For the First Time (One Strike Away #$)

by Mary J. Williams

  "Don't look at me with those big, sad eyes," he told the puppy. "I told you to stay away, but you wouldn't listen. What happened? Bonked on the head by a chunk of firewood. You could have stayed with Jordyn in the warm kitchen. Instead, you'll remain locked behind the screen door until I finish."

  The puppy—he really had to think of a name for her—let out a huge 'poor me' sigh before settling down, her nose pressed to the screen. The dog adored Jordyn. However, when given a choice, she chose to tag along after Murphy every time. Through no effort of his own, he'd acquired a pet. And to his surprise, he found that he didn't mind a bit.

  Murphy resumed chopping, his muscles loose. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so… Pausing, he searched for the right word. Relaxed? Carefree? Dare he say, happy? Hell, why not? What was wrong with admitting to a little happiness?

  Deciding he had enough wood to last him until the weather changed, he stowed his axe in the tool shed near the garage, setting the anxious puppy loose from her confinement.

  Murphy watched as the dog raced around the driveway in complete abandon as if she hadn't tasted freedom in years instead of a mere thirty minutes. The scene brought a grin to his lips, making him pause. The puppy's antics were part of the reason for the change in his mood. He found himself smiling with an ease he thought was lost forever.

  For most of his life, Murphy had been a social creature. A man who needed—craved—the company of others. When he moved here—to his little slice of self-imposed solitude—he'd been a mess. Inside and out. Little by little, he'd found his peace. But the longer he spent alone, the less he felt the need for other people.

  In two years, Murphy could count on one hand the hours he'd spent away from his cabin. Though he made a point of keeping in touch with his parents. Letters. The occasional phone call. They had visited from New York exactly twice. His choice, not theirs.

  Murphy loved his parents. Still, they—his mother especially—didn't understand why he had sequestered himself so far from civilization. So far from them. No matter how many times he told her, his mother still believed he would eventually come home. She couldn't understand. Would never understand. He was home.

  Yet, as he looked around. At his lake. His house. His land. Something felt different. He felt different. For the first time since the day he arrived, Murphy could imagine more. Something away from here. The image was foggy. A blur in the distance. A seed planted. Whether anything would grow, only time would tell.

  One thing Murphy knew for certain? The cause and subsequent effect of his murky vision.

  The cause? Jordyn. The effect? A renewed spring in Murphy's step.

  A familiar sound broke through Murphy's reverie. The sound of an engine getting closer by the second. Something he rarely heard way out here in the middle of nowhere.

  A red truck broke into view. Splattered with mud from grill to taillights, the new model Ford sported a double cab and a full-sized bed. And inside, three equally full-sized men.

  "Well, what have we here?" the driver, grinning, said as he exited the vehicle.

  Murphy's visitors were rare. Partly because of his location. Mostly because he didn't encourage the practice. However, there were always exceptions to a rule. Spencer Kraig's father was one of them.

  "Mr. Kraig." Returning the man's smile, Murphy held out his hand. "Welcome."

  "Thank you, son. And you know better. The name is Byron."

  Murphy's parents had taught him to address his elders with respect—one of the few lessons he always heeded. He'd only met Byron Kraig a handful of times. Enough to know he liked the man, but not enough for an automatic feeling of familiarity.

  "Yes, sir." Murphy laughed when Byron raised an eyebrow. "Byron."

  "You've met my oldest boys?" Byron said as the other occupants of the truck joined them.

  As tall as their father, Rick and Reid Kraig were a year apart in age, but they often were mistaken for twins. Sandy-blond hair like their mother, worn in the same short cut, they even sported the same relaxed stance as they flanked Byron.

  "Of course. Rick. Reid." Murphy exchanged handshakes. "Good to see you again. Are you on a fishing trip?"

  Officially, the season wasn't open, but on private lakes, there were no restrictions.

  Byron frowned, his expression puzzled. "Fishing? No. I'm here to pick up my daughter."

  The word, and the implication, took a few seconds to sink in. When they did, one thought popped into Murphy's head.

  Well, shit.

  Fate, as Murphy already knew, could be a motherfucking bitch. But to discover the woman who had shared his bed for the past two days was the sister of one his oldest, closest friends went beyond fate's normal crappy parameters. Evil was a good word.

  The coincidence was too much. And though he would have dearly loved to pass the blame, he, and he alone, had dug the hole where he currently resided.

  "Jordyn is your daughter?" Stupid and unnecessary, Murphy had to ask. Just in case he misheard.

  "You didn't know?" Byron seemed to find the idea amusing. Rick chuckled. Reid, eyes narrowed, seemed to catch on to the implications a little quicker. Every inch the big brother, he crossed his arms and waited.

  Great. The last thing Murphy wanted was a fight. Especially one that involved a member of Jordyn's family.

  "The subject never came up."

  With the proverbial cat out of the bag, Murphy had no problem recognizing the resemblance between father and daughter. The dark hair. Bright-green eyes. The shape of the face. Tall. Slim. Like her older brother Spencer, Jordyn had Byron's genetic stamp all over her.

  "You didn't recognize her name?" Byron shrugged. "Fair enough. But she must have recognized yours."

  Normally, Murphy wouldn't have explained. He lived his life and the hell with what anybody else thought. However, Byron wasn't anybody. He was an admirable man. A man Murphy liked and respected. Most of all, he was Jordyn's father. Reason enough right there.

  "I… we…" Murphy cursed. Stuttering and stammering made him sound like he had something to hide. Which he did. But he didn't want the Kraig men to know. "I'd never met Jordyn before."

  "Obviously." Rick's affable smile slipped as he mimicked his brother's crossed arms.

  "We didn't get around to exchanging last names."

  "Mmm." Byron didn't look pleased as his glance shifted over Murphy's shoulder, toward the house. "Where's Jordyn?"

  "Baking cookies."

  "Very homey. What else have you asked my sister to do for you?"

  "Rick!" Byron chastised Reid. "Don't talk about Jordyn that way."

  "But, Dad—" Rick jumped in.

  "You heard me."

  "Yes, sir," the brothers muttered. Effectively muzzled, they glared at Murphy.

  Byron's green eyes held a steely glint, but he seemed willing to listen before he jumped to conclusions.

  "I've known you a long time, Murphy. Watched your highs with pride and your lows with sympathy and concern. I was there if you needed me."

  "Yes, sir." Murphy nodded.

  "Good." Byron sighed. "Now, you want to explain what's going on?

  Murphy had gathered his thoughts. Whether what he had to say would ease the rising tensions he would soon find out.

  "Two years," he began. "Seems like a long time. And it is. Most people have moved on to more interesting, timely stories. But my name still gets recognized. I hear the whispers. Feel the looks."

  "You didn't kill anybody," Reid scoffed.

  "However, I did flame out. In spectacular fashion. Have you seen the YouTube video?"

  "Once or twice," Rick admitted sheepishly.

  "Don't feel bad. I understand the thing has several million views."

  "More like twenty."

  "Million?"

  When Reid nodded, Murphy let out a low whistle. He was past anything close to embarrassment. But damn! Didn't people have anything better to do with their time?"

&n
bsp; "As an excuse, I know my reasoning is lame. Jordyn didn't meet me with any preconceived notions. She didn't recognize me. Or ask my last name. So, I didn't volunteer the information. In her eyes, I wasn't famous. Or infamous."

  "Jordyn doesn't judge," Byron stated, but his expression had softened.

  "Everybody judges to some degree." Murphy found out the hard way. "Jordyn is a wonderful, bright, friendly woman. She's also human."

  "But—"

  "We judge each other, Byron. At least to some degree."

  A fact Murphy knew all too well.

  "For a day or two, you wanted to forget your past?" Rick asked.

  He who forgets history is doomed to repeat it. Words to live by. Besides, Murphy didn't want to forget. What he did in his younger days was a big part of the man he was now. However, he couldn't expect the men standing before him to understand. So, he simply nodded.

  "The chances that Jordyn and I will ever see each other again are slim to none." Murphy turned to Byron, hoping he would understand. "Does she have to know?"

  "You want me to lie to my daughter?"

  Murphy winced. An actual pain shot through when he saw the look of disappointment in Byron's eyes. He remembered Jordyn's stance on false truths. He had to assume she got her moral code from her parents.

  "Absolutely not," he rushed to assure the older man. "However, if Jordyn doesn’t ask…?"

  The chance he took was a big one. Murphy could lose Byron's respect. And Jordyn would find out the truth anyway. Yet, he had to try. He didn't want his last memory of her to be the way she pulled back—even the slightest bit. Right now, in her eyes, he was a good man. He refused to feel guilty because he wanted to keep her opinion of him untarnished.

  "I can't—"

  Before Byron could finish his thought, the subject of their conversation walked from the house.

  "The last batch of cookies are out of the oven. Eight dozen chocolate chip specials should hold you until your next foray at the farmer's market."

  Laughing, Jordyn paused at the top of the steps, pushing a stray hair behind her ear. Her eyes widened, as did her smile, when she saw the men standing with Murphy.

  "Dad?" Jordyn bypassed the steps, jumping to the ground running. Her long legs ate up the ground in a few strides. Without hesitation, she threw herself into her father's waiting arms. "I didn't expect you."

  "After your last phone call, your mother decided there was safety in numbers. Just in case."

  "In case what?" Jordyn pulled back, her expression incredulous.

  "Mom worried your host might not be… hospitable," Reid explained.

  "She heard my voice. I gave her my location. And directions how to get here." She looked at Murphy. "Have you met my host? He's nothing but a big old teddy bear."

  "He's hairy," Byron said, his tone neutral. "I'll have to take your word for the rest."

  "Well, you can. Murphy graciously opened his home. Fed me. Treated me with complete respect and kindness."

  Jordyn didn't have to pour the praise in such a thick layer. Though he appreciated her efforts on his behalf.

  Speculatively, Byron looked Jordyn over from head to toe.

  "You look healthy. How do you feel? No major injuries?"

  "A bruise or two. I've had worse playing tag football in the backyard with these two."

  "We plead the fifth."

  Reid said the words with a straight face. But his wink and Jordyn's smile told another tale. After only a few minutes of observation, Murphy could tell the Kraig family was a solid, loving unit.

  "And who do we have here?" Byron asked as the shoelace on his work boot was assaulted by a roly-poly body and a set of sharp teeth.

  "At the moment, she's known as the puppy to be named later."

  Picking up the dog, Byron laughed heartily at Murphy's Bull Durham reference. His sons joined in. As did Jordyn. Her gaze met his.

  "You look surprised," she said. "Bull Durham is a damn good movie. Romantic."

  "Please," Rick groaned. "The movie is about baseball. Then friendship. Then learning to adjust your dreams. Romance falls way down the list."

  "Bull Durham is the holy grail of movies in the Kraig household," Jordyn explained. "My brother—as much as I love the jerk—has watched the thing dozens of times and he still hasn't figured out the central theme."

  "The theme, little sister, is baseball, baseball, and more baseball. Just look at—"

  "Enough," Byron sighed. "You can pick up the argument on the way home. By the way, your brother is right."

  "Dad!" Jordyn exclaimed. Her eyes narrowed. "Mom doesn't agree."

  "And your mother is always right. Unless she isn't."

  "Fair enough," Jordyn said. Then, she gently sighed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. Where are my manners? I haven't introduced you to Murphy."

  Murphy opened his mouth, not certain what would come out. But Byron beat him to the punch.

  "We did the honors as soon as we arrived. Honey, I need to speak with you for a second."

  Byron shot Murphy an unfathomable look, taking Jordyn by the arm. Her expression puzzled, she didn't argue.

  When Byron set the puppy down, she scampered over to Murphy. He bent, scratching her behind the ear. Though he couldn't hear the conversation, he watched Jordyn's expressive face carefully.

  Byron did all the talking. On and on—at least in Murphy's estimation. His stomach clenched as he wondered and waited. Slowly, Jordyn's puzzlement turned to a frown. She shook her head, listening intently, but remained silent. Suddenly, she laughed as though her father had told the funniest joke ever.

  "They're like actors in a silent movie," Reid commented.

  "Without the title cards so we can follow along," Rick agreed.

  Tuning out her brother's running commentary, Murphy waited. Briefly, Jordyn's gaze met his. Perhaps he was guilty of wishful thinking. But to him, nothing in her deep-green eyes had changed. He didn't see a hint of anger or condemnation.

  "Rick. Go with your sister and collect her bags," Byron called out. Apparently, the father/daughter conference was finally over.

  Murphy glanced at his watch. Only a few minutes had passed. To him, more like hours.

  "I lug my stuff around all the time. Poor, weak little me doesn't need a man to do the heavy work, Dad."

  Byron didn't acknowledge Jordyn's sarcastic statement. He simply stared at his son. And Rick did as he asked.

  "Fine," Jordyn chuckled as her brother jogged up the steps, holding the door for her to go first. "Rick the Pack Mule. You've finally found your calling in life."

  As Jordyn passed, Rick gave her a kick in the butt. Not too hard. Just firm enough to let her know he wouldn't let her teasing insult go unpunished.

  "Jerk," she muttered.

  "Brat," Rick countered.

  Neither Byron nor Reid paid the two any attention, obviously used to sparring siblings. Murphy, with his only-child status, found the exchange extremely entertaining.

  "I asked Jordyn how you treated her."

  Murphy knew Jordyn wouldn't throw him under the bus. However, Byron had the prerogative to interpret her words any way he chose.

  "She didn't have a bad word to say about you. Effusive in her praise would be the best description. I've never seen my daughter glow when she spoke about a man." Byron frowned as if he didn't like the idea. "Whatever happened between the two of you, I don't want to know."

  Good, Murphy thought.

  "Jordyn's well-being is all I'm concerned about. I can't see any reason to enlighten her about your past."

  Murphy let out a sigh of relief.

  "Today is the last time I'll ever see Jordyn."

  "Hmm." Byron didn't sound convinced.

  "You have my word." Murphy straightened his shoulders. "If you still think it's worth anything."

  "I do." Byron's gaze didn't waver. "I know who you are, Murphy. The man you were and the man you are today."

>   "But you wouldn't want me to date your daughter."

  "Wrong."

  Surprised, Murphy frowned.

  "Then I don't understand."

  "You believe you'll never see Jordyn again. Maybe. Maybe not. Life has a way of surprising us—no matter how long we're here on earth. My point is simple. A relationship can't be built on lies."

  "But—"

  "Lies of omission are still lies, son."

  Jordyn had told him the same thing. Byron nodded when he saw understanding dawn in Murphy's eyes.

  "If the day comes when you and Jordyn meet again, you'll have to tell her. You can't leave out anything or gloss over the ugly bits. Everything, Murphy. Or I will."

  As much as Murphy might wish they could have more, he knew Jordyn wasn't for him. Knowing today was goodbye, he had no problem giving his word to her father.

  "If we ever meet again."

  Murphy shook Byron's hand, a seal of a promise made.

  "What do you have in here?" Rick asked as he stowed Jordyn's one suitcase in the back of the Ford.

  "Don't be such a wimp. Murphy carried the thing a couple of miles. Through the woods. He didn't complain."

  "Murphy is built like a Mac truck. I, on the other hand, am a mere mortal."

  "Ready to go?" Byron asked.

  "I need to say goodbye," Jordyn said, her eyes on Murphy.

  "Take your time." Suddenly affable—perhaps because he was about to get his daughter far away from Murphy—Byron motioned for Rick and Reid to follow. "We'll be waiting when you're ready.

  The three men piled into the cab, shutting the doors.

  "I don't know what to say." Jordyn's smile didn't quite reach her eyes, the irises a cloudy green. "I wanted to act all cool. Thanks for the great sex and a jaunty wave before I rode into the sunset."

  Afraid he might embarrass himself, Murphy tried for a light tone.

  "Everything you do is cool." He almost reached for her, but just in time, remembered their audience. "The way you talk. The way you move. The chocolate chip cookies waiting in my kitchen? Coolest ever."