Mason supposed it was none of his business how Dean raised his child, but it was hard to ignore. And it wasn’t like Mason was an expert on raising kids, anyway. The only example he’d ever had was his own father, who raised children with the Bible and his leather belt. Silence seemed a lot better now that he thought about it.
“I’ll handle the dishes.” Mason was pretty sure he could manage those without having a nervous breakdown. Just as long as he wasn’t cooking….
“You don’t have to. Just let me give Wyatt his bath and tuck him in, and I’ll take care of it.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Mason insisted. He stood up and gathered the dishes.
“Thanks.” Dean sent him a quick smile. “Come on, Wyatt.”
“Good night, kiddo.” Mason waved at Wyatt, who shyly waved back.
Alone in the kitchen, the sink suddenly looked like a bigger deal than it should. Mason hadn’t been in a kitchen in months. In fact, he’d sworn he’d never enter one again. Strangely, he hadn’t thought about it when he entered the ranch kitchen earlier. He’d always loved it. Mrs. McMahon, who’d kept house for Mr. Walker, had ruled the house and the kitchen especially. She always had a sandwich or a plate of cookies for a hungry ranch hand, and Mason had adored her. She moved away to be with her sister in Florida not long before Mason left the valley himself. If there was one kitchen in the world where Mason should feel comfortable, it was the one he was in. And come hell or high water, he’d wash the damn dishes.
When the dishes were done without too much panic, Mason wandered into the living room and sank into one of the dark leather couches. It almost swallowed him whole, and he loved it. The ranch was everything a home should be. Having gone without a home for a while, he’d had time to think about it.
It was less cluttered than he remembered. Mason imagined Dean had thrown out some of the stuff collected by his father. The house had a lighter feel to it, even though family history spilled from all the photos, the old, handmade throws, and the collection of silver boxes in the glass cabinet that had always fascinated him.
“You can turn the TV on, you know.”
Dean’s voice startled Mason out of his thoughts. “Not much of a TV person,” he admitted.
“Yeah, me neither.”
Dean sat in the chair closest to the unlit fireplace. The silence, bordering on uncomfortable, grew between them as the clock on the mantle and the wind outside made the only noise. It had never been like that before, but a decade made a difference no matter how well you’d once known someone.
Instead he focused on being warm, having a belly full of food, and not having to worry about where he’d spend the night. It was a rare luxury with the way Mason’s life had turned out, and he wasn’t about to take it for granted. Nor was he going to take for granted that he was sitting in semidarkness with the only person he’d ever truly loved. Slowly looking up to sneak a glance at Dean, he was greeted by blue eyes looking right at him, never once wavering when Mason bravely kept from looking away.
A shadow of a smile flickered on Dean’s face. “I suppose it’s story time.”
Chapter 2
D EAN HAD done a lot of soul-searching since the morning roughly four weeks before when he learned he was a father. None of what he’d come up with about who he wanted to be allowed him to hide. Mason had been the one person he’d never hidden from before—Mason had been his best friend and so much more. The anger from the past had long faded. The hurt not so much. But Dean truly believed Mason had had a good reason for his actions, and somehow he’d find out what it was. But he wasn’t just curious about Mason’s story—he wanted to share his own too. It felt like he had to, or he’d burst.
“I suppose,” Mason said softly after a moment, as if he weren’t sure he liked the thought.
After another silence that held the room
“I’ll handle the dishes.” Mason was pretty sure he could manage those without having a nervous breakdown. Just as long as he wasn’t cooking….
“You don’t have to. Just let me give Wyatt his bath and tuck him in, and I’ll take care of it.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Mason insisted. He stood up and gathered the dishes.
“Thanks.” Dean sent him a quick smile. “Come on, Wyatt.”
“Good night, kiddo.” Mason waved at Wyatt, who shyly waved back.
Alone in the kitchen, the sink suddenly looked like a bigger deal than it should. Mason hadn’t been in a kitchen in months. In fact, he’d sworn he’d never enter one again. Strangely, he hadn’t thought about it when he entered the ranch kitchen earlier. He’d always loved it. Mrs. McMahon, who’d kept house for Mr. Walker, had ruled the house and the kitchen especially. She always had a sandwich or a plate of cookies for a hungry ranch hand, and Mason had adored her. She moved away to be with her sister in Florida not long before Mason left the valley himself. If there was one kitchen in the world where Mason should feel comfortable, it was the one he was in. And come hell or high water, he’d wash the damn dishes.
When the dishes were done without too much panic, Mason wandered into the living room and sank into one of the dark leather couches. It almost swallowed him whole, and he loved it. The ranch was everything a home should be. Having gone without a home for a while, he’d had time to think about it.
It was less cluttered than he remembered. Mason imagined Dean had thrown out some of the stuff collected by his father. The house had a lighter feel to it, even though family history spilled from all the photos, the old, handmade throws, and the collection of silver boxes in the glass cabinet that had always fascinated him.
“You can turn the TV on, you know.”
Dean’s voice startled Mason out of his thoughts. “Not much of a TV person,” he admitted.
“Yeah, me neither.”
Dean sat in the chair closest to the unlit fireplace. The silence, bordering on uncomfortable, grew between them as the clock on the mantle and the wind outside made the only noise. It had never been like that before, but a decade made a difference no matter how well you’d once known someone.
Instead he focused on being warm, having a belly full of food, and not having to worry about where he’d spend the night. It was a rare luxury with the way Mason’s life had turned out, and he wasn’t about to take it for granted. Nor was he going to take for granted that he was sitting in semidarkness with the only person he’d ever truly loved. Slowly looking up to sneak a glance at Dean, he was greeted by blue eyes looking right at him, never once wavering when Mason bravely kept from looking away.
A shadow of a smile flickered on Dean’s face. “I suppose it’s story time.”
Chapter 2
D EAN HAD done a lot of soul-searching since the morning roughly four weeks before when he learned he was a father. None of what he’d come up with about who he wanted to be allowed him to hide. Mason had been the one person he’d never hidden from before—Mason had been his best friend and so much more. The anger from the past had long faded. The hurt not so much. But Dean truly believed Mason had had a good reason for his actions, and somehow he’d find out what it was. But he wasn’t just curious about Mason’s story—he wanted to share his own too. It felt like he had to, or he’d burst.
“I suppose,” Mason said softly after a moment, as if he weren’t sure he liked the thought.
After another silence that held the room
Similar Books
When Darkness Falls
Jennifer Youngblood, Sandra Poole
The Seductive Impostor
Janet Chapman
Pretties
Scott Westerfeld
Sleepwalker
Michael Cadnum
Immortal Dynasty
Lynda Haviland
Body Master
C.J. Barry
Satan's Gambit (The Barrier War Book 3)
Brian J Moses
