A Baby of Her Own

Conner felt the muscles in his jaw tighten but fought the building tide of anger. When Conner was a child, Stephen and the others had constantly riled him until he used his fists or broke down in tears. As he grew older, he refused to give them the pleasure of knowing when anything they said or did bothered him.

“Did you need something specific, Stephen?” he asked, trying to sound as indifferent as possible.

“Dad was wondering if you got in okay. He was probably afraid you’d taken a detour to Vegas or something.”

“No plans for Vegas yet.”

“Give it a few days. I’m sure your stint in Dundee won’t last long.”

It had already lasted a day and a half longer than Conner wanted it to.

“So how are things there?” Stephen asked.

His uncle had phoned to hear that the situation was hopeless, of course, that Conner was defeated before he’d begun. And even though that was precisely the truth, as he’d just explained to his mother, Conner would be damned if he’d admit it now. “Great,” he said. “Never better.”

“If they were that good, the ranch would be turning a profit.”

“It’ll be turning a profit soon enough.”

His uncle’s surprised silence was well worth the lie.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see,” his uncle finally replied. “The last thirty years speak for them—”

“Did you have something important to say?” Conner said, cutting him off.

Stephen chuckled. “Not really. I’m just following directions. I know that’s a novel concept for you, but the rest of us have always had to toe the line. Only little Con gets away with murder.”

It was Conner’s turn to laugh. “That’s too juvenile, even for you, Stephen. When are you going to forget about me and live your own life?”

“I am living my own life. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t even exist. At least, you won’t in a few months, when you give up on the ranch and go on another party cruise or whatever.”

“I guess I could spend more of my time brown-nosing, like you.”

“Is that what you call doing my duty as my father’s son?”

“You wouldn’t know your duty if it bit you on the ass,” Conner said. “You’re too ready to line your own pockets, too eager to pick Grandfather’s bones once he’s gone. It’s pathetic, really, that you’re such a grasping bastard. No wonder I took myself out of the picture.”

“You were never in the picture, Con, because you’re the real bastard. My family’s tolerated you all these years, for Vivian’s sake, but do you think anyone’s been happy about having a rape baby in the house? Everyone told her to put you up for adoption, and she should’ve listened.”

She should have listened. Conner had always believed that. Then he wouldn’t have to face, daily, what had happened the night he was conceived, or know that he would never truly be part of the family in which he’d been raised.

Regardless, he was growing tired of his uncles’ reminders. “Feeling a little cocky now that I’m two states away, Stephen?”

“I’ve never been afraid of you,” his uncle countered, but Conner knew his words weren’t entirely true. Stephen and his brothers had plagued him his whole life with subtle barbs that kept Conner constantly aware of his status, but in recent years, they were generally careful not to go too far. At well over six feet, Conner had several inches on Stephen and Dwight, and almost half a foot on Jonathan, and though they all outweighed him—Jonathan by at least fifty pounds—they were soft.

“We’ll have a talk about this again sometime when we’re all together,” Conner promised.

“I think we should do that.”

“I’m available any time you’re ready, Uncle.”

Conner was expecting a sharp comeback, but the tone of Stephen’s voice suddenly changed.

“Sure, I understand, Con,” he said. “I’m glad you’re there safe and sound, and that you’re willing to give the old ranch a try. You know how much it means to Dad.”

Confusion left Conner tongue-tied for a moment, but then he heard Clive’s voice in the background and understood. His grandfather had entered the room, and Stephen had snapped into character, pretending to be the long-suffering, if not loving, uncle.

“You’re such a greedy asshole,” he said, sickened by the blatant playacting. God, this was what he’d rebelled against, wasn’t it? This was why he’d forged his own path. Wild as his past had been, it had kept him, for the most part, far from the back-stabbing that went on among Clive’s immediate family. His mother was still in the fray to protect his interests, she said, but Conner didn’t care about his grandfather’s money. The posturing and conniving of his uncles turned his stomach.

“I think just as much of you. You know that, Con,” Stephen said, unmistakably smug at the double entendre. “And it’s never going to change, is it? Now, here’s Dad. He wants to talk to you.”

Conner closed his eyes as he waited, bracing for what might come. He doubted his grandfather would say much. Clive had always been rather aloof and preoccupied, too busy to be bothered with family. But for some reason, maybe because Conner had worshipped him so much as a child, even the slightest criticism from him hurt far worse than anything Dwight or the others had to say.