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cinnamon rolls on the table.”
    That was all Jason and Lance needed to hear.
Both of them turned and hurried into the house. Melissa stayed with
Trey, walking arm-in-arm toward the house.
    “You okay?” she asked.
    “Okay? Yes. Shocked? Hell, yes.” His boots
echoed off the wooden porch while Melissa’s slippers made a
shuffling sound.
    “Does he have the eyes?” she asked.
    “Mel, leave the boy alone. Son,” his father
jutted out his hand to shake Trey’s, “your mom has been chomping at
the bit, so you best come inside and spill the beans or no one is
getting any sleep and that includes me.”
    The dynamics in this family were much like
most families, Trey guessed. When something happened to one of
them, it happened to all of them.
    As he stepped inside the warm, inviting
cabin-style house, the fresh scent of pine wafted off the tall
Christmas tree adorned with family heirlooms while the woodsy smell
of mesquite burning in the fireplace touched his nose. He wiped his
boots on the slab of carpet before the door as he had done for
years, and then removed his hat and hung it on the hatrack.
    Walking past the living room, he entered the
large open kitchen with granite countertops and copper pans hanging
from the brass pot rack chandelier above the island. He took a seat
at the table. Gazing out the bay window that overlooked the
backyard, he stared into the darkness.
    “So, Trey, what’s this I hear about a
son?”
    His father’s gruff voice broke into Trey’s
wonderings. He drew his attention to the large man resting against
a wooden chair. Gray peppered the man’s black hair, but he still
had firm control over his family.
    “Did you happen to hear about the Collier’s
Bank robbery today?”
    His mother and father nodded while Melissa
shook her head.
    “You get the call?” Jason asked, chewing on a
mouthful of pastry.
    Trey picked up the coffee cup his mother set
before him with a comforting smile, and then he took a drink before
continuing. “Yeah. The witness was a woman I met in Denver at a
conference about two years ago.”
    “And?” Lance urged.
    “Hush.” Melissa swatted his hand.
    “I won’t go into a lot of detail, but—”
    “Oh no, bro.” Lance chuckled, dodging
Melissa’s swing. “Don’t think you’re going to get away with
glossing over the details.”
    Melissa, along with their mother, leveled
another scowl at him.
    “Fine. I had a one-night stand in Denver and
now I have a child. TJ is about fifteen months old. Yes, he has the
Burstyn eyes.” He flicked a lock of hair that hid his stubborn
cowlick. “He even has this damn thing.”
    “Have I taught you nothing about protection?”
Jason sighed, stuffing another piece of cinnamon roll into his
mouth.
    “Yes. Dammit. I used a condom.” When his
mother and sister blushed and Lance choked on a laugh, Trey felt
himself shrinking inside. “Sorry, Mom. Mel. But it is what it is. I
have a son.” What more was there really to say?
    “If you used protection, how can you be sure
that the boy is yours?” his father asked.
    “It can happen,” Melissa said. “Condoms are
known to have a breakage rate of over two percent. In fact, women
whose partners use a condom have a two percent per-year pregnancy
rate possibility if the man knows how to— Uhmm. Put it on, versus a
fifteen percent per-year pregnancy rate with typical use.” When
everyone’s wide eyes landed on Melissa, she said, “What? Don’t tell
me you guys weren’t listening in sex education? Or perhaps that was
Trey’s problem. He, uh, didn’t know how to wear it right.” She
grinned sheepishly while Jason, Lance and their father burst into
laughter.
    Trey noted his mother wasn’t laughing.
    “Son, where is the boy now?” she asked.
    “With his mother. We had to take him to
urgent care.” When concern darkened his mother’s eyes, he added,
“It’s just an ear infection. But damn, the boy has some lungs. He’s
sleeping now and hopefully will feel better