Jim offered his hand. “Welcome home.”
“You’re my second son, and in this family, we hug. How in the hell are you, Jim? You look great.” He wrapped his arms around him.
Second son.Jim held tight. “Gosh, I’m fine, Mr. Truttle. We missed you. Are you okay? Did anyone try to hurt you?” Jim realized he didn’t swear, and he couldn’t remember the last time he did.
Mr. Truttle laughed. “A few minor scrapes here and there, but I’m fine—homesick, but fine. Made great money, enough to pay off the last of the mortgage, and I’m going to have Brian write the check for it. I even got laid a time or two.”
“Or twenty or thirty times.” Brian came forward and made it a group hug.
The boys carried Mr. Truttle’s two luggage bags inside.
“Whoa, it smells great in here. Don’t suppose there are any beers in the house?”