Family—what an odd concept. Dempsey thought about it as he found himself surrounded by one of the most complete families he had ever experienced, mouth pulling into a thoughtful frown. Oksana’s thoughts had not escaped him, they never did, and he wasn’t sure what to make of them—or, more surprisingly, his own reaction. It was not love that warmed his heart, but he would be lying if he said that was not invested in the red mare before him. She had somehow become rooted in him, and he had found that his wanderings had become smaller and smaller over time, and they seemed to center around her.
Maybe it was more love than he cared to admit—albeit a different kind.
Dempsey shook his head, tucking away the thought for another time.
Looking at Oksana, one corner of his lip lifted higher than another in a conspiratorial grin. She knew he had read her thoughts—and, not for the first time, he was glad she could not return the favor. “Don’t worry,” he said with a wink, “I’m not going anywhere yet.” The last word was added almost as an after thought, as a commitment to his promise to her that he would not lie. It would feel dishonest to tell her he would never leave, and he had said he would always be truthful. Truthful about them, about him.
Realizing that Oksana was the only one who was kept out of the loop from the conversation, he took a step so he could whisper in her ear (not that it would do much good with Isle around), “He’s worried that he’s broken.” It broke his heart to admit that to her; that his son, just barely hours old, would already be plagued with the self-doubt that seemed to cripple most adults. It seemed so unfair to give him that weight.
His attention is diverted to the pair of them beneath Oksana’s wing, and he smiles at Oksana’s explanation of the word—he should have known that she would be a good mother. “No, you’re not bad, Wyck,” he responds finally, plucking the entire family’s thoughts from the air with the ease of someone who had long ago mastered his trait. It was different to navigate a conversation with one mute, two mind-readers, and one not-so-normal normal mare, but he didn’t trip; if anyone was equipped for the job, he could handle it.
“Like your mom said, you’re just different.”
He reaches down to ruffle both of their forelocks with his nose, laughing lightly. “We’re all a little different here.” His voice drops to a low rumble as he catches both of their gaze, “Although your mom is definitely the weirdest. Don’t tell her I said that.” He lifts his head to look at her, and stretches his neck, enjoying the simple pleasure of the conversation between all of them. He was a man of simple pleasures—and, even though this one was on the surface one of the most complicated simple pleasures he had ever experienced, it was still perfect to him.
DEMPSEY
lord have mercy on my rough and rowdy ways
