Page 72 of Outlaw

I turned toward the stables to see the older, more refined version of Kenneth Houston walking up to me. He’d been the worst one to tease me about my crush on Linc.

“You got old, Kenneth,” I replied.

He chuckled. “I’m surprised you didn’t follow that up by sticking out your tongue at me, then running off.”

“There is still time,” I warned with a grin.

He leaned up against the fence I was sitting on. “I gotta admit, I came by just to see you here with Linc. When Garrett told me about the two of you, I spit my damn whiskey out.”

I sighed. “If I’d only known then what I know now.”

“I think we all feel that way about something in our lives,” he replied. “She looks like you.” He pointed at Stevie with Levi.

“She has my hair and face, but Linc’s eyes.”

Kenneth smiled. “I have a granddaughter. That little girl is something else. Can’t imagine having a daughter. Those sweet smiles can wrap you right around their tiny fingers.”

“I know you have a son. Was he your only one, or did you have more kids?”

Kenneth’s family had their own stables, and I knew he’d had a little boy back then. I couldn’t remember much about him, but he had been young when I left.

“One boy. Saxon. He and his wife, Haisley, live on our land. Their daughter, Winter, is a raven-haired doll. She sure has livened things up for us. Melanie is owned by that child. I swear my wife lives and breathes to make her happy.”

The hollow ache in my chest when I thought about Stevie never meeting my dad or knowing him came uninvited. I didn’t want to be sad. I’d had enough of that yesterday.

“Well, I need to get up to the house. Garrett is expecting me. I just caught a glimpse of pale blonde curls, and it was like old times. Thought I’d come say hello,” he said, pushing off from the fence.

“I’m glad you did. It was good to see you, Kenneth.”

He nodded. “You too. And, Branwen, good luck.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I didn’t ask as he headed back through the stables. I went back to watching Levi with Stevie. The familiar sound of a cantering horse caught my attention, and I glanced back to see a small blond boy on the back of a dark brown thoroughbred, headed in this direction. The confident way he held himself and the glint of mischief in his eyes left no question on who he belonged to.

He had to be a Hughes.

“CREE!” a deep voice shouted.

The little boy’s head snapped around to see who it was, and then he smirked.

“I told you that you could ride Titus! Not Shakespeare!”

“Titus is old and a quarter. I ride thoroughbreds,” the little boy called back.

I squinted against the glare of the sun toward the man stalkingthis way with a black cowboy hat, a pair of jeans hanging low on his hips, and a pair of boots. No shirt and…whew. I felt like I should throw dollar bills at him. Holy crap.

“Get your ass off that horse before your momma comes out here!” He scowled.

“I’m not a pussy! I don’t ride pussy horses!”

My eyes widened. He was about Stevie’s age. I really hoped she didn’t hear him say that. She’d be asking me what a pussy was.

“I swear to God, Cree Elias Hughes, if you don’t get down off that goddamn horse!”

And that had to be Blaise Hughes. It seemed the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree with his son. I remembered Blaise being just as wild at the stables when he had been that age. The current boss of the Southern Mafia had the body of a god now that he was all grown up.

“You let me when Momma ain’t here!” the boy shouted back.

“If you don’t shut up and get down, you’ll be riding Hopscotch until you’re old enough to drive a car,” Blaise threatened him.

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