Favorite song: HICKTOWN by Jason Aldean. Just don't ask him to dance to it
Favorite meal: his mother's onion and mushroom pot roast with mashed potatoes and gravy and chocolate chip cookies
Favorite past time: he loves hanging out at the lake, waterskiing, swimming and wakeboarding -- but not fishing.
Three never before revealed things about Celia Lawson!
Favorite song: FANCY by Reba McEntire. Just don't ask her to sing karaoke to it.
Favorite meal: her brother Abe's WY jambalaya with sage and cornbread muffins
Secret skill: she learned leatherwork from her friend Max because she wanted to make her own tack.
“Son, your father is dying.”
Kyle Gilchrist pulled his cell phone away from his ear, staring at it as if it had grown horns. “Ma. What the hell are you talkin’ about? You’ve always told me I was an immaculate conception. Or that you found me in the cabbage patch. Or that you were hit by a sperm donor truck.”
“Kyle Dean Gilchrist, for once in your life don’t be sarcastic. You need to come back to Wyoming as soon as possible. He wants to see you.”
“Who?” he demanded.
“All of a sudden I have a father? Who is he?”
“I can’t tell you.” A tiny sigh sounded. “Look. He wants to meet face-to-face . Talk to you in person. Explain a few things.”
Kyle’s resentment flared and he attempted to keep his tone even. “So why didn’t he call me himself if he’s suddenly all fired up to take on his daddy responsibilities to a grown man?”
“He doesn’t feel you two oughta hold this conversation over the phone. Plus, he’s on a respirator.”
“And why should I give two shits about him? Wasn’t like he ever gave a damn about me.”
“Believe it or not, he does care about you. He always has.”
“Why should I believe that?” He couldn’t keep the skepticism from his tone.
She blurted, “He’s leaving you an inheritance and he wants to discuss it with you.”
Kyle’s beer stopped halfway to his mouth. “Come again?”
“He’s leaving you everything: the land, the cattle, the buildings, whatever cash is left over. Everything is yours. He had no other children. You’re his only heir.”
His father. An inheritance. This was beyond surreal. And Kyle had thought last night was an epic mindblower.
“Son? You still there?” his mother said, prompting a response.
The hotel door opened and she sauntered in. His pulse skipped a beat, or seven, as it always did whenever he saw her.
She stopped by the bed and asked, “Kyle? Is everything all right?”
He shook his head, still trying to wrap his brain around the bizarre news.
His mother demanded, “Who’s that with you?”
“My wife,” Kyle drawled, keeping his eyes focused on the woman wearing his ring.
“Your wife? Since when do you get married and not tell me?”
“Don’t go there, Ma. Not when you’ve dropped a bombshell about my alleged father.”
“Who is she?” His mother again demanded an answer.
“I’ll make you a deal: I’ll give you her name if you give me my father’s name.”
“That’s what I thought. I’ll be in touch soon. Bye.” He hung up and tossed the phone aside, never breaking eye contact with the woman standing next to him.
“You gonna tell me what that was about? Especially blabbing the my wife part to your mother?”
“You are my wife, and it looks like we’re goin’ to meet the family sooner than we expected.”
“Oh no. Oh hell no.” She cocked her hands on her hips and glared at him. “We both agreed this Vegas marriage was a drunken mistake and we’d get it annulled as soon as possible.”
Kyle gave her a very slow, very thorough once-over, letting the heat in his eyes serve as a reminder of their smokin’-hot wedding night. “You know, I’ve had time to think, and I don’t wanna get this marriage annulled.” He toasted her with his beer. “So pack your bags, kitten. We’re headed home to Wyoming. Tonight.”