McCullen's Secret Son. Rita Herron

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       Chapter One

      The last place Brett McCullen wanted to be was back in Pistol Whip, especially on the McCullen ranch.

      He pulled down the long drive to his family’s ranch, Horseshoe Creek, his leg throbbing from his most recent fall. Damn, he loved rodeo and riding.

      But maybe at thirty, he was getting too old to bust his butt on the circuit. And last week when he’d woken up in bed with one of the groupies, some hot, busty blonde named Brandy or Fifi—hell, after a while, they all sounded and looked the same—he’d realized that not a soul in the damn world really cared about him.

      Or knew the Brett underneath.

      Maybe because he was good at the show. Play the part of the bad boy. The fearless rider. The charmer who smiled at the camera and got laid every night.

      Easier than getting real and chancing getting hurt.

      He cut the lights and stared at the farmhouse for a minute, memories suffusing him. He could see him and his brothers, playing horseshoes, practicing roping on the fence posts, riding horses in the pasture, tagging along with their daddy on a cattle drive.

      His oldest brother, Maddox, was always the responsible one—and his father’s favorite. Ray, two years younger than Brett, was the hellion, the one who landed in trouble, the one who butted heads with their father.

      Brett could never live up to his old man’s expectations, so he figured why try? Life should be fun. Women, horseback riding, rodeos—it was the stuff dreams were made of.

      So he’d left home ten years ago to pursue those dreams and hadn’t questioned his decision since.

      But Maddox’s phone call had thrown him for a loop. How could he deny his father’s last request?

      Hell, it wasn’t like he hadn’t loved his old man. He was probably more like him than Maddox or Ray. He’d always thought his father had a wild streak in him, that maybe he’d regretted settling down.

      Brett hadn’t wanted to make the same mistake.

      He walked up the porch steps and reached for the doorknob, then stepped inside, back into a well of family memories that reminded him of all the holidays he’d missed.

      Last year, he’d seen daddies shopping with their kids for Christmas trees, and mothers and kids at the park, and couples strolling in the moonlight, and he’d felt alone.

      Mama Mary, his dad’s housekeeper and cook and the woman who’d taken care of him and his brothers after their mother passed, waddled in and wrapped him into a hug.

      “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Mama Mary said with a hearty laugh.

      Brett buried his head in her big arms, emotions churning through him. He’d forgotten how much he loved Mama Mary, how she could make anything feel all right with a hug and her homemade cooking.

      She leaned back to examine him, and patted his flat belly.

      “Boy, you’ve gotten skinny. My biscuits and gravy will fix that.”

      He laughed. Mama Mary thought she could fix any problem with a big meal. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice gruff.

      She blinked away tears and ushered him into the kitchen. The room hadn’t changed at all—still the checkered curtains and pine table, the plate of sausage and bacon left from breakfast. And as far back as he could remember, she’d always had a cake or pie waiting.

      “Sit down now and eat. Then you can see your daddy.” She waved him to a chair, and he sank into it. Dread over the upcoming reunion with his father tightened his stomach. Grateful to have a few minutes before he had to confront him, he accepted the peach cobbler and coffee with a smile.

      Without warning, the back door opened and his little brother, Ray, stood in the threshold of the door. Ray, with that sullen scowl and cutting eyes. Ray, who always seemed to be mad about something.

      Ray gave a clipped nod to acknowledge him, then Mama Mary swept him into a hug, as well. “Oh, my goodness, I can’t tell you how much it warms my heart to have you boys back in my kitchen.”

      Brett gritted his teeth. It wouldn’t be for long, though. As soon as he heard what his father had to say, he was back on the road.

      A tense silence stretched between them as Mama Mary pushed Ray into a chair and handed him some pie and coffee. Just like they did when they were little, Brett and Ray both obeyed and ate.

      “Maddox is on his way home now,” Mama Mary said as she refilled their coffee.

      Brett and Ray exchanged a furtive look. While the two of them hadn’t always seen eye to eye, Ray and Maddox had clashed big-time.

      Brett had always felt the sting of his big brother’s disapproval. According to Maddox, Brett didn’t just leave but ran at the least hint of trouble.

      Footsteps echoed from the front, and Brett braced himself as Maddox stepped into the kitchen, his big shoulders squared, that take-charge attitude wafting off him.

      “Now, boys,” Mama Mary said before any of them could start tangling. “Your daddy had a rough night. He’s anxious to see you, so you’d best get upstairs.”

      An awkwardness filled the air, but Brett and Ray both stood. His brothers were here for one reason, and none of them liked it.

      “I’ll go first.” Brett mustered up a smile. Pathetic that he’d rather face his father on his deathbed than his brothers.

      Ray and Maddox followed, but they waited in the hall as he entered his father’s bedroom.

      The moment he spotted his father lying in the bed, pale, the veins in his forehead bulging, an oxygen tube in his nose, he nearly fell to his knees with sorrow and regret. He should have at least checked in every now and then.

      Although he had come back once five years ago. And he’d hooked up with Willow James. But that night with her had confused the hell out of him, and then he’d fought with Maddox the next day and left again.

      “Brett, God, boy, it’s good to see you.”

      Emotions welled in Brett’s chest, but he forced himself to walk over to his father’s bed.

      “Sit down a spell,” his father said. “We need to talk.”

      Brett claimed the wooden chair by the bed, and braced himself for a good dressing-down.

      “I want you to know that I’m proud of you, son.”

      Proud was the last thing he’d expected his father to say.

      “But I should have come back more,” he blurted.

      His СКАЧАТЬ