room? Dollar signs began pinging in his head. He wondered how much money Silas had sunk into this house. Unease gripped him. The old man had always been frugal, but this house cost money. Maybe the rumors he’d heard of the ranch being in debt were more than rumors.
Not your problem.
Dan stood and gestured to him. “I’ll show you to your room.”
He thanked Felicity again, and followed Dan up the sweeping staircase to the second-floor landing, his boot heels stomping firmly on each step.
At the hallway’s end, Dan opened a door. Nick blinked. Once this had been his room. No longer.
The bedroom had been converted to a guest room with a white queen-size bed, a pink ruffled spread, pink walls, white girlish furniture and a white rocking chair with bright pink cushions by the window. Nick gave a rueful shrug.
“Felicity thought you might like to be in your old room.” Dan shoved his hands into his pockets. “Except we did some redecorating, thinking you’d never come home again.”
“No worries,” he said easily. “I’m not staying long and I’ve stayed in worse places. Maybe not as pink, though.”
Dan flashed a brief smile at the joke as Nick dumped his pack on the white carpeted floor.
“Bathroom is through that door.” Dan pointed to a connecting door. “No one else is on this floor, so you don’t have to worry about interruptions.”
“Just my boots,” Nick joked.
Dan jammed a hand through his short hair. “Ah, about the boots, don’t worry about it. Felicity makes the rules mainly for the staff, who come into the house to use the office downstairs. Not family.”
Am I still family? The question hovered on the tip of his mouth, but he only nodded.
“Where’s Jake?” he asked.
“He’s at his girlfriend’s, but will meet us at the funeral home.”
Lucky bastard. Maybe his girlfriend had a spare room for Nick. A room with less frills and less Pepto-Bismol decor.
“I’ll need a suit for the funeral,” Nick told him.
“Already taken care of. You can wear one of Jake’s—you’re about the same size. Felicity hung it in this closet.”
As his cousin made to leave, Nick sat down on the pink chair. He was twenty-nine now, no longer the rebellious teen who looked up to his older relative for advice. “Stay a minute, Dan. Tell me what’s been going on. All I heard was rumors about the ranch having financial trouble.”
Dan stood by the bed. “There’s been a lot that’s happened since you left, Nick. Maybe if you had stuck around, if you had cared enough, things would be different.”
Tension squeezed his guts. Once he and Dan had been close. No longer, for the cold anger flaring in his cousin’s eyes told him everything. “I couldn’t.”
No use getting into the past, how Silas had browbeat him until Nick felt smothered, and how if he hadn’t left, he’d have either turned into a ghost of himself, or he’d have gone mad. The old man had kicked him out when he was only sixteen, telling him to “learn to straighten out and you can return.”
Nick survived six months being homeless, living by his wits, until the bitter cold weather drove him back, humiliated and ashamed, to his father. He remained at home another three years and then joined the navy.
No one knew the real reason he stuck it out. He preferred to keep that reason private.
Still, Dan should know his decision wasn’t capricious. “You remember that day when I was fourteen and I found the puppy by the roadside? How I begged Silas to keep it?”
His cousin nodded. “Always thought it was a bad deal that the dog was so sick you had to put it down. Tough call, but Silas said it was for the best.”
Nick gave his cousin a level look. “The dog was fine. I secretly brought him over to the vet to have him checked over. He didn’t need anything more than a deworming, Dan. Silas wanted me to shoot it because he said I needed to grow a set of real balls, and not get all ‘female’ over a damn stray dog.”
Dan blanched. “Silas would never do that.”
Nick gave a grim smile. “Oh, he would never do that to you. But me, he did crap like that all the time. Guess you’ll never understand. But before you go judging me for leaving here, understand I had my reasons.”
His cousin looked away, but not before Nick caught a flash of guilt on his face. “Silas could be tough, yeah. But if he didn’t take us in after my dad died, we’d have been really bad off, Nick. I guess that’s why I could forgive anything he did.”
“You had your reasons for staying, just as I had mine for leaving.” Nick stood and went to his pack, then unzipped it. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”
Dan started for the door. “Like Felicity said, it’s your home, too. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. Make sure to lock your window before you go to sleep.”
Lock his window on the second floor? Nick looked up, but his cousin was gone.
Nick went to the closet and opened the door. A black silk suit hung there, the dry-cleaning plastic still encasing it. He tore off the plastic and then tried on the suit. A little tight around the shoulders, but it would suffice.
He hung it up and then went into the adjoining bathroom to shower. When he emerged, in clean jeans and a gray T-shirt, the two boys stood in the doorway. Nick waved them in. They entered, their big blue eyes wide.
They watched him as he unpacked and rummaged through his clothing.
“Daddy says you’re a hero. You’re a Navy SEAL,” Mason said.
Hero? The thought soured him, even as he appreciated his cousin’s compliment.
“I was a Navy SEAL.” Nick hung a hat on the bed’s post.
“Mommy doesn’t like hats on the bed,” Miles informed him.
Wonder if Mommy likes anything on the bed, he thought, and sighed. The boys stood opposite him, so stiff that they resembled wooden bookends.
He wasn’t good with kids, except his best friend Cooper’s family, and these boys looked too wary, too uncertain of this stranger in their home.
Their home, not his.
Nick dug into his knapsack. He removed his one good white shirt, wondering if Felicity had an iron he could borrow. Judging from the woman’s attitude, she probably kept a dozen.
The gun case was stashed at the bottom. He removed it and stared at the pistol encased within.
He’d have to keep his SIG Sauer locked up and wondered if Silas still kept his shotguns and rifles in the downstairs study. Ah, hell.
Bracing his hands on his knees, he felt a bout of piercing grief at what had been lost between himself and the old man. Silas had taught him how to shoot when Nick was ten. Took him hunting in the mountains, and had pride in his first kill.
The old man showed him how to be an expert marksman. Insisted he take care of his weapons, clean them and make sure they were locked up, away from curious fingers.
It was one of the few areas they had in common and didn’t clash about.
“Is that a gun?” Miles asked.
Nick nodded, replaced his sidearm in the backpack.
“Can we see it?” Mason said, his voice growing excited.
Giving his cousin’s son a long look, Nick shook his head. “Hands off. I never let another man handle my sidearm.”
The boy pouted a little until hearing the word man.
“Dad