Jase turned away, then paused. “You said that I was the right one to keep.”

“What?”

“That’s what I’m asking. What was that all about?”

“Hell if I know. I was drunk. Or didn’t you notice?”

“I noticed.”

“Fine,” his father said from beneath the blanket, “then you know nothin’ I said made any sense. Now, just leave me alone. For the love of Christ!” He pulled the pillow over his head as if he were a three-year-old child trying to avoid a scolding.

Jase let it go.

For now.

With a final glance at the man who had sired him, Jase grabbed the keys to his truck from a table where his cell phone was charging. He yanked the phone from its cord, pocketed the cell, and then left his apartment. He could let his old man sleep it off, though it wouldn’t be so easy to leave behind the remark about Jase being the chosen one. What the hell was that really about? The drunken ramblings of an old, forgetful man, or something deeper? A slipup? He should just let it go, but knew he wouldn’t.

He thought about the check he’d written to his father but never mailed. He’d intended to post it today, but now . . . oh, hell, everything had already started blowing up.

Making his way down the exterior stairs at the end of the building, he wondered what he would find when he came home. Would his father still be in the apartment? Still sleeping it off? Parked on the couch with no intention of leaving? Or would he be gone? According to Prescott, Ed’s truck was parked at the farm, so he’d have to find a way to retrieve it, unless Prescott brought it into town.

No doubt fireworks would explode when Edward and Prescott came face-to-face again and Pres started going on about Ed and rehab, which Jase agreed was necessary for their father to function and survive. The trouble was, Prescott seemed to think Jase had unlimited funds, first to buy the farm and then to send their old man into some kind of treatment program. The truth was that Jase did have a bit of a nest egg, not that he was getting rich as a reporter. He’d purchased a small two-bedroom, utilized his carpentry skills to renovate, and then sold it when the market was at its peak. After that he’d invested his money in the stock market and hadn’t purchased another house, as he was happy enough in his apartment. Or had been.

So, he could probably get financing and buy out Prescott, and maybe there would be a little left to help out the old man. But then he’d be flat broke, a position he’d become intimate with a couple of times and didn’t much like.