2 chapter 2...

When Colin arrived at the ranch, the wide dirt road leading onto the property was lined

with parked cars, and the big two-story house with its white clapboard siding and its

generous front porch was humming with people and activity.

Colin found a parking place about fifty yards away, and he sat in his Mercedes for a

while with the engine off, trying to muster the courage to go inside.

Drummond had told him what he knew, which wasn't all that much.

Years ago, Redmond had carried on an affair with a married woman when he'd been

living in Montana working the family's ranch out there—the one Liam now managed.

The affair had resulted in a son, whom Redmond had not publicly acknowledged.

Both Redmond and the child's mother had decided to break off the relationship and

let the boy be raised within the marriage, thinking it would be best for everyone involved.

Redmond had sent checks to his former lover periodically for eighteen years to assist

with the child's care. None of them was ever cashed.

The will named the child—now a man—as the beneficiary of a substantial part of

Redmond's fortune.

When Colin had agreed to be the executor of his uncle's will, he hadn't anticipated

anything like this. Questions—and potential problems—spun through his mind. Did this

Drew McCray know about Redmond? Did he know that the man who raised him wasn't

his father? What would he do when he found out?

Colin leaned back in the front seat of his car and listened to the rain pattering on the

roof and hood. He rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers and let out a weary sigh.

The news Drummond had dropped on him was a lot to deal with. The first step was

going to be telling his family.

He'd agreed with Drummond that the news would be better coming from him. But

that didn't make the idea of dropping this bombshell on his parents and siblings any more

appealing.

The longer he delayed going inside, the more shit he was going to take from his

mom once he got in there. He got out of the car, opened his umbrella, and began the long,

wet slog to the house.

The main house at the Delaney Ranch was part of a larger complex of structures that

included two barns, a bunkhouse, a guest house, and the new house Ryan and Gen had

built for themselves. The ranch itself was a large, sprawling property with a creek, areas

of dense woods, rolling, grassy hills, and generous pastures where the cattle could graze

under the Central Coast sun. From parts of the ranch you could see the crashing surf and

hear the barking of sea lions. From anywhere, you could smell the briny ocean air.

He'd never felt quite at home on the ranch the way his siblings did. He envied them,

really, because at least they knew their place in the world. Colin had never really found

his place. He'd thought it would be atop a high-rise condo building in San Diego's Gaslamp Quarter. But now he wasn't so sure. The news of his uncle's death had left him

feeling empty and alone, as though an essential piece of himself was missing and now

could never be replaced.

He didn't need to live in San Diego, of course. He could do his job from anywhere,

as Sandra had repeatedly reminded him. He'd relocated down south initially because his

family owned a considerable amount of commercial property there, and he'd told himself

—and them—that it would be more efficient if he were to base himself nearby.

But he wasn't fooling anyone—not really. He'd moved down there because it got

him away from here. He loved his family and he loved Cambria, but he needed to feel

like his own man, and not just another Delaney.

His mother—and, hell, the rest of his family—didn't get that. They didn't get his

need to be separate, independent.

And they were going to understand this thing with Redmond a whole hell of a lot

less.

He climbed up the porch steps, folded his umbrella, put it into a bucket his mother

had placed on the porch for that purpose, and steeled himself for what was to come.

The house was full of people, the sounds of conversation, the smells of cooking and

damp wool clothes. A fire crackled in the big stone fireplace, and the front room was

warm with the collective body heat of the gathered mourners.

Colin shrugged off his overcoat and hung it on the coat rack just inside the front

door.

"Colin!"

Joe Dixon, a guy in his late sixties who knew Redmond and Orin from the local

Rotary Club, approached Colin with his hand extended.

"Joe." Colin took the hand and gave it a firm shake. Joe, who'd been mostly bald for

as long as Colin had known him, was a short and stout man, and his L.L. Bean plaid

flannel shirt, faded jeans, and scuffed work boots made him look like an old, shrunken

lumberjack.

"I'm so sorry about Redmond," Joe went on, still gripping Colin's hand. "So sorry.

Why, I've known him for thirty years, at least. Back when me and my wife come to

Cambria in the eighties, he was one of the first ones to make me feel welcome, like this

could really be our home. He was a fine man. A really fine man." Joe's voice had grown

thick, and his eyes were damp.

Colin felt his own eyes grow hot, and he blinked a few times as he clapped Joe on

the back. "Thank you, Joe. I know he thought the world of you."

It went on like that for a while, people greeting Colin and sharing memories of

Redmond. He shook hands, hugged people, and tried to hold his emotions together as he

slowly made his way through the family room and toward the kitchen, where he thought

his mother was most likely to be.

He was right.

Despite the somber nature of the occasion, Sandra Delaney bustled around the

kitchen in her usual jeans, San Francisco 49ers T-shirt, and graying ponytail. In deference

to the fact that she had a house full of guests, she'd traded her fuzzy slippers for a pair of

sneakers. She was pulling a big casserole dish out of the oven and barking orders to an

assortment of women that included Colin's sister, Breanna—a widow whose Marine

husband had been a casualty of combat a few years earlier—Ryan's wife, Gen, and a few

others who had been recruited for food preparation and distribution.

"Gen, you take this out to the table with that big serving spoon over there." She

gestured with her chin toward where the spoon in question lay on the kitchen island.

"Breanna, take those rolls and refill the bread basket. Your brothers just about ate

everything before the guests even got here."

"Speaking of my brothers," Breanna said, looking at Colin pointedly as she walked

past him with the bag of rolls in her hands.

Sandra looked up, saw Colin, and planted her hands on her narrow hips.

"Well, look what the damned cat dragged in. It's about time you got here."

As much as Colin dreaded his mother's scorn, as much as grief and the news about

Redmond weighed on him, he couldn't help smiling. Regardless of what happened—

death in the family included—Sandra was always just Sandra, broadcasting with her

steely gaze and her no-nonsense manner that she wasn't about to take a ration of shit off

of anybody.

He leaned in for a hug, breathing in her scent of Dial soap and Jergens hand lotion.

"I'd have been here sooner, but I ran into Clayton Drummond at the lodge. He

wanted to have a word."

Sandra pulled away from the embrace and squinted up at him. "What about?"

"The will."

She made a dismissive sound with her breath, a pfft that neatly summarized her

feelings. "We just buried the man. Couldn't it wait?"

Colin ran a hand through his hair and blew out some air. "Not really."

Sandra scowled at him. "Well, hell. What was in there that was so damned urgent?"

"Not now." Colin's hands still lay on his mother's shoulders from the hug. "Family

meeting later."

"Well, Christ on a cracker. You mean to tell me there's some kind of bombshell in

Redmond's will, and you're not planning to tell me what it is?" She looked at him as if

he'd lost his goddamned mind—which he hadn't, yet.

"That's what I'm telling you. There's a houseful of people out there, and I'm not

sure you'll be able to make nice with them once I tell you what I've got to say."

She looked at him as though she were going to pop off with one of her usual Sandra

retorts, but instead, her brows furrowed. "It's serious," she said.

"It is."

"Well, hell."

Gen and Brianna bustled back into the kitchen after finishing their assigned tasks,

and Colin released his hold on his mother and stepped away. He figured he'd better get

out of the kitchen before she could grill him about what he knew.

As he squeezed past the women toward the door that led to the family room, he

could feel her looking at him with scorn and not a small amount of concern.

At least this time, it wasn't because she was disappointed in him. He guessed that

was something.

Colin made his way through the crowd in the front room, stopping to shake hands

and receive condolences, and then went out onto the big front porch. He took a bottle of

beer from the ice chest that was stationed out there for every big gathering, opened it, and

took a deep drink as he leaned on the rail and peered out into the rainy afternoon.

The world was gray and filled with the smell of wet greenery. The patter of the rain

on the roof and the grass, the drip of water from the leaves of the trees was soothing to

him.

He heard the front door open behind him, and turned to see Ryan coming out onto

the porch. Like Colin had, Ryan bent to retrieve a bottle of beer from the cooler. Then he

came to stand beside Colin at the railing.

Ryan was older than Colin by three years. About six years ago, he'd been chosen by

general consensus to take over the Cambria ranch operations as Orin and Redmond

retired—an arrangement that seemed to agree with him. He looked healthy and vigorous,

with a hint of color from the sun in his face. Colin thought his own skin must be ghostly

white from endless hours at a desk under artificial lights.

"Mom says you've got some kind of big news about Uncle Redmond's will," Ryan

said, settling in beside Colin as they both looked out at the rain.

"She didn't waste much time spreading the word around," Colin observed.

"Well, she's a little irked that you wouldn't tell her what it is."

"Family meeting later," Colin said, just as he'd said to his mother.

"She told me that, too," Ryan said mildly. "Colin? What's going on?"

Colin took a deep drink of his beer and leaned his forearms on the porch railing,

looking out into the gloomy day. He didn't say anything.

"Let me guess," Ryan said. "He gave everything to Shelly over at the Redwood

Café. She always brings him his coffee refills before the cup's empty." Colin looked at

Ryan and saw amusement in the man's deep brown eyes.

Colin thought about hanging onto the secret until he could tell everyone together, but

then thought, screw it. It was a heavy secret for him to carry, and he wouldn't mind

having someone to share the burden.

"Redmond had a son," Colin said, turning to face Ryan. "From an affair with a

married woman. The kid gets all of Redmond's personal assets and a ten percent share in

the family corporation."

"He … wait. What?"

Ryan's bewildered look mirrored what Colin felt.

"That's what Clayton Drummond tells me."

"Well … shit."

"Yep," Colin agreed.

"What do we know about the kid?" Ryan asked.

"Not much. Except that he's not a kid. Almost thirty, Drummond said."

Colin could see Ryan doing the mental math. "Redmond was in Montana back then."

"Yep."

"Well … does this son know Redmond's his dad? Does he know Redmond died?

What..."

"I imagine I'll be looking into all of that," Colin replied.

"Yeah. Damn it. I expect you will."

The two of them stood side by side, drinking their beer and silently processing what

Colin had just said.

"Uncle Redmond never had a relationship with a woman that I ever knew about. Tell

you the truth, I always wondered if he was gay," Ryan said.

"Me, too," Colin agreed.

They considered that in companionable silence.

"Guess not," Ryan said.