The Marine Finds His Family. Angel Smits

He focused on trying to get his boots on.

      “I wanna ask somethin’.”

      “Ask away.” DJ watched Tyler out of the corner of his eye. His son was holding a notebook from school, the wire binding bent sideways in places. Tyler climbed up on the foot of DJ’s bed. Sitting a minute, he began swinging his legs to kick the edge of the mattress.

      “Well, ya know. My birthday’s coming up.”

      DJ fought the grin. “Yeah. It is. In a couple weeks, right?”

      The smile on Tyler’s face made DJ’s heart hitch a little.

      “Yep. Less than a month. I’ll be nine. I was sorta thinking maybe I’m big enough for this.” Slowly, reverently, Tyler reached into the notebook and pulled out a pristine magazine picture.

      A picture of a dirt bike. Bright green.

      “Whoa!” The kid had taste. The bike was top-of-the-line. “It’s a beauty.”

      “It’s a Razor Dirt Rocket, and Morgan in my class has one. It’s so cool.”

      “I don’t know, buddy.” His brother Wyatt, who owned this ranch, would kill him. Kill them both.

      “Aw, come on.” Tyler slid off the bed and came over to stand beside the chair. “All the guys were talkin’ about it at recess. And everyone’s gettin’ ’em.”

      DJ doubted that, but didn’t say anything. “We’ll see. I don’t think Uncle Wyatt would be too thrilled with you riding it near the horses.”

      “He doesn’t say nothin’ about you and your motorcycle.”

      “That’s different.” DJ pulled on the first worn combat boot and took a deep breath. “And he says plenty, believe me.” Boot two coming up.

      “How is it different?” Tyler’s voice rose in frustration.

      “It just is.”

      “That’s not fair.”

      “Who told you life was fair, kid?” DJ mumbled, his back aching from bending over to struggle with his boots. The silence grew long, and DJ looked up when Tyler didn’t say anything more.

      “Mama always said to play fair.” There was a sheen in Tyler’s eyes, but DJ didn’t dare point it out.

      Nearly two months had passed and there was still no word from Tammie—no sign of her promise to Tyler to return. And while Tyler seldom spoke of her, when he did, the pain was sharp in his voice. That pain made DJ ache.

      “Look.” DJ left his second boot untied and turned to face Tyler. “I won’t promise anything right now. Let me think about it, okay?”

      “’Kay.”

      “Keep that picture in a safe place, though. Just in case I need a reference.” DJ winked at Tyler and the smile that bloomed on the boy’s face warmed his heart.

      “When Mama says she’ll think about something, that’s almost always a yes.” Tyler turned and ran from the room.

      “Hey, now wait—”

      Yep. Wyatt was gonna kill him. With a sigh, DJ followed Tyler downstairs. While the kid ran, DJ took his time. He could move much easier these days, especially after loosening up with the past few weeks of physical therapy, but it was still slow going.

      Finally, he reached the ground floor and breathed a sigh of relief. Another day without a tumble down the stairs. It was looking good.

      The old ranch house was big, with four bedrooms upstairs, a huge kitchen and several living areas on the main level. DJ’s grandfather had built the place, and they’d all come out here in the summers as kids to visit, and later in life to work and play—in his case mostly play. Of the six siblings, Wyatt was the only one who took to ranching. It seemed only natural that he take over after Grandpa passed.

      Wyatt was just where DJ expected to find him. In the big country kitchen, at the counter pouring himself a cup of coffee. Though it was early, DJ would bet this was not Wyatt’s first cup. “Mornin’,” they spoke in unison and both laughed.

      DJ bypassed the coffee and grabbed a hunk of the ranch cook Juanita’s always-amazing coffee cake and stuffed it in his mouth. He poured himself a glass of orange juice before sitting down at the huge ranch table.

      “You weren’t dumb enough to promise you’d get him the dirt bike, were you?” Wyatt wasn’t known for being subtle.

      “No.” DJ’s hackles rose. The younger brother in him wanted to remind Wyatt that Tyler was his son, and he’d promise whatever he wanted. The adult in him knew that was childish. Besides, this was Wyatt’s home, Wyatt’s ranch, and they were living here at his discretion.

      “But?”

      Wyatt knew DJ. His brother patiently waited—they both knew there was a but.

      “I have an idea.”

      “Uh-oh.” Wyatt grabbed a chair, scraping it away from the table to sit across from DJ. “Spit it out.”

      “He wants the bike, right?”

      Wyatt nodded.

      “I need him to tell me about Tammie.” He met Wyatt’s gaze.

      “You think that’s a good idea? Bribing him?”

      DJ shrugged. He couldn’t think of anything else at this point. Tyler refused to talk about his life with his mother. He wouldn’t share even the smallest details. The first bit of information they’d had was, of course, the house where Wyatt had picked up the boy—and they’d figured out that was a lie, too. Tammie and Tyler hadn’t lived there. No one had for years. Tammie had found an abandoned house and borrowed it.

      “You don’t think that dredging all that up will hurt him?” Wyatt said, his voice thick with concern.

      They’d had this discussion a dozen times already. Maybe Tyler had been so badly abused that the horrors returning would be too difficult. But DJ didn’t think that was the case. Tyler didn’t behave like an abused kid. Concerned, scared at times, but not abused.

      “That’s the thing.” DJ decided to share his thoughts with Wyatt. “I think he’s not talking because he’s protecting his mom.” DJ would bet his Harley on it.

      “From us?”

      “No.” DJ took a deep swallow of the juice, buying time to organize his words. “Something or someone else.”

      “That boyfriend?”

      DJ shrugged, not really wanting to go there in his mind or this conversation. But he knew what Wyatt was talking about. Before DJ had returned home, Wyatt had taken Tyler to the emergency room when he’d cut his hand. That was the only time Tyler had let anything slip. Some guy named Dom had hurt Tyler. Hurt him bad enough to warrant an earlier ER visit that scared Tyler for life. But other than that, he hadn’t said anything about his mom.

      And now they finally had a key to get Tyler to talk.

      Wyatt’s simple nod was all the go-ahead DJ was going to get. He’d take what he could.

      * * *

      THIS TIME OF NIGHT was the worst time to work. Tammie liked it better when the dinner crowd was in full swing, or when the late-night-after-the-movies-and-the-bars-were-closed crowds came in. She didn’t have time to think...or feel.

      This dead, middle-of-the-night calm between the two rushes was almost painful. She’d already rolled all the silverware, filled the saltshakers and stacked the dishes in the front stations.

      “Take a load off.” Cora pointed at the diner’s ugly green counter. Her feet throbbing, Tammie didn’t question the older woman’s instruction. Who was she to argue with seniority?

      Cora poured coffee into two plain earthenware