I grab a beer from the fridge, peeking over at my brother as he layers on the sauce.
“I invited Wesley, but he’s having dinner with Rose over atthe cottage,” Dallas says, pouring the sauce over the dish and sliding it back in the oven to heat up.
“That’s nice. They didn’t really get to spend much time together all week.”
“Hear you got her staying at the cottage,” Dad comments.
Dallas calls over his shoulder. “How’s she liking it over there?”
I know better than to tell him she’s only been there one night. There’s no reason to bring up Millie right now.
“What’s not to like?”
Dallas doesn’t respond. Instead, he pulls on a batch of scallions and slices. His eyes and breath even, measured, like he’s trying to hold it together.
And I suppose now’s as good a time as ever to change the subject.
“Someone came by for you yesterday.”
“Who?”
“Don’t know. He didn’t leave a name. Was a little cryptic, honestly. Came by the main office asking for you. Any idea?”
“What’d he look like?” Dad asks.
“About your age. Nothing threatening about him. Was relatively polite.”
Dallas shrugs like he’s not in the mood. “I don’t know. Customer? Competitor?”
“No. This was personal. That much I can tell.”
Impatiently, he meets my eyes. “Well then, why the hell should I know more than you?”
“I’m asking if you got into some trouble lately? Maybe something you were too drunk to remember. Bar owner perhaps?”
Not that this guy looked like he owned much of anything. And he certainly didn’t come looking like he was trying to even the score.
Plus, I don’t see Dallas—even in a drunken state—pouncing on a guy twenty years older than him.
Dallas runs a hand over his face. “If he comes by again, send him over to the house.”
“This house?” Dad starts with a firm glare at his oldest son. “Or the one you been buildin’ and abandoned?” It’s that no-nonsense, weathered tone we all recognize. One that hasn’t changed since he started teaching us about responsibility, loyalty, and values.
With a breath, I sit back in my chair.
“Not this again,” Dallas grunts and turns to check on the meatloaf.
Dad glances at me, a subtle look that tells me he knows what he’s going through. “I walked that line myself, Dal. But after your mom passed, I still had to get up every damn morning—hard as might’ve been—and do right by everyone countin’ on me.”
My chest tightens. Dad’s not known for his warmth, but he’s not wrong. There’s a lot riding on Dallas getting back out there. Our staff, the stock, the land—hell, even his old self—all counting on him.
I don’t add myself to that category.
Because as much as I need my brother back too, there was a time not long ago when he thought he’d be running this place on his own—while I had my head out in the clouds.
So while I haven’t been entirely patient—I’ve been quiet.
My brother perks a brow. “Look, I don’t owe anyone money. I didn’t punch some old guy, and I certainly don’t go anywhere but Bones to drink. Whoever it is will go away eventually.”
