Page 439 of Devil’s Disciples

I swallowed heavily. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

He shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do that’ll make me ready.”

“You sure you want to—”

He nodded. “I’m sure.”

The home was what I would have pictured as a typical Montana farm home—a two-story house with upstairs dormer windows and a full front porch. The brick red paint with white trim suited it well.

The surrounding acreage was well-trimmed. The landscape around the home was manicured to a greater degree of perfection than I would have expected to see on any farm.

When we turned into the driveway, I noticed wooden flowerpots along the porch. “What are those yellow flowers on the porch?”

He grinned. “Yellow Bells.”

With my stomach in a knot, we idled along the winding entrance until we reached the home. When we came to a stop, Goose exhaled a long breath.

He leaned to the side and kissed me. “C’mon, I’m not doing this alone.”

“I wouldn’t let you do it alone.”

We walked hand in hand toward the house. The front door opened before we reached the porch. A man dressed in a short-sleeved blue and white plaid shirt, jeans, and boots stood in the opening. He looked just like Goose, only twenty years older. He wore his salt and pepper hair cut short, like his son’s.

His skin was tan. Slight wrinkles were visible at the corners of his narrow eyes. He was strikingly handsome. A hint at what I had to look forward to in twenty years. He took a step into the porch, and then another.

His bottom lip quivered.

The totality of what was happening hit me like a ton of bricks.

“Maggie!” he yelled. “Someone’s here to see you.”

“You look good, Pop,” Goose said, stepping onto the porch. “You look healthy.”

The man pursed his lips and gave a nod. It was easy to see that he was on the verge of tears. “Eighteen…” He swallowed heavily. “Eighteen years, two months, and four days,” he said. “One day at a time.”

“Since what?” Goose asked.

I didn’t have to ask. I knew. My father had been in and out of Alcoholics Anonymous his entire life.

“Since I had a drink,” the man said.

Goose gulped. “What about Ma?”

“Eighteen years, two months, and a week. She dragged me in there against my will. Ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“I’m proud of you, Pop.”

His father pursed his lips and gave a slight nod.

“Pop, I want you to meet someone,” Goose said.

I stepped onto the porch. My heart was aflutter. I extended a shaking hand. “Ally. Ally Ferretti.”

“Gordon Pearce.” A tear rolled along his cheek. “Senior.”

A woman nudged her way past Gordon Senior, all but knocking him down. She blew past me with a flash and landed against Goose’s chest with open arms. After a tear-filled hug, she leaned away and gave him a good look-over.

“You’re late,” she blubbered.