North Country(15)

“Follow me.” She leads me toward the patio doors off the back.

Outside the sky is a murky gray. Dusk is around the corner. I was hoping to catch my first autumn sunset in two decades, but I guess it’ll have to wait for better weather and less chaos.

“How does it feel to be back here?” Sarah leads me across the grassy, flat stretch.

“Like I’m not really here.”

I feel her gaze on me. I know she has questions—hundreds of them. She likely still wonders what drove my rage the day I pummeled Travis Dorsey’s skull into the concrete floor and whether she has to worry about me doing it again.

She doesn’t know all the details. Nobody does, and that’s for the best.

Up ahead, my father stands with my uncles—Wyatt, who owns a cattle farm with Jill; Bobby who, together with Rhonda, supplies Christmas trees to half the surrounding area, and Mark, owner of a popular marina in Gore Bay—as well as four men I’ve never met. They’re huddled around a smoker, beers in hand, the scent of hickory wood chips and smoked pork permeating the air, the collies hovering, waiting for a piece to fall. A burn barrel glows nearby, charring the day’s waste and giving heat.

All of them are wearing cowboy hats and matching boots.

When did that become a thing around here?

“… and then Benoit dropped like a bag of potatoes,” a wiry guy in jeans and a camel suede jacket says between puffs of his cigarette, his voice raspy.

“Mom wants the meat inside. Dinner’s almost ready.” Sarah folds her arms to help cut the chill.

My father peers over his shoulder. “Oh, there you are. Logan, let me do some quick introductions.” He sounds more chipper than he was this morning. “This is Mak. He’s been with us goin’ on eighteen years.”

I nod at the guy who was speaking a moment ago. Mom’s mentioned the ranch hand in almost every letter, enough that I know he’s a staple.

Dad continues around the circle, pointing at a scruffy, young brown-haired guy. “Robbie reports into Mak. He spends a lot of time with the herd too. And Jesse here is your cousin Danielle’s boyfriend.” He gestures at a clean-cut guy in his late twenties before patting the shoulder of the man emptying the smoker’s contents into a silver foil tray. “And this is Jon, my right hand around here.”

I can’t help the twinge of jealousy that stirs in my stomach as I regard the guy with the mustache and the broad-rimmed hat. Not because I expected my father to embrace me as his long-lost son. But it’s clear both Jay and I have been replaced.

Jon sets down his tongs. “Good to finally meet my brother-in- law.” Wiping his palm across his black apron, he offers it to me, his chest puffing out. “We gave you the day off, but I hope you’re ready to work. We have a lot of fences to mend ahead of us.” His grip is firm and aggressive as his brown-eyed gaze is locked on mine.

This is the longest handshake I’ve ever partaken in. Is he trying to establish some sort of dominance? Set the pecking order around here? The fuck if I know, but this spectacle is going on far too long to not be intentional.

The corners of my mouth curve with amusement at the weird flex—he’s average sized and not the least bit threatening—and then I return the favor, squeezing.

Jon’s nostrils flare as he struggles to hide his discomfort.

“Dinner’s on!” Aunt Rhonda calls from the door.

With a smirk, I release my grip.

Jon grabs the tray of smoked sausages. “Better get these in before Mum starts hollerin’ about the food gettin’ cold.” He rushes for the patio door, Sarah following him, back to the warmth.

She’s not his fucking mother. She’s mine. At least, she was mine first.

My teeth clench as I breathe through my irritation. The prison counselors warned us long-timers that one of the hardest things would be seeing how everyone has moved on without you, as if you never existed.

“We were talkin’ about your neighbor over there.” Uncle Wyatt nods to the yellow house next door. It’s quiet and dim, all the more so in the waning daylight. “Mak was at the Bale House for a bite this afternoon and saw Emery take down one of the locals for having a few too many drinks.”

“He had more than a few drinks,” Mak counters. “And he’s been known to cause a ruckus. There’s a reason they call him Benny the Hulk when he’s into the hard stuff.”

“What would she have done to stop a guy like him before Tasers was my point,” my father says. “That guy is a giant.”

Mak shrugs. “What would any of ’em have done? It took two male officers to get the cuffs on him. And a threat from her to zap him again if he didn’t cooperate. If you ask me, those Tasers make a lot of sense. ”

“Have you seen her, though? Damn. I’d let her Tase me,” Jesse says with a snort, veering the conversation off course.

“That’s because you’ve got shit for brains.” Uncle Wyatt shakes his head as he wanders toward the house, muttering something about his daughter’s taste in men. The others follow, leaving my father and me alone outside.

He flicks the tab of his beer can into the burn barrel. “What the hell was that about with Jon, huh?”

“What was what about?”

He levels me with a flat look.

“I don’t know. Ask your son-in-law. He started it.” I gulp a mouthful of my drink. For a guy who hasn’t had anything remotely beer-like in twenty years, it tastes like heaven, fake or not.