time there doing renovations.
Joshua had gone with them to take a look.
He had to admit, it was a great place, and Greg had been correct: one of the bedrooms was perfect for a studio.
Joshua had gotten used to having them around, especially when Naomi was at college.
Of course, that had meant changes. Micah had moved all his painting equipment and canvases into what had been Greg’s room, and the old garage that had been his studio had become their little space.
Joshua could understand that. He couldn’t have imagined living with Rachel under the same roof as her parents either.
At least the garage afforded them some privacy, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t aware of them around the house.
Lord, it’ll be so quiet here when they’re gone. It was that last thought that brought home to Joshua something he hadn’t really been aware of.
He was lonely.
One week on his own, and he missed their voices, their laughter, the little sounds that told him someone else was around.
Then he reasoned that he’d never been alone his entire life.
True, Naomi was still at home, but she was in the third year of study for her bachelor’s.
Then there would be four years of medical school, but he couldn’t see her still living at home for that.
It was a cinch she’d move to wherever she was studying, especially now he was sure there was a boy on the horizon.
Not that she talked about him, but Joshua wasn’t blind. There was someone, all right.
All the chicks will leave the nest. That was normal, right? Joshua knew he’d adapt, but the thought of rattling around in that house on his own…
That was when he’d spied the cookbook. If I’m gonna survive without the kids, I guess I really need to learn how to cook.
He was thankful for the blessing of two children who had taken care of him since Rachel died, but she’d been gone three years, and it was high time he learned to fend for himself.
Naomi was home for Spring break, and she’d taken Micah’s truck to the airport at Casper to pick up the boys.
That would be a trip of three hours minimum, so that gave Joshua the perfect excuse to attempt his first recipe.
He wanted to see their faces when they got home to homemade bacon jalapeno meatloaf, with mashed potatoes and gravy.
What he hadn’t counted on were the jalapenos.
On the face of it, the recipe seemed perfect.
Cracker crumbs. Bacon. One pound of ground beef.
Barbecue sauce. Bacon. Garlic. Bacon. Nothing in there to dislike, right?
Plus, it made a lot of meatloaf—two loaves—so there’d be plenty for sandwiches after.
Joshua had gotten all the ingredients lined up on the counter top within ten minutes of Naomi’s departure for the airport, then he plucked the biggest knife from the block and prepared to do battle.
He roughly chopped the baby carrots and red bell pepper, but he came unstuck when it came to the onions and jalapenos.
Not that they presented any great challenge—until the corner of his eye itched and he decided to scratch it.
That was when Joshua had a serious rethink about cooking.
After he’d danced around the kitchen for a few minutes, yowling and cursing, before applying a wet facecloth to his eye and holding it there until the pain subsided, he glared at the offending ingredients.
I will not be beaten by you.
He slung them all into the food processor, poured in the barbecue sauce and Worcester sauce, and gleefully pressed HIGH, letting it do its business until everything was smooth.
He pulsed it again after adding the eggs and seasoning, and then emptied all of the mixture into a mixing bowl.
Crushing the crackers was fun. He put them into a large plastic bag, then hit them with a rolling pin until they were crumbs.
After the jalapenos and onions, it was a really satisfying feeling.
He added the crumbs, oats and ground beef to the gloop, then stared at the instruction that told him to combine the ingredients gently with his hands.
Yuck.
Joshua knew there was a reason he let the kids cook at Thanksgiving.
Gingerly, he squidged the mixture with his fingertips, until he realized that wasn’t enough. With a sigh, Joshua gently manhandled the ingredients until their color and texture was even. Then he divided the mixture into two, and formed two oblong loaves on the prepared baking sheet.
Stretching the bacon with a large knife proved interesting, as he tried not to tear it.
When both loaves were completely covered with strips of bacon, he heaved a sigh of relief.
Until he spied the jar of garlic granules sitting next to the food processor, and realized he’d forgotten to add it.
As an afterthought, he sprinkled the garlic over the tops of the loaves, then put the sheet into the oven.
I hope this works.
When the timer pinged to tell him to brush the tops with barbecue sauce, he’d already loaded the dishwasher, wiped down the surfaces, and made a pot of fresh coffee.
He’d also peeled and diced the potatoes, placed them in a pan, and covered them with water.
The smell emanating from the oven made his mouth water.
He applied the sauce, then put the loaves under a high broiler to let the bacon crisp.
He checked the recipe, and groaned when he saw the instruction to test the internal temperature of the loaves.
Damn it. Joshua removed the loaves, then plunged the metal spike into the middle, watching the readout.
When it reached one-sixty-five, he expelled a breath.
Okay. Not gonna kill anyone with food poisoning today.
The loaves were a gorgeous caramel color when he finally removed them from the oven, and he placed them on a heatproof mat, covering them with a layer of cooking foil. Then he headed for his office to do some work, pleased with himself.
It wasn’t much, only a meatloaf, but for Joshua it was a personal triumph, and the first indication that whatever happened once the kids did their exodus, he wasn’t about to starve.
~ 0 ~
Joshua had only just glanced at the wall clock before he heard the crunch of gravel outside. Minutes later, the front door opened.
“Dad?” Micah called out. “Wow. Something smells good.”
“In the kitchen.” Joshua placed the lid on the saucepan of mashed potatoes and gave the gravy a quick stir. The last thing he wanted was lumpy gravy. Micah entered the kitchen, Greg and Naomi close behind. “How was the flight?”
“No problems.” Micah sniffed the air. “Did you get takeout? The house smells great.”
“Oh my God.” Greg was staring at the cookbook lying on the countertop. “You didn’t.”
Joshua beamed. “I sure did. Dinner’s ready when you are.”
Naomi bit her lip. “Well, I was gonna say I’m starving, but…”
“Aw, give him a chance.” Greg’s eyes gleamed. “I can’t wait to try… whatever it is.”
“It is meatloaf, and the table’s already set, so sit down. It’s late.” It was already past eight-thirty. “You must be hungry.”
Micah and Greg exchanged glances. “Well,” Micah began slowly, pulling out the chair for Greg and taking his crutches away from him. “We might have grabbed something on the way from the airport.”
“We didn’t think you’d wait for us,” Naomi explained. “We assumed you’d eat before we got home.”
“Then you’re not starving,” Joshua said with a sigh. “Great. Just great.”
“She might not be but I am. And your cooking beats a bag of chips any day.” Greg gazed expectantly at him. “Mashed potatoes and gravy too?”
Joshua nodded, before giving them a hard stare. “A bag of chips is not a good substitute for dinner.”
“How about you stop with the lectures and dish up the food?” Micah grinned. “I want to sample your first meatloaf. Because if it tastes half as good as it smells, you’re doing all the cooking from now on.”
Greg cleared his throat. “Don’t scare him, Micah. He’s only just started.”
Joshua regarded them with amusement. “Who’s the dad here?
” He shook his head and cut the loaf into thick slices.
When the plates were ready, he brought them to the table.
The sight of the three of them, all leaning over to sniff their food at the same time, made him chuckle.
He hadn’t even taken his seat before Greg took a mouthful of meatloaf and made noises of approval.
He swallowed. “This has a nice little kick to it. I like it.”
Naomi tried the potatoes and smiled. “Hey, these are really creamy.”
Micah ran his finger through the gravy and licked it up. His eyes sparkled. “That’s Mom’s recipe.”
Joshua nodded. “Why mess with perfection, right?” He forked off a piece of meatloaf and tried it. “Hey, not bad.”
“Not bad? It’s delicious.” Greg gave him a wide smile. “You did good.” He took another mouthful, letting out a low moan of pleasure.
Micah shook his head, before staring at his fork. “Is this… garlic?”
Joshua coughed. “Yeah. About that…” He took a drink of water.
“Seriously, Dad?” Naomi laid her hand on his arm. “Mom would be proud of you.”
That last compliment brought a lump to his throat, and Joshua took another sip from his glass. For a while, nothing was said as everyone ate. When they were done, and not a smidge of food remained on the plates, Micah held his out.
“Can I have some more? As long as there’s enough for sandwiches tomorrow. That’s the best part about making meatloaf.”
Joshua chuckled. “Oh, we got plenty.” He got up from the table and cut off another slice.
“So, how was the trip?” When silence greeted him, he turned to stare at them.
“Everything was okay, wasn’t it?” They’d gone to San Diego with a dual purpose—Greg’s mom hadn’t seen him since the attack, and she’d been worried, so they wanted to put her mind at rest. What had concerned them more, however, was Greg introducing them to Micah.
Greg sighed. “I knew I should’ve told her before we got there, like I originally planned. It might have been less of a shock that way.”
“A shock? What on earth happened?” Joshua knew Greg had been nervous about it.
“Let’s just say they were a bit surprised at first to learn I was gay, and leave it at that.”
Micah snickered. “Then your mom decided you really were like your dad after all, and that it must be a genes thing.”
“But they are okay with it?” Joshua wanted to know.
Greg nodded. “I wouldn’t say they were ecstatic.
Mom kept asking me all kinds of questions, wanting to make sure I was being ‘safe’.
” His face flushed. “I thought I was embarrassed when she had the Talk with me when I was twelve. This was much worse.” He smiled.
“But on the whole, they’re… supportive.” His eyes met Joshua’s.
“Not as supportive as you, however, but I’ll take what I can get. ”
“And before you ask, they were nice to me,” Micah added.
“Why wouldn’t they be? You’re a great guy,” Naomi remonstrated.
“And you’re biased,” Micah said with a grin. “But thanks anyway, sis.” He flashed Joshua a smile when he set down the plate of meatloaf in front of him. “By the way, this is really good.”
On impulse, Joshua kissed the top of Micah’s head. “I’m glad you’re home,” he said softly. “I missed you.” Just how much, he would never share. His kids didn’t need to know their old dad was lonely.
Old. Listen to me. I’m nearly forty-seven. That’s hardly ancient.
“And we have news,” Greg added, still smiling. “Just after we got off the plane, I got a phone call. I have a meeting Monday in Gillette with the County Attorney. A Mr. Rycliffe.” His gaze met Joshua’s. “Seems he wants to talk about the case.”
Joshua blinked. “Wait—there’s a case?” It had been a couple of months since Greg and Micah had passed on the vehicle registration of the car belonging to the lowlifes who had attacked Greg. They’d almost given up hope of the police building any kind of case.
Greg nodded. “The lady I spoke to said Mr. Rycliffe wants to discuss it, so that must mean they have something, right?” His expression was hopeful. “Micah’s coming with me, but I hoped you’d come along too. For moral support?”
That warmed Joshua. During the last few months while Greg had been with them, Joshua had come to care deeply for the young man. He was delighted that Greg was part of the family.
“I’ll be there,” Joshua assured him.
“That’s awesome.” Naomi’s face glowed. “Let’s hope they’ve got tons of evidence to put those bastards away.”
Joshua was less certain of that. He had a suspicion that the evidence was only circumstantial, and that didn’t bode well. That was part of the reason why he wanted to go along. He wanted to make sure this attorney gave Greg the full picture.
Joshua knew what Greg wanted as an end result—that the two men who beat him up so violently were put away for a hate crime. The trouble was, Joshua didn’t see that happening anytime soon. Not in Wyoming, at any rate.
Let’s see what this Mr. Rycliffe has to say.
Joshua was sure of one thing—he wasn’t going to leave that office until he was satisfied the attorney was going to do his best for Greg.
The best he could hope for was that Rycliffe would be sympathetic.
The last thing they wanted was someone who was clearly not comfortable with the homophobic nature of the attack.
Please, Lord, make him an ally? In fact, while I’ve got your attention, could You just make him gay or bi?
Joshua had a feeling that last request was a little too much, but he’d take what he was given.
“More meatloaf, anyone?”
When both Greg and Naomi held out their plates, Joshua heaved a final sigh of relief.
At least there’s one meal I can make. That didn’t mean he was about to tackle something more complicated. Small steps, Joshua. Small steps.