No, he had no intention of betraying Addie’s trust in him. Even so, he couldn’t have made himself leave that stable right then if they’d made it a felony.
Lord, but it was a revelation to him, the look of his son. He saw so much of himself there that he’d never even realized belonged to him. The unbending tilt of his chin. The resolute set of his mouth. The vigilance in his eyes with which he gauged a changeable and uncertain world.
And since Jace had always had the constancy of home and other family, Deke knew there could only be one cause for that sort of measuring watchfulness in a boy.
The second hand governing his heartbeat sped up again.
“First say a proper hello to Mr. Larrabie, Jace,” Jud said. “He’s one of the best ranchin’ troubleshooters around. We’re lucky to have him come to work on the Bar G for a while.”
Deke sent his silent thanks to Jud for his support. It helped, especially when Jace asked, “Is that your name?”
“Yup,” he confirmed, trusting Addie would see no harm in revealing that much. “Deke Larrabie. You can call me Deke.”
“So will ya teach me how to rope, Deke?” Jace asked with that mixture of hope warring with doubt in his eyes—and overriding them both a hunger that Deke was oh so familiar with.
He cut a glance at Addie. She stood with her arms crossed, one of those long legs of hers extended to the side as her weight rested upon the other. She evinced no reaction, and he guessed that was as much of a go-ahead as he could expect from her. Or as much trust as he could expect.
He had to come through for her.
“Got a piggin’ string, Slick?” Deke asked.
The boy practically dove for the short, thin rope neatly coiled and hanging on one of the lowest pegs on the wall. He held it up for Deke’s inspection. “Granddad already taught me how to take care of it proper.”
“Well, that’s the first thing a cowboy’s got to learn—how to keep his gear in top condition. All right.” He took a stance side by side with Jace. “The key to ropin’ is startin’ with a well-built loop, like so.”
One at a time, he methodically measured an arm’s length of rope, then laid it across his right palm, making uniform coils.
Tongue tip tucked over his top lip, Jace copied him. Deke approved with a nod. “Now, once you got a good loop in hand, you can practice your throwin’ technique. You mind givin’ us a target, Jud?”
“Not a’tall.” The older man held his cane up like a sword.
Deke gave a few twirls above his head, then let the rope sail, laying out the loop in a perfect circle that slipped over the cane all the way to Jud’s elbow before touching his arm.
Jace gave his rope a few shaky spins and let it fly, missing Jud’s cane by a mile. His face fell to the cellar.
“Give it another go, Slick. ’Member, it’s all in the wrist.” Deke demonstrated, overdrawing his actions for Jace’s benefit.
The boy’s next try was better, and his next better still, as the loop of his rope caught the cane’s tip.
It was all Deke could do not to give Jace’s shoulder a squeeze of approval. He settled for a praiseful “Now you’re getting it, Slick. I knew it wouldn’t take you long to catch on.”
The boy’s smile at him from under the brim of his ten-gallons-too-big hat was heartrendingly naked in its yearning.
A lump the size of a melon crowded Deke’s throat. He was almost ashamed to enjoy his son’s regard, it had taken so little effort to win it.
“There’s already a Larrabie here, y’know,” Jace said out of the blue. “Out under the cottonwood. You know him?”
The watch spring in Deke’s chest gave a tightening twist. “That was my daddy,” he replied matter-of-factly.
He wondered what had compelled Jace to ask another of those surprising questions, but was fast learning that, much like his own interest, there was nothing aimless in Jace’s, including the boy’s next question, posed as he let sail with another try at heading Jud’s cane.
“So you’ve been here to the Bar G before?”
“Yup.” Deke dared not glance at Addie or Jud, rather than risk seeing their disapproval of this attempt, indirect as it was, to connect with his son. “Before you were born.”
He was halfway to regretting his stab at getting to know Jace, when the boy said, “I know.”
Perspiration broke out across Deke’s forehead. “You do?”
“Yeah.” Jace concentrated on hauling his rope in. “Mama tol’ me about how your daddy got caught in that big ol’ fire here on the Bar G. What’d you call it, Mama? A terrible, um…”
Deke’s gaze connected with Addie’s. She still wore a mask of neutrality, but her voice was soft as she answered, “A terrible tragedy…for everyone.”
Deke supposed he should thank her for that, considering what she’d been going through, both then and now.
“That it was, Slick,” he murmured as softly. “That it was.”
“Why d’you keep callin’ me Slick ’stead of my name?”
Deke tore his eyes from Addie. More than the others, this question seemed completely out of left field. He could only ask Jace in return, “Why, do you mind it?”
“But a slick’s a calf that ain’t got a brand yet. I got a brand.” Deke didn’t miss the challenge in the boy’s voice. “I belong here at the Bar G—”
“Jace,” Addie broke in. “You’ve taken up enough of Mr. Larrabie’s time for today—”
“I’ll never be a Tanglewood man, no matter if Mama marries Connor Brody.” Jace rushed on as if he’d never heard his mother, his attention focused on Deke. “That won’t make him my daddy, y’know!”
Deke set his catch rope carefully aside. “I guess not, if you don’t want it to,” he answered Jace, trying for Addie’s neutrality and obviously coming up short, for in the next instant he heard her warning “Deke, please.”
It was Jace, however, who had no qualms about taking a stand. “So did you know him?” he demanded.
“Know Connor?” Deke stalled.
The boy’s own catch rope got tossed to the wayside. “No—know him, from before.”
Deke shot Addie a glance of pure apology, which she returned, he saw, with one of regret—that she had let it go so far, that she had let him so far in. For at that moment, Jace, no longer either wary or hopeful but something in between, squared off in front of Deke. He had to admire the boy’s gumption, even if he was suddenly disconcerted to find as sharp a scrutiny on him as he’d ever bent upon critter or human.
That’s when something told Deke his son wasn’t talking about either Connor Brody or D.K. Larrabie.
Still, he had to ask, “Did I know who, Jace?”
“My daddy!” Jace said impatiently. “Did you know my daddy?”
Chapter Four
D eke kept his poker face, but just barely, as the impact of the question pulsed through him, tick-tick-tick.
“What…what do you know about your dad, Jace?” he asked slowly, his mind going ninety miles a minute as he tried to sort through what Jace really wanted to know, and what he himself could say. Because even