Letting Hearts Heal (2 page)

“No.”

“All right. Come on, then. Mine’s right over by the grocery store. I was putting the bags in the car when Wyatt took off. Scared ten years off my life.”

“That’s what being a parent is all about, right?”

Dean snorted. “It seems so.”

Mason’s mind was racing when he got into Dean’s truck. He’d returned to his hometown to see his aunt and ask for her help. Although he knew he might run into Dean, he hadn’t expected the myriad of feelings the meeting would cause. Just being close to him was making Mason feel more alive than he’d been in months. For some reason he hadn’t considered that Dean and the town would have changed as much as he had. In his mind home was unchanging. Reality was very different.

He watched over his shoulder as Dean buckled Wyatt into his car seat, both father and son eerily quiet and somber. Mason’s younger siblings and cousins had been a lot noisier and chattier. Something seemed off, but perhaps it was part of Dean’s
long story.

O
N
THE
ride to the ranch, Dean tried not to sneak too many glances at Mason. The snow was coming down heavily, swallowing the road in front of the car and forcing him to keep his attention on where he was going. And what he’d shared with Mason had been a long time ago. Just because his feelings hadn’t gone away didn’t mean Mason felt the same.

Mason seemed tired. Tired and worn. Like he’d been through too much in not a lot of time. The kid who’d left the valley without a word nine years earlier had been fresh-faced, bright-eyed, and always ready with a smile. Now Mason looked guarded and exhausted and as stunningly beautiful as ever. Seeing him again had shocked Dean every bit as much as seeing Wyatt run into traffic on Main Street.

Dean had been away at college when Mason graduated high school and disappeared. For years they’d danced around—and with—each other, testing the boundaries between friendship and whatever came next. Mason had worked at the Walker Ranch, and Dean had been home almost every weekend. They’d been young, naïve, and stupidly happy—until the weekend Dean had come home to find Mason gone. He remembered being worried, then angry, and finally just brokenhearted.

“How many horses do you currently have?” Mason asked, effectively startling Dean from his thoughts.

Hesitating, Dean wondered how a horse lover like Mason would take the news about the ranch. “Only a few, actually. I, uh… there’s been a lot of changes at the ranch since I inherited it. When Dad died, I felt I had a choice. Either continue the Walker family tradition with horse breeding or do something that I’d actually enjoy. I went with my heart.”

“You never did like the horses much.” Mason was unsuccessful at suppressing a small sigh, and Dean smiled to himself. He’d be lying if he hadn’t briefly thought of Mason when he decided to keep a few of the horses. It wasn’t that he
hated
them—he just wasn’t as passionate about them as his father and grandfather had been. Or as Mason was.

“So what’s happening at the ranch now?” Mason asked.

“I’ve started in a lot of different directions, but it will all be coming together in the shop I’ve opened in town. Fresh produce. Vegetables, dairy, meat, beer, wine, jams, tea. I’m trying to find locals who want to contribute with their crafts and products. There’s the old gym teacher from the high school who makes her own yarn, and a guy down by the creek who carves wood. Stuff like that. I’ve also started to put together a box of fresh produce every week that people can subscribe to and have delivered. Maybe with recipes that match the food sometime down the road. I’ve got about a million ideas.”

Mason whistled. “Sounds like it. Wow. I just can’t get over the fact that you got rid of the horses.”

“Not all of them. I still have three.”

“Three….” Mason muttered under his breath, but Dean heard him and felt a kind of unrestrained happiness bubble up inside of him, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time. And it was ridiculous. He hadn’t seen Mason in nine years and still knew nothing about why he’d left. He barely knew anything about Mason anymore. He’d known the boy, but the Mason next to him was all man—a fact he was painfully aware of. And as unfamiliar as parts of Mason appeared, some things were unchanged. Like the warm brown eyes. Sure, they held shadows, but their depth and the way looking into them made Dean feel like he belonged was still the same. Mason had been a gangly kid, and while he’d lost that along the way, he was still lean. In fact, he looked a bit too thin. It worried him.

It was almost dark by the time they reached the ranch, and the snow was coming down heavily. Dean unbuckled Wyatt and carried him to the porch before going back for the groceries. Mason grabbed a couple of bags too, and it didn’t take long before they had everything inside where it was toasty warm.

“You know where the guest bedroom is,” Dean said to Mason while helping Wyatt take off his jacket and boots. “Make yourself at home. There are towels and extra blankets in the closet in the hallway, and… well, anything else, just ask or go exploring. Oh, and look out for stray Legos. Wyatt loves playing with them, but it hurts like hell to step on the fucking things.”

“Thanks.”

Mason looked at him strangely, and it wasn’t until he’d gone upstairs that Dean realized he should watch his language around Wyatt. He wasn’t used to talking to adults around the boy, and there were so many things to think about when you were a dad. So much to learn and so little time.

Dean sighed. “All right, buddy. Go play for a while until dinner is ready.”

A serious nod and Wyatt disappeared into the living room where he had a corner for his toys. He remembered the sheer terror he’d felt watching helplessly when Wyatt had darted into traffic. Being a dad wasn’t for the weak. But sometimes—like when he watched the kid sleep—something stirred inside him, and he didn’t know what to call it.

Fixing a pasta dish with the inevitable side of peas, Dean tried to think about the ranch. He needed to squeeze work in between babysitting and worrying his head off. Wyatt, small and demure as he was, had been on Dean’s mind almost constantly since that fateful day a month earlier. And now Mason. He would be just as big a distraction as Wyatt. Selfish as it was, Dean wasn’t sure he could afford distractions.

“Hey.”

Dean turned to see a freshly showered Mason fidgeting in the doorway. He abruptly shoved his hands in his back pockets and plastered on a smile that didn’t look completely genuine.

“Hey. Grab a drink—there’s coffee on and stuff in the fridge—and have a seat. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Thanks.” Mason poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the big kitchen table that had been the center of the Walker ranch as long as Dean could remember. Not just for meals, but for important conversations, small talk, laughter, tears, and everything in between.

“Did you find everything all right?”

“Yes, I did. Thank you. Truth be told, I’m not sure how I would have fared outside tonight in the snow. The motel closed down apparently, and with money being a bit tight, the hotel… well. I definitely owe you one. I hope you’ve got some work for me or something, so I can repay you.”

“You don’t need to repay me, Mase. And you can stay here as long as you like. If you want to be put to work, you can find Wyatt. Dinner’s ready.”

Mason smiled. “On it.”

Dean set the table and was preparing Wyatt’s plate when he heard something he’d never heard before—his son laughing. A cute giggling sound that tugged at something in his chest. Mason and Wyatt appeared in the door. Wyatt giggled breathlessly as he came to a sliding halt on stocking feet, and Mason growled playfully as he made a half-hearted attempt to catch him. Two people having fun. Dean couldn’t remember the last time that had happened on the ranch. He found himself smiling automatically, and he was surprised to see Wyatt looking at him, still laughing.

“Dig in,” Dean managed against the lump in his throat.

Wyatt did as he always did—spooned the peas into his mouth one at a time while ignoring everything else. Dean didn’t quite understand his son’s fascination with peas. Whenever Dean asked what he wanted to eat, Wyatt would say “peas.” And Dean couldn’t very well complain. It wasn’t like the kid was asking for lollipops or french fries. He just did his best to make him eat something else along with the peas.

Mason inhaled his food like he hadn’t eaten in a while, and Dean worried that was indeed the case. He had no idea what Mason had been doing since leaving the valley, but he did know that he looked too skinny and weary. Perhaps he’d been down on his luck. Dean vowed to himself to help out however he could. He’d been busy pushing people away for a long time, filling his life with work and trying to prove himself to a dead man. It was time to surround himself with people he cared about.

“T
HAT
WAS
delicious,” Mason said and drained his second cup of coffee. It was like he couldn’t get properly warm even though the kitchen was toasty and the food and the coffee were both hot.

He’d spent most of the silent meal wondering about the lack of interaction between Dean and Wyatt. There was something about it that was off—as if Wyatt were a sullen teenager. But he wasn’t. He was an adorable little boy who looked too solemn. Mason supposed it was none of his business how Dean raised his child, but it was hard to ignore. And it wasn’t like Mason was an expert on raising kids, anyway. The only example he’d ever had was his own father, who raised children with the Bible and his leather belt. Silence seemed a lot better now that he thought about it.

“I’ll handle the dishes.” Mason was pretty sure he could manage those without having a nervous breakdown. Just as long as he wasn’t cooking….

“You don’t have to. Just let me give Wyatt his bath and tuck him in, and I’ll take care of it.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Mason insisted. He stood up and gathered the dishes.

“Thanks.” Dean sent him a quick smile. “Come on, Wyatt.”

“Good night, kiddo.” Mason waved at Wyatt, who shyly waved back.

Alone in the kitchen, the sink suddenly looked like a bigger deal than it should. Mason hadn’t been in a kitchen in months. In fact, he’d sworn he’d never enter one again. Strangely, he hadn’t thought about it when he entered the ranch kitchen earlier. He’d always loved it. Mrs. McMahon, who’d kept house for Mr. Walker, had ruled the house and the kitchen especially. She always had a sandwich or a plate of cookies for a hungry ranch hand, and Mason had adored her. She moved away to be with her sister in Florida not long before Mason left the valley himself. If there was one kitchen in the world where Mason should feel comfortable, it was the one he was in. And come hell or high water, he’d wash the damn dishes.

When the dishes were done without too much panic, Mason wandered into the living room and sank into one of the dark leather couches. It almost swallowed him whole, and he loved it. The ranch was everything a home should be. Having gone without a home for a while, he’d had time to think about it.

It was less cluttered than he remembered. Mason imagined Dean had thrown out some of the stuff collected by his father. The house had a lighter feel to it, even though family history spilled from all the photos, the old, handmade throws, and the collection of silver boxes in the glass cabinet that had always fascinated him.

“You can turn the TV on, you know.”

Dean’s voice startled Mason out of his thoughts. “Not much of a TV person,” he admitted.

“Yeah, me neither.”

Dean sat in the chair closest to the unlit fireplace. The silence, bordering on uncomfortable, grew between them as the clock on the mantle and the wind outside made the only noise. It had never been like that before, but a decade made a difference no matter how well you’d once known someone.

Instead he focused on being warm, having a belly full of food, and not having to worry about where he’d spend the night. It was a rare luxury with the way Mason’s life had turned out, and he wasn’t about to take it for granted. Nor was he going to take for granted that he was sitting in semidarkness with the only person he’d ever truly loved. Slowly looking up to sneak a glance at Dean, he was greeted by blue eyes looking right at him, never once wavering when Mason bravely kept from looking away.

A shadow of a smile flickered on Dean’s face. “I suppose it’s story time.”

Chapter 2

D
EAN
HAD
done a lot of soul-searching since the morning roughly four weeks before when he learned he was a father. None of what he’d come up with about who he wanted to be allowed him to hide. Mason had been the one person he’d never hidden from before—Mason had been his best friend and so much more. The anger from the past had long faded. The hurt not so much. But Dean truly believed Mason had had a good reason for his actions, and somehow he’d find out what it was. But he wasn’t just curious about Mason’s story—he wanted to share his own too. It felt like he had to, or he’d burst.

“I suppose,” Mason said softly after a moment, as if he weren’t sure he liked the thought.