Page 200 of Summer Heat
The football hit the side of his head, and Roman cheered his direct hit. She laughed. Cash laughed before he turned and speared her brother, football in hand. Dad laughed. Everything felt like it should.
The doorbell rang. Somewhere in the background, she heard her mother fussing for a hand towel, wiping her hands on the way to answer the front door. Nicola was mesmerized, watching her family. Being home—
Chk-chck.
And just that fast, the unmistakable sound of a pump-action shotgun dumped an ice bath on her warm-and-fuzzy worldview. She palmed a steak knife from the kitchen island, slid to the wall, and listened.
A floorboard creaked. She knew that floorboard, knew every one that creaked and groaned, thanks to years of sneaking out with Cash and Roman. Nic looked out the window. The men were back to their casual game of drink-and-toss, shooting the shit.
She rounded the corner and knew that knife wouldn’t be worth the silver it was plated with if her hearing was right. And she had no doubt it was. Tucking the steak knife into the back of her shorts, she had only one more corner—
“Jackson?” She was struck completely dumb.
He turned toward her, pivoting her Remington 870 Super Magnum pump action away from her mom. Thank God.
“Nicola, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You haven’t been home in days.”
Jackson looked delirious and smelled like booze. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. He hadn’t shaved in at least a day and his clothes were… tactical.
“Here I am, Jacks. Why don’t you slip the safety back on that baby, and we can go for a walk?”
“Not yet. Is Cash here?” he asked, so calm and casual that the hairs on the back of her neck did the wave.
“I think this is between you and me. Whatever it is—”
“This is your mom?” He sounded desperate and distant.
How to answer this one… “Jackson, listen to me—”
He swung his gaze to her mom, but thankfully kept the shotgun aimed at her. “I’m Jackson Dale. You must be Mrs. Garr—” He took a step from her mom and sliced a glance to Nic. “Wait, I don’t even you know your real last name. How is this possible? How could you do this to me?”
Her mom spoke up. “You can call me Janet.”
Jackson smiled at her, but his eyes didn’t focus. “It’s nice to meet you, Janet. You have such a lovely house.”
“Thank you, Jackson,” she said, her face pale and eyes wide. “I’d love to have you join us for dinner. But I do have a strict no guns in the house rule.”
“Nic and I aren’t staying.”
Good. She could get him the hell out of the house and that gun away from her mother. “Jacks is right, mom. We’ve gotta go.”
The stench of sweat and liquor overpowered the room. He lowered the weapon slightly but kept a finger on the trigger. She knew how ultra-sensitive that trigger was. A slight breeze on the right setting would slip it to fast action.
“Let’s go. Nice to meet you, Janet.”
The back door opened and slammed shut. Grumbling and laughing male voices overwhelmed the house.
Damn it, she was so close. “Jacks. Come on.”
Roman called out from the kitchen, cabinet doors opening and closing. “Mom, we’re starvin’.”
Jackson’s eyes darted toward the voices. His voice slurred. “Who’s that?”
“Just my family, Jacks. No one who needs—”
Cash and Roman both rounded the corner and cursed. Her dad slammed into the twosome when they pulled up short.
Jackson leveled the shotgun on the men and pleaded. “He’s here. Nic, you didn’t say Cash was here. Nic, why didn’t you tell me? Nic?” With a pendulum swing, Jackson swayed unsteadily, the shotgun now aimed at her. “Nicola?”
