Letting Hearts Heal (3 page)

After another silence that held the room captive a beat too long to be called comfortable, Dean took a deep breath. “I didn’t know about Wyatt until four weeks ago.”

At that Mason looked up from where he’d been studying the pillow next to him on the couch. “What?”

Leaning back in the chair, Dean prepared himself to put it into words for the first time. “I didn’t have an easy time coming to terms with the fact that I’m gay. I’m sure you remember that. Looking back, I think most of it was knowing I’d let down the generations of Walkers who worked so hard to keep this ranch in the family. Knowing it would end with me, being an only child and gay… it didn’t sit well with me.”

“So you went out and had a kid to keep the ranch in the family?”

“God, no. If I’d been straight and knowing I’d want to get married, have kids, and all that, I probably never would have had the courage to make so many changes around here. I’d have wanted to leave behind what I’d inherited.

“No. Wyatt happened because I was uncertain. Everything was so clear with you around, but after you left, the old doubts returned. Then one night after I’d had too much to drink, it seemed like a good idea to… make sure. So I had a one-night stand—a quite horrible one if I remember correctly—with a woman. The result was that I knew for sure that I was gay… and Wyatt.”

Mason nodded like it made sense to him, which surprised Dean. It didn’t completely make sense to him.

“But the woman didn’t tell you she was pregnant?”

Dean shook his head. “No. And she knew who I was because she had a will made after Wyatt was born where she named guardians in case something ever happened to her. She also named me as the father. Then last month she was killed in a car accident. The sheriff and a social worker showed up with Wyatt. Diana had some family, but no one who wanted to take care of Wyatt. I’m pretty much the last person on earth who should have a kid. I work too much, half the time I forget he’s around, and I don’t know a damn thing about kids. But I’m all he has, you know? I couldn’t turn him away even though he’d probably be better off somewhere else.”

“If you care enough to take him in, then I’m not sure he’s better off with someone else.”

“Maybe I cared about my own conscience more than I cared about him.” Dean sighed. “Sometimes I don’t even know.”

“I don’t believe that. If your conscience was that strict, you’d have gotten married, had a couple of kids—on purpose, even—and carried this place on like your dad and granddad.” Mason shook his head. “No. You took one look at that little boy and knew he was yours. That’s responsibility—and possibly something a lot stronger that you haven’t even realized yet. Dean, the kid is adorable.”

“But I don’t understand him. He’s nothing like me when I was a kid. He walks around puddles. Walks around them. I’m pretty sure I was learning to drive before I managed to walk around a puddle and not jump into it. He’s quiet all the time—never says much, never makes any noise, hardly ever makes a mess. Did you know that today when you were chasing him before dinner was the first time I’ve ever heard him laugh? Four weeks in the same house and not one laugh. And the fucking peas. God… I’m the worst dad in the world. Actually, I shouldn’t even be allowed to call myself a dad.”

When Mason said nothing, Dean looked up to see him trying to contain his laughter. He was unsuccessful and soon howling. Dean was slightly amused but tried not to show it. He just waited and enjoyed the sound he’d been missing for so long.

“Shit, Dean,” Mason finally managed to say, his face turning serious. “Just because the kid looks like you doesn’t mean he’s your clone. He has his own personality. And maybe he really is like you normally. He’s just lost his mom, and everything is as new to him as it is to you, except that he doesn’t understand exactly what’s going on. He just knows that his life has been turned upside down.”

Dean realized that Mason was probably right. The first night, Wyatt had been inconsolable, crying his little heart out until he fell into exhausted sleep. Dean had only briefly entertained the thought that it was because Wyatt was grieving, but he dismissed it because he thought Wyatt was too young to understand. Now he was pretty sure he’d been dead wrong, and his heart ached for his son. He hadn’t been as considerate as he could—and should—have been.

“See? I’m a horrible father.”

“Nah, just an inexperienced one. Even if you’d known Wyatt from birth, there’s no way you’d have been an expert after only four weeks, anyway. Cut yourself a little slack.”

Dean relaxed a little. Maybe Mason was right. “How did you become such a parenting expert?”

Mason snorted. “I’m no expert. I just know what a bad father is, and you’re not it.”

Knowing how Mason had been raised, Dean just nodded. Even though Dean had never known his mom because she passed away when he was just a baby, he knew he’d had a much better childhood than Mason. Mason had what Dean always dreamed of as a kid—a mom, a dad, and siblings. But in Mason’s family, the Bible ruled along with violence. Dean knew he’d been lucky to have a dad who only succumbed to the temptation of whiskey late in life.

Mason yawned, and Dean happily let go of his train of thought. “Okay, I’m done boring you for tonight. I trust you can find your bedroom before falling asleep.”

“I’ll manage. Thanks again for letting me stay, Dean.”

“Don’t mention it. Good night.”

“G
OOD
NIGHT
.” M
ASON
didn’t object even though he wasn’t on the verge of falling asleep, only drowsy from the warmth in the house. Going to bed early sure as hell beat having to talk about stuff he’d much rather suppress until it vanished in a cloud of dust. A man could dream, anyway.

The guest bedroom was much nicer than any bedroom Mason had ever called his own. And the bed was a little piece of heaven that he couldn’t wait to try out. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in too long, and it took no time for him to drift off.

When Mason woke up the next morning, the first thing he did was look out the window. Everything was blanketed in snow, and the flakes were still flying. In the daylight the ranch looked achingly familiar. At one time it had meant freedom and happiness when all other parts of his life had been dragging him down and making him miserable. He never liked school. He was a little bit dyslexic and brought up so much stricter than the other kids. And life at home wasn’t any better. Only among the horses and fresh air at the Walker ranch had Mason ever felt like his true self—until he’d been forced away by its owner. It still hurt to think about. If he could have shoved it in old Mr. Walker’s face that he was back on the ranch, he would have.

Mason took advantage of the available shower, then brought his laundry with him downstairs, certain that Dean wouldn’t mind him using the washing machine.

The house was quiet, but since its two residents weren’t big noisemakers, that told Mason nothing. Finding the kitchen empty, he went straight to the basement to take care of his laundry. Then he went to search for his host and minihost.

All he found was an empty house, so he ended up back in the kitchen, where he discovered hot coffee and a note. Dean was working and Wyatt was apparently tagging along. Mason sat down and enjoyed the coffee. He studied the kitchen and considered breakfast. Nothing that required any kind of cooking. Cereal, maybe. A house with a kid would have cereal. Not feeling the least bit guilty at making himself completely at home, he found the cereal in a cupboard and the milk in the refrigerator. Mason couldn’t remember a more successful morning in ages.

The phone rang while he was eating. He wasn’t a fan of phones—when he had one, he only ever got calls with bad news or requests to put in overtime because his colleagues had called in sick again. However, this was Dean’s phone, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Dean? It’s Alice Simmons. I promised to get back to you about the cider.”

Mason recognized the voice. He’d gone to school with Alice. “Hey, Alice. It’s Mason. Mason Schneider. Dean isn’t here at the moment, but I can give him a message if you want and have him call you back later.”

“Mason? Oh my. I didn’t know you were back in town. I guess we all end up here again sooner or later. It’s good to hear your voice. How have you been?”

Strangely, Mason believed her—although he would have sworn that no one had noticed him disappearing from town all those years before. Well, except Dean, of course. “I’ve been okay. How about you?”

“Oh, I’m doing great. Married Bob… you remember Bob, right?”

Mason didn’t, but made the appropriate noises while she told him all about her three kids, her dog, and Bob’s—whoever he was—fascinating career as an investment banker.

“You wanted to talk to Dean about cider?” Mason managed to ask when Alice was forced to take a breath after sharing her favorite cherry pie recipe.

“That’s right. The kids are getting old enough to entertain themselves after school, so I took up making cider. Dean wants to sell it in his store.”

“I’ll have him call yo—”

“At first I didn’t care much for the idea, you know,” Alice prattled on. Mason had forgotten how much of a talker she was. “Even Bob said to be careful. I mean, not that Dean would rip me off or anything. But you never know, do you?”

“Well, no,” Mason replied, surprised that she’d waited for him to speak. “May I ask where you’re selling it now?”

“Oh, nowhere really. Just friends and family buying it from me. Dean tasted it at my cousin’s wedding.”

“It sounds like you could make actual money if you take Dean up on his offer. And without knowing the specifics, I know that he has a lot of plans and ideas for this new concept of his. If it really takes off, it could be huge. Imagine if it went online. People all over the world could be drinking your cider in a few years.” Mason was aware that he was just spouting stuff out his ass and that he knew very little about Dean’s business. But what he did know was that Dean wanted Alice and her cider involved, so if his bullshit could help… well, then he’d bullshit and listen to stories about Bob all day if he had to.

“I suppose that’s true….”

“It would be cool to be able to say that you’d been a part of it from the beginning, wouldn’t it? And you know Dean. He’d never cheat anyone.”

“That’s what I told Bob. It really is a great opportunity. And it’s not like I’ve got anything to lose.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay. Will you tell Dean that I’d like to accept his offer and to call me sometime to hash out the details?”

Mason smiled, feeling like he’d won a battle. “I’ll do that. Take care, Alice, and say hello to Bob.”

Hanging up, Mason grinned to himself and dug into his now-soggy cereal. He hadn’t had that much fun in a long time. He could only hope that Dean wouldn’t be upset with him for meddling. Or for Mason’s next order of business, which was going to the stables and taking one of the horses for a ride, even if the snow might make it a short one. He missed riding a horse something fierce.

D
EAN
BREATHED
in the smell of hops, wishing the brewing process was shorter so he could find out if he’d nailed the taste he imagined. Patience had never been one of his strong suits. It really was a miracle he’d managed to think ahead, plan, and do everything in order when he switched the family ranch from a traditional horse breeding operation to local produce heaven—complete with the brewery he’d just finished setting up in one of the old barns. Dean still couldn’t decide if his late father would have applauded his only son’s courage and dedication or if he would be too busy rolling over in his grave. The ranch had been in the family for generations. All the owners had been as passionate about horse breeding as Dean was disinterested in it.

Movement behind a couple of barrels in the corner made him pause. He’d forgotten about Wyatt. Again. Dean looked at his watch. How long had he been nerding with work? It was almost time for lunch, which meant they’d been outside for a few hours. Dean realized how chilly it had gotten in the newly renovated building. Crap. Was Wyatt properly dressed?

“Hey, Wyatt? Are you ready to go inside?”

Wyatt hesitantly stepped out. Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that he still wore his scarf and mittens.

“Come on. It’s almost lunch time.”

A sigh escaped Dean when the only reaction he got was a serious little nod. Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the kid smile. It had taken quite a few stare downs and talking to deaf ears before Dean had figured out that Wyatt would rather follow him than walk with him. No amount of prompting or telling would make him go anywhere if he didn’t want to. But he’d follow Dean like a puppy without being asked.

Getting to know a four-year-old was a lot harder than getting to know an adult. Asking questions didn’t result in usable answers—merely nods and shrugs. After four weeks Dean still wasn’t any closer to cracking the mystery that was his son. It didn’t help that he had no experience with kids or that the shock of finding out he was a father still hadn’t left his body.

Dean glanced over his shoulder to make sure Wyatt was following him. Then his thoughts wandered to his newest houseguest. Mason had been asleep, or at least holed up in his room, when Dean and Wyatt left the house right after breakfast. Dean couldn’t blame him. Mason looked like he needed everything from sleep, to proper food, to someone simply taking care of him for a while. Part of Dean was more than ready for the job. The small, shuffling feet behind him and the ranch project took up the remaining part. Dean wasn’t sure there was enough of him to go around.

Chapter 3