Free Chasing the Sun by Kaki Warner Page A

surprises this week.”
    Jack gave the older man a sharp look. “Oh?”
    “Miss— Sister —Elena’s here too.”
    “Is she?” Jack tried to sound unconcerned, but knowing she was so close set his heart pounding.
    “You know she’s a nun?” Langley asked.
    “I do.” So she hadn’t changed her mind. He hadn’t really expected her to, but had still nurtured a spark of hope. Hiding his disappointment, he headed up the porch steps on his crutch. “Tell the boys I’ll stop by the bunkhouse later to give my hellos.”
    “They’ll be glad to see you.”
    He entered quietly then followed the sound of voices across a huge open room, past a long, empty dining table, and through a deep archway that opened into a kitchen as large as a clipper’s forecastle.
    And there they were, all the faces he remembered. And a lot he didn’t.
    And Elena.
    A warm, tight feeling surged through him.
    Unnoticed, he paused for a moment in the shadows of the arched doorway, struggling to bring his emotions under control. Then he took a deep breath and stepped into the room. “Anything left for me?”
    Stunned silence. Then the room erupted into a tumultuous uproar as people rushed toward him—Jessica crying and laughing and hugging him, Brady pounding him on the back, Hank grinning and shoving a pretty woman in his face, Consuelo jabbering, a stern-faced old Scottish fellow speaking with such a strong accent Jack didn’t know if he was being greeted or cursed, kids everywhere, and Elena ... observing quietly from her chair, a joyful yet sad smile on her face.
    He was home.

    “YOU SHOULD HAVE WRITTEN,” BRADY SAID.
    The kids were long in bed, and the women had retired after a rowdy evening catching up on all the news. Now Jack and Brady sat in stuffed leather chairs in Hank’s office sipping aged Scotch whiskey from tiny crystal glasses, while Hank hunched over his desk, tinkering with something that looked like two hoops with a wheel spinning in the middle. Jack still hadn’t had a chance to talk to Elena.
    Slumping back against the cushions, Jack propped his sore foot on the corner of Hank’s desk and enjoyed the smooth slide of fine whiskey down his throat.
    No jug of Buck’s home brew now. No coarse laughter or plinking guitar music drifting out of the nearby bunkhouse. No whiffling snore from a rank-smelling hound dog dozing at their feet.
    Now they were rich. Now they were living in this overbuilt, sprawling, doily-laden home that his brothers had built on the ashes of destruction. Now it was all fine bone china and silver teapots and women’s soft laughter.
    And kids. Kids everywhere.
    Not that Jack was complaining. He liked living rich. He had a knack for it. He liked to hear women laugh and he liked kids, even when they weren’t laughing. And he especially liked this smooth, smoky whiskey a whole lot better than Buck’s throat-burning, gut-churning brew ... but he’d have to have a few more glasses of it just to be sure.
    “So why didn’t you?” Brady prodded.
    Pulled from his musings, Jack looked over at him. “Why didn’t I what?”
    “Write. I did teach you to write, didn’t I?”
    Jack sighed, wishing he could have gotten at least one night’s sleep before butting heads with his oldest brother. “Because I didn’t want to.”
    “That’s a piss-poor excuse.”
    “It wasn’t meant as an excuse. You asked why I didn’t write. I answered. That’s all.”
    Hank chuckled as he tightened a screw on the outside hoop.
    Brady glared at him, then aimed his ire at Jack. “You should have written. That’s all I’m saying. We were concerned.”
    “About what?”
    Brady let out a huff of exasperation. “About Elena. How her operation went. Whether you made it to San Francisco or got scalped on the way. Christ.”
    Jack blinked, genuinely surprised at the vehemence behind his brother’s reaction. “I didn’t think it mattered.” Then realizing how cold that sounded, he hastily added, “And anyway,