A Texas-Made Family

Why had he let Rebecca leave so abruptly? His day now stretched before him like all the lonely days he’d experienced since he’d moved his family to San Antonio. He needed a hobby. Something more than writing a new technical strategy manual as an old friend now in the Pentagon had asked him to do. He’d thought retirement would let him connect with his kids, but they seemed remarkably self-sufficient.

What would Rebecca have said if he’d asked her to go out with him some night? Nothing to do with their kids.

He could guess. She’d already blown up at him. Grant grinned at the thought of what it’d be like to intentionally stoke her fire.

She’d also given up on him too fast. After his years in the military, Grant took his time to make an informed decision. If she wanted his help, she should’ve given him more information. He needed to talk to her again.

But he supposed he’d have to get her phone number from Ryan.

Grant swung his car into his driveway and impatiently punched the garage door opener that hung on his visor. The problem with having to question his son, as Grant knew only too well, was that Ryan barely spoke to him.

Rebecca of the captivating eyes and the protective love for her daughter clearly expected him to be able to influence his son’s choices.

What were the chances of that?

For too many years he’d left raising Ryan to Teresa. With all the ups and downs in their marriage, it had seemed easier. The result hadn’t turned out well for anyone.

Considering his lack of rapport with Ryan, Grant knew he couldn’t open a conversation by repeating Rebecca’s accusations. Especially when he’d been clueless when it came to Ryan’s friends. Or girlfriends, for that matter.

He wasn’t ready to admit the girl was a problem, but wasn’t keeping tabs on stuff like that an important part of parenting? He hadn’t been good at it in the past, but had vowed to be better after their move. It seemed he had a lot of catching up to do.

Thank God Brandy still thought he was an okay dad. But with Ryan he’d have to tread carefully. Very, very carefully.

But he didn’t intend to wade into those waters alone. Rebecca Geroux’s daughter made up the other half of the so-called relationship. Becca—Grant thought that name fit the firebrand better than starchy Rebecca—yes, Becca could damn well get her feet wet right alongside him.

If she hadn’t mentioned it on the phone yesterday, Grant wouldn’t have known his son was playing ball until he overheard Ryan let something slip this morning to his sister.

It was usually Ryan’s job to pick up his sister from school. Lately, though, he’d gotten into the habit of leaving notes on the fridge asking Grant to collect her several days a week. Grant hadn’t asked why. All the reports he’d ever had on Ryan in Germany said he was a good, studious kid. Grant had assumed, apparently incorrectly, that changing schools during Ryan’s senior year required extra work in the library. Grant hadn’t pressed for answers because he was glad of the additional time to bond with the daughter who’d been raised too long by nannies. Yet another mistake.

Just today, Ryan had told Brandy where he’d be after school. At a home baseball game. It hurt to learn that Ryan had deliberately kept this a secret.

What better place to begin catching up on his son’s life? Ryan probably wouldn’t be thrilled to see him, but having the element of surprise on his side was an advantage.

Grant focused on his ideas for the manual, killing time until he needed to get Brandy from school.

“Hi, kiddo,” he said, his heart lighter when she hugged him after tossing her pink backpack in the backseat. Grant was driving the SUV, preferring its side airbags whenever he had his kids with him. The Porsche was an indulgence. A guy thing, although Ryan referred to it as an upside-down bathtub. A pretty pricy bathtub even with the deep discount he’d got by purchasing it at the factory in Germany.

Brandy fastened her seat belt, and turned her big blue eyes on Grant. “Daddy, can I get a clarinet? The band teacher came to our homeroom today. He tested everybody in my grade on flute, clarinet and two horns. One with a slidy thing, the other with three buttons on top. Mr. Gregg—that’s the teacher’s name—said to tell you I have the perfect embouchure to play clarinet.”

She said it so proudly Grant couldn’t help smiling, even though he had no earthly idea what she meant. “That’s great, Brandy. Did Mr. Gregg suggest renting a clarinet to see if it’s something you really want to do?”

“Uh-huh. But most kids are going to have their parents buy new ones. Who wants to use someone else’s mouthpiece? Gross!”

“I see your point. I’ll look into it next week and see what they have at a music store. Right now, how would you like to go to the high school to watch your brother play baseball?”

Brandy’s eyes grew wide. “Does Ryan know you’re going to watch him pitch?”

“So he’s a pitcher. I’ll be…” Grant let the expletive fizzle on his tongue. “You knew he was playing ball?”

“He played in Germany, too. He’s good, Daddy.”

“Then there’s no reason for us not to go watch him, is there?”

She brushed blond curls off her face. “I don’t want him to think I ratted on him.”

“Honestly, Brandy.” Grant blew out a frustrated breath. “Parents are entitled to know what activities their kids are into.”

Her little pixie face fell, and Grant immediately softened his tone. “Maybe he won’t spot us. But if he does, I’ll make sure he knows we’re there because he mentioned it this morning.”

“I guess it’ll be okay, then.”

Grant located the ball diamond and parked a distance from the gate. As he and Brandy walked along the fence, Grant peered through the mesh, trying to get the lay of the land, so to speak. It appeared the home team was at bat. There were already a lot of people in the stands, making it easier to pay and slip in unnoticed.

“There’s Ryan, Daddy! He’s coming up to bat.” Brandy spoke so loudly several people turned to look at them. Grant’s gaze lit on an attractive strawberry-blonde. Her hair was as curly as Brandy’s, but shorter. Finding seats in the second row from the top, Grant eyed the girl, who appeared to have her hands full with two younger children. Twins, would be his guess. Tough, active little boys. Their antics made Grant smile. But he also felt sorry for the girl, who must be their sister or babysitter. When two older boys raced up and flung their arms around her neck, he wondered how on earth she managed to handle all four.

Grant was intrigued by the way all four boys and the blond girl had their attention on Ryan, who was indeed at bat. Ryan slugged a home run on the second pitch. The quintet in the front row clapped madly and yelled Ryan’s name. Even more intriguing was what happened two seconds after Ryan jogged triumphantly across home plate. The twins charged right over to him. Grant watched his son scoop both boys up, then, grinning like a hyena, join the blond girl on the sidelines.

Grant muttered under his breath. The girl had to be Lisa Geroux. Her flashing aquamarine eyes reminded Grant of her mother. And there was no mistaking the chemistry she and Ryan shared. The joy vanished from Ryan’s face the instant the girl turned and pointed to him and Brandy.

Busted, Grant thought guiltily. She must have heard Brandy’s loud comment when they arrived. His stomach bottomed out the way it did when he pulled too many Gs in flight. Ryan was involved with a girl. And her mother was dead set against the relationship. What a mess. He could’ve retired any number of places, but he’d picked San Antonio. It’d been his first duty station and held some happy memories. He’d hoped his kids would like it here, and that maybe he and Ryan could heal old wounds.

Now it appeared they could be facing more problems than ever. It was evident they needed to talk about a lot of things. Not here in front of a crowd, but soon.

Standing, Grant took Brandy’s hand. Ignoring her protests, he led her to the side of the bleachers farthest away from where Ryan stood glaring at them. Grant jumped down and held up his arms for Brandy.

“Why are we leaving? We never got to watch Ryan pitch.”

“Turns out this wasn’t a good idea, Brandy. How about we go get ice cream instead?”

“Rocky road?”

“Sure.” It would no doubt ruin her appetite for dinner. Here he went again, being far too easygoing. But he couldn’t have both his kids hating him. Maybe he should get a few pointers on tough parenting from Rebecca Geroux.

Chapter Three

RYAN LANE stormed into his house around five o’clock, radiating belligerence. Grant had anticipated the outburst, which was why he’d made arrangements for Brandy to play at the home of a new school friend.

Grant looked up from the couch and marked his place in the Dale Brown book he was reading.

“What the hell were you doing this afternoon?” Ryan threw his duffel bag on the couch, barely missing his dad.

“Watch your language, and I suggest you rethink using that tone with me, Ryan.”

The angry teen showed no inclination to back down. Hands splayed on his hips, Ryan ignored his father’s suggestion. “You haven’t given a damn about anything I’ve done for seventeen years. I don’t want or need you poking your nose in my business now.”

“You’re wrong about my not caring.” Setting his book on the lamp stand, Grant stood. He still had three inches and a few pounds on his gangly, six-foot son. He recognized the show of testosterone, but Grant was determined to remain cool and in control.

“Right!” Ryan raised his voice. “You paid housekeepers and nannies, and that means you cared?”