Cut and Run 6 - Stars and Stripes

he’s saying!”
    Zane squinted at him. “Okay. I think you’ve been out in the sun a little too long.”
    Harrison cleared his throat, unable to keep from laughing.
    Ty flinched and straightened, pushing off the hitching post. “Hello, sir,” he said as he put out his cheroot on the denim of his jeans.
    Harrison smirked. Zane had managed to go off to New York City and find someone who would have fit in on the ranch almost seamlessly. And it was obvious, even if they were trying to be subtle, that the two of them were very much in love. Harrison had never known the feeling, but he’d seen it often enough to recognize it.
    Zane came over, reaching out to offer an arm. “Dad. How are you feeling?”
    “Winded,” Harrison admitted. He took Zane’s arm and leaned on him. “What are you boys up to?”
    “Zane was showing off for me,” Ty said with a smile.
    “I was trying to teach him how to rope.”
    “I can’t imagine he’ll learn much, way he was staring at you.”
    Ty looked away, but even the hot summer sun couldn’t mask the blush creeping over the man.
    Harrison smiled. “Take a walk with me, huh?”
    “Sure,” Zane said as he tossed his heavy rope toward the saddle on the fence.
    “I’ll just, uh . . . I’ll be inside.” Ty jerked his thumb toward the barn door. “Talking to the horse.”
    “No, you too.”
    Ty raised an eyebrow but moved closer. “Of course, sir.”
    “I hear you boys had a little rough-and-tumble at the bar last night.”
    Zane sneered. “Yeah, some jackass tried to pick a fight.”
    “I hear you two didn’t entertain it. I’m glad. People been talking good about you today.”
    “Really?” Zane glanced at Ty, eyebrows climbing higher.
    Harrison nodded. “Ty, tell me something. Do your mama and daddy know about you and my son?”
    Ty blinked at him and looked down at his feet. “Yes, sir, they do.”
    “And what do they think of it?”
    “Well . . . they were upset that I misled them for so long. I should’ve told them years ago.”
    “What are you getting at, Dad?”
    “Ty, here, he has impressive manners. I think I’d like to meet the people who taught him. I was just trying to see if they reacted like Beverly is sure to and stormed out when you told them, or if they’d want to meet me too.”
    Harrison reached out to take Ty’s arm for some extra support. Ty’s shoulders were tense, and Harrison couldn’t read his expression until he gave a half-smile. “I’m sure they’d be happy to meet you.”
    Harrison nodded, and was about to respond when Ty stopped walking. Harrison slowed, and Zane came around to look back at Ty. The man was staring into the darkened doorway of one of the outbuildings.
    “Ty?” Zane whispered, hand going to his gun. Apparently, Zane acted on such cues from his partner a lot, treating him like a well-trained hunting dog.
    Ty held out one hand. “Sir, may I go in there?”
    Harrison glanced at the shed with a raised brow and nodded. “Sure.”
    Ty advanced on the doorway. Inside was a stack of junk, old parts and rows of rusted tools spread around a ratty canvas tarp. The shape of the bulk beneath the tarp was barely discernible, but Harrison knew what was in there. From the looks of him, Ty Grady knew as well.
    Ty edged up to the front of the tarp and put a gentle hand on it, bending until his eyes were level with the expanse of canvas. He looked back at Harrison and Zane, hazel eyes shining. “Do you know what’s under here?”
    Zane shook his head, though he appeared more interested in Ty’s reaction than he had ever been in the storage sheds.
    Harrison smirked. “Why don’t you tell us what it is?”
    “If I’m not mistaken,” Ty said, a hint of anticipation in his voice, “this is an early model Mustang GT. Look at the lines and the curve of the hood there.”
    Harrison laughed, surprised by Ty’s accuracy. “Lift it up, son.”
    Zane moved to help, and he and Ty rolled the canvas tarp back, revealing the rusted-out carcass of the old classic beneath.
    Harrison watched, fascinated. The car had fallen into disrepair and had been sitting in the old shed for three decades, waiting for someone to come along and see the beauty in her. No one in the family had ever possessed the time, inclination, or skill to see her for what she was. Harrison had known; he’d just never been able to raise a hand for her.
    The original paint had been blasted away, leaving a dull gray primer. She had no wheels, no insignia,