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Mom,” the man-child named Collin answered. “I was helping them muck the stables. It took longer than I expected.”
“I hope you took a shower,” his mother said, her tone questioning.
Collin rolled his eyes. “Yes, ma’am. That’s why I’m late.” He moved to an empty chair at the kitchen counter, his plate now filled with bacon and toast.
Matthew chuckled. “I wasn’t expecting you to do that before breakfast, son,” he said, pride gleaming from his eyes.
The teen nodded. “I know, sir, but I wanted to get it out of the way so that I could ride after breakfast. If that’s okay?”
“That’s definitely okay,” Matthew said. He nodded in Phaedra’s direction. “Phaedra, this is our son, Collin. Collin, this is Miss Parrish, your uncle Mason’s friend.”
Collin tossed his hand hello, his mouth stuffed with food.
“Please, call me Phaedra,” she said, waving back.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Phaedra,” Collin answered after swallowing. He pointed a finger in Mason’s direction, winked at his uncle and grinned.
Mason shook his head as he cut a quick glance at Phaedra.
“Y’all are funny,” Phaedra said, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze. She laughed, dropping her manicured hand against his thigh as she leaned her shoulder into his. A jolt of electricity shot through his body and he felt himself quiver from the sensation.
Mason was enjoying every ounce of the moment, conversation flowing with ease. Phaedra didn’t seem at all bothered by the family gathering. He understood that this was not at all what she’d been expecting and he was impressed by her sportsmanship, his charming companion seeming very much at ease with their additional breakfast companions.
“So, Phaedra, do you have family in New Orleans?” John suddenly asked.
Phaedra shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice catching deep in her throat.
Mason noticed her discomfort at the question. He intervened on her behalf. “Phaedra’s mother just passed away a few weeks ago,” he said softly.
“Oh, we’re so sorry,” Marah interjected, everyone turning to stare at the young woman.
“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Matthew added.
Phaedra nodded, biting down against her bottom lip. She suddenly missed her mother more than she had imagined possible.
“We lost our parents many years ago,” John said as he reached a large hand across the table to brush his fingers against the back of her hand. “I know it’s not easy.”
Phaedra met his stare, holding it ever so briefly, before she pulled her hand from his, clutching her palms together in her lap. She turned to meet Mason’s intense gaze, then dropped her stare into her lap with her hands. Tears suddenly pressed hot behind her eyelids. She felt her body begin to shake and she was grateful for the chair beneath her bottom, which kept her from falling to the floor. She swiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands, heat rising to her cheeks as she fought to contain the rise of emotion that was threatening to spill out of her.
“What about your father?” Katrina asked softly. “Is he still alive?”
Everyone in the room was suddenly taken aback when Phaedra suddenly began to sob, her body quivering out of control. Concern wafted thickly around the space.
“Phaedra? What’s wrong?” Mason questioned, wrapping an arm around the back of her chair as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. He pressed a napkin to her cheek to stall the flow of saline that rained over her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Phaedra apologized. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean…” she gasped, trying to catch her breath as the sobs racked her body.
Mason gently caressed her back, his large hands stroking the width of her shoulders. He was without words, not having a clue what he could say to soothe her. His gaze met John’s, the man’s stare acknowledging the same sentiment, both lost when it came to a woman’s tears.
Juanita was suddenly at her side, a box of tissues in hand. The older woman brushed a warm hand against Phaedra’s shoulder. “It’s okay, baby. You cry if you want to,” she said as she lifted Phaedra’s chin with her fingers, brushing the young woman’s tears away. She suddenly hesitated, staring deeply. “I declare, child, you look just like Luke when you cry. He gets the ugly face, too,” she said, shaking her head.
John laughed. “I was just thinking the same thing,” he said, hoping to diffuse the seriousness of the moment. “But your ugly face is definitely prettier than Luke’s is,” he added.
Luke rolled his eyes. “First off, I don’t cry, and when I do, I don’t get the ugly face.”
“Yeah, you do,” Mark chimed in. “And you used to boo-hoo like a baby back in the day. Right up to your sixteenth birthday you’d cry if someone looked at you funny.”
Sixteen years old himself, Collin laughed heartily at the thought.
“That is so not true,” Luke said.
Phaedra suddenly came to her feet, the napkin in her lap dropping to the floor. She turned her attention to Juanita, who was still trying to console her, something in the woman’s stare seeming to acknowledge more than she’d spoken. “Did you by chance know my mother, Miss Juanita? Her name was Arneta Parrish.”
Juanita paused, the name spinning through her thoughts. Her eyes suddenly widened, her body tensing. She took a swift breath. “Your mother was Arneta Parrish?”
Phaedra nodded, her gaze still locked with Juanita’s.
“Why don’t you and I go fix your face?” Juanita said, her hand pressing against Phaedra’s arm. “We can talk where it’s quiet.”
“You know, don’t you?” Phaedra questioned suddenly.
“Know what?” John asked curiously, noting the rise of tension that had suddenly filled the space between the two women.
Both turned to stare in his direction. Juanita’s gaze moved back to Phaedra, her body starting to shake with nervousness. Phaedra was still staring at John, her gaze moving from his face, to Matthew’s, then to Mark and Luke before she locked eyes with him one last time, his stare still questioning.
Phaedra’s next words came like lead weights dropping heavily against a wooden floor. “Your father, James David Stallion, was my father, too.”
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