Maggie pointed at Shep. “You. Are a dead man.”
“I’m just repeating what I heard. I didn’t know it was you.”
Always the gentle one, Dad set his hand on Mom’s shoulder. “She said she’s fine. If she’d gotten hurt, she would have alerted us.”
Right. Thanks, Dad. “Exactly. Plus, Cash would have been the one to stitch me up.” Attempting to lighten the mood, she flashed a grand smile. “We like to keep it all in the family.”
Cash snorted. “Anyway, can we get back to my Brussels sprouts? I’m thinking you’re all toast tonight. The sprouts are epic.”
Later, she’d give her little brother a smooch. The other little brother?
He was in the doghouse.
Maggie wandered to the fridge, patting her brother’s shoulder on her way by. “Good luck there. If there’s one thing this family loves more than bacon, it’s brown sugar and there’s a mountain of it in my potatoes.”
Across the room, Dad eyed her, then nudged his chin toward the door. Now came the private interrogation.
He picked up the platter Mom had set on the counter near the door. “I’ll get the ribs. Y’all head in and get settled.”
Any hope Maggie had of escaping a private chat with Dad, died fast when he looked over at her. “Mags, give me a hand.”
Yep. Interrogation time.
She followed her father out the door and down the steps into the cool night air that tickled her cheeks. The smell of cooking meat mixed with the smoky scent of burning wood from the fire pit and she inhaled, let the joy of being outside settle her. Perfect night. She zipped her jacket and stared out at the twenty acres of farmland her father intended on filling with organic produce. His dream. Only part of the land had been planted on, but each year Dad added to his crops, testing different varieties and slowly expanding his small, locally known business to a North Carolina success story.
How different they were. She wanted to fight bad guys and her father wanted to dig in the earth.
Dad set the platter on the small table next to the smoker and checked the timer. Satisfied with the progress, he stood in front of her, one hand on his hip. “What happened today?”
“It wasn’t a—”
“Don’t tell me it wasn’t a big deal. That’s what we tell your mother. Me? I want to know.”
Arguing wouldn’t help her. This she knew. Dad might be the Zen guy around here, but when he wanted answers, he got them. So Maggie gave in and relayed what details she could, leaving out anything that might jeopardize legal proceedings. For his purposes, Dad got the version the reporters had, plus a few extra facts.
“I had it under control.”
Mostly.
“Of course you did. Your self-defense lessons are paying off.”
That was an understatement. “They are. It’s been a good time investment.”
Considering that the knife could have gone through her. But Dad wouldn’t comment on that. He left those conversations to Mom. The one who encouraged Maggie to pursue an academic career, possibly as a police academy instructor. Anything that got her out of situations like the one she faced today.
Dad? When it came to his kids and their choices, he offered rational pros and cons and supported final decisions. Given Mom’s career and the time she’d spent building it, Dad had been the more present parent. His role, as he saw it, wasn’t to be the heavy. That was Mom’s job. She was out of the house fourteen hours a day. She could escape the wrath of obstinate teenagers. Dad didn’t want to deal with the load of nonsense five kids could throw his way.
He checked the ribs again. “Another two minutes.”
“They smell great.”
“I mixed up some different spices. We’ll see. Tell me about Jayson Tucker.”
Uh-oh. Why would he ask that? Someone at the B must have burned up the phone lines about Maggie and Jayson whoring it up on the street.
Shep.
He’d just said he was in town. Her brother had a knack for saying inappropriate things, but telling their father she sucked face with a hot guy?
Nah.
Even he wouldn’t go that far. He might threaten her with it privately just to be annoying, but certain lines didn’t get crossed.
“I don’t know that much.”
Dad circled one hand. “Give me the top-line. Is he a decent man? Until a week ago, he’d been the USFF’s premier player. On and off the field. Now they’re crucifying him.”
“From what I can tell, he’s a good guy. Normal, I guess. Which seems weird, given his lifestyle.”
“Maybe he keeps his ego in check. Or has people in his life who help him with that.”
“I don’t know. He has a sister. She works a few hours from here.”
Maggie wouldn’t mention the research she’d done after her workout this morning. The research she’d convinced herself was for background purposes only. She’d learned that Jayson Tucker grew up in Manhattan. Wealthy family. His parents divorced when he was ten and his father had moved overseas. And yet, even without his father present on a daily basis, Jayson grew into one heck of an alpha male.
No wonder she stuck her tongue in his mouth.
Her cheeks burned and she thanked the stars above that it was too dark for her father to see.
“How long will he be in town?” Dad asked.
“I suppose until Grif finds him another team. As nice as he is, his being here is a logistics nightmare. Were you in town today? Did you see that traffic?”
Call her slick, because that question was meant to ensure her father hadn’t been in town today. Possibly watching his slut of a daughter put on a show on Main Street.
“No. But I heard it was a mess.”
Phew.
“The impromptu press conference saved us, but we can’t be doing that every day. Particularly after the, uh, incident. Between clearing traffic and handling the press conference, I don’t have the manpower for this. And I’m supposed to leave on vacation in a few days. I have no idea what to do about that.”
Dad eyed her. “You are leaving on vacation. You’ve been looking forward to this for months. When’s the last time you did anything for yourself?”
“Dad, in case you forgot, the citizens of Steele Ridge don’t care. I have responsibilities. I can’t leave with this going on.”
“Why do you have to decide now? You’re not leaving until Monday. If things calm down over the weekend, you’ll go. If the deputies can’t handle this town until you get back, you need better deputies.”
The organic farmer telling her how to manage her town. Priceless. “Now I need better deputies?”
“Hey, you’re the one doubting them. Not me.”
“How am I doubting them?”
He shrugged. “You’re concerned they can’t handle things while you’re away. If you were confident in their management skills it wouldn’t be an issue.”
“You are totally twisting my words.”
“Am I?”
“Dad!”
He shook his head, let out a sigh. “Look, honey, I think you’re worrying prematurely. Give it the weekend, then decide. That’s all I’m saying.”
“You two,” Mom called from the screen door. “Everyone is at the table. Those ribs have to be done. Let’s eat.”
Dad scooped the platter from the table. “Be right there.”
The first rib hit the platter and Dad jerked his head toward the door. “Go in and wash up. Get those sweet potatoes prepped for the Brussels sprout battle.”
6
Reid Steele was no joke.
Jay might even call him a sadist. The more pain the guy inflicted during a workout, the happier he got. This morning, though, he’d surprised Jay—in a fairly stupendous way—by bringing in Maggie’s brother, Cash, formerly a high-school football player, to take catches and keep Jay sharp. Short passes mixed with long passes, they’d worked together with Cash doing a damned fine job of keeping up. When Reid tired of barking out orders from his spot on the pic
nic table, he jumped in, taking handoffs while Cash played defensive tackle.
After the stress of the week, blowing off some steam with a football in hand and a couple of guys willing to take hits wasn’t a bad way to end a week.
And, hello, the bonus of the whole thing wound up being that the firefighter Jay had seen Maggie getting chummy with had been Cash. Her brother.
Not a boyfriend.
Yep. Great day so far.
Cash had even managed to bloody Reid’s forehead after hauling his ass to the ground. Reid was beefier, but Cash had the speed and competitiveness that made him a pain in the ass on a football field.
All of which Jay enjoyed the fuck out of, considering the abuse he’d taken from Reid on their last session.
“Girlfriend,” Jay said to a bloodied Reid, “you want me to call your mommy? Get her down here to kiss it and make it better?”
Reid pressed one of the clean towels he’d brought outside to his still bleeding forehead. “Keep talking, Superstar. Don’t forget, you’re mine again soon.”
Shit.
The two exchanged smiles that were all I’ll fuck you up. “Bring it on, man. Bring it on.”
Jay may have been talking big, but in the name of all things holy, his body was beat to hell. Hamstrings, quads, traps. Even his abs—muscles he’d worked tirelessly for years, to build core strength—despised Reid right now.
But all this soreness made Jay think maybe he’d gone soft.
Maybe not soft, but easier on himself. Sure, he worked out with a trainer regularly, but that was in a gym. In a controlled environment with machines and free weights. The stuff Reid had him doing? This outdoorsy stuff of throwing logs, hanging off the side of a flat roof doing sit-ups, and flipping the biggest goddamned tractor tires Jay had ever seen had taken him to another level. Upped his game.
Something, despite the pain, he’d always be grateful for.
Reid’s head stopped bleeding and he and Cash spent a solid five minutes smack-talking and wrestling like ten-year-olds while Jay sat on the picnic table guzzling water and laughing.
Couple of idiots, they were. Still, it looked like fun. Clearly something they engaged in regularly and probably had been doing since childhood. Jay knew nothing of that. Having grown up with only Sam and no extended family nearby, he’d never had a Cash to play war with.
All he’d had was his mother. And there was nothing fun about her wars.
When he started playing football, all that pent-up rage tore from him like a derailing high-speed train.
“Oh, you fucker.”
Jay glanced up, found Reid about to put Cash into a headlock.
“Tap out, cuz,” Reid said. “I’ve got you.”
“Yeah, but I made you bleed.”
Reid laughed. “You got lucky.”
“My ass.”
Jay shook his head. “Call it a draw before one of you gets hurt.”
Another minute of negotiating ensued until, yes, perhaps the two most competitive people Jay had encountered—and that was saying something, considering what he did for a living—called a truce.
Both men lumbered toward him and Jay handed over water bottles and a clean towel for Reid’s once-again bleeding head. “You’re assholes.”
Cash took the bottle and twisted the cap off. “What’s your point?”
“Dang it.” Reid stared at the splotches of blood on the towel. “The lecture I’ll get from Brynne will turn me to stone.”
“Poor baby,” Cash said. “I got a first-aid kit in the car. I’ll clean you up. Tell her you hit your head on a cabinet door. Happens all the time.”
“Lie to my Brynnie?”
“It’s either that or turn to stone. Pick your poison.”
Reid curled his lip just as Jay’s phone rang. Sam.
He scooped the phone up and hopped off the table. “This is my sister.”
He tapped the screen and told Sam to hang on a second before offering his hand to Cash, then to Reid. “Thank you. Both of you. I needed to get a football in my hands. Cash, if you wouldn’t mind getting out here early with me a few days a week, I’d appreciate it. We’ll work out a fee structure.”
Cash waved it off. “Are you kidding me? You’re not paying. This is a dream come true for me. Plus, I get to beat the crap out of Reid. It doesn’t get any better.”
“Fuck off,” Reid said.
Cash ignored his cousin. “We’ll have to work around my shifts, but I’m up for it.”
These people. Beyond generous. Anyone else would be looking to capitalize on Jay’s name. Using it for bragging rights or some sort of endorsement.
Cash Kingston? He wanted to play ball.
“Excellent. Thanks again. I’ll call you.”
He left the two at the table, putting the phone to his ear while he walked toward the door leading inside the training center. “Hey,” he said to Sam. “Sorry. I was finishing up my workout.”
“No prob. How’s that going?”
“Surprisingly well. It’s…different. Challenging. They’re nice people. A good family. Makes me realize what we missed.”
“Oh, let’s not go there. Please. Glad it’s working out, though.”
“What’s up?”
“A couple of things. Since you’re so close, I thought I’d take a half day today and visit you for the weekend. Would that be okay?”
He stopped at the door to the training center and looked back over his shoulder to the acres and acres of towering trees. She’d love this place. Plus, it gave him a weekend with the one person who knew his secrets. With Sam came acceptance. Together, they’d lived the life of Drunk Marlene and shared a level of trust that allowed Jay to talk freely and not measure his words. In short, Sam let him relax.
“That’d be great. We can catch up.”
“Awesome. I’ll leave here around noon.”
“That’ll get you here about three o’clock. I’ll text you the address.”
He’d have to speak with Miss Joan about having another visitor. On his way out the door yesterday, he’d mentioned he’d seen his sister. Miss Joan assured him Sam would be welcome anytime, but he’d check with her just in case.
“I need to go home and pack a bag, so it’ll be closer to four o’clock. You can buy me dinner later.”
“Happy to do it.”
“Before I let you go,” she said, “I’m digging through some reports from Jack’s files.”
Jack. The CFO who’d left without warning. Why she’d be talking to Jay about Jack’s reports, he had no idea.
“And?”
“You pay your own expenses, right? I mean, when you do events on our behalf.”
From the start, Jay had refused any form of payments from Celebrate Hope. Given his background of abuse and the ridiculous amount of money he made every year, he didn’t see the point in taking money from an organization that could use every cent to change people’s lives.
“Yeah. Always have. Why?”
“These reports are funky. There’s a marketing account that’s showing payments to you. Reimbursements for travel expenses. I assumed it was an error. Maybe someone plugged in the wrong name.” He sister let out a huff. “I’ll download the folders and figure it out on Sunday when I get home. I wanted to check with you before I spent hours trying to track which employee’s expense it was.”
Another call beeped in and—welcome back to the real world—Jay checked the caller ID. Eric Webb. The Golden Boy.
After the week he’d had, not a lot would shock him ever again, but this one was up there on the holy-fuck factor.
“Sam, I gotta go. I’ll text you the address.”
“Go,” she said.
He disconnected and picked up the Golden Boy’s call before it went to voice mail. “This is Jay.”
“It’s not enough,” Webb said, “you’re sticking your nose into my business, now you’re fucking my wife?”
The accusation zapped him. What the hell? Jay had dealt with a lot of media-
created lies during his career, but he’d sue anyone who accused him of adultery. That, he wouldn’t suck up.
“Watch yourself, Webb. I’m done with your nonsense. I haven’t touched your wife and you know it.”
“I don’t know shit.”
Really, what he should do is hang up. Eric Webb had nearly wrecked his career. Might still wreck his career. Even being in the same country as this douchebag posed risks. The kid had been a cancer from the start. Management knew his history when they drafted him. Sexual abuse allegations, bar fights, DUIs. All of it shuffled away by a Division 1 university unwilling to lose their star quarterback.
And then the Knights dumped him off on Jay, blowing all kinds of smoke up his ass about how he could mentor the troubled rookie. How Jay’s teammates looked up to him. A born leader, they’d said. All to convince Jay he’d make a difference in Eric Webb’s career.
He’d made a difference all right. He’d made the guy a household name. For all the wrong reasons.
Jay opened the door to the training center and stepped inside. “Webb, if you don’t know shit, then where’s this coming from?”
“I was told.”
“Then whoever said it is a liar.”
Webb let out a growling laugh that was half sarcasm, half anger. “Among other things. I’ll bury you with this one. You and my bitch of a wife. You deserve each other.”
Jay locked his teeth together. Calm. That’s what he needed right now. He’d never put a hand on Webb’s wife. Outside of that damned party, he’d barely had a private conversation with her. Whatever was said to Eric, was, without a doubt, meant to get his attention. Jay doubted it came from Eric’s wife. Why the hell would she want to poke that bear and possibly get herself a beating?
No way.
The Golden Boy had to be making this up. Goading him into a fight. Classic end run of trying to make Jay look like a shitty teammate. If—when—the story behind the locker room brawl came out, Eric Webb would finally be held accountable for his abusive behavior.
But goddammit, this was a hell of an accusation and in the court of public opinion, right now, Jay was the enemy.
He strode to Reid’s office, grabbed his jacket from the chair, and headed to the front door. “Webb, it’s not true. And you won’t bury me with it because I will sue your ass.”
Craving Heat Page 7
