Chapter Thirteen

F orty-five minutes later, Marshal pulled into the driveway of his multi-family style ranch house located on two hundred acres just outside of the Denver city limits.

He noticed right away that the front walkway had been shoveled free of snow. Tristan had done a good job of it by clearing the powder out to the driveway. Although his son hadn't taken the trash to the pick-up location at the end of the road, his son had at least done the main chore of clearing away snow.

He shut off the engine before he glanced at Cohen and Aspen. The pair were gaping at his home and the surrounding area. Marshal smirked and grabbed his phone before opening his door.

Out of all of Ryker's friends, Synclair Brick and Cohen Armani were the two Marshal trusted the most, so he had no problem bringing Cohen here. Still, he would be placing a bodyguard at his home for the foreseeable future. That would ensure nothing happened while he went back to work at the Langston estate.

It was risky bringing Aspen here because of Winchester Armani, but with the level of security Marshal kept, he felt he could do the best job of keeping Aspen hidden until he could figure out what the fuck to do.

"Let's go," Marshal said, sliding out of the SUV. He motioned for the pair to follow.

Tristan had salted the icy brick walkway all the way to the front door, so they reached it relatively quickly considering Aspen had sneakers on his feet. At least Cohen had dressed for the colder weather.

His mother was there with a bright smile. Her face filled with shock when she got a glimpse at Aspen's bruised face.

"Oh, you poor thing." She wrapped her arms around the boy and gave him a hug.

Aspen looked scared at first, but his mother had a way about her. It didn't take but a moment for the boy to become less cautious. Oh, there was still a good dose of fear in Aspen's slender frame, but at least he wasn't running.

"This is my mom, Betty," he said, and introduced them to her.

"Welcome," she said with a smile, slipping her arm around Aspen's waist.

"Thank you for this," Cohen murmured.

"Are you hungry?" Betty asked Aspen, who slowly nodded. "I'll make you some pancakes."

"With whipped cream?" the boy asked hopefully.

"My uncle is a tyrant," Cohen murmured beneath his breath to Marshal.

"I know who your uncle is," Marshal said, watching his mom coax Aspen with promises of food.

Winchester Armani was not only a tyrant as Cohen had said, but the man was also mixed up in drugs and suspected of having his hands in child pornography. Although that bit had never been proven because Armani was good at covering his tracks.

Armani thought he was untouchable, but now the fucker had a problem.

He had fucked with the wrong person.

Winchester Armani's actions had brought Aspen to Ryker's home and that put Ryker in jeopardy.

And that was one thing Marshal would never allow.

"Daddy!" two young voices chorused together and Marshal crouched down to scoop up his twin sons before standing back up with them in his arms.

Cohen stared with a surprised smile. "They look like you."

"Thanks, this is Owen and this is Colin," he said gruffly, gesturing with a slight lift of each arm respectively. "Say hello to Cohen and Aspen."

"Hello," the twins chimed together, bringing a smile from everyone.

"Tristan is probably gaming," Marshal murmured to Aspen.

"Yep! He's always gaming," Colin said, wiggling to get down and run ahead of them back into the house.

"How much land is this?" Cohen asked as they stepped into the house.

"It's two hundred acres."

"Damn." Cohen gaped. "A working ranch?"

"Not for the past fifty years, but we do have several horses and I also lease the land to neighboring cattle ranchers," he said, placing his hat on the peg by the door.

After hanging his coat in the entryway closet and kicking off his boots, he left Cohen and Aspen in his mother's care and headed down the hallway to Tristan's room.

The twins opted to stay in the kitchen along with the promise of pancakes.

Rapping on the closed door, he waited a few moments and then opened the door to glance inside to find his sixteen-year- old son on his bed with pillows stuffed behind his back and a Nintendo Switch in his hands.

"Thanks for shoveling and salting the walkway." Marshal came farther into the room.

Tristan glanced up from his game. "I didn't drag the cans down yet."

"There's time before dark." He wandered around his son's room until he ended up at the closed blinds of the window. He twisted the rod to open them.

"It causes a reflection on my screen," Tristan said, placing the game aside.

"Too much of any one thing is not good."

"So you've told me."

"A hundred times." He smirked and Tristan snorted with a smile.

"What's up?"

"I brought a guest home."

"A girl," his son spat, looking like he was going to explode.

"No. A sixteen-year-old boy who's…having a hard time."

That took the wind out of Tristan's anger and his son tried to look nonchalant, but Marshal could tell he was curious.

"Why?"

"You'll see when you meet him." He turned toward the door. "Grandma is making pancakes."

That got Tristan off the bed. His son was already over six feet tall and with the work on the property and visits to the gym, the boy was muscled.

"She's making pancakes for a newcomer?" Disbelief filled Tristan's voice. "This I gotta see."

His son stalked out of the room, reminding him so much of himself that Marshal stifled a laugh and followed the boy's tall, muscled frame down the hall.

Reaching the kitchen entry, Tristan froze in place. Marshal walked around his son and into the room to take a seat on one of the stools at the massive breakfast bar.

The scent of bacon filled the air and his mom chatted away with Cohen at the stove. The twins were busy getting in the way, but it was on Aspen that Tristan's eyes had locked.

Marshal saw the flare of his son's nostrils and then the brief flicker of rage. Tristan had been around violence prior to Marshal gaining full custody of his son, but that was something that couldn't be changed.

Perhaps Tristan's past would help Aspen. He didn't know, so he watched as the scene unfolded.

Aspen looked like a deer caught in the headlights with sheer terror beneath Tristan's glittering gaze. The boy stood nearly a foot shorter than Tristan and had nowhere near the body mass of his son.

"Howdy," Tristan drawled and walked across the kitchen to offer his hand out to Aspen.

A minute went by, but Tristan didn't lower his arm until Aspen tentatively placed his slender hand into his.

"Hi."

"I hope the fucker's dead," Tristan growled, running his eyes over Aspen's face, not releasing his hand.

"Tristan," Marshal snapped.

"Tristan!" Betty admonished.

"Sorry," his son muttered and Cohen laughed.

Everyone glanced at Cohen, who shrugged. "You sound so much like Marshal, it's funny."

"Fucker!" Colin parroted and Marshal groaned, snatching his young son up into his arms.

"No, no," Marshal said, glaring at Tristan.

"That's a very bad word and I shouldn't have said it," Tristan told his brother.

Aspen giggled and everyone in the room broke out in laughter.