Chapter Eleven #2
Trev had no intention of going though Hayes’s window, but he was thankful that Wade wasn’t in the kitchen when he let himself in wearing his muddy coat over boxers and boots.
He had his excuse laid out—the only washer on the property was in the foreman’s house and he’d left his muddy jeans to be washed, but if he had been caught, the incident would have taken its rightful place in family lore.
The television was blaring in the living room, the light rippling over the dark carpet as he eased past the doorway, peeked in on his way by and then continued down the hall. Wade was sound asleep in his chair, the remote clutched in one hand.
Trev had just closed the door to his dark room when a sweep of headlights illuminated the interior.
Odd time for visitors. Prying his boots off from his wet-socked feet, he grabbed a pair of jeans out of his drawer, pulled them on, then reached for the MSU hoodie hanging off the bedpost. Wet socks would have to do, because someone was coming up the walkway.
By the time Trev reached the kitchen, the door was opening.
Ballsy burglar?
Nope.
A long-lost brother stepped inside, shaking water off his sleeves.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Trev asked.
Jordan pulled off his wet felt hat and hung it on a chair finial before shooting Trev a confused look. “I told Wade I was coming home.”
“Must have slipped his mind.” Or he had some kind of a plot brewing in his diabolical head. Jordan frowned at Trev’s feet. “Why are you wearing wet socks?”
Trev glanced down. “Long story. I’d rather hear yours.”
“A story old as time. Consultant gets the snot slapped out of him by incompetent project managers until he can’t take anymore.”
“Your project?”
“I finished my part. Could have signed on for phase two, but no way.” He sat in Wade’s chair at the table. “Dealing with these clowns was the kick in the ass I needed.”
“I know the feeling,” Trev said. “I guess I know why Wade is firing me.”
“Wait. What? He’s firing you? How does that work?”
Trev explained about the restructuring of his company and how Wade was hot to get him back into the office.
“I take it you’re in no hurry to go back to nine to five,” Jordan asked, easing out of his jacket.
“Nine to five. Right.” More like whenever someone needed a solution to something, regardless of the time.
Trev smirked instead of pointing out the reality of his job, then went for the whiskey bottle kept in the cupboard over the refrigerator.
He poured a couple of fingers and plunked a glass down in front of his brother, then did the same for himself.
He lifted the bottle questioningly and Jordan pointed to the table. It was going to be that kind of night.
Good. He needed one of those nights.
Jordan leaned back in his chair as Trev sat. “You’re the only one of us now with a truly steady job. Wade’s not going to want you to give that up to work for peanuts on the ranch.”
“I like peanuts.” And the more he thought about it, the more he felt suited to life on the ranch than life in a cube. “Why should you get more peanuts than me?”
“Because you’re the responsible one.”
“Bullshit. I worked hard at my irresponsibility.”
“You’ve gotten rusty.”
“Yeah,” he said softly as he stared into his glass. “I might have.”
When he returned to work, after the initial shock of finding himself back in khakis and a button-down, he would be okay. It’d happened before. Why wouldn’t it happen again?
Because what he wanted to pursue was here. And it wasn’t just the ranch.
“I think I might quit.” The words that he’d been shoving aside for most of the day finally formed.
Jordan barely reacted. “Is that the lack of whiskey talking?”
“Wade’s not getting any younger. I should be closer to lend a hand. Especially if you’re going to start a consulting firm or whatever.”
“If you quit, it’ll cut into my peanuts.” But Jordan didn’t look displeased.
“Tough.” Trev sipped, resisting the urge to toss back the whiskey. He met his brother’s gaze as he set down the glass. “I’ll quit responsibly.” He had no other choice, really. Financial obligations and all that.
“You worked hard to get to where you are.”
“And I did it for the wrong reason.” A reason that was still haunting him. “Maybe I don’t need to climb the ladder.” He didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. “I can get something closer.”
“Think this through,” Jordan warned before emptying his glass in one deep swallow. When Trev cocked an eyebrow, he said, “You aren’t the only one who’s been dealing with stress.” He reached for the bottle. “Stopping at two.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“This time I mean it.” Jordan added a splash to Trev’s glass before capping the bottle and taking it back to its place on the shelf.
Once reseated, he lifted his glass and gave Trev a dry smile.
“Now … which difficult topic do you want to discuss next? My surprise father or”—he glanced toward the living room, where Wade’s snores battled with the volume of the television—“a certain someone hoping that you and your girlfriend figure things out?”
Trev coughed as whiskey threatened to go down the wrong pipe. “What girlfriend?”
Jordan’s lips twitched at the corners as he said, “The one living next door, of course. The one who wrecked your truck.”
Shit.
Trev cleared his throat. “Let’s discuss surprise father.” Trev figured that if his brother brought the subject up, then Jordan needed to talk.
“I kinda thought you’d choose that.” Jordan smiled tightly as he glanced down at the whiskey.
“You start,” Trev said after several seconds of silence ticked by.
Of the three of them, Jordan was the most easygoing. The brother who rolled most easily with the punches. But not this one. His gaze took on a fierce edge when he said, “I guess I’ll start by asking where the fuck was this guy while I was growing up? Why didn’t he have the balls to reveal himself?”
“Maybe he didn’t know.”
“He knew before he died.” Jordan frowned at his glass again.
“My mom worked for a grocery store and Jared Leonard cowboyed when he wasn’t stealing cattle.
It makes sense for them to be a couple, even if it was only for a night or two.
Finding out that my real father was some rich business guy from out of the area …
that doesn’t make sense.” Jordan glanced up.
“Was I fucking named after the guy? Carl Jordan? I had to have been.”
“Looks like it.”
Jordan picked up his drink, then put it back down again. “Why?”
“No easy answer there.” And Trev wasn’t putting forth hypotheses. “You may never know.” But he was glad they’d taken the cork out of this bottle. This was a lot of shit for his brother to be packing around.
Jordan picked up the glass again and this time he drank. “I couldn’t find much about Carl Jordan online other than the usual stuff. He married but not until after I was born. He bought the parcel of land I inherited before I was born, but only by a year.”
Jordan was regaining his composure as he recited his findings.
He smiled grimly when he said, “Yeah. I’ll probably never know.
But I can tell you one thing.” He leveled a serious gaze at Trev.
“I want to fucking rid myself of that property as soon as I can. Once probate is over, it’s going on the market. I never want to set foot on the place.”
Trev raised his glass. “Amen to that.”