Colton's Surprise Family. Karen Whiddon
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“No.” Jeremy sniffed, swiping at his face. “I’m not okay.”
Which meant either Darius or Maisie had done something. And, since Maisie was still in town with Gary Jackson, his money was on Darius.
“What’s the matter?”
“Darius,” Jeremy snarled. “Darius is what’s the matter.”
The first time Damien had heard his nephew address his grandfather by his given name, he’d been startled, but Maisie had told him Darius had forbidden the use of any name relating to grandfather. Figured. He’d always refused to allow his own children to call him Dad or even Father.
“What about Darius?” Damien asked cautiously. “What’s he done now?”
“What hasn’t he done? He makes my mother look like a saint. He’s crazy.”
Instantly wary, since he’d thought pretty much the same thing, Damien scratched his head. “Maybe so,” he allowed. “But you still haven’t told me what happened.”
About to speak, Jeremy made a gagging sound and jerked away. He ran for the toilet and hunched over it while he threw up.
Alcohol? Food poisoning? Damien tried to remember all the crazy stunts he himself had tried at fourteen. He’d only been home a few months, but from what he’d seen of Jeremy, the kid appeared to be a real straight arrow.
Waiting patiently, Damien handed his nephew a paper towel to wipe his mouth.
“You’ve got to help me,” the boy blurted. “Darius said he’s selling my horse.”
“What?” Damien drew back. “Why? What’d you do?”
Selling someone’s horse was the worst possible punishment for a cowboy on a ranch. A horrible suspicion occurred to him. “Were you drinking or using drugs?”
“No.” Now Jeremy appeared shocked. “Of course not. Darius caught me smoking cigarettes out by the barn.”
Cigarettes? “When did you start smoking?”
“I didn’t. I just wanted to try them to see what they were like.”
“Ah, I see. I’m guessing he took them away?”
“No.” The teenager gagged again, staggering back to the commode and retching. This started him crying again. Through his sobs, he glared up at Damien. “Darius made me eat them.”
“Eat them? I don’t understand.”
“He fed me the cigarettes. One by one. Made me chew and swallow each and every one of them, even the one I’d started to smoke.” The kid started looking green again. He swallowed hard. “And now I’m sick.”
Stunned, Damien couldn’t understand his father’s logic. “That’s…”
“Crazy. I know, right?”
“Yeah.” Damien, too, had tried cigarettes around that age. He hadn’t liked it, and had never picked up a pack again, even in prison, where there were so little pleasures that men took whatever they could get.
He waited until Jeremy seemed all right.
“How long ago did this happen?”
“Half an hour. Why?”
“Just wondering where Darius is.”
Anger flashed again in the teenager’s eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Where’s everyone else?”
Lifting one thin shoulder in a shrug, Jeremy gagged again. “Dunno.”
Which meant no one else was around. Duke was probably out with Susan and Wes and Finn had long ago gone home. Damien and Maisie had both been in town.
Jeremy had been left on his own with Darius. Sure, Sharon had probably been here, but the woman stayed in her room ninety percent of the time.
Damn. Damien wanted to punch something. Or someone. He really didn’t want another confrontation with Darius right now.
“If he sells Charger, I’m going to run away,” Jeremy vowed. “I’ve raised that gelding from a colt.”
“I know you have,” Damien soothed. “I’ve heard he’s a fine stock horse, too.”
“He ought to be.” Jeremy lifted his chin, furiously wiping at his tear-streaked cheeks. “I’ve spent the better part of three years working with him.”
“That long?”
“Yep. Darius gave him to me for my eleventh birthday.”
“That settles it. You can’t take back a birthday present.”
“I know. But you know what he said? If he gives, he can sure as hell take away.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Damien heard himself promise. “I won’t let him sell Charger.”
Jeremy lifted his head. Hope flashed in his young face. “You mean it?” Then, before Damien could answer, the fourteen-year-old launched himself at his uncle, barreling into him and wrapping his arms around him tightly.
“I’ll try,” Damien choked out.
“Thank you, thank you,” the boy muttered fervently. “I can’t let anything happen to Charger. He’s all I’ve got.”
Something in the kid’s broken tone reminded Damien of himself. Except Jeremy at least had a horse. Damien had nothing and no one. But then, he didn’t need anyone. Jeremy plainly did.
“You have your mother,” Damien pointed out. “She might have her problems, but she loves you.”
“I guess.”
Ruffling the kid’s hair, Damien slung his arm across his shoulders. “No guessing about it. I know. Now come on. Let’s see if I can rustle us up any of the mulled apple cider they were drinking the other day.”
Jeremy nodded.
As they started walking toward the kitchen, they heard a scream. Loud, feminine and terrified.
“Wait here.” Pushing the kid back, Damien rushed into the great room. There, cowering in a corner near the fireplace, crouched Sharon, Darius’s wife. Darius stood over her holding a fire poker.
Chapter 4
“Darius.” Damien spoke in a calm, measured voice. “What are you doing?”
When the older man swung his head around and attempted to focus his bloodshot eyes on his son, Damien realized his father was once again drunk.
Smashed, plastered, blotto.
Behind him, he heard a gasp. Jeremy had ignored his request to stay behind.
“Jeremy, go back in the kitchen.”
“No.” The fourteen-year-old’s voice wavered, but he stood his ground.
Damien returned his attention to his father. “Put the poker down.”
“This is a family matter,” Darius snarled. “Nothing to do with you.”
The inference being that he wasn’t family. Used to his father’s jabs, Damien ignored that, aware he had to steer Darius away from Sharon. Redirecting his anger might be the only way to accomplish that. But first, he had to make sure Jeremy was out of the way.
“What are you doing, Darius?” Damien moved closer, praying his nephew had the good sense to stay back. “Sharon’s your wife. Surely you don’t mean to hurt her?”
Confusion briefly flashed across Darius’s mottled face, before the alcohol-inspired rage replaced it. “She belongs to me, boy. I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”