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He’d been their caretaker during their mother’s final illness and death from cancer. Their father hadn’t wanted to deal with the domestic situation so he didn’t. Cyrus Barron had done what he did best: abandoned his parental responsibilities. And after the accidental death of his first stepmother, Clay had also taken on the twins, Chase and Cash, when Cyrus pulled his disappearing act.
Dropping his feet to the floor, Clay pushed out of the chair and joined CJ at the door. “You heard the little man, Georgie. Aunt Cassie says it’s time to eat.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “Has your dad explained about the wishbone?”
CJ’s eyes widened and he nodded like a bobblehead dog on the dash of a car driving down a rough road. “Yup. Uncle Cash ’n’ me get to break it an’ I get something cool when I win. C’mon! There’s pie and hot rolls and sweet taters.”
Holding the door, Clay gestured for Georgie to precede him, a part of him oddly gratified she’d agreed to come home with him for the weekend. Granted, they’d mostly been closeted in this small study since their arrival the previous day so he hadn’t had much interaction with anyone besides her, but wasn’t that the point? She was a buffer between him and his brothers, in much the same way that she stood between him and the press.
The meal went as family gatherings usually did in the Barron household, at least when Cyrus was absent—lots of teasing, gooey glances between Chance and his not-so-new bride as Miz Beth and Big John presided over the festivities like the surrogate parents they’d been since coming into the brothers’ lives. When the time came for the wishbone pull, Cash—as the youngest brother—made a halfhearted attempt at the tradition with CJ. When the boy won, Cash pushed away from the table and strode out, angry over something.
Clay considered following his baby brother but CJ’s sly wish about getting his mom and dad back together kept him in his seat as Cord stammered his way through an explanation of why that wouldn’t happen. With the cleanup underway and football-watching to follow, Clay took the opportunity to slip back into the study.
Almost two hours later his father strode in. Clay glanced up at the intrusion, surprised since Chance had assured everyone that Cyrus was in Las Vegas for the duration. He sat up straighter, recognizing the set of the man’s shoulders and the expression on his face.
“We need to talk.” The old man glowered, anticipating he’d vacate the chair behind the desk. Clay didn’t indulge him.
Irritated now more than when he’d walked in, his old man lowered himself into a less comfortable chair and didn’t wait to fire the opening volley. “Get your brothers. We have family business.”
Clay didn’t like the derisive tone in his father’s voice. “What sort of family business?”
“Cord and my grandson and that woman who wants to ruin them both. Now get the hell out of my chair. We’ll talk more after I deal with your thickheaded brother.”
Doing as he was told but dragging his feet, he went in search of his brothers. He found Cash first and received a curt nod and sneer for his trouble. “I’ll round up everyone and then text Cord to meet us in the conference room,” Cash informed him.
Cash’s reaction and obvious previous knowledge of the situation left a bitter taste in Clay’s mouth. His youngest brother had once been the most easygoing of them all—rivaling even Cord for being laid-back. He wondered what had happened to turn Cash into the man he currently was.
With reluctance, Clay headed to the conference room and sank into the chair at one end of the table. During the “family intervention” his father demanded Cord sue for full custody of CJ, and made other more personal demands about CJ’s mother, Jolie. It left Clay slightly angered—at his father, at his baby brother, but proud of Cord and Chance for standing up to the old man. He should probably do the same, though a heavy sense of dread hung over him as he followed his father back into the study.
“What are your plans?”
“My plans for what?”
“The election.”
“As you well know, I’m forming an exploratory committee.”
“You need to declare early. Scare off the competition.”
“This may not be the right cycle to run.”
“Bull. You will campaign, get the party’s nomination, and we’ll make a successful run at the presidency.”
“We,” Clay said in a clipped tone, letting the pronoun hang in the emotionally charged atmosphere.
“I can’t trust you not to mess it up. I’ll be there every step of the way. I have some things to deal with here but I’ll be in Washington next week. We’ll get things started.”
Despite the urge, and a certain need to do so, Clay didn’t argue. A smart man picked his battles with the old man. This wasn’t the time or the place.
Five
Even now, late on a snowy December day when his colleagues were preparing to flee Washington for their home districts, Clay glared at the files highlighted in the pool of stark white LED light shining on his desk. He pretended he was too busy to make it home for the holidays but in reality, he didn’t want to deal with the family drama happening back in Oklahoma. The intervention at Thanksgiving involving Cord, the mother of his child and the boy himself soured Clay’s stomach. As much as he’d enjoyed meeting his nephew and reconnecting with his brothers, overall, succumbing to his new sister-in-law’s plea to appear for the family gathering had been an unmitigated disaster. And he still had his old man all up in his political business.
A peal of laughter floated through his half-opened office door. Georgie. She’d been the one high point in the Thanksgiving travesty. He’d all but begged her to accompany him, his excuse that she was the best speechwriter on the Hill and he had precampaign stops to make on the way back to Washington. In truth, he’d needed her there to insulate him from the dysfunction surrounding his family. Her presence and clear head kept him centered.
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