She dropped her arms and held his gaze. “So, you do what you need to do, Ethan. And I’ll do what I need to do.”
FIFTEEN
As soon as Ethan passed through the gates to McClellan Farms, he knew something was wrong. The place was still. The laborers Pops paid by the hour to do the heavy work around the farm weren’t wandering through the barn or the fields. And Pops’s tractor was parked in the barn.
But the most unusual and worrisome was the sight of Pops sitting on the porch of his house in an old, tattered wicker rocker with Homie at his feet.
Ethan let go of his turmoil over Delaney and stood from the truck, calling to Pops. “Can’t remember the last time I came over here when you weren’t working. You all right?”
“Fine. Just waitin’ for the heat to pass. What’s your excuse?”
Heat was definitely an excuse. It was only eighty degrees. Besides, Pops worked regardless of weather. The only thing that kept that man down was pain.
Ethan shut his door and ambled his way toward the porch. “My excuse isn’t near as simple as yours.”
“It’s a gift. Comes with age.”
Ethan took the steps slowly and sat on the top stair, where Homie met him. “Well, then.” He sighed, stroking his hand along Homie’s soft fur. “I guess there’s something to look forward to after all.”
A long moment of blessed silence stretched comfortably between them. The trees rustled in the soft breeze; a dog barked somewhere in the distance. But with all the conflict battling inside him, Ethan didn’t feel any of the peace or tranquility he usually experienced here.
“Things are going downhill, Pops. I’m in a real bad spot.”
Harlan made one of those I’m-listening-go-on sounds and crossed his arms.
“Austin’s gone beyond being a pain in the ass. He’s out of control. He and Dad and Wayne are all in this together. They know about the brewery.”
Pops’s gaze sharpened. “Let me guess—the silent investor.”
Ethan nodded. “I had to call Steve to verify. How’d you know? And why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know.” Pops gazed out over his land again. “But something about that offer didn’t feel right. Now it all makes sense—if you can call the way they think sense.”
“Delaney knows, too.” His gaze dropped to the step beneath his feet, and he clasped his hands between his knees. “She went over to the warehouse to find me and found the plans instead. Took her two seconds to figure out I’d planned on using her license.”
Pops made a disgusted sound in his throat. “You’ve made one hell of a lot of misery for yourself, boy. Wayne wants that building gone in the worst way, as if that will cure Ellen. Your daddy wants Wayne’s money, as if it’s the Holy Grail to another term as mayor. If they can control you, they’ll both get what they want, and you’ll continue paying for a crime you never even committed.”
Ethan opened his mouth to counter the blame of creating his own misery, but his grandfather continued.
“And Delaney . . . hell, she has every reason to be pissed at you. You went behind her back. You were scheming to pull that license right out from under her while doing God knows what else with her. Talk about mixed messages.”
“No, no, no. Hold on, Pops. We—”
They what? Had an understanding? Were on the same page?
Ethan’s mind drifted back to her small frame leaning on him, her warm tears soaking into his tee. To the feeling of being valued and respected and wanted. The feeling of being needed. And a sudden wash of knee-buckling loss broke out of nowhere.
But Pops didn’t notice; he just kept on hammering. “Why don’t you ever listen to me? I know that girl is different. I see the way you look at her. Why didn’t you just let Wildcard simmer on the back burner when I told you to? Then you could have brought that pretty little thing up to the top of your priority list where she belongs, and you’d be happy instead of miserable right now, wouldn’t you? If your grandma was here, she’d be draggin’ you around by the ear, tellin’ you what’s what.”
Ethan scraped his hands through his hair and growled with the frustration of it all. Twisting toward Pops, he said, “We’ve been planning this thing for years. We’re family.”
“Family.” Harlan barked a cynical laugh. “What the hell does that mean? Look at the people in our family. The men are corrupt, lying, bullying sacks of shit. The women have latched on to those men and are too weak to stand on their own, think on their own.
“Family is who you choose to make family, the way I chose Mable to be my family. You have the chance to choose who you make family. And if you continue wastin’ your
loyalty on people who don’t deserve it instead of showing that girl who and what you really are, then you aren’t the man I thought you’d become.”
“Pops—”