Since he was using his own money for this little adventure, he hadn’t flown first class and coach was definitely not made for a man with legs as long as his. His spine popped as he settled into the leather, breathed in the scent of it. Home, he was home. “So,” Darrin drawled evenly, “still no success?” It was that voice that Matt remembered most from his first meeting with the man who would become his stepfather. Even as a wary and belligerent boy it had caught at him, reminding him of the sound of a cello – low, warm and smooth. That was something he would’ve been too embarrassed to mention, then or now. Tall, lean and spare, the lines in his rugged face highlighted by the golden lamplight, Darrin looked back at him with sharp, piercing blue eyes. In every way most people thought, Darrin was the epitome of a cowboy, from his pearl-buttoned western shirt down to his cowboy boots. His own long jean-clad legs were stretched out in front of him in much the same way as Matt’s.
