The Cannon (Swift Book 3)

by Leslie Pike

  “Hey, what do you think of me bringing your sister flowers? You know, a thank you.”

  “Is this a thing? I mean, you’re genuinely interested?”

  “Yeah. Help me. Give me some pointers.”

  He lays his utensils down and gets serious.

  “I think your hound is barking up the wrong tree. But I’ll give you the best tip I have.”

  “Great.”

  “Go slow.”

  He resumes his meal.

  “That’s it? Go slow?”

  “Don’t underestimate what I’m saying. She doesn’t respond to men who crowd her.”

  I roll the idea around and let it settle.

  “I was going to bring her flowers. As a thank you. Show up at her office and let her see I’m a grateful guy for what she did.”

  “Bad idea. Horrible.”

  It’s easy to read my fallen face.

  “Don’t do it. Send the flowers. Write a note that doesn’t express anything but gratitude. Leave the romance out. That’s the way in, brother.”

  I know when to listen, and this is one of those times. On the surface Brick’s advice sounds conservative. But I don’t think this is a brother protecting sister moment. They’re too old for that dynamic. I’m going to listen, back off with the flirting, and let her come to me slow like. At least I’ll try.

  “Grandma Birdie said she invited you to Sunday supper. You coming?”

  “I’ll be there,” I say smiling in anticipation.

  “Good. If you’re going to be interested in Bristol, you need to let them all see who you are. That’s the first wall you have to scale.”

  “I can do that.”

  He leans back in his chair. “If it’s any consolation the girls are rooting for you. They think Bristol doesn’t carve out enough time for a personal relationship.”

  “What about that doctor? Raul.”

  “That’s nothing.”

  “Nothing she’s interested in?”

  His eyes meet mine. “She’s not really interested in him and neither are we. He didn’t click with any of us.”

  For the rest of our meal I considered the advice. This must be what real families do. They’re a unit, each person standing beside and watching over the others best interests. Even into adulthood. It must be great knowing you are part of a pack.

  Her thank you card arrived two days after I’d sent flowers. Per Brick’s suggestion I had the florist write a simple note. Thank you, Bristol. I agonized over what I’d say. Those three words took an hour to come up with. It sounded impersonal.

  What I wanted to tell her was when I came to on the alley floor that night, the feel of her soft hands was the first thing that hit me. Then the eyes. I know she was looking at me doctor to patient, but I got lost inside hers like a swimmer in a crystal blue lake. It felt like I had gazed in them in another lifetime.

  Driving onto the Swift property I’m second guessing my wardrobe choices. Choosing a nice short-sleeved top that shows my guns was my nod to relaxed. Now the dress pants and good shoes are giving me doubts.

  Maybe I went too dressy. I kind of feel like I’ve got my Sunday go to meetin’ clothes on. But I’m trying to show respect for the invitation to join the Swifts at their home. Shit. I overdressed. Too late now.

  What an awesome place this is. Southern vibes. Weeping trees and a road lined with Dogwoods. It leads to a circular brick driveway in front of an impressive pillar and porch house.

  Sitting atop a wide rolling lawn it commands attention. Huge lime-green and purple hydrangeas edge the two-story beauty’s lines. Years tending other people’s gardens has schooled me. I appreciate a well-designed landscape. This one rises above most.

  Okay, get out of the car. Do it now. Just another minute. Be cool. Don’t talk too much. Let her come to me. My balls are sweating. Here I go.

  As soon as I’m out I hear the barking. Oh God, a dog. Is there anything this family doesn’t do right? Sounds weirdly like Oscar.

  The front door swings open, relieving me of having to get the courage to ring the bell. It’s Brick. Atticus follows.

  “The welcoming committee.”

  “Just want to give you a heads up,” Brick says lowering his voice. “Did you bring you’re A-game?”

  I’m confused. “What are you talking about? And why are we whispering?”

  “Bristol didn’t come alone. She brought “the doctor”,” Atticus says using air quotes.

  Oh, great.

  “You can take him,” Atticus says chuckling.

  Shaking his head at his brother’s idea of a plan, Brick adds to the story.

  “I don’t think it’s necessary to fight. Even though personally I can’t stand the guy.”

  “Stick Up His Ass isn’t a good fit for her or us,” Atticus says.

  I feel Atticus’ arm around my shoulder.

  “Come on now. Get in there and show her your pitch.”

  “Yeah, baseball metaphors are going to make it happen,” Brick says sarcastically. “Just be yourself. We’ve got your back.”

  “Let me get something out of the backseat. I brought the hostess flowers and a small gift.”

  “See, I told you he’s a Tennessean at heart,” Atticus says.

  I retrieve the tulips and small glass jar.

  “What’s that?” Brick asks.

  As we walk toward the front door, I’m beginning to get more nervous.

  “Texas chow chow. This is my favorite. I don’t know. Think it’s stupid?”

  “Not at all. Chicks love a considerate man. My mother especially.”

  We walk through the open doors, me following Atticus. Brick puts a hand on my shoulder.

  “Relax,” he whispers.

  An excited dachshund makes it to me like a shot out of a gun. Sniffing the intruder and barking his greeting. Then he raises up against my leg, trying to climb his way into my arms. Oh my god. He looks a lot like my Oscar. I feel a familiar lump in my throat.

  “Hey, buddy!”

  “Meet The Colonel.”

  Walking into the Swift home is like being inside a hug. Never have I felt the same wave of affection and welcome. And we hardly know each other. I think it’s just what makes them special. Whatever lives between them bubbles up and can’t be contained. Think it’s real contentment.

  “Sawyer!”

  Voices rise in warm greetings when they see me enter. My shoulders relax and I exhale for the first time since we came inside. The impressive great room is open to the kitchen, where everyone is gathered. The aroma of something wonderful floats in the air. I’m suddenly hungry.

  “I’m so happy you’re joining us!” Lucinda says coming in for a kiss and hug. Her long flowing dress flutters with the approach.

  “Give Grandma Birdie a little Texas sugar, darlin’.”

  I kiss the cheek of both women and hand the flowers to the hostess.

  “These are for you, Lucinda.”

  Then I offer Grandma the jar. “I hear you’re a great cook, Grandma Birdie. Thought you might like to try one of my staples. Real Texas chow-chow.”

  “How thoughtful. Of course I would. Grandpa is already giving me the eye to give him a spoonful.”

  Grandpa Davis sits in a club chair by the French doors.

  “See young people, that’s the sign of a good match. We don’t even need to speak for her to understand me.”

  I see no sign of Bristol or her friend. January must have been watching my eyes darting around the room.

  “Bristol’s showing Raul the back property.”

  “Oh. Nice,” I say nonchalantly, not fooling anyone.

  “Are you a Jack man, Sawyer?”

  “I am, Mr. Swi…Boone.”

  “I thought so. A man can tell. Come join me on the patio.”

  He pours us both a drink and I follow him past the family, out through the double doors. The Colonel trots beside me. He hasn’t left my side.

  “What a great view. Is this all your property, Boone?”


  We take a seat in deep-cushioned chairs. There’s an iron table between us.

  “Here you go,” he says handing me the glass. “Everything here and all the way back into the trees at the edge there, it’s all Lucinda’s and mine.”

  “It’s really remarkable.”

  “This entire place, the house and property, were gifts from Atticus.”

  “Wow.”

  He takes a slow sip of the golden liquid and savors the taste.

  “Are you from Memphis, Boone?”

  “Born here. Both of us. We raised our children about five miles from this place.”

  “It’s quite a family you have. They’ve been kind to me. Every one of them. I appreciate the welcome.”

  Leaning back in his chair he studies my face.

  “The Swifts are good judges of character. It’s a gift.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “What about your family? I know you were in foster care, but where do you hail from?”

  I take a sip before I begin my story.

  “Fort Worth. I lived there until I went into foster care at two.”

  His eyes soften and I see a barely perceptible shake of his head.

  “That’s rough. What about your folks?”

  “I never knew my father. My mother was an addict. She overdosed. But I hesitate to say that because she loved me I know. It just got away from her.”

  It was so long ago, but saying those words still affects me. I have to consciously hold back my emotions.

  “Was your foster family loving?”

  “Which one? I was in eight by the time I was seventeen.”

  “How hard that must have been.”

  “I never knew if I was going to find a lighthouse or a storm.”

  He rolls the words around. Kind eyes say they settle in his heart.

  “The hard part was never holding on to anything. Not my pillow, or classmates. Not my pets. At any moment I could lose everything. And I did. Many times.”

  Shit, I think he’s tearing up. Why am I going on about my shitty childhood?

  The Colonel rubs against my leg and whines for a pet. I’m happy to oblige.

  “Hey, buddy. You remind me of a dog I once knew. Oscar Meyer.”

  “Never have seen The Colonel take to someone that fast,” Boone says. “He’s Grandpa’s dog.”

  We sit in silence, watching the hummingbirds and bees looking for the right flower. Feeling the sun on our faces. It’s peaceful here. I’d never leave this place if it were mine.

  Out across the rolling lawn, coming through the trees, Bristol and the doctor appear. I may be in A Fib because my heart skips a beat. Boone’s watching me watch his daughter.

  “I don’t think she’s really interested in him.”

  Okay, that surprises me, but I welcome the information.

  “Good.”

  We let the conversation fade. My focus is on Bristol. How she walks and talks, how her hand moves a stray curl away from that beautiful face. And as she gets closer, how her gaze meets mine.

  Chapter 4

  Bristol

  It doesn’t take a psychic to feel the undercurrent here at the dinner table. I feel like we’re all reading the same book, but everyone is on a different page. They’re chapters ahead of me.

  I’d invited Raul to dinner. Good thing he couldn’t stay. At the last minute he had to go to the hospital for an emergency bypass. For about a month he’d been pressing me to let him in my life more. And why I’m not sure.

  Our relationship is clearly defined. We like each other, there’s a certain amount of chemistry and we understand our time parameters. Not every man likes being with a woman whose schedule is so all-consuming. But for two doctors it works.

  I guess that’s why I finally asked him to come today. Just so he’d quit talking about it. After that night we met Sawyer, he became more attentive. He hated that the new pitcher was clearly trying to get my attention. When he saw him here today he was actually pissed. I could read it all over his face.

  Occasionally I catch Sawyer’s eyes meeting mine across the table. Just a split second passes between us where we’re doing more than looking. Saying something beyond hello. Some half thought travels from him to me and back. Weird.

  “Do you have a girlfriend waiting in Fort Worth?”

  Mallory’s question to Sawyer snaps me out of my thoughts. Charlotte speaks up before he has a chance to answer.

  “Maybe the question is too personal, Mallory. You don’t have to answer that,” she says kindly.

  Shut up sister-in-law. I’d like to hear what the man has to say. Only because I’m interested in his unique story. That’s where my interest lies. Uh huh.

  A smile lights up his face as he turns his attention to Mallory.

  “That’s okay. I don’t mind. The short answer is no.”

  “Looks like the long answer’s written on your arm,” Grandpa says.

  Sawyer rolls up his sleeve to reveal a simple, not very well executed tattoo. But Anne is clear as day.

  “It’s my sister’s name.”

  Grandpa sighs and his eyes soften. Think he’s sorry to have brought it up.

  “I didn’t know you had siblings,” Brick says. “Will she be visiting?”

  “No. I don’t know where she is. We were separated when she was five. The name’s all I know about her.”

  Oh Lord. My stomach just dropped with his words. By the look on the family’s faces theirs did as well. My mother reaches out and touches his hand.

  “I’m sorry, darlin’. You don’t know what happened to her?”

  “No. We were placed separately. I was two and she was five.”

  I’m going to cry. Oh shit! Here it comes. My eyes well with tears and overflow onto my cheeks. Grandma Birdie is watching me, so she lets loose with her particular talent. The ability to cry on command. Tears start streaming down her face.

  “Oh, child. That breaks my heart.”

  Then she locks eyes with me, sending her message and covering her granddaughter’s embarrassment.

  “Bristol and I are softies. We’re the cryers of the family.”

  If I wasn’t upset with myself for showing so much emotion this would be a funny scene. Only Sawyer’s missing the fact every person here is privy to. They’re looking at Grandma and I like we’re high. I am most definitely not the cryer nor is Grandma. We all know what she said was bullshit.

  “Thank you, ladies. It’s sad. But I’ve come to accept it.”

  “Isn’t there a way to track her down? Maybe we can help,” my father says.

  “I’ve tried. I did find out she was adopted, but the records are sealed. If she still goes by Anne.”

  “Let me help you,” I say. “Sometimes my connections can pay off. No promises, but we can try a few things.”

  His face takes on a new light.

  Hope.

  “Thank you. Yes. I’ll give you what I know about our circumstances. Man, this family. You’re all amazing. And now I have tears.”

  He wipes his cheek and fidgets in his seat, trying to reposition his sadness.

  My mother rises and takes her plate. “Alright now, Brick and Atticus help your mama.”

  Whenever my mother uses that name she’s feeling awfully soft. Melancholy. She says it’s when she’s thinking of us as her babies. It’s lovely really.

  “I’ll help too,” Sawyer says standing.

  All the men except Grandpa head for the kitchen. He likes to be with the girls. Says that’s how he finds out what’s really going on in the family.

  I watch as the men disappear into the other room.

  “Quit staring at us!” I whisper yell at the entire group.

  “But you’re fun to watch,” January says chuckling.

  “Why? There’s absolutely nothing going on.”

  They all five break out laughing and it carries me with them. Sawyer peaks his head around the corner, startling us quiet. Shit we look guilty as hell.
/>   “Well don’t stop laughing on my account.”

  Grandpa to the rescue. “Bristol just told us a dirty joke.”

  What? Oh crap.

  A sexy smile is Sawyer’s response. Well, that and the cast down eyes. Oh my. That’s adorable coming from a man.

  “They need you to open a pickle jar. Apparently you’ve got special talents in that department,” he says.

  Thank God. Distraction.

  “It’s my superpower.”

  I rise and follow him, turning my head back and shooting my family a stink face as I go.

  “Open this,” Atticus says placing the jar on the edge of the counter.

  “Behold, Atlas unchained,” my father says as he’s slicing the pie.

  “Let me try first,” Sawyer says.

  “Don’t mess with your pitching arm!” Brick says.

  I lean an elbow on the granite counter and enjoy the show. Every man that’s ever been in my life has challenged my crown. Don’t know why I can beat them, but I can. Consistently. Must be in the wrist.

  Sawyer picks up a knife and bangs the edge of the jar. He’s got this ridiculous smirk on his face like he’s thought of something the last five people hadn’t.

  The trial begins. White knuckles show first. Then a little grunt escapes his lips. Then the leg spread to bear down. It’s hysterical.

  “Stop it!” Brick orders, setting the jar back on the counter.

  “I think it was just about to budge,” Sawyer says softly.

  I take the jar and apply the pressure needed. It opens with a pop. This amuses the men to no end.

  “I bow to the strongest woman alive.”

  “We all have our talents,” I grin.

  Sawyer looks around to see if anyone is watching. When he’s satisfied they’re all occupied, he locks eyes with me and mouths, “Want to see mine?”

  My jaw drops. But just for a second before I bite my bottom lip shut. Something deep down inside my frozen heart thaws and makes me give him a little smile. His eyes widen in pleasant surprise that I didn’t outright reject the idea.

  “Honey, take a couple of plates,” Dad says.

  I take two servings of pie and gladly leave the boys behind. There’s a chance staring into Sawyer’s eyes one more nano-second might catch me on fire. As I turn the corner my father’s voice lifts above the kitchen sounds.