Beauty's Kiss(8)

“It’s getting late and snowing pretty good.”

“It’s not even nine and you drive one badass truck. You’ll be fine.”

“You really want to get rid of me.”

“I really want you to have a break. You’ve been alone with Dad for weeks—”

“Not that long. Harley’s been coming over almost every day for a couple hours at a time and then yesterday Brock came with her and the kids and they spent the day here so I could get out, and take care of some banking and shopping. When I came home, she had dinner all made.”

“So why hasn’t Brock married her?”

“I don’t know, but I’m thinking I should nominate them Friday night for that Wedding Giveaway contest. Can’t think of anyone around here more deserving.”

“True,” Troy agreed. “But now, go, get out of here while you can. If you leave now, you could be at Grey’s by nine thirty, shooting the shit, playing pool, and flirting with all those girls who have a thing for you.”

“All those pretty girls in tight jeans and short skirts are looking for a husband. And I’m happy playing darts and having a beer and making out in my truck, but that’s as far as it goes. I’m not looking to settle down, and nowhere near ready to be married.”

“That makes two of us,” Troy said, before heading upstairs to the master bedroom tucked back under the steep eaves of the eighty year old cabin, the interior walls covered with paneling, to hide the rustic split log walls.

For the next two hours Troy sat by the side of his father’s bed in the house that had been home to three generations of Sheenans, and tried not to think.

Or feel.

But that was easier done if he didn’t look at his father, who was now just a frail version of himself.

Easier done if Troy had remained in San Francisco, on task in his office on the thirtieth floor in the city’s Financial District, or in his sprawling home in exclusive, affluent Pacific Heights with its views of Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz and the Bay.

But Troy had come home, and he’d returned for this. To be here. To take some of the pressure from Dillon’s shoulders, and ensure that his father was as comfortable as possible in the coming weeks.

Dillon had warned him Dad was fading, but even then it was a shock for Troy to see how much his father had changed since Christmas. His father didn’t even look like the same person.

It had always been hard for Troy to return to Marietta. He didn’t like coming home, didn’t like the memories or emotions, and that was before Dad was sick.

Now...

He shook his head, his jaw tight.

Now he just felt even angrier, but Trey was the angry Sheenan. Trey was the one who drank too much and hit things, broke things. Not Troy.

But whenever Troy did return to Marietta, and the ranch, he felt an awful lot like his infamous twin who was currently spending a five year sentence in jail.

Troy shifted uncomfortably in the antique chair positioned close to the bed, thinking if they were going to continue these bedside vigils for their dad, who was clearly on the downward slope now, then they really needed to get a bigger, sturdier chair in the bedroom.

Footsteps sounded in the hall and floorboards creaked as Dillon entered the dimly lit master bedroom.

“You’re back,” Troy said.

“Had a couple beers and nearly got into a fight with a punchy little cowboy acting like an asshole around Dani, but Grey threw me out before I could teach that boy some manners.”

“You and Dani dating?”

“Dani and me? God, no. I’ve known her since she was in diapers but we are pretty tight. We have fun together,” Dillon said, running a hand through his thick dark hair, his hair the same shade as Troy’s, Trey’s and Brock’s. Only Cormac was fair, the same dark blonde their dad had been in his early thirties. The rest of the Sheenan boys took after their late mother, Jeanette, who’d been part Indian, part Irish, and one hundred percent beautiful.

One hundred percent beautiful, and two hundred percent crazy.

Troy stretched out his legs, crossing his boots at the ankle. No, that wasn’t fair. Mom wasn’t crazy. She’d just been terribly lonely and unhappy on the ranch.

It hadn’t been the life she wanted, isolated from town and friends, alone except for her husband and her five sons.

Dad should have insisted she learn how to drive.

Dad should have insisted she got into town.

Dad should have taken care of her better.

Or they should have, Troy thought, glancing up at Dillon. They, her sons, should have done more, because isn’t that what sons should do? Take care of their mother?

“How was Dad while I was gone?” Dillon asked.