Somebody's Ex

by Jasmine Haynes

  Somebody’s Ex

  The Jackson Brothers, Book 2

  By Jasmine Haynes

  Copyright 2013 Jasmine Haynes

  Cover Design by Rae Monet Inc

  This is copyrighted material. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Author Note: this book contains explicit sexual material

  Previously published in 2006 as part of the Somebody’s Lover anthology

  Summary

  A family torn apart by tragedy...

  Three years ago, Lou Jackson, eldest son, died in a work accident. And nothing has been the same since for the Jacksons. They lost their heart and soul the day Lou died, even as matriarch Evelyn tries to keep them together. But things are changing and the family will either find their way back to each other. Or they’ll be torn asunder.

  Randi Andersen has a thing for bad boys, tall, dark, sexy, and handsome. But bad boys invariably make for bad relationships. She’s tired of being somebody’s ex, ex-girlfriend, ex-lover, or ex-wife. Now, if she could just fall in love with a nice guy.

  David Jackson has lived under the crushing weight of responsibility for holding his family together since his brother’s death three years ago. Randi is too sexy to resist, but the last thing he needs now is a relationship. Too much is at stake with his family falling apart.

  Can they each forgive their own past mistakes in order to take the leap of faith that love demands?

  Acknowledgements

  To Jenn Mason, for saying just the right thing at just the right time. Thanks also to Rose Lerma, Christine Zika,and Lucienne Diver for their hard work.

  Chapter One

  “You can’t just quit on me like this, David.”

  “I’m not quitting, Dad.” David Jackson sighed and leaned his chair on its two back legs. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy. “I want to fix up the house, and Rich Morrissey is going to take me on so I can pick up some of the skills I’m lacking.”

  It was the God’s honest truth. He wanted to do some remodeling around the place he’d bought a couple of years ago. Though he was handy with his tools, he needed to learn precision, optimum materials use, and practical shortcuts. Working for Rich part-time would teach him the homebuilding trade.

  “But what about a replacement?”

  “You can hire some green kid to help with loading and hauling.” Which comprised a good portion of the work Jackson and Sons Arborists did. “I’ll still do tree work when you need me.” The family tree-trimming outfit could run without him a few days a week. Dad would still have Jace and Mitch.

  “But why?”

  “It’s a good opportunity for me.” Not to mention that he needed a little time off from the family.

  “I knew something was up when you didn’t make it to the last two barbecues.”

  The Sunday family barbecues were a tradition his mom hadn’t allowed to die when Lou did. David had needed time off from that, too.

  “Look, I know this whole thing with Taylor and Jace has gotten under your skin.”

  Taylor and Jace. His youngest brother and his eldest brother’s widow. Since the announcement six weeks ago, he’d been telling himself they hadn’t betrayed Lou. Taylor had a right to move on.

  But marrying Jace? There was something wrong in that.

  “My decision has nothing to do with them.” He’d struggled to keep his feelings to himself since that day at the hospital, but the effort was wearing on him.

  “David, I might be almost sixty years old, but I’m not stupid. I suspected you had a thing for Taylor, and I know it’s hard to watch her with Jace.”

  Balanced on two chair legs, David almost fell backward, shock hitting him first. Then he tamped down a burst of anger. That was the most telling symptom of his current malady, a temper too close to the surface. In the past, he’d been slow to anger, but recently, the slightest thing set him off. He dropped his chin and stared at his dad over the top of his sunglasses. “You’ve gotta be kidding. Where did that come from?”

  “I’ve got eyes. You’ve been twitchy around her for months.”

  He’d been twitchy because Lou’s death had ripped a hole the size of California in the family, tearing apart the very fabric by which they lived, and filling his big brother’s shoes had been a helluva lot harder than he’d thought.

  But wanting Taylor for himself? Christ. “Dad, I never had a thing for Taylor.” The thought of being a second-hand dad to her boys petrified him.

  He wanted out for a while. He’d worked for the family outfit since he was old enough to load the scrap left behind after a job. Over half his life. The last three years had been the worst, since Lou died and keeping the family together fell on his shoulders. On his watch, they’d damn near crumbled beneath the weight of Lou’s passing. He sucked at being the eldest.

  His dad was still giving him the eye. David felt the need to repeat himself.

  “I’m happy for them. I don’t have any hidden passion for Taylor. And I’ve made my decision.”

  His dad’s lips flattened. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell your mom. She’s going to be heartbroken.”

  He should have known Dad would play the guilt card. David took a deep breath, then let it out long and slow.

  “Mom’s going to be fine, and you know it.”

  Arthur Jackson sighed, and resignation eased the tense line of his jaw. “She should hear it from you. She’ll want to be sure you’re happy with this move.”

  “I planned on dropping by to tell her tomorrow.”

  “And you’re coming to the barbecue on Sunday or she’ll think you’re mad at us all.”

  He was thirty-four years old yet his father still seemed to think he needed to be told how to handle a delicate situation. It wasn’t a dig, it was just his dad, but he’d never heard his father remind Lou about the basics.

  David hadn’t handled the situation well on the day he found out about Taylor and Jace. In fact, he’d been way out of line. He’d apologized to both of them for the shitty things he said. But something changed that day, as irrevocably as life had changed the day Lou died.

  He no longer felt a part of his family, and he’d step away until he could figure out why. He’d leave before he let loose with something even more damaging than what he had already said to his brother.

  * * * * *

  The engine chugged, stuttered, then died halfway up the hill. The truck, rolling back a short distance, barely made it to the side of the road, the two left tires still on the macadam.

  Dammit. Damn it.

  The gas gauge hadn’t worked for over a year. Randi Andersen measured her gas consumption in miles, but she’d forgotten to reset the trip the last time she’d filled up, then, dammit, she’d forgotten that she’d forgotten. Mick, her ex, was fond of saying she’d forget her head if it wasn’t screwed on.

  “This is not my day.” First, Royal went ballistic in the middle of the night, barked her fool head off, and got herself sprayed by a skunk. Two baths and three quart cans of tomato juice later, the dog’s coat still emanated eau de skunk.

  Then Randi had punched off the alarm without fully awakening and fallen back to sleep for another two hours.

  She and Royal were supposed to be at the vet’s by eight-thirty for the dog’s yearly shots. Even running late, Randi would have made the time easily, except now she’d run out of gas.

&nb
sp; Royal bumped her with a wet doggie nose as Randi beat her head on the steering wheel. The dog still stunk, a potpourri of wet fur, tomatoes, and semi-acrid skunk spray.

  “Looks like we’re going to have to hoof it.” The country road was sparsely traveled, making the chance of vehicular rescue nil. Calling for help wasn’t an option. Her cell phone needed a new battery since the charge didn’t hold longer than a day. Yes, she’d forgotten to put it in the charger last night. Thank God she didn’t have to put her head in the charger nightly, although that might have done something about her chronic forgetfulness.

  Randi snapped on the dog leash. Leaving Royal in the cab wasn’t a consideration. The heat of a summer day in Willoughby, California, even this early, would bake her brain. Two and a half miles to town would take less than an hour. Randi looked at her platform sandals, which were not made for hiking. Make that an hour and a half, unless she wanted to risk a sprained ankle.

  She shoved at the door with both hands. It groaned but didn’t budge. The damn thing was getting harder to open every day. She threw her shoulder into it and practically fell out of the truck, the door flying wide. Saving herself by slamming her sandal on the concrete, she jerked her head up at the shriek of tires on the roadway just in time to see a three-quarter-ton pickup bearing down on her.

  Amidst the sound of squealing tires, her life flashed before her eyes like the old cliché. The knee-holes in Mick’s jeans on their wedding day in that cheesy Nevada chapel. Her divorce papers with Mick’s illegible scrawl. Her mom’s fish balls sprinkled with curry powder. That day her pops stopped talking to her when she was thirteen, the day that lasted almost a year.

  Her last thought before she died: I really am a loser.

  Her body must have been flattened beyond pain because she didn’t feel a thing except warm sunshine heating the top of her head and the pungent aroma of burnt rubber in her nostrils.

  “Lady, are you insane opening your door like that?”

  No, I’m dead.

  But wait, the angry drawl didn’t sound like the angel Gabriel. Or was it Peter who was supposed to meet you at the Pearly Gates? And hey, what about the tunnel of light?

  Randi opened her eyes to an enormous truck bumper staring her in the face. Brilliant sunlight bouncing off the chrome blinded her. Her neck hurt from the awkward angle at which she held her head, looking back at that terrifyingly close grill. Her little truck was a mere ant compared to the monster pickup only a few inches from her rear bumper.

  Hands on his hips, booted feet spread wide, and his chin jutted forward so he could stare her down, Randi decided the man was too pissed to be an angel.

  He’d asked if she was insane. She had to admit that statement was a darn sight better than what Mick would have said. Are you a fucking idiot?

  One foot in the truck, the other out, she was suddenly aware of the awkward spread of her legs, and the three popped snaps on her jean skirt. Only two remained holding it together.

  Holy Moly! If he came any closer, he’d see her thong.

  She hastily snapped the buttons on her skirt. Hopping out too quickly, she stumbled, catching herself with a hand on the top of the door.

  “My door was stuck.”

  One side of his mouth curled. A snarl, not a smile. “So you figured you’d just stick it out so someone could rip it off? Not to mention ripping off the top half of your body.”

  He perused her top half with fiery eyes. His sunglasses swung from the fingers of his clenched fist, and the sun made his gaze burn. With her five-inch platforms, he was only an inch or so taller than her, but he seemed to tower. And glower.

  He took a giant step closer.

  Royal started to growl.

  Randi shuffled forward and slammed the door hard. Of course, that brought her less than two feet from him, so close she could now see his eyes were the color of a Hawaiian black sand beach. Glitteringly dark with silvery flecks.

  He arched a brow.

  “It doesn’t like to shut,” she explained, in case he thought she’d slammed it out of pique. “The dog doesn’t bite, but I’ve never been threatened before, so I’m not sure how she’ll react.”

  “This is not threatening. This is mildly pissed off.”

  “Mildly?” Half joke, half fear. Her breathing had returned to normal, but her heart pulsed a beat too quickly.

  “If I was really pissed, I wouldn’t have stopped. Or gone around.”

  He looked up the hill at the blind spot, communicating his thought that going around her open door might have resulted in a head-on with someone coming the other way.

  When she didn’t comment, freak out, or even apologize, he tipped his head. “Were you threatening to sic your dog on me?”

  “If I was, I wouldn’t have closed the door.” She made a placating little moue. “I’m sorry about the door. I couldn’t open it. Then it just...” She spread her hands. “It just popped.” Like the snaps on her skirt.

  Instead of answering, his gaze dropped to her skirt, and she realized she hadn’t properly snapped all her snaps. She reached down, but then his gaze rose to her breasts which were now a little too close to falling out of her low-cut spandex top.

  The man was ogling her. And she liked it. She hadn’t been ogled in a long time. A look at him revealed buff thighs, chiseled abs, nicely shaped chest muscles and brown hair streaked with several shades of blond, probably from days spent working out in the sun.

  “You’re leering at me,” he said. “I feel like a cheap piece of meat.” He still glowered, but the hint of a smile curved his lips. He put on his sunglasses before she could detect an answering glimmer in those intriguing eyes.

  “Not cheap. Very expensive.” Her voice came out deep, husky, and way too seductive. Damn. There went her mouth again, spouting off before her brain had time to catch up. Her pops, and Mick, really hated her tendency to babble.

  But Holy Moly, she’d just flirted with a man who’d almost creamed her and her truck. Not to mention squishing the dog. Of course, it wasn’t the guy’s fault. But, well, he could get the wrong impression about her with a comment like that.

  “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  She sure as hell had, David hoped. He’d lost his irritation the minute she’d bent down to button her skirt.

  She was a wet dream come true. Long blond hair, brilliant blue eyes, plump cherry lips, and a pair of ta-tas the sight of which damn near knocked him upside the head. And if he looked at her bare legs one more time, he’d expire in unfulfilled lust.

  It didn’t matter a whit that she was ditzy. He could have killed her. The thought of that beautiful chest crushed between his bumper and her door gave him heart palpitations. He still hadn’t come down off the adrenaline high, which explained his explicit wayward thoughts.

  A man, however, couldn’t be blamed for becoming fascinated by such a lovely creature, especially with that pretty blush blooming on her cheeks.

  David pulled his thoughts out of his shorts. “Stopping almost in the middle of the road probably isn’t a good idea.”

  She rolled her eyes, her long lashes catching his attention. “I didn’t do it on purpose.” She looked at the side of her dusty, beaten truck. It might have been rust-colored or a long-since faded red. “I ran out of gas.”

  Ahh. Why did women seem perpetually out of gas? He eyed a can in the truck bed.

  She quirked her mouth wryly. “I’m pretty sure it’s empty.”

  He hefted the container and sure enough, it weighed almost nothing. “Might be a good idea to keep it full.” He glanced at her face. “For emergencies.”

  She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh, scrambling his thoughts all over again.

  “If one were prepared for every eventuality, life would be like having to watch Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman every day. Not that Pretty Woman is bad, but once in five years is enough.” She tipped her head, her hair falling across her breasts. “Gives you a chance to forget the ending.”

  H
e agreed with the chick flick assessment. But how could she forget the ending? Didn’t all chick flicks end the same way? She went on, though, before he had a chance to ask.

  “Then again, if it were Vin Diesel in Pitch Black...” Eyes closed, arms held slightly away from her body, she shuddered. He almost lost control as her husky voice swept through him. “Well, twice a day wouldn’t be enough.”

  Pitch Black. Definitely sounded like a movie to have a girl watch on a Friday-night date.

  She shook herself. “Where were we?” Then she batted her pretty blues. “Oh. I was going to ask if you could help me.”

  He squeezed between her truck’s rear and his bumper to set the can in his bed, then opened the passenger door. “Hop in.”

  She glanced back at the dog face staring at her through the rear window of her truck. Some sort of Husky breed, he presumed, wearing a beseeching expression.

  “I can’t leave Royal.”

  “He can hop in the bed.”

  She tipped her head from side to side, then said, “She is strictly an in-cab girl. You know, dust and dirt in her poor little eyes. I can wait here”—she did that batting thing again—“if you wouldn’t mind bringing the gas back.”

  He’d have to come back anyway, unless he forced her to walk, and he wouldn’t leave her. Mom would flay the flesh from his bones if he did.

  He slid his eyes to his cab-plus. “Bring her on.”

  She smiled. Whoa, Nellie. The knock-em-dead beam almost blinded him with its brilliance. With that smile, the lady could get a man to do for-freaking-sure anything.

  She yanked hard on the door, and the dog sprang out, its leash trailing, to bounce all over the concrete. “Bli,” she said. Obviously a command, the dog now froze in place.

  Not a Husky, much smaller, he wasn’t sure of the breed, but she was pure something. Just like her owner. The woman grabbed her backpack, then the leash, and led the animal over. Sniffing a boot and a pant leg, the dog seemingly pronounced him trustworthy and started snuffling the truck tires.