Page 21 of Back in the Texan's Bed
“Two years. That’s how old my son is. Two years of not knowing he existed. Two years of firsts. Two years of his life that you stole from me. From us. Do your worst, Dad. Issue your threats. But you don’t get another day, another hour.”
“Goddammit, Ross—”
“Hey, fellas.” Ross turned around in time to see Billy shut the study door behind him and walk farther into the room frowning. “I could hear you two all the way down the hall. And so can the staff. What’s going on?” He cast a look from Ross to Rusty, then back to Ross, concern darkening his eyes. “Is everything okay?”
“Hell no, everything isn’t okay,” Rusty growled. “Talk to your friend, Billy. See if you can pound some sense into him, because I can’t seem to. But somebody better,” he threatened.
“Ross—” Billy said.
“Later,” he threw at his friend before tossing a look at his father over his shoulder. “We’ll finish this later.”
“No, we won’t. Don’t push this, Ross.”
“No, don’t pushme, Dad.”
Stalking across the study, he jerked the door open and left, the anger, disappointment and, yes, sadness, propelling him down the hall toward the steps that led to the second level and his wing of the house. He’d expected his father’s reaction. But he hadn’t been prepared for Rusty to deny a child—to urge Rusty to desert a child—that was their blood. All Ross’s life, Rusty had preached about teaching his son to “be a man.” But a man took care of his responsibilities, provided for his children. A man protected the vulnerable.
Though Ross and his father had their differences, he’d always seen his father as a man upholding those values.
Now the sadness inside him threatened to capsize the anger. The sadness for who he’d believed his father to be. For the death of that belief.
“Ross, what the hell?” A hard grip surrounded his upper arm, drawing him to an abrupt halt. Billy appeared in front of him, blocking his path to the staircase. “What’s going on?” Before Ross could answer, his friend guided him through the formal living room on their left and out the glass French doors that led to one of the terraces facing the stables. Once they were several feet away from the house and on the lighted, pebbled path, he stopped, thrusting his hands over his black hair. “Talk to me. What the hell happened in there with Rusty?”
Initially, Ross hadn’t any intention of talking about Charlotte and Ben with anyone. At least not until his temper cooled. But the story burst out of him on a ragged, streaming torrent. When he finished, his chest rose and fell on his harsh breaths and the maelstrom of emotions that continued to roil through him.
“Well, damn,” Billy murmured. “I wasn’t expecting all that.”
For the first time since entering his father’s study, Ross snorted with true humor. “Yeah, when it comes to drama, I’m all go big or go home.” But in the next instant, he sobered. “Just tell me what you’re thinking, Billy.”
His friend sighed. “I don’t agree with how your father handled the situation those years ago. Lies always end up hurting everyone in the end. But trying to see it from his point of view, I can understand his motives—”
“Are youserious?” Ross barked. “He kept this—”
“Hold up.” Billy thrust up a hand. “I said I could understand his motives, not that I agree with them. Ben is your son, and no man should ever walk away from his child. I like your father, respect him, but I can’t back him on this. You’re my friend, and whatever you need, I got you.”
Love and gratitude for this man, who was as close to him as his brother, Asher, filled Ross, soothing the jagged edges left behind by the argument with his father.
“I appreciate it, Billy,” he said, then exhaled roughly. “I’m going to need all the moral support I can get. Especially when this comes out. Because I refuse to hide Ben or Charlotte.”
“You mean you’re going to need all the support because of Rusty.”
“Yes,” Ross murmured. “Why does it feel like I’m about to go to war with my father?”
“He’ll calm down,” Billy assured him, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “Right now he’s upset, but once he calms down, he’ll see reason.”
Ross chuckled sadly. “You don’t know Rusty Edmond at all, do you?”
Becausehedid. Rusty didn’t forgive or forget. And Ross had openly defied him, when in the past all he’d had was his son’s obedience.
No, this wouldn’t blow over. Not when neither of them were ready to back down.
But this was one battle Ross couldn’t afford to lose.
Seven
This time as Ross approached the small house in the older but cozy section of Royal, he was expected. He’d called Charlotte as soon as he’d hit the city limits last evening to let her know he was back in town. And asked if he could drop by the following morning to see Ben.
Over the three days that he’d been in Dallas, he’d called and talked to her, and had even video-chatted with Ben over his phone. Not that a two-year-old could chat. But he had been able to coax ahiout of him. Those moments had carried him through the long, interminable three days. And one day, hopefully sooner rather than later, his son would smile when he saw Ross’s face and heard his voice. Would run to Ross when he saw him.
