My jaw clenched so hard my back teeth ached. “What the hell is he doing here?”
“We need to talk,” John said. “All three of us. You refused to come back to Texas with me last month, so we had to make other arrangements. It’s just a conversation, Jakey. Hold on to your horses until you know what this is about.”
John stepped out of his side of the booth and invited our father to sit. It took my old man a minute to get into the booth. He walked with a lilting limp, favoring his right side, and his old bones gave him trouble as he lowered himself into the seat. He shot me an angry scowl before barking at the bartender to bring him a whiskey on the rocks.
I leaned back in my seat, creating as much space between myself and them as I could. I wanted out. Right. Now.
John sighed. “I know this is uncomfortable.”
“Nah,” I growled, “I’m peachy. How about you, Dad? Comfy?”
He scowled at me, his stormy brown eyes muddied from years of liquor. His nose was red, too, and full of tiny veins. John was right. He wasn’t doing well. “Still the same immature boy, I see,” he said dryly.
John massaged his brow. “Can we be civil for ten minutes so we can talk?”
I never took my eyes off my father. “Go ahead, John. Talk.”
My brother turned things over to our father. “Tell him, Dad.”
My father’s whiskey arrived. He took a swig and began speaking, his words clipped and abrupt like always. “I expected you to join your brother when he came back to the ranch last month, but I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised by your absence. You never gave a shit about the ranch. You care more about the wealth you’ve built here in this concrete hellhole.”
John sighed. “Dad, let’s stay on topic.”
My brother, the idiot mediator.
Dad prickled and waved John off. “I’ll say my piece, damn it. You disappointed me, Jake. You’ve been disappointing me for fucking years. But I dragged my old ass all the way out here to make you a proposal.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” I said.
“Shut your mouth and wait until I’m done.”
Some things never change.
My father lifted his trembling chin. “I’m getting old, and I want my own flesh and blood running my ranch when I’m gone. That’s you boys. I want you to come back to the ranch and pick up where you left off. Get back in the saddle, so to speak. Get ready to take it over for good in my place when I’m gone.”
I laughed. Actually laughed. John and my father looked at me like I was crazy.
“This is a joke, right?” I asked.
John sighed heavily.
“You think I flew all this way for a punchline?” my father drawled. “You owe me this, boy. I made you. I made both of you. And I’m willing to hand down hundreds of acres of generational land. You need to come back to your roots and be a man, Jake. This life,” he gestured at my suit, my watch, my haircut, “is ridiculous. You’ve had your fun playing the city slicker big shot, and now it’s time to come back to reality. To come home, where you belong. What do you think your mother would think of you now?”
“Leave her out of this,” I said.
“She’d be ashamed,” my father continued. “She’d think you’d lost your damn mind. Life here is small no matter which way you cut it. You belong in the open air, in the saddle, at the ranch. I won’t hear another word of protest. Sort out your affairs and come home.”
I drained the remnants of my rye and ginger and slid out of the booth. “Well, this has been absolutely delightful, but I’m out.”
“Jake,” my brother breathed, “come on, man. This is our home. Doesn’t some part of you feel like this could be a good thing? Think about it. You and me running the ranch? Starting families someday down the road? Endless fields of cattle and clear blue skies?”
“I would rather chew off my own foot,” I said.
My father got unsteadily to his feet and pointed a thick, arthritic finger at me. “You’re an ungrateful little bastard.”
I grinned in his face. “Yeah well, you raised me.”
John was on his feet now, too. “Stop.”