Everywhere and Every Way(4)

He heard his father's spirit roar and call him a pussy. He watched the  faces of his brothers harden, trying to process emotions they'd refused  to deal with for way too long. Caleb didn't care if he went to hell for  it. He needed them to keep his company alive, and he'd do anything  possible to convince them.

Finally Tristan spoke. "I need time to think about it."

Caleb nodded. "Understood."

"You all can take a few days," Dyken said. "Talk it over. Let me know your decision."

"I'll tell you within twenty-four hours," Tristan clipped out. He  straightened his suit jacket, tugged at the Windsor knot on his bright  red tie, and turned. "I'm going out for a while."         

     



 

Dalton slowly followed, pausing with his hand on the knob.

"You're wrong," he murmured into the silence. "Mom was never coming back."

Then he left.

Dyken packed up his briefcase and left Caleb alone, staring at the closed door for a long, long time.





chapter two







Don't look at me like that. I've had a shit day, and getting drunk is probably the best thing on my to-do list."

Two sets of big brown eyes stared back at him. Every one of his moves  was measured and studied in shaking silence. He'd been stupid to put the  bag of rawhide bones near his bottles of precious bourbon, not  realizing that each time he'd get a drink, the goofball duo would assume  they were getting treats.

"No way. One of you stole the leftover chicken, and I still haven't figured out who's lying."

Bodies finely tuned, ears pricked, tongues lolling in helpless  excitement, these two were impossible to say no to. Caleb bit back a  smile.

He'd found the two puppy mastiffs tied to a tree during a job.  Abandoned, dehydrated, and starving, with sores on their bodies, they'd  likely been out in the woods for a while. After a vet visit that saved  their lives, Cal couldn't stand the idea of them going to the shelter.  They refused to leave each other's sides, bonding from the horrific  incident, so separating them wasn't an option.

His father hated dogs and probably would've left them in the woods,  deeming animals an unnecessary burden in life. Cal let Christian win  most battles, since it was easier. But not this one. He'd decided to  foster until he got them both a home together, but after a few weeks,  Cal faced the truth: he loved them. He decided they already had their  home-with him.

Because Caleb had tumbled straight into love with the gentle giants, who  had no manners, little attention, but huge hearts that reached out and  soothed his own.

They'd torn up his house pretty good the first few months, but after  they realized they were safe, they turned into big mushes. Towering to  his chest, almost two hundred pounds each, they resembled intimidating,  ferocious beasts until you looked into their faces and saw the joyous  abandon in their gaze. Unfortunately, they sucked at commands and rarely  controlled themselves when meeting strangers. Most dogs wouldn't have  recovered from their trauma. But Gandalf and Balin had a zest for life  no one could steal from them. They reminded Caleb of all the good things  in the world worth fighting for.

Even his father had surrendered. Though he muttered about their sloppy  behavior, Christian had loved the dogs with a passion Cal rarely saw him  show toward anything other than work. Gandalf and Balin were known to  flank his father and gaze at him in adoration while he watched CNN every  night, sharing his popcorn and commenting on the sad state of the  world. There weren't too many people who missed Christian Pierce, but  Caleb's mastiffs still waited at the door as if his father would  surprise them by coming through it one day.

Maybe there'd been hope for the old man, after all.

Cal shook his head, scooped out two rawhide bones, and held them out.

Gandalf could never seem to handle the stress, so he did the only trick  he knew to get the bone in his mouth as quickly as possible. He fell to  the ground and played dead. Paws stuck straight up in the air, head  cocked at a sharp angle, he peeked through his eyelids to make sure he  had an audience. It was the most ridiculous thing Cal had ever seen, but  every time he did it, a laugh escaped his lips.

He threw the bone, and Gandalf came alive just in time to snatch it in his mouth.

Balin was a little more patient but tended to try to eat his hand along  with the bone. Cal paused for three beats, then slowly offered the  treat. Balin let out a whimper of distress, seeing it so close but not  allowed to grab it. Finally Cal nodded, and Balin grasped the treat and  raced toward his dog bed, where all food and toys were always hoarded.

And now it was Cal's turn.

He poured a few fingers of his favorite Kentucky bourbon and tried to  ignore the silence in the house. His gaze flicked around the elaborate  kitchen, where his mother had reigned as queen. Memories rushed past him  in a succession of images he didn't want to see.

They'd gather around the horseshoe marble island for meals and lively  discussions, the scent of fresh bread warming the air. The kitchen was  equipped with all the state-of-the-art appliances, from the Wolf double  oven and Sub-Zero refrigerator to the espresso maker, soda machine, and  customized popcorn popper. God, how she loved cooking for them. Some of  his best memories revolved around elaborate meals and her warm laugh,  her patient tone when lecturing them on their wild ways, and the way she  insisted none of her sons ever go to bed angry at the others.         

     



 

His mother's presence still beat strong in the bright yellow walls,  eclectic collection of dish towels, and cheery splashes of color that  livened up the cold steel and elegant marble. Their house was always a  showcase for new buyers, and Christian held it to the highest standard  of materials and elegance. The floor-to-ceiling bay windows with their  silver velvet drapes; the vaulted ceiling, which gave the rooms amazing  space; and such expensive materials as pine, mahogany, marble, and  Italian tile all brought the place a greatness and quality his father  proudly boasted of.

But Diane Pierce had made it a true home.

Now the house was quiet except for the chomping of the dogs. Cal held  back a weary sigh as he made his way toward the porch. His brothers had  avoided him since the reading of the will, but he needed an answer soon.  It was time they had a real talk and figured out if they could forgive  enough to work together.

He opened the door to the porch and strode to his favorite drinking  chair. The wicker rocker was old and worn, and the seat molded to his  ass with perfect precision. He propped up his booted feet on the  matching wicker table, faded now to a dirty white, smirking a bit when  he remembered how Christian had hated having any wicker in his house. It  was a material he frowned upon, and it looked out of place with the  custom wood rockers and cedar porch. Maybe that was why Cal loved this  set so much.

He sipped his whiskey and tried to relax. Darkness closed around him,  the thick woods that surrounded the twenty-acre estate full of lively  night action from the crickets and frogs, each trying to outsing the  others. The intricately structured gazebo of latticed painted wood and  peaked roof opened onto the infinity pool. A faint greenish glow and  trickle of steam rose from the right, connecting to the main house via a  bluestone pathway lined with natural rock formations. The lush  manicured lawn tumbled into towering oaks and pines, snugly wrapping the  house around them. It was a sight that always startled him with its  beauty. How many times had he and his brothers played in those woods,  pretending they were Hansel and Gretel and that a witch with a candy  house would eventually snag them? Cal swore he heard raucous laughter  drifting to his ears. Ghosts from the past swirled and caught him in its  net.

Three young boys who ran together, climbed trees, and shared secrets in  an old tree house. Three boys who believed in magic and a future so  bright, no reality could ever dim it. Three young boys who had no idea  one day it would be torn apart and they'd never find themselves going  back to one another.

A swarm of gnats hovered around his head, and he batted them away,  reminding himself to get a few more citronella candles out. Summer was  upon them, and the bugs were a bitch. He used to wonder why his parents  never built near the harbor, closer to the bustling town. It was a  location most people sought out in Harrington. Then he realized that  land was key. Owning numerous acres gave power, the more the better. Cal  wondered if his parents had been happy for a brief time, when endless  possibilities stretched before them. It was as if the bigger the  business got, the more their family began to break at the foundation.

Cal knew from experience that the foundation everything was built on was  key. It could rot like termites eating through bad wood and never truly  recover.

Now, wasn't he thinking like a damn poet? But he was no Dylan Thomas. Better to shut off his thoughts and just drink.