Smooth Irish (Book 2 of the Weldon Series) (26 page)

He didn’t want their pity, and he didn’t want their
sympathy, but if they were going to offer him a hell of a fight,
he’d take that gladly.

Nobody said a word. The next three hours were a
grueling, muscle-straining marathon of grunts and sweat. Jackson
was ahead by one over Jesse. Jared and James were tied at two below
that.

Their mother had called them to eat more than an
hour or two ago. They didn’t even stop to answer her. Now it was
dark, and the basket was about as visible as a gnat’s ass. They
were still playing.

Jesse knocked the ball from Jared
and swung around to snag a basket.
“Damn,”
Jackson thought, seeing his
lead about to disintegrate. He jumped, straining over James head to
block the shot but missed. Just as the ball was about to kiss the
rim in one honey of a shot, a blast of water knocked it from its
intended purpose.

Jackson’s jaw dropped. His quick glance showed his
brother’s had the same reaction. Jesse’s was the worst. In
practically slow motion they all turned toward the house. Emma
Weldon, a mother with a bone to pick, stood with the garden hose in
her hand.

“You all sure enough had to hear me call you to
supper. I’ll put up with a lot, but when I make a meal for you, and
your father and I haven’t had all four of you to the dinner table
at the same time in a while, I expect to be heard.”

Before any of them could speak, she aimed the hose
at them and let them have it. When they were soaked, she turned off
the hose. “Dry up and get to the table. Dinner won’t keep a minute
longer.”

All of Jackson’s intense, sweaty effort fizzled at
his feet. The looks on his brothers’ faces rivaled Jackson’s
sentiments. Well, hell.

“I won.” Jackson swiped water from his eyes.

“Bullshit,” said Jesse, marching toward him.

“I hear anybody arguing and they get KP duty. There
are towels at the back door. If you all aren’t here in five
minutes, nobody gets a piece of cherry pie.”

James and Jared started laughing.

“Makes you feel like a yard ape again,” Jesse
said.

“Yeah, for a minute there I had to look down and
make sure I wasn’t wearing a diaper.” James slapped the seat of his
wet jeans.

“
You need to,” Jackson said.
“Hell, you’ve gone and pissed your pants.”

Jesse sniffed the air. “Smells like a skunk tangled
with a pair of stink bugs.”

For a second Jackson exchanged glances with his
brothers. That last snippet of conversation had been a running joke
between them from a time when James and Jared had been in diapers
and they’d trapped a skunk under a laundry basket. Curious brats
that they were they’d put their faces right up to the lattice holes
of the basket and had gotten a hefty dose of skunk perfume.

Jesse started to laugh and it spread like hot butter
on biscuit. Jackson was the last to join, but he laughed until
tears fell.

“Three minutes left.” His mother called out the
door. Still laughing, Jackson ran for his shirt. “I get the pie,”
he said racing for the door.

Jesse, James, and Jared tried to butt their way in
before him. Jackson ended up rolling in the door with all three of
his brothers on his back.

“One minute left,” Emma Weldon said, swatting at
them with her dishrag.

Jackson parked his butt in his old chair and it
wasn’t until his father said grace, that Jackson remembered that he
was thirty-five and not fifteen. For a few minutes, he’d felt like
the boy he’d used to be, and as the intervening years came crashing
back down on him, he wished he’d never had those few minutes of
fun. It made what was left of him hurt so much more for what he’d
lost of himself.

He forced himself to eat, to smile, to answer a
question that strayed his way, but he didn’t belong. He wasn’t the
man his family remembered and never would be again.

“My company has an interesting job tomorrow night,”
Jesse said.

Having first established his security company in
Washington DC, where the world’s leaders and cherished darlings
were known to tread, Jesse had gained worldwide respect.
Occasionally, he himself still presided over really important
events.

“A VIP coming into town?” John Weldon asked, sliding
his empty pie plate toward the nearly gone cherry pie. He gave Emma
a sweet smile. She cut him a tiny sliver and he looked as if she’d
stolen his last dollar. She pointed at her stomach, indicating he
was on the heavy side of plump.

“Nope.” Jesse stuck his plate up and received a
bigger piece of pie than his father.

Jackson couldn’t help but grin as his father glared
at Jesse’s slice of pie.

“Then what? James Bond moving in?” Jared asked.

Jesse rolled his eyes, and when he did, Jackson saw
his dad switch pie plates with Jesse. Jackson had to hand it to his
father. He was the fastest pie plate switcher in the world.

“Nope,” Jesse said, picking up his fork.

“Cameron Diaz?” James asked.

Jesse didn’t answer. He was glaring at his miniscule
piece of pie.

“John Weldon, we’re walking two miles in the morning
instead of one.”

John groaned. Apparently satisfied by Emma’s
punishment, Jesse lit into his sliver of cherry and crust.

“Well,” Jackson muttered, compelled to get the lead
out of the conversation. “What are you doing?”

“Providing security and transpo for a big yacht
party in the bay. Then a team will trail the yacht for the weekend
as it sails toward St. Simon’s Island. It’s a doctor at the
hospital who’s putting on this big shindig, and wants to make sure
no one bothers the yacht.”

Jackson tensed. Any mention of the hospital brought
Nan immediately to mind.

“What’s so special about that?” Jared frowned.

Jesse shrugged. “Not much, just a different sort of
security detail for around here. Funny thing, when I was at the
hospital with Alexi and Jake earlier, Alexi mentioned that Nan was
going.”

Hospital bigwigs, Jackson thought. Swanson. Nan was
going yachting with Swanson and his buddies for the weekend. Well
it didn’t take her long to put their “just sex” weekend behind her.
Jackson had clenched his fist before he realized it. He forced
himself to shrug. “Hope it doesn’t rain,” was all he said.

When he saw his brothers pitching in for KP duty,
Jackson left. He drove his truck out into the middle of an empty
cornfield, right out in the open where he could see the stars.
Grabbing his guitar, he climbed into the bed of the truck and
started strumming. Yeah, as long as he was singing he didn’t have
to listen to the voice in his head calling him a fool.

But after awhile, even the music began calling him
names. He didn’t know what time it was when he hopped into his
truck and headed for town.

* * *

A pounding on Nan’s front door woke her up from her
dreamless sleep. She rolled off the couch, stepped on Shakespeare’s
tail, and stubbed her toe on the way to the door. She’d left every
light in the house on trying to chase the shadows from her heart.
And she hadn’t been able to sleep in her bed all week. Memories of
Jackson were just too damn strong. She could handle the couch. They
hadn’t made love on the couch. A glance through the peep told her
two things. It was very dark outside and a disheveled Jackson stood
on her doorstep.

She considered ignoring him, but the memory of his
anguish over the death of his wife and unborn child was too fresh,
too sharp in her mind to turn her back on him even though seeing
him stabbed her own heart.

She cracked the door. “What do you want, Jack?”

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“Are you yachting with Brad for the weekend?”

“This isn’t happening. We are not having this
conversation. You are not here. Do you understand? You have no
right to be here, Jack.” Nan shut the door in his face, sure that
she must be having another nightmare. She didn’t have fantasies or
dreams these days. Her “just sex” weekend had cured her of that,
but had left her with a more incurable and twice as
devastating—broken heart.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

She never went back to sleep after Jackson left last
night. So if today, Friday, was the first day of the rest of her
life--she was in big trouble. It rained hard all morning and when
she headed to meet Brad, the roadsides were lakes.

She had a flat tire on the way to the restaurant.
She had to pull into one of those lakes to change her tire while
dressed in all her finery. The hem of her dress got wet and she had
to take off her shoes to keep them from being ruined. It occurred
to her that she wasn't too far from the ragtag, barefoot little
girl after all.

She arrived late for her meeting with Brad, but that
wasn't a problem. Brad wasn’t there yet either. He drove up behind
her car in the valet line and suggested that they go on to the
yacht.

So they sat in a private corner at the lavish party
and Nan tried to tell Brad that she wouldn’t be seeing him anymore.
He kept talking about his convention speech.

“Brad. I don’t see that there is any point in
continuing to date. We don’t seem to be connecting.”

He frowned and replied in all seriousness. “What
does connection have to do with anything? To have a future all you
have to do is to make a plan. Emotions and feelings really don’t
matter. They fall in line eventually.”

Did he think emotions were army recruits?

His cell phone rang. He glanced at the number. “It’s
the hospital. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll put us at the top of my
list, and we’ll get this worked out.”

“No. No lists Brad.”

“Nan. We’ll have to discuss this later.”

“Sorry, Brad. There isn’t a later.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I don’t know. Maybe when you set your mind on what
an ideal partner would be, you miss seeing the real person in front
of you.” Even as she said it, Nan wondered just how guilty she was
of the same thing. Brad stared at her and she met his gaze. But
they were so distant from each other that not even the truth drew
them closer together.

Brad looked as if he meant to say something more,
but then focused his gaze on his phone. “I really have to go.”

“I know.” Nan smiled, relieved. “I’ll see you
around,” she said then turned away and wandered through the party.
Steve Dennison came up to her, looking like a blond Tom Selleck
dressed in Italian leisure clothes.

He handed her a glass. “I brought you some
champagne.”

“Thanks.” She was glad she’d worn a conservative
black sheath with touches of gold at her ears and neck. Anything
more casual and she would have been out of place. Many of the women
wore jewels and finery.

“I overheard your discussion with Brad. He works too
much. Do you need a date for the evening?” he asked with a twinkle
to his eyes.

Nan smiled. “Thanks, but I think I’m going to take a
break from dating, maybe sign up for gourmet cooking classes.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

He handed her a business card. “Why don’t you give
me a call when your classes are over. I love gourmet food.”

Nan took the card. “We’ll see.” Across the room,
someone called Steve’s name and he left.

* * *

Jackson stared at the big ass fancy yacht from the
lowly depths of his family's old rowboat that may have been in its
prime before WWII. That was a big maybe. Any second he expected it
to spring a leak and sink.

What in the hell was he doing out here? Nan was
right when she'd slammed the door in his face last night. He'd had
no business being there. Just like he had no damn business being
here tonight. What was the purpose? All day long, as he rambled
around the broken down cabin, making a list of everything that
needed fixing, he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind.
Hell, she'd been in his mind since Jesse married Alexi and he'd
been Best Man when Nan had been the Maid of Honor.

Was he going off the deep end and crossing rational
lines? Being out here staring at a damn boat because Nan was on it
with another man was edging pretty damn close to irrational. It'd
make sense if he had a bullhorn and had decided to ask her to
forgive him. Selfish sense, but at least he'd have a purpose and a
reason for being here.

Was he going to overtake the yacht like the pirate
Black Jack had in Nan's fantasy and capture her? The memory of Nan
Monday night as he played Black Jack to her captured heroine seared
its way through his mind. Her breasts filling his hands as she
arched her back with pleasure and squirmed against the light
binding of his shirt. The leopard underwear. The mortified blush
when she'd thought he'd read her secrets--hell, yes a part of him
said. He'd love to capture Nan, put her in his bunk, and sail off
as if the world didn't exist, as if he didn't have a care in the
world--not even his own.

But you had her in your bunk and
you kicked her out. You had her and you rejected her because you're
a self-absorb, selfish bastard.
Maybe a
man exactly like her father had been? A man who'd make a wife and
kid pay for something nobody had any control over? And there it
was, plain as day, wavering on the sun sparkling water in front of
him. The truth. All excuses aside, he'd deliberately gone after
Nan, seduced her past her sensibilities, and the first bump in the
road he hit, he walked out on her. He'd gone running, looking for
that hellhole of a pit he'd existed in to swallow him back up. But
he hadn't found it, because sometime over the past six months the
pit had disappeared. Jackson slid the oars back into the water and
gave them a hard pull. Nope, he had no business interfering in
Nan's life. Not now. Maybe never.

* * *