Page 50 of Westin

“If she could see us now, she’d been ashamed of you.”

“No. She’d be shocked by you.” Westin took a step toward Mollohan and the older man moved backward, clearly not anxious to get into Westin’s personal space again. “She always thought that all I’d have to do was show up, tell you I was your son, and you’d welcome me with open arms. She thought you’d hand me the keys to Rocking D, teach me the ropes the same way your father taught you. It was this image of the two of us running the cows together that she was talking about the day she died.”

“The keys to Rocking D?” Mollohan spat, a thick glob of spittle flying across the room and landing on the glass of the fireplace screen. “I don’t fucking care who your father is. No bastard is getting his hands on my ranch.”

“That’s what I told her you’d say.” Westin shook his head as he shoved his hands in his pockets again. “She told me to come up to the front door and knock, like I had every right to be here. You know what? I applied for a fucking job here and you never even called me. So, I studied you, tried to figure out the best way to get close to you. Three years I’ve worked at Golden Sphinx, learning about you, trying to figure you out. And then Rena just stumbled into my path one day, and I knew she was the best way in.” Westin looked down his nose at Mollohan even as the man’s face turned a dangerous shade of crimson. “All that time studying you and I realized there are only two things you give a damn about: this ranch and that girl.”

“Stay away from my daughter!” Mollohan cried, finally showing some life as he charged Westin. It was a fool’s errand, of course, since Westin was half Mollohan’s age, and more agile than he probably ever had been. Westin stepped easily out of his path, and Mollohan nearly charged right into the fire. He caught himself and turned, throwing a blind punch that connected with Westin’s shoulder. The impact wasn’t half as intense, however, as the impact of the blow Westin threw that caught Mollohan in the stomach. He fell forward, bent over. Westin caught his head and punched him again, twice more, in the breadbasket before he stepped back and allowed the older man to fall to the floor.

“You know what, old man?” Westin asked as he bent low, using the toe of his boot to lift Mollohan’s face just enough to see his eyes. “I came here for my mother. I came here because she believed in you so much that I wanted to give you a chance. But the more I learned about you, the more I knew you were just another spoiled rich boy who thought he could have whatever he wanted no matter the cost to anyone else. My mother thought I deserved this place, your money and your legacy, but I don’t. My mother gave me more than enough. She raised me to be a better man than you will ever be.”

There was fear in Mollohan’s eyes. Westin thought he’d feel some sort of satisfaction if and when he saw that, but he didn’t. All he felt was tired, and damned disappointed. But he wasn’t disappointed for himself. He was disappointed for his mother. All that time she’d truly believed Dominic Mollohan was a good man, a caring man. But he was just a user, just like every other man who’d ever used and abused a good woman.

“I’m better than you,” Westin repeated as he jerked his foot away, causing Mollohan’s head to bounce onto the floor.

Westin stormed out of the house, barely remembering to snag his jacket as he passed through the entry hall. He heard Rena call after him, but he didn’t stop to acknowledge her. How could he? The poor girl believed she was in love with him, and here he was, her half-brother.

Shameless. He’d wanted so desperately to get close to Mollohan that he’d used his innocent daughter. What did that make him?

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t any better than his father.

Chapter 9

Clint approached Westin cautiously, his eyes taking in everything about the scene in front of him. It probably wasn’t every day he saw a grown man sitting on a snow-dusted sidewalk in his Sunday best, a bottle of whiskey dangling between his legs. Or maybe it was. Westin had no idea what Clint did in his free time. But he did know that Clint was the only one he trusted enough to call in this moment, the only one he knew could talk him down off the ledge he’d stepped out onto.

“I’m not sitting down there,” Clint announced, choosing instead to lean against the front of Westin’s truck. “I don’t need any extra moisture on my ass, thank you very much.”

“I get it. No problem.”

Still assessing the situation, Clint stood silently, waiting for Westin to open the conversation.

How do you open this kind of conversation? So, my biological father is a callous ass who not only denied being my father, but also basically called my mother a whore and threw her completely under the bus? Didn’t seem like a good start to any conversation.

“You have a bottle,” Clint finally said, gesturing with the toe of his boot. “But it’s not open.”

“I’ve been thinking pretty seriously about remedying that.”

“Why haven’t you?”

Westin tilted his head as he studied the bottle he’d paid nearly twenty bucks for, a bottle he knew he shouldn’t have bought while he was doing it. A bottle that would take him down a dark road he didn’t want to travel. Again.

“That’s a good question.”

“Is this about Lea?”

Westin snorted. A lot of things had been about Lea these last few days, and if any woman was likely to send Westin cascading into a bottle, it would probably be her. No other woman had ever gotten under his skin the way she did. And the lies she was telling only made it that much worse because there was this part of him that didn’t care, that wanted to be with her even though he knew she was trouble for his peace of mind. He needed his life simple. It was complicated enough being here, determined to confront his father.

But he’d done that, hadn’t he? He’d accomplished his goal, all the good it did him.

He shook his head. “I can’t even begin to explain what this is about.”

“Give it a try.”

Westin wrapped both hands around the bottle, his taste buds tingling at the idea of savoring its contents. He knew exactly what it would taste like, knew how it would burn going down his throat. He knew the calming buzz it would give him, the deeper numbness that would come with more. It probably wouldn’t take as much for that life-saving oblivion to settle over him, not as much as it had taken back when he couldn’t function without a drink. And it would feel damn good to slide down that hole again.

“I promised her I wouldn’t do this.” He shook his head as he studied the bottle. “I promised that I would focus on the future, that I would let it all go and move forward. I let her down.”

“Who?”

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