He saw his son’s surprise.
“I didn’t figure you knew why I’d left.” Rowdy leaned back in his chair before picking up the whisky and throwing it back. He grimaced but held the burn of it.
“I knew.” Ray sighed heavily. “I knew when you were twenty-two and as though overnight, she turned from a clumsy little urchin into a woman-child. I saw your face the day you realized it.”
He watched the flush that rose over Rowdy’s face, the discomfort.
“She was a kid.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “She’s not a kid anymore, Dad. She’s twenty-four, and a grown woman.”
“And you were and still are a man.” Ray shook his head wearily before sipping at the whisky. “A good man. One any father could be proud of. You didn’t touch her, you did what you had to do and didn’t make any excuses or cast any blame. Though you could have. You left your home because of the girl—many men would have resented her. You would have been well within your rights to have protested how much Maria and I spoiled her.”
“You should have told me that then,” Rowdy grunted. “She kept stealing my damned shirts. She still does it. I should have made you throw both Kelly and Maria out.”
A grin tugged at his son’s lips. Ray shook his head. Rowdy was willing to forgive, no questions asked. And Ray didn’t know if he could have been as gracious if someone had hid something so important from him.
Ray cleared his throat again.
“I should have told you.” He rolled the glass between his fingers, staring at it rather than his son. “But I knew you’d get home one way or the other and I wasn’t sure Kelly could face that. She needed time to put the attack into perspective before she faced what was between the two of you.” Damn, he needed another drink.
He poured another, aware of the way his son watched him, his eyes narrowed, his expression thoughtful.
“Hunger like that goes beyond lust, Dad,” Rowdy finally sighed. “I’ve fought it for too long. I don’t know what it is yet. I don’t know how deep it goes. I know I came back for her.” He shook his head when Ray started to speak. “Hear me out. I had no intentions of living in that house, of breaking so much as one of your rules, but that bastard’s still out there.” Ray’s gut clenched. “I’ll camp outside her bedroom window if I have to, but you won’t keep me away from her.”
Rowdy leaned forward, his arms braced on the table, his fists clenched. Ray looked away from his son for long moments, wondering what he was supposed to say. Hell, he felt tired and helpless and not sure how to defend those he loved.
“You’ve been checking into it?” Ray knew he had. Rowdy had spent the afternoon at the police department before he met up with his cousins.
“I’ve been checking into it.” Rowdy poured himself another shot. “I talked Betty Cline into letting me see the hospital records, and the sheriff gave me everything they had on the other girls. He’s calling them. He doesn’t call Kelly. He’s local, Dad.”
For a second, fear sliced through Ray. If the bastard was local, then he wouldn’t have to call Kelly. He could watch her. Anytime, anywhere.
Then pride suffused Ray. Hell, that was his boy. Hard-eyed, determined, and ready to fight. He was more man than Ray had ever imagined. Rowdy wasn’t drinking himself silly because Kelly had been attacked, but instead, he was plotting and planning justice. It was enough to make a father proud.
Ray breathed in hard. He had discussed this with Maria earlier, knew what he was about to do was hard on her; it would be harder on Kelly.
“Come back home, boy,” he muttered. “I’m a damned fool when I get riled and we both know it. That’s your home. As much as it is mine. And you’re my kid. I want you there.”
Rowdy’s lips quirked. “The duffel bag is still on the bike. I was coming back tonight anyway.”
Ray cleared his throat again. “I trust you, Son.”
Rowdy’s face changed then. If Ray thought it was hard before, it was more so now. Rowdy leaned forward, his eyes meeting Ray’s straight on.
“She’s mine, Dad.” He kept his voice low, fierce. “Any other time I would have never disrespected your rules or your home. But I won’t pull back now. I won’t lose her because some bastard tried to destroy her. And I won’t play footsie under the table because of your sensibilities. Do you understand that?”
Anger flared in Ray. He rubbed his hand over his lower face before breathing out roughly. “Hell. Fine. Whatever. But”—he glared back at the boy—“you don’t play with that girl, Rowdy. You better be damned serious before you end up ha**ng s*x with her. Son or no son, I taught you respect. She’s not one of those little tramps you, Natches, and Dawg screwed with when you were younger.”
It was a warning he’d made when he first realized how sexual his son was. Good girls were solid gold. A good girl understood responsibility, values, and herself. A woman like that wasn’t a toy, she was a partner.
“I know how to treat a woman, Dad,” Rowdy grunted. “All women. Not just Kelly.”
Unlike Ray’s generation, Rowdy didn’t differ how he treated women in regards to their sexuality. One didn’t deserve less respect, or more, for the amount of experience they had in bed. Rowdy had argued that with his father many times. But love…that made a difference, and Ray knew it. And he knew his son was learning it.
“So you’ll come home?” Ray’s throat was tight with emotion. Damn, he hated that. Hated knowing there was more he should say and not knowing how to say it.
Rowdy looked over at him, his expression somber, his eyes, that deep sea green, serious and thoughtful. “I missed you too, Dad,” he murmured.
If that knot in his throat could have gotten tighter, it would have. Ray swallowed, then tried again. “I love you, boy.” His voice was so rasping he was ashamed of it. “And I’m damned proud of you. Damned proud.”
“I love you too, Dad.” That was his boy. Equal parts hellion and warrior but never afraid to say the words. “And I’m proud of you, too.”
He poured the glasses full again; they toasted each other and settled down for a serious drunk. Hell, Ray had been waiting on this day for nearly thirty years. There just wasn’t anything like having that first good drunk with your son, and knowing it meant something. Meant something damned fine.