Parker, fourth born in the crazy mix of testosterone that had rattled around under their roof, came into the room with a plate of snacks. Like Jordan himself, Parker had been a bit on the wild side. In his teens he'd been more trouble than their parents had been able to handle. Still, the folks hadn't given up on him. They knew he possessed the intelligence to accomplish whatever he wanted in life. But for many years he chose to throw it all away. He'd eventually been given a parental ultimatum-­a challenge that had turned him into a successful and talented chef who owned one of the most prosperous food truck businesses in the Portland, Oregon, area.
While his younger brother held the plate in front of him, Jordan's mouth watered. The growl in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten since yesterday.
"How the hell did you whip these up so fast?" Jordan asked as he snagged a chunk of bacon-­wrapped pineapple and popped it into his mouth.
"I won Chopped because I'm good and I'm fast," Parker boasted.
"Yeah, and your last girlfriend complained about that whole fast thing." Jordan couldn't resist giving his brother some shit. Truth was he was damn proud of what Parker had accomplished without asking for help from anyone.
"Fuck you." Parker's response came with a grin.
"Boys. Language."
Jordan looked across the room where their aunt Pippy gave them both the stink-­eye. Quite an impressive feat when the woman wore more black eyeliner than Lady Gaga.
For whatever reason, their aunt had never quite moved on from the 1960s. She wore gobs of makeup, psychedelic colors, and gigantic earrings that could knock you out if they swung too hard in your direction. Her neon orange hair had been dyed within an inch of its life and teased into a style Jordan had only seen on nostalgic TV shows like Rowan and Martin's Laugh-­In. She was the complete opposite of their conservative, serious-­minded mother-­Pippy's younger sister-­but no one could argue that she was entertaining as hell.
Next to Pippy sat the only female brave enough to be born late into an all-­boy family.
Nicole was an ethereal beauty loaded down with a typical rebellious seventeen-­year-­old girl attitude. For what it was worth, Nicki scared the shit out of him. Jordan wasn't used to her outbursts and temper tantrums. Hell, he wasn't used to her at all. He'd been sixteen years old when she'd been born and he'd barely been around in those days. For the most part he'd bounced back and forth from the East Coast to the West Coast playing hockey and living part-­time with his uncle in Philly. Getting to know his infant sister hadn't been high on his to-­do list.
Today, that rebellious teen was in tears and Jordan felt compelled to cross the room and offer comfort. His sister's blue-­eyed scowl had been the only thing to stop him. For whatever reason, she made it clear he didn't top her list of favorite people.
Paybacks were a bitch.
When Aunt Pippy wrapped an arm around Nicki's shoulders, Jordan should have been relieved that someone was there for her. Instead he only swallowed another serving of guilt.
Absent from the room was Ryan's adorable young daughter, Riley. At only nine years old she'd suffered too many losses. The most devastating had come when her mother abandoned her for a career in Tinseltown. The former Laura Kincade's big claim to fame thus far had been a toilet paper commercial in which she looked into the camera, grinned, and breathlessly exclaimed, "It's deliciously soft." Jordan had never thought to associate toilet paper with delicious but they could have used a case of the stuff to clean up the shit storm Laura had left behind.
As a family the Kincades had moved to Washington State after their grandfather passed away and left their dad the vineyards. At least that's what the parents had said when they'd decided to rip their five boys away from their suburban Philadelphia home. Later it became clear the move had also been to get him and his brothers away from trouble. Seemed most of them had been good at that. All of them except Ryan, who'd always been mature and responsible beyond his years.
Jordan looked across the room where their oldest sibling and general manager of their family vineyards took the lead for the reading of their parents' will. Dark brows pulled tight over his trademark blue eyes, Ryan scanned the somber faces surrounding him.
"Aside from the circumstances, it's nice to have everyone together," Ryan said, his pained gaze dropping like a wrecking ball on Jordan's mountain of guilt. "I know Mom and Dad never shared much information on the state of the winery business. They figured you all had your own lives to live and didn't need to be worrying about the day-­to-­day goings-­on here. You might have wondered and you might not. Either way, Mr. Anderson is here today to let us know their final wishes."