Typical Male. Cait London
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his adopted daughter, lived in the addition; Roman had an up-to-date office in Boone’s turn-of-the-century house.
“It’s eleven o’clock at night, my son Kipp is dreaming one-year-old toddler dreams, and my wife is waiting for me,” Roman stated, in a firm get-lost tone. “I’d appreciate it if for tonight you’d find someone else to bother, or hike on back up to that cabin. You’ve been at my house twice in three days. Gee, why am I so lucky? You’ve wintered up there in Micah’s old cabin since you came back in January. Then suddenly, you come down to suck up my wife’s lasagna and sprawl, stuffed full, on my couch. Now you need a computer after months without one.”
Tyrell lifted an eyebrow. He’d felt like a stray cat on Roman’s doorstep. The warmth of his brother’s household and his obvious deep love for his wife caused Tyrell to feel even more of an outsider. He’d missed so much.
He’d resented the need for cooking other than his own, but he wanted to see his new nephew, to hold him. Tyrell needed to see Roman’s adopted daughter, Cindi, who was lively and a real challenge. He needed to know that simple loving lives went on in his family. “You probably gave Cindi the idea to paint my toenails and braid my hair.”
He should have been there for his parents, all those missing years. Instead he’d shot out into the world like a bolt, cutting his way to the top, clustering numbers around him like friends. That life had been hollow and cold, he saw that now. He’d missed so much. He was an outsider now, the lone wolf of the pack.
He’d also been an outsider to the social side of his financial world. Yet he’d stayed. If Celine hadn’t interfered, he would have been deep in power plays and building profit. Eventually he would have seen the emptiness of his life and needed more, but she hurried the process.
Roman’s knuckle-rap on Tyrell’s head was familiar and just as annoying as it was years ago. “Before you figured out that boys didn’t like girl stuff, Else used to dress you up with her dolls. Mmm. I have a picture of that somewhere. The Blaylock brothers, our sister and you at three, wearing a dress—Ouch! No elbows in ribs.... Celine Lomax. You came down from your cave for her.”
“To get rid of her,” Tyrell corrected darkly. “You’re going to hold that picture over me until we’re both too old to tangle, aren’t you?” He sank into the desk chair to glower at Roman. He’d forgotten how close his family was, and damned himself for forgetting. He didn’t want to look at the pictures, to look at his parents alive and happy and their brood around him. It hurt too much. He’d shot out of the Blaylock nest as soon as he could and he’d always been too busy to return for more than a few days. He should have come back; he should have stayed. Instead he’d traded his family for a demanding, profitable career . “Else must have called you.”
“She worries, and you’ve never tried to dump a spitting-mad woman on her doorstep before. She said you were really worked up, and it was the first time that all the Blaylock boys—she’s going to call us ‘boys’ forever, you know—were all stirred up at once.... She said she doesn’t have to worry about you going moldy up in that cabin with Celine around.... Lomax,” Roman frowned, testing the name. “Any relation to Cutter?”
Tyrell nodded. He decided not to tell Roman about Celine’s quest; she’d be gone soon enough.
Roman shook his head and stood. “She’s got plenty of nerve, coming back to country where her grandfather tried every crime possible. Cutter was notorious. He hurt a lot of people and it’s said that he murdered, too. I believe that, from the scar I saw on Grandpa Luke. Cutter didn’t want the sheriff, our grandfather, taking him in, or stopping him from abusing that horse. But Cutter was in jail more than he was out, until the judge sent him to the penitentiary for land fraud. Grandma was the only woman Cutter ever treated with respect. Lomax was a hot-tempered, red-haired and freckled-faced thug.”
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