by Jordan, Skye
So Wright
The Wrights
Skye Jordan
Copyright © 2019 by Skye Jordan
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Also by Skye Jordan
About the Author
1
This was so much worse than he’d expected.
Jack Taylor flipped through late notices from vendors of his father’s construction company while bouncing his nephew’s tabletop jumper seat, hoping to soothe the tired six-month-old. But the misery covering the kitchen table of his childhood home in Nashville had Jack about ready to wail right along with the kid.
He thumbed through the thick file folders containing nothing but million-dollar problems. “Why’d you print all this out?”
His younger sister, Jen, whisked between the refrigerator, the cutting board, and the stove in their father’s kitchen, finishing up their dad’s lunch meal prep for the coming week. She flipped something in a hot skillet, filling the kitchen with an angry sizzle. The spicy scent reminded Jack he hadn’t eaten since his last meal of pretzels on the flight here. He’d only been on the ground for two hours, but Jack was already longing for the quiet simplicity of the friendly skies.
“Because the last time I worked on my laptop at home,” Jen said, “Jacob spilled orange juice all over the keyboard. Paper can be replaced a hell of a lot easier than a hard drive.”
As if her youngest son felt the rising stress in the room, Joshua’s whine ratcheted up to an ear-bleeding wail.
The bills blurred in front of Jack’s eyes. He planted his elbows on the table and rubbed his face with both hands. He’d been working seven days a week for months, and he’d been on an Australian jobsite for the last three weeks. He was still trying to figure out what day it was.
Jack stood and unbuckled the boy from his seat. Drawing the squirming bundle into his arms, Jack imitated the bouncing motion of the chair while pacing the breakfast nook. “Man, you’ve got lungs, buddy.”
“I shouldn’t have tried to deal with this myself, but Bruce kept telling me he had it under control, and I’ve been so worried about Dad.” She hammered the cutting board with the butt of the knife before slicing a bevy of veggies. “If I didn’t have the boys to take care of, I’d hunt that fucker down myself and slice off his balls.”
Standing just over five feet tall with rosy cheeks and a head of blonde curls, Jen might have looked like a cherub on the outside, but there was a fiercely protective giant inside.
“The cops will find Bruce,” he told her. “I’ve got a meeting with the company attorney, their investigator, and the forensic accountant Monday. It’s a pretty sweet little dream team. We’ll get through this.”
Since their mother’s death the year before, Jen had been doting on their father and stressing over his declining mental state. Her husband traveled almost as much as Jack, which left Jen to tackle her job as a project manager for their family firm, Pinnacle Construction, and care for her three little boys mostly on her own. Living and working in New York didn’t give Jack the ability to help as much as he should.
“I admire your dedication to Dad,” he said, “but why don’t you hire someone to do the cooking? Maybe have the housekeeper do double duty. You’ve already got your hands full.”
“Ask me again after you finish reading the accountant’s report.”
Jacob, his oldest nephew at three and a half, sped into the kitchen carrying some kind of toy car, making vrooming and screeching noises.
His brother, James, the middle kid at eighteen months, followed, his whine ratcheting toward the baby’s tune. “I want it.”
James chased Jacob around the butcher block, under the kitchen table, and out the other side. Then the two wound a figure eight around Jack and Jen. Keep-away at its finest.
“It’s mine,” James insisted.
“Out.” Jen ushered the boys toward the living room. “And stop yelling. Pop-pop’s trying to sleep.”
The older boys ran off, still fighting. Jack slid his hand over Joshua’s bald head. “I have no idea how you stay sane, Jen. This is murder.”
“Who says I do?” She finished chopping a pepper and set down the knife with a heavy sigh. “Thanks for coming, Jack. I know how busy you are.”
Seeing her problems firsthand made Jack feel like shit. In his defense, his new partnership at the architecture firm had heaped on major responsibilities. And Jen had a lot more flexibility living so close to their dad and working for the company. But Jack could clearly see this was all too much for one person to handle. In the last month, Jen had moved her family into their dad’s home to better care for him. Since their father’s business partner had disappeared with Pinnacle’s money, he and Jen had been jumping through all sorts of twisted hoops to keep the financial reaper at bay.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around.” He kissed Joshua’s head and breathed in his sweet baby scent. “How was Dad’s visit with the new doctor?”
“A bit of good news there, at least.” Jennifer tossed slices of pepper into the hot pan. “He doesn’t think it’s dementia. At least not the normal kind where the brain function continues to decline.”
“There are kinds?” Jack asked.
“Evidently. This guy looked over his latest scans and blood work and did a bunch of cognitive tests with Dad. I didn’t understand everything he was saying, but he called it a dementia syndrome and explained it as depression-induced dementia. Which makes sense when you consider Dad never pulled out of his depression after mom died. He seemed to slide right from depression into dementia. The doctor called it a reversable cognitive disorder. Once the depression is treated, Dad’s thinking abilities could return. The doctor said many people regain complete function and go on to live full lives.”
“Wow, that’s really good news.” Relief lifted some of the heaviness from Jack’s shoulders. Hope returned. Joshua must have felt the change in Jack’s body, because his cries ebbed. “Amazing news.”
“On the downside,” she said, “they don’t know how long it could take. They’ve started him on a couple of medications, but it’s usually a bit of trial and error before they figure out the correct dosage. And it takes time for the body to respond to treatments. It could take weeks or months, so it might be a while before we se
e positive changes.”
“I’m just relieved there are positive changes in his future.” Possibilities of getting his dad back brightened Jack’s outlook. “But, Jen, you can’t keep this up for months on end, and there’s no way I can take an undetermined amount of time off work. I already feel like these few weeks are a huge burden on my firm. Maybe we should think about one of those in-home nurses.”
“His insurance plan doesn’t cover it. And before you say we could just hire someone, may I direct you back to the accountant’s report?” Jen finished dicing a carrot and looked at Jack. “I miss the hell out of Mom. I don’t know how she did it all.”
“She wasn’t faced with a multimillion-dollar embezzlement scheme by a trusted partner and friend or Dad having dementia. We’ll get the company and Dad squared away, and you’ll get your life back. Hang in there.”
Jen sighed. “I’m sorry. You’ve been here over an hour, and I haven’t even asked about you. How’s…Krystall, right?” She smirked. “K and two Ls, as I recall. Pronounced like the wine Chris-tall.”
Mention of Jack’s latest relationship failure added to his fatigue. “Between her travel and mine, I haven’t seen her in three months.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“She thought so too. Broke up with me over text a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, Jack…”
He waved away her concern. “No great loss.”
“I hate to admit it, but I didn’t like her much.”
“You never even met her.”
She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I didn’t like the sound of her. A twenty-something boho artist from Harlem certainly won’t get you closer to the family you say you want.”
“You’re worse than Mom. You don’t like any of the women I date.”
“Neither, evidently, do you.”
“Ha. Funny.” But he couldn’t argue. None of his relationships lasted long. The truth was, he loved strong, unique women. In New York, that seemed to lead him to ambitious, driven women focused on themselves and their careers. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a relationship that felt equal. Or, if he were honest, even warm. For the last few years, he felt as if he’d been going through the motions, but not really connecting.
He certainly wasn’t any closer to settling down and starting a family, something that had become increasingly important to Jack as he neared his thirty-fifth birthday.
He pressed a kiss to Joshua’s head. The boy was now sound asleep, but Jack kept swaying, just in case. “You won’t be getting cousins anytime soon, kid.”
“I’ll share,” Jen said with the first real smile he’d seen since he’d arrived. “Feel free to borrow them any time. In fact, why don’t you cancel the hotel and stay here with us?”
Their father still lived in their childhood home, a modest three-bedroom, two-bath cottage-style bungalow in a nice neighborhood. And since Jen had moved her family into the house to better care for their dad, the place was packed.
“Because I’ve never been fond of couches, and I need to concentrate if I’m going to figure this out.” He also needed a drink and some quiet. “I’ll put Joshua down and turn on a movie for the boys before I leave.”
Jen let out a long sigh. “Bless you.”
2
Miranda Wright turned her back on the bar’s rowdy customers and pulled the tap on a local IPA while swaying to the music booming through the bar. 90 Proof was rocking the house tonight, and between the popular local band and the star-studded lineup at the Grand Ole Opry this month, Spur’s Saloon was stuffed to the rafters every night.
Miranda certainly couldn’t complain about the tips, but after a full day on the construction site, these long, loud nights really took it out of her. Still, better her than Marty. He was the closest thing she’d ever had to a father, and, bar owner or not, she didn’t want him here slinging booze until all hours. Not at fifty-nine with a missing limb from combat.
The marketing initiatives Marty had implemented over the last six months had made Spur’s one of the premier hot spots in downtown Nashville. Tonight, bodies crowded around the bar five-deep, everyone singing and dancing and shouting orders toward one of four bartenders, each manning one side of the central square bar. Violet, the other female bartender, swung around to Miranda’s side of the bar and reached for a bottle of peach schnapps from the glass-backed shelving. “He’s too hot to be a CPA. And he can’t keep his damn eyes off you.”
Miranda grinned as she poured froth from the beer before topping it off. When she set it on the tray to her right, she flicked a look in the mirror. Violet had been talking about the guy since he’d come in and commandeered a table in the shadows. Miranda caught glimpses of him through the crowd, still lounging in a corner by the door. Still nursing a beer. Still studying paperwork spread out on the table—at least when he wasn’t watching her.
None of her coworkers had ever seen him in the bar before, which earned him the temporary moniker of Mystery Man. He was the kind of guy who made women stupid—nicely dressed, sexy haircut, square jaw, and deep-set eyes Tammy, his cocktail waitress, claimed were “dreamy.” At least a dozen other females in the bar concurred, judging by their attempted flirtations. All of which had fallen flat.
“Not married. No ring.” Tammy added her opinion before yelling her order to any bartender with their hands free. “I need two mule skinners and a gin sling.”
“Got it,” Steve said from the other side of the bar.
“You know that means nothing.” Miranda cut a don’t-be-naïve look at her. “He might also be gay. The hottest ones always are.”
“My excellent gaydar says no way,” Tammy claimed. “He’s one-hundred-percent hetero. He’s nice too. Not one of those grabby, rude drunks. I don’t usually like blonds, but I’d make an exception for him.”
Miranda finished filling the last of five beers and set the glass on the tray beside the others. Her gaze lifted to the mirror again. This time, Mystery’s gaze was waiting. Even across the crowded space, through the dim light and weaving crowd, his deliberate eye contact created a zing of electricity beneath her ribs.
He wasn’t exactly blond. More of a sandy blond, the top layer brighter, like he spent time in the sun. She usually went for the tall, dark, and dirty type, but Mr. Mystery intrigued her for some undefinable reason.
There was an unspoken, intangible chemistry between them that had been simmering since they’d first locked gazes. The kind of connection that created tingles along her spine and flutters in her stomach. The kind that made her smile for no reason at all.
She refocused on her work and lifted the tray to swing out from behind the bar. “Coming through.”
She hoisted the drinks over the head of a short brunette, swerved around the double Ds of a wasted blonde, plowed straight through a group of wannabe cowboys, and delivered the alcohol to her favorite band just in time for their break.
Miranda turned back toward the bar and spotted Cody standing beside the swinging door. His elbow rested on the polished mahogany, and his drunk-as-a-skunk grin rested on her. She’d have to pass right by him to get back behind the bar, and he knew it. Miranda clenched her teeth in anticipation of yet another confrontation. In one way or another, she’d been confronting Cody Russel since grade school.
“Hey, baby.” Cody purred the slur as she approached. “Why ain’t you talkin’ to me tonight?”
“I never talk to you, Cody. You’re an asshole when you drink.” She pushed at the swinging half door. Before it closed behind her, Cody grabbed her ass.
Ass grabbing was not a new phenomenon. Not to Miranda and certainly not here, but Cody had been excessively annoying tonight, and she’d had enough.
“That’s it.” She slammed the tray on the counter behind the bar. “You’re out.”
Fueled by fatigue and irritation, she moved to the front of the bar, fisted the front of his shirt, and dragged him toward the door. Cody just tripped along behind her with that drunk aw-come-on-b
aby-don’t-be-like-that, half-assed apology.
A rousing cheer from other females in the crowd confirmed Miranda wasn’t the only woman Cody had annoyed tonight.
Once his feet hit the sidewalk, she released him into the strong grip of their bouncer, Paul McGonigal, another friend from high school.
“Dude,” Paul said, taking Cody by the arm. “You sure know how to piss people off.”
Miranda turned back toward the bar. She paused just inside the door, hands on hips, and looked at the whirling crowd. It was a good group. Easy and happy. And now that Cody was gone, not one shit stirrer among them. Her watch vibrated with a text from Marty.
Drive in together tomorrow?
Her thoughts turned toward the work site where she’d spent every weekend for the last ten months, and her shoulders slumped. But in the next instant, she remembered her past. A little fatigue was the least she could deal with to provide relief and security for others who were struggling. The kind of relief she’d wished someone had been around to offer her all those lonely, uncertain years ago.
Still, Miranda would be crushed by the time she got home, falling face-first into her pillow without another thought until her alarm dragged her out of bed in the morning.
“You’re quite the hero.” His voice registered immediately. Even though she’d never heard it before, Mr. Mystery’s deep, smooth timbre matched the intensity of his stare.
Miranda took a long breath before turning her gaze on him. As soon as their eyes clicked, the chemistry simmering between them grew to a boil.
