Page 1 of Claiming What Is Mine

Chapter One

Gabe

Look at that ass.

Don’t be shy. A specimen like that should be on exhibit. “Do you want to give it a smack? You do, don’t you? Go on then. Smack that ass.”

Smack. Smack.

I glimpse my brother Chet through the mirror.

“Gabe! I didn’t ask you to be my best man, so you could stand around spanking yourself on my wedding day.”

“No brother, you did not. I consider it a perk of the job.” I wink at him through the glass.

“Think you can pull yourself away for a minute?” Chet asks in his usually gruff way. “I can’t figure out this damned tie.”

He’s a curmudgeon, but he’s not wrong. Watching his thick hands fumble about with such delicate material is like watching a chimp tie a shoelace. Given enough time and luck, it could happen—I suppose.

I take another peek in the mirror hanging from the back of the office door. The harsh white of the lights overhead are hardly flattering, but still, I look good. I step back and turn, smiling as I imagine the reverend standing here looking himself over a final time, probably double checking that his fly isn’t down, before he heads to the sanctuary to address his congregation.

A hint of sadness, one I’ve been ignoring since this morning, creeps into my thoughts. The significance of the day acts as a not-so-subtle reminder of the happiness Chet has found that I have not. By contrast, the best outcome I can hope for today is a pretty distraction to keep me company—for a while anyway. Not so long ago I thought the occasional distraction was all I’d ever want, but lately I’ve come to see how far that is from the love of a good woman.

Suck it up man. This is not the time for a pity party.

I straighten my tie and smooth my lapel. “Happy to help brother. This sexy beast will be here, waiting.” I give my ass a final, albeit smaller slap before turning to Chet. “However, seeing as we spend most of our waking lives together, what makes you think I’ll be any better with a bow tie than you?” I ask as I fumble with the black fabric dangling from his neck.

Chet looks good today, stately even. He and Christy went with the gold standard (a.k.a. vanilla) wedding. You know the kind, early June, small chapel, no surprise flash dance entrances, or wild outfits. Hell, I suppose with Chet involved we’re lucky not to be in a barn, sitting on bales of hay. As for me, if I was the one getting married today, well, let’s just say my wedding would have more flare.

Seeing Chet all fancied up in his tuxedo, the elegant contrast of the black on white, combined with a clean shave and no hat—he’s almost unrecognizable. Until you get to the boots, anyway. For some reason, likely never to be known by the rest of mankind, he drew a line at wearing boots. They aren’t the everyday pair he wears around the ranch. Oh no. They’re brand new Tony Lamas, bought specifically for today.

“You managed to get yours on, didn’t you?” Chet points to the bow expertly tied around my neck.

“Honestly? No. Frank did it for me. I couldn’t figure out when to loop from when to knot to save my life.”

“Frank?” Chet looks surprised.

“Yeah, he’s the fancy pants down in Denver. Apparently, between the nine to five of the business world, and his highfalutin nightlife, he’s some kind of expert.”

“Think you could keep your hands to yourself long enough to find him?”

“Sure. Back in a jiff. Need anything else while I’m out? A drink? Maybe a big pair of pliers?” I catch another glimpse of myself in the mirror. Better be careful today, don’t want to steal the attention away from the bride and groom.

Chet shakes his head. “I’m certain to regret asking, but why would I need a pair of pliers, Gabe?”

“To get that stick out of your ass before the ceremony.” I close the door without giving him the chance to respond, pleased as punch with my cleverness.

The halls of this old church are familiar but somehow uncomfortable. Maybe they changed the color, or maybe the walls simply don’t seem as big as they did when I was small, but something is off. I can’t recall the last time I was here. Memories of the place from my childhood stand out, vivid and bright. Sunday school classes, painting with watercolors, my brothers and I racing from one end of the hall to the other at full speed. Until Pop caught us anyway.

Then it hits me. Our dad!

The hair on my neck stands on end as I realize the last time I was here was for his funeral. Think happy thoughts. Pop would be smiling to know what’s brought everyone back here today.

I poke my head through the double doors leading into the worship area, hoping to catch Frank’s attention without traipsing down the aisle and tapping him on the shoulder. I can’t believe my eyes. People are lined up along the walls. Chet’s wedding is standing room only? The whole damn county must have turned out. My guess? Everyone showed up to see if Christy actually goes through with it.

I scan the room for my brother, waving my arms overhead like an idiot when I spot him. So much for low profile. Frank rolls his eyes and gives me the finger (not like that, jeez, you’ll have to keep your mind out of the gutter if you want to keep up), indicating he needs a minute. Jesus man, you’re not officiating the thing, what are you doing that’s so important? I step back into the foyer and lean against the wall to wait. My foot taps in time with the second hand of the clock above the door. As different as he and Chet are, both men seem to be under the impression that the rest of us should be happy working around theirtimetables.

A few minutes later, Frank pushes through the doors and almost walks past before he notices me along the wall.

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