“We don’t talk about her.” I set my gaze forward, watching Jackson peddle his little heart out. Indiana is relatively flat all around, but there’s a slight incline on the way to the park that he sometimes needs help with.
“Oh, okay. I’ll just try to change the subject.”
I let out a sigh, knowing that sooner or later, this is going to all come out, and I’d rather have Scarlet hear it from me than anyone else.
“Jackson’s mother left a few weeks after he was born. She came back once, stayed a few days, and that’s the last time I’ve seen or heard anything from her. When Jackson asks, I tell him Daisy had other things to do.” I shrug. “It’s not the best response, but nothing is a good response in that situation.”
“I’m sorry,” Scarlet says, and I brush off her words. I don’t want pity. I get along just fine and raising my son on my own for the last four years allowed us to bond in a way we couldn’t if Daisy was still in the picture.
“Slow down,” I call out to Jackson, who spotted one of his friends at the park. We have one more street to cross. Picking up the pace, I catch up to him before he zooms across the street. We wait for a pickup to go by, and then he rides as fast as he can to the playground, dumping his bike to the ground and pulling at his helmet strap as he runs to the swing set.
I wave to Mrs. Hills, the mother of Jackson’s friend, and motion to a park bench. Scarlet follows, eyes wide as she takes it all in.
“What part of Chicago are you from?” I ask.
“The South Side.” She gives me a lopsided smile. “Yes, the ghetto.”
Nodding, I decide that’s enough information to share for one night. She’s my employee, after all. The wind picks up, blowing in the scent of rain. Scarlet shivers and pulls her arms in around herself. The faint outline of her nipples becomes visible through her shirt, and I take off my jacket to give to her.
“Thanks.” She slips her arms inside the sleeves, thinking I’m being chivalrous. Really, I’m helping out my dick.
“Dad! Scarlet!” Jackson yells from the top of a slide. “Come watch me go down the slide. It’s super fast!”
We both get up, going across the playground to watch Jackson go down a twisty slide. He grabs Scarlet’s hand and leads her up the playground steps. My phone buzzes in my pocket, no doubt more texts from my brothers.
“Good evening, Officer Dawson,” Mrs. Hills croons, sauntering over. She got divorced last year and makes sure everyone knows just how single she is every time she talks.
“Hello, Mrs. Hills.”
“Please, call me Terry. Our boys go to school together. We’re practically family at this point.”
I force a smile, realizing that running for sheriff means having to put up with bullshit small talk and pleasantries. Maybe I don’t want to do it after all.
“I can’t help but notice your companion,” she goes on. “Finally free?” She wiggles her eyebrows hopefully.
“She’s Jackson’s nanny,” I reply, sidestepping her question. Sometimes I hate this small town as much as I love it. Everyone knows Daisy ran out on us and I haven’t petitioned for a divorce yet.
“Well, she’s very pretty.”
“I suppose so.”
“Are you coming to the kids’ fall party at school next week?”
Motherfucker. It’s next week? “I’m not sure. We’ll see how much crime happens that morning.”
Terry laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and Scarlet snaps her head around. Her eyes flit from me to Terry, taking a second to watch us before turning back to Jackson.
“Well, I’m in charge of snacks, and if you want, I can bring you something extra. Maybe something a little sweet?” She angles her body toward mine, inhaling so her breasts rise up in front of me. “Or do you prefer salty?”
Doing everything I can not to physically recoil from her, my phone ringing at that exact moment is welcome.
“It’s my sister, gotta take this,” I say.
“Quinn? Tell her I said hello!” Quite a few people in this town were quick to judge Quinn when they found out she was pregnant and not married. Then they remembered she was rich and suddenly are her best friend again.
“Hey, sis,” I say into the phone.
“Hey. So…how’d it go today?”
“The day isn’t over yet.”
“Uh-oh. Is that a bad thing?”
I watch Scarlet run in slow motion as Jackson and his friend chase her around, pretending to be the zombies this time. “No. Jackson seems to really like her.”
“Good! She was really nice when we met at the coffee shop.”
I don’t feel like getting into it with my sister tonight, but we’ve all tried to explain to her that just because someone seems nice doesn’t mean they should be trusted. But that’s just Quinn for you, always finding the good in everyone.
“We’ll see how it goes. I’m still not sold on this, you know.”
“Make up your damn mind. If you want to pull out of the race, just do it already. If not, we need to amp up your campaigning.”
“I thought you were certain I’d win,” I tease.
“I am. But people need to know you’re running against that sexist old Sheriff Turner so they can vote for you.”
Chuckling, I agree. “Okay. Give me to the end of the week. If this works out, we’ll go all the way with this.”
“Yay! Oh, shit. Emma just puked all over Archer and he was on his way out the door to do an emergency appendectomy.”
“I don’t miss those days. See ya later, sis.”
“Love you. Give Jackson a kiss for me!”
“Will do.”
9
Scarlet
I pull the blankets tighter around my shoulders and bring my legs up under myself. It started raining not long after we got back from the park and it dropped the temperature by twenty degrees. A damp chill took hold of the house, and while the heater is on and running, I haven’t warmed up yet.
Which has nothing to do with my cold heart, I’m sure.
Wes put Jackson to bed, and knowing that he actually wants to spend time with his son is charming. Wait, no it’s not. There’s nothing charming about him. Nope. Not at all. And he certainly didn’t look good in those gray sweatpants. And offering me his jacket wasn’t a smooth move or anything. And putting my arms in the sleeves of said jacket and feeling the heat from his body was a turn-off. Big time.
He’s closed off but not socially inept, and his charm isn’t lost on the people of this town. Ms. Soccer Mom at the park was flirting with him, and we got stopped three times on the short walk home. Two more single women just ‘wanted to say hi’ and find out who I was, of course. His next-door neighbors are an elderly couple, and they thanked him for helping mow their lawn a few days ago.
He’s the golden boy of this town, and pulling any sort of trick on him will probably cause the townspeople to grab their torches and pitchforks and march after me while singing “Kill the Beast.”
I roll over, debating if I should get up and get socks or if moving out of the covers will make me even more cold. I cuddle my unicorn close to my chest and make myself into a little ball, too lazy to get up.
Someone softly knocks at the door, and I shoot up, thinking it’s Jackson.
“Scarlet?” Weston calls, voice low. “Are you awake?”
Suddenly, I’m nervous, and it’s not because I don’t want him to come in here and make an advance. It’s because I do.
“Yeah, I am.” I get up, pulling the top quilt from the bed and wrapping it around my shoulders. Ignoring the urge to smooth out my hair, I open the door. Weston is standing there, wearing a white T-shirt and plaid PJ pants. The look is casual, completely appropriate, and not at all sexy. So why do I feel heat rushing through me?
“I never opened the vents in here.” He motions to something on the ceiling. “I just remembered.”
“Oh, um, how do you open them? I’ll do it.”
“I got it.” He does
n’t look at me, and for some reason, it annoys me. “You probably won’t be able to reach it.” Stepping aside, I flick on the light and pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “It’s cold in here. Sorry,” he mumbles and walks through the room, reaching up and opening the vents. Warm air rushes down on me. He turns to leave and spots the unicorn on my pillow.
“You sleep with that?” he asks, lips pulling up with a bit of amusement.
“Every night. His name is Ray.”
“Interesting name,” Wes says.
The half smile turns into a real smile and, dammit, it’s doing bad things to me. I sit on my bed and pick Ray up. “He’s yellow, like a ray of sunshine.”
“That makes sense, I guess.”
I shrug. “I’ve had him forever. I know it’s weird.”
“There are weirder things to have in bed.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Speaking from experience?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“I suppose that’s good to know,” I laugh.
Weston smiles, holding my gaze for a few seconds, and I see the man under the tough exterior. He’s a bit damaged, like me, and the strangest feeling takes over, making me want to comfort him. Then he stiffens, inhaling deep and pushing his shoulders back. I watch his chest muscles rise and fall, feeling so little next to him.
“Goodnight,” he says and walks right past me out the door. He doesn’t shut it behind him, and I watch him disappear down the hall. Jackson is in his own room tonight, and Wes closes his door halfway, probably leaving it open to be able to hear if I get out of bed and decide to kidnap his son or something.
I close my door, twisting the knob before it clicks into place, silently shutting it. Then I get back in bed, still cold but feeling hot and flustered inside. Along with having little experience with good parents, I have little experience with good guys. My track record is unimpressive, and I haven’t had anything serious since I broke up with Tommy three and a half years ago.
I can feel warm air filling the room, but I’m still chilled. I get up and grab a pair of socks from my suitcase—no, I haven’t unpacked yet, and probably won’t until I’ve worn everything at least once and doing laundry is a necessity. Hunkering back down into bed, I curl up with Ray and fall asleep.
It shouldn’t surprise me that I dream of Weston. Of his large, rough hands running up the back of my thighs. Of his lips against mine as he kisses his way down my neck, over my breasts and down my stomach. He yanks off my panties and dives between my legs, and his warm tongue against me is the best thing I’ve ever felt.
I wake up with my hand between my legs, body begging to go back to sleep and finish the dream. Rain patters against the window and I let out a breath, no longer cold. I close my eyes and try to get comfortable, but I’m too hot and bothered to peacefully fall back asleep.
What am I doing wrong here? Well, besides wanting to cheat an honest man out of money—don’t judge me on that. That’s a topic for another day, one that will require confession, ten Hail Marys, and hours of community service.
Weston isn’t a wealthy asshole with money to burn. I can’t convince myself I’m a sexy Robin Hood with him, stealing from the rich to give to the poor—aka me. I can’t take anything from him. I don’t want to.
I hoped to get through to him, to knock down his walls and see what makes him tick. But I think he’s going to get to me first…and he’s not even trying.
* * *
I plunge my hands into the warm, soapy water. I didn’t sleep well last night, and around five AM I gave up and came downstairs to start breakfast. Wes works today and said he leaves the house around seven.
So far, I’ve made blueberry muffins, cooked an entire package of bacon, and have eggs whipped up and ready to scramble once the boys come downstairs. They’re best fresh out of the pan and don’t take long to make. I’ve piled the bacon onto a plate and put it in the oven to stay warm. The muffins are neatly arranged in a bowl on the table. I even found a white cloth napkin to put in the bowl first, making it look all fancy and proper.
And now the dishes are almost done, and the table is already set. Show me an attractive single dad and suddenly I turn into Betty fucking Crocker.
What.
The.
Fuck.
Compartmentalizing and not dealing with my feelings is my thing. My claim to fame. The only reason I’ve been able to get by this well for so long. My deck has always been stacked a few cards short, and in a dog-eat-dog world, I’ve never had the chance to stop and think about a better life.
And I mean really think.
Like muffins and bacon kind of thinking.
Opening the oven, I grab a piece of bacon before making a pot of coffee. The smell of French roast fills the air, and something inside me relaxes.
“Morning,” Wes says when he comes into the kitchen. He’s dressed in his uniform and he looks so good I don’t think I’d be surprised if someone started playing “Hot in Here” and he started taking off all his clothes in a private strip show just for me.
I’d grab the bacon, sit back, and watch.
“Morning,” I say back, going to the cabinet to get him a coffee cup. Assuming he’ll have his coffee the same way he did yesterday, I fill the cup and add just a little bit of cream and sugar. “Do you want eggs? I was just about to make some.”
Wes’s brows move together, and he looks around the kitchen as if I finger-painted the furniture, not made him breakfast.
“Sure.”
“Okay. Have a seat, it’ll only take a few minutes.” I already preheated the pan. With my back to him, I focus on the eggs, doing my best not to turn around and make small talk, because I know if I look into Weston’s dark eyes, there’s a good chance I’ll turn into a pile of goo on the floor.
And then who’s going to finish making breakfast?
“You didn’t have to do all this,” Weston says in a level tone. “We usually eat cereal or Pop Tarts in the morning.”
“I was up, and that’s the kind of thing I usually eat too. Something hot for breakfast sounded nice.”
I turn down the burner and risk a look back at Weston. He’s pulled his hair away from his face and is leaning back in the kitchen chair. He looks right at me and something burns behind his stormy eyes.
“Yeah, a hot breakfast is nice every now and then.”
He’s literally agreeing with words I just spoke, yet I’m feeling flush like he’s filling every syllable with a secret innuendo. And dammit—I want him to. And now there’s no denying that Weston Dawson has done the impossible: gotten under my skin and is weaseling his way into that dark cavity in my chest that some call a heart.
10
Weston
Goddammit. Bacon and eggs and blueberry muffins have never tasted so good. Scarlet piles bacon and eggs on her plate, fills a mug halfway with coffee and then tops it off the rest of the way with creamer. She dumps a spoonful of sugar in it as well, bringing her food over to the table. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and the loose strands that fall around her face are begging to be pushed back.
She’s wearing black leggings and a tight black T-shirt, with a loose-fitting red-and-black flannel shirt over top. She’s effortlessly beautiful and I can’t find a single thing about her to complain about.
“Blueberry muffins are cliché.” She reaches for one, setting it on her plate. “But it was the only kind I could make. You guys must like blueberries.”
I smile as I finish chewing a piece of bacon. “Jackson eats them like candy.”
“That’s good. Better than eating candy like candy.” She laughs at herself, realizing what she said. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do. And I agree. He’s always been a good eater in that sense.”
She picks up a piece of bacon. “I can relate to that.”
A few minutes of silence go by as we both eat our breakfast. It’s still gray and cloudy outside, but Scarlet is brightening up the whole room. “When does Jackson
usually get up?” she asks.
“Eight-thirty or nine if he’s able. Usually when I work on a Saturday, I take him to my parents’ and have to wake him up early. He’ll be happy to sleep in today.”
Scarlet nods, finishing her bacon and eggs. She goes for the muffin next. “Are your parents retired?”
I shake my head, picking up the coffee. “No. My dad’s a contractor and my mom works with him running the office aspect of the business.”
“What do your brothers do? Are any of them cops as well?”
I laugh at the thought of Owen or Logan in uniform. “No. Dean works with our dad and Logan and Owen own a bar called Getaway.”
“In town?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty much the only good bar around here, and I’m not just saying that because my brothers own it.”
“I’ve only seen quite literally two blocks of this town, but I’m guessing there’s not much to it?”
“Eastwood isn’t huge, but we have more than you’d think…I think.” If she’s used to Chicago, then she’s not going to be impressed by our little town. “We’re not some podunk town in the middle of nowhere,” I go on. “If the weather clears up, I can show you around.”
She smiles. “I’d like that. Better get used to things here, right?”
I open my mouth but can’t make the word come out. It’s easy. One syllable. Right. But saying that one word feels like I’m saying a magic spell that seals our fate. She’s here. To stay. Which means there’ s a good chance of winning this race, which of course is the end goal. But that means being away from Jackson more and it’s suddenly hitting me like a punch to the face.
“Yeah,” I finally force myself to say and get up for a refill of coffee. Scarlet’s almost done with her muffin by the time I get back.
“You eat a lot for someone of your size,” I blurt, needing to fill the silence with something.
She smiles, finishing the last bit of her muffin. “I do a lot of bad things, and I think the guilt inside of me burns a lot of calories.” Her eyes meet mine and for a second, and I laugh.
Side Hustle: A Dawson Family Novel Page 6