Chapter 13

13

W esley Hammond caught sight of the "Welcome to Coral Canyon" sign up ahead, and if he didn't start talking to his son soon, they'd arrive at the park, and he wouldn't be able to. He'd gone down to Ivory Peaks to get Michael for the holiday weekend, something he'd never done before.

Not only that, but Hunter, Molly, and their new baby were coming up to Coral Canyon for the next couple of months too. How Hunter had managed to get away from his CEO duties at HMC, Wes would never know.

He's better than you were , he told himself, not for the first time. He loved Hunt as if he was his own son, and not just because he was so dang good at running their family company.

"Mikey," he said, and his son looked up from his phone. "You talkin' to Gerty?"

"Yes." Mike stuck his phone under his thigh and sighed.

"That doesn't sound good."

"No, it's good," he said.

Wes wasn't so sure about that. He didn't mind the boy having a girlfriend. The tricky part was that she lived several hours south of where Mike lived most of the time. He didn't seem to have a problem talking to girls, and he'd been to several school dances with a date. Maybe Bree was right, and Gerty wasn't a problem.

Wes didn't exactly think she was a problem. He just didn't want Mike limiting himself for a girl he saw three months out of the year and maybe on one holiday.

"You'll be sixteen soon," he said, not sure where he was going with this conversation.

"Yeah," Mike said, not offering anything.

Wes gripped the wheel and told himself to talk. He'd led a huge, multi-billion dollar company for a lot of years. He'd dealt with hard conversations before. "What do you think you'll do after high school?"

Mike rolled his neck, which probably hurt for how long he'd been staring at his device on the drive here. "I don't know, Dad."

"You've told me that before." Wes wasn't going to let this drop. He wasn't going to tell Mike he'd figure it out and he had lots of time. Both were still true, but Wes wanted more. "What are you really thinking?"

"I know what everyone wants me to do," Mike said. His voice sounded slightly sour. "Hunter's been running HMC for five years or something, and if he just puts in ten more, then I'll be old enough to take over."

"Mm hm."

Mike sighed, the weight of the Teton range in the sound. "Dad, I don't know if I want to do that, but I don't know how to not do what's expected of me."

Wes reached over and slid his hand down the back of his son's head. "You're a good boy, Mikey."

"What if I don't want to run HMC?" He sounded like he'd swapped out his deeper voice for a mousy one.

"If you had no expectations," Wes said, his throat turning thick. "And you were twenty-one, with your inheritance money fresh in your bank account." He looked at Michael as the speed limit sign went by and he eased up on the accelerator. "What would you do? Where would you go? Who would you be with?"

Mike looked out the windshield, his brow furrowed as he thought. He was a smart kid—not as smart as Hunter, but Wes wasn't sure that was possible—and he could do anything he wanted. Absolutely anything.

"Mama wants me to go to college," he said.

"No expectations," Wes said.

"And I'm twenty-one and have all the money I could ever want."

"Yep." Wes focused on coming into town now. With the Independence Day weekend upon them, the whole town had been decked out in red, white, and blue. People descended on Coral Canyon from the smaller surrounding communities, and that meant more congestion, more pedestrians, and more traffic.

"It's not that far from now," Wes said. "Five years, Mike." Five years to a fifteen-year-old might as well be a lifetime. Wes knew that, but he wanted to hear what his son had to say.

"I wouldn't mind going to college," Mike said. "I've been thinking about that. I like working the farm too, Dad. I especially like helping with the horses at Pony Power."

"Mm hm," Wes said. "So maybe you'll take over Granddad's farm."

"Hunt wants to do that."

Wes looked left, out his window. It didn't really matter what Hunter wanted to do. He ran HMC now, and he wouldn't give up the CEO office to just anyone. Wes knew what that office did to a man, even one as tender-hearted and intelligent as Hunter.

"Maybe you'll buy a farm of your own," Wes said. "Plenty of opportunity for that." He came to a stop at a light and looked at his son. Mike studied his hands, which meant he had more to say. Lots more.

Wes waited, because the boy usually needed time to get out his thoughts. Bree had taught Wes that, and once he'd known that about Mikey, he'd given him the time he needed instead of getting frustrated that his son wasn't saying anything.

They continued through town, the park where his brothers and their families had chosen to gather this year getting closer and closer. They spent the holiday with the Whittakers, which meant the Everett sisters always came. Their parents lived in town too, and Hunter had brought Wes's dad with him. There would be dozens of people with blankets spread out, and picnic baskets, baby wipes for their kids, and lawn chairs.

They'd rented a space with three grills, and Wes would be sorely disappointed if Celia Zuckerman didn't have a whole array of sides to go with the hamburgers and hot dogs Graham Whittaker had said he'd bring and make.

Not only that, but Ames had invited the man he'd given Franny to, as well as his parents and brothers. Wes hadn't met any of the Youngs yet, but Ames had spoken highly of the ones he'd met.

"I want to fly helicopters," Mike blurted out. "For the military."

Wes worked not to jerk the wheel or stomp on the brake. He managed it, but only just. "Okay," he said evenly. "Do you know how to get into that?"

Bree would not like that. The military? she'd ask. She'd worry herself to death over Mike being in danger even some of the time.

"No," Mike admitted. "I haven't looked, because I know Mama isn't going to let me do it."

"Son," Wes said, not wanting to speak against his wife. "You'll be an adult. Of course your mother and I will advise you on what to do. You'll want that, because it's hard to make huge life decisions without help."

Mike nodded, and Wes turned, the park now on his right. "But buddy, you'll be an adult. Your mama might not like it, but she can't stop you from doing it."

He looked at Wes, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "What do you think?"

"About you flying helicopters in the military?" Wes tilted his head, thinking and looking for a parking space at the same time. "I think you'll be phenomenal at anything you do, Mikey. That's what I think."

"Dad." Mikey sounded like he was rolling his eyes. Wes couldn't quite see, because he'd found a spot and was turning left into it.

He put the truck in park and looked at his son. "I mean it. Do the research. Figure out where you'd have to go and how long it takes. I can help if you want. As you learn more about it, you might not like what you see, or the Lord might lead you in a different direction."

Mike nodded, his eyes narrowing. "Dad, do you think the Lord led you to be the CEO?"

"I do," Wes said. "Yes, I was the oldest son. It was always mine if I wanted it, and you know what, Mike? I wanted it. I always wanted it, even while I went to college. There are some people who know what they want to do with their lives from a very young age. And then there's people who don't. There are people who change careers later in life, who go to college when they're in their sixties, all of that."

The only emotion Wes could feel and see coming from his son was fear. "You can't be afraid to make a wrong decision," he said. "There is no wrong decision for you. If you make a choice, then learn or decide it isn't for you, then you make a different choice."

Mike nodded, his eyes back on his hands. "All right."

"Mikey." He waited until his son looked at him. Wes gave him a smile, always able to get one in return. Even as a baby, Mikey had smiled for him first. "There is nothing you can do that will make me or Mama ever stop loving you. No matter what. There is no wrong decision for you to worry about."

"Yes, sir," Mikey said, his throat working like he'd swallowed a glassful of sand.

"All right," Wes said, reaching for his cowboy hat in the back seat. "Let's go see if Uncle Colt has eaten all the chocolate cake yet." He chuckled as he got out of the truck, his long legs glad to be back in Coral Canyon and straight for a change.

Across the street, his brothers weren't hard to find. They laughed and yell-talked with the Whittaker family, which included their mother and her husband—a racehorse breeder who lived up in Dog Valley. Wes sure did like Finn Barber a whole lot, as well as Celia's husband, Zach.

He had his daughter and son-in-law with them, and instead of trying to be heard above everyone gathered in their area, Zach signed to her.

Wes basked in the family spirit that came from the group, and Gray pointed first and said, "There they are!" as if Wes and his son were celebrities.

Colton turned, a chocolate cupcake in both hands, and came toward them. "This is for you," he said to Mike, handing him one cupcake. Everyone there knew he hadn't been saving it for Mike, but no one said anything. "You gotta come meet the Youngs," he said. "You're going to love them."

He took Mikey and Wes over to a group of tall, cowboy-hatted men standing in a semi-circle. Wes noticed several people out on the perimeter, talking and looking in their direction.

"Holy cow!" Mikey danced ahead of them. "Uncle Colton, that's Country Quad!"

"Who?" Wes asked.

"He's right," Colton said with a laugh. "Bro, they're famous country music stars. Look at those boys coming over to get autographs."

Wes and Colton and Mike had almost reached the Youngs, but Colt was right. A trio of teenage boys came over and he approached and heard, "What are you guys doin' here? Are you performing?"

"Not performing," one of the men said with a huge smile. "Our parents live here."

"Now some of us live here too," another said, and four of the seven of them signed some random piece of paper for all three boys.

"Fellas," Colton said, going right up to them. "This is the oldest of us Hammonds. Wes, and his son Michael." He presented Wes like he was a game show host, his smile just as wide and just as hitched as Vanna White's. "Wes, this is Tex Young—he's the oldest, and he's who owns Franny now. His son Bryce, who's seventeen and going into his senior year at the high school."

Wes glanced at Michael, who gazed at Bryce like he was a god. He shook his head, because celebrity meant nothing to him.

"Otis Young," Colton said. "He's the brains behind their lyrics, I'm told. Luke is the genius on the drums, and Trace can play any stringed instrument from here to the Norwegian harp."

They all started laughing, and Trace said, "There's no such thing as a Norwegian harp."

"This is Morris," Luke said. "He's our youngest brother, and he's our new manager."

"Mav," Tex said, practically pushing another man forward. He turned back and gave Tex a glare, and Wes liked them all instantly. They seemed real, even if they had signed autographs a few minutes ago. "Used to manage us, but he found himself a pretty woman and they live here now."

"So two of you are here," Wes said.

"And our parents," Mav said, indicating an older couple already sitting in a pair of lawn chairs. "They've lived here their whole lives."

"They're younger than us," Colton said. "But Beau is a year or so older than Tex. Is that right?"

"We did go to high school together," Tex said. "He's a year younger than me. He's the same age as the woman I'm seeing."

"Oh, who are you dating?" Trace asked, his eyebrows sky-high.

"Dad," Bryce said, chuckling. "You stepped right in it."

"You're dating?" Luke roared, and Morris and Mav both rolled their eyes.

"People date," Mav said. "It's not a crime, remember?" He turned back to his parents and took a seat. "Sit down, you guys. Everyone is staring at us."

"No one is staring," Otis bickered back at him, but Wes was pretty sure the whole park had been alerted of their presence, and if they wanted any peace tonight at all, they should move into the center of the group.

In fact, he suggested it, and that began the pilgrimage of the Youngs from the outer circle of the Hammond family barbecue to the middle of it. Before Wes knew it, Graham was serving hamburgers and hot dogs, and someone had found Tex, Otis, and Trace a few guitars.

They started to sing and play, and Lily, Rose, and Vi stood around them, harmonizing. Wes ate his fill of baked beans, potato salad, and chocolate chip cookies, and then he took Bree's hand in his and kissed the back of it.

"I love summer," he said with a sigh.

She smiled at him and leaned her head against his shoulder. "How was the drive?"

"Good," he said, deciding to keep his talk with Mikey to himself for now. "It was real good."

Just then, a pretty redhead approached the group with a brunette and a man in a wheelchair. Tex's guitar went silent and he jumped to his feet, handed it to his son, and jogged over to her.

She was obviously his girlfriend, if the way she grinned at him told Wes anything. Not only that, but Tex lifted her right off her feet and swung her around as if he hadn't seen her for a while.

"Aw," Bree said. "They're cute."

"Do you know them?"

"Sure," she said. "That's Abigail Ingalls, the librarian. She drives the Bookmobile too. Remember we took the kids when we were out in Rusk that one time?"

"Sure," Wes said, a vague memory coming forward from the back of his mind.

"And her brother," Bree said. "He got hurt in the military overseas. Lost both his legs, but he's been dating Cheryl Watts for a while now. She's the one I buy those tamales from for Cy."

"Ah."

Bree smiled at him again and then got to her feet. "Come on," she said. "Let's go say hello. I didn't know Abby was dating anyone, least of all a famous country music star."

Wes got to his feet too and took Bree's hand in his. "You know, to him and his son, and probably to Abby too, he's just a guy."

"You're right," Bree said. "He's just a guy."

"I bet he hasn't even been to all fifty states," Wes said, and that got Bree to giggle. He smiled too, and then he donned his personable skin so he could talk and not make a fool of himself.