Ty narrowed his eyes at Zane. “Real son of a bitch, huh, Z?”
Zane’s eyes widened as he came closer, carrying a box he’d retrieved from the truck bed. He obviously hadn’t heard what had preceded his nickname. “What?”
“Jackass,” Ty said to him. Harrison laughed.
“What’d I do?”
Ty gave him a wink.
Zane rolled his eyes. “I got you something in Austin. I was going to bring it home, but since you’re here . . .” He handed Ty the box.
Ty took it with a quirked eyebrow at Zane and a sideways glance at Harrison. But Zane wouldn’t have given it to him here if it were something . . . dubious.
He pulled the top off the box and peered inside to find a felt cowboy hat, light brown with a black band. On the front of the band was a beautiful silver and turquoise concho.
Ty laughed and pulled the hat out. “Thanks, Zane.”
Zane plucked off Ty’s baseball cap, then took the hat out of his hands and set it on top of his head. Zane fussed with it, making sure it fit right, and Ty stared at him from under the brim of the hat, watching Zane’s dark eyes go darker.
“Looks good,” Zane said with a curt nod, the undercurrent in his voice unmistakable. It must have looked pretty damn good.
Ty gave him a jaunty grin. “Thank you.”
“You wear that like you’re from Texas,” Harrison said, nodding his approval.
They heard a shout from inside the house: Beverly on the phone in her study, where an open window let in the evening breeze.
“Oh, kill me now.”
“It can’t be that bad, right?” Ty asked, looking between Zane and his father.
“Optimists are so cute,” Harrison said around his cigarette.
Ty did a double-take, and Zane grunted. “God help the poor party planner she’s dealing with.” He sighed and jerked his hand. “But better her than me.”
“She’s your mother,” Ty said, voice low. “Next time she gets on your case, you do what all good sons do and lie to make her happy.”
Zane looked up sharply, blinking. Harrison threw his head back and laughed again. Ty merely raised an eyebrow at Zane. His hat shifted with the motion.
Harrison patted Ty’s shoulder, shaking him with surprising vigor for a man who’d just been released from the hospital with a bullet hole in his arm. “I like this one, Z.”
Zane smiled gamely.
“You boys don’t tarry, now. Dinner’ll be on soon,” Harrison said, then made his way back toward the house, sliding what was left of his rolled cigarette into his pocket.
They waited until he was out of earshot, and then Zane stepped closer. “You got any idea what she gets on my case for?”
“Tell me.”
Zane stared at him for a long moment. “She wants me back here, running the ranch, married again, with kids. Like a good Texan boy. And to hell with what I want.” He took another step, until their chests brushed together. Ty had to tilt his head back to keep the brim of his hat from poking one of Zane’s eyes out. “I’ve got other ideas of what I want,” Zane said quietly.
Ty nodded, glancing around the yard out of habit, then looking at Zane with an odd rush of nerves.
Zane tipped his head to one side, studying him. “I think you might be able to see the problem.”
“I see it,” Ty whispered. He sniffed as he looked around the yard again. “What is that smell?”
Zane shook his head. “What smell?”
“Smells like horse.”
Zane snorted, and Ty turned to move toward the front porch. Zane chuckled. “It’s a ranch, Ty. Dad’s got whole barns full of horses. Better check your boots, buddy boy.”
“You’ll find one up your ass soon enough,” Ty promised as he walked away. Zane’s laughter followed him across the yard.
They got halfway through dinner before Beverly brought up the topic Zane was desperately wishing she’d avoid.
“Zane, when are you going to come back here and settle down? Surely you’ve gotten this government nonsense out of your blood by now,” she said as she passed the gravy to Annie, like it was an everyday conversation.
“Now, Beverly, you know Z’s worked hard to get where he is. He can’t just drop it,” Harrison said.
“I can’t just up and leave my assignment, Mother.”
“Surely you can request a transfer or retirement.” Beverly turned her eyes on Zane’s silent partner sitting across the table from Zane. “Can you do that, Mr. Grady?”
“Oh, look,” Ty said, as if he’d just discovered something wonderful. “Biscuits!” He tore off a piece of bread and stuffed it into his mouth.
Annie snickered, and Zane kept his eyes on his plate as he tried not to smile. Even Sadie began giggling, looking around the table with eyes that shone. She was sitting next to Ty, mimicking his actions. Ty looked sideways at her and winked.
Beverly drew a breath to continue, but Harrison spoke first. “So what is it you’re doing now, Z? You must like it pretty well.”
Zane looked at Ty before speaking. “We do a lot of investigative work. Research and field work, stuff like that.”
“Research,” Beverly sneered.
“Mother, not right now, okay? We can talk about it later.”
Ty pressed his lips into a thin line and kept his eyes on his plate, obviously trying to keep from saying anything. But then he glanced up at Zane’s mother, brow furrowed, and then at Zane. He was probably tying his tongue in knots trying to restrain himself from weighing in.
The whole thing made Zane angry. And then there was Ty, here to support him and being forced to sit through Beverly’s cutting remarks. She had yet to address him by any of the titles he’d earned, instead calling him Mr. Grady. Zane glanced up and met his partner’s eyes.
Ty raised one eyebrow pointedly. “Lie,” he mouthed.
Zane’s jaw clenched. “I’d been thinking about it.”
Silverware clattered as both Annie and Harrison looked at him in surprise, and Beverly broke into a smile. “Well, you merely had to say so, Zane. We can talk all about it sometime this week. Now, Juanita, what do we have for dessert?”
The matronly little woman hovering nearby bustled off toward the kitchen, and Beverly surveyed the dinner table with a smile.
Eyes wide, Zane stared at her and then Ty in disbelief.
Ty pressed his lips together again, clearly trying not to laugh as he ducked his head and tightened his grip on his fork. Zane kicked Ty’s shin under the table, and Ty gave a muffled grunt and jerked before he could stop himself, clanging his fork and plate together.