by Penny Reid
“No, he’s not a bad guy. He’s a good guy, I think. I like him! Though I honestly don’t know him as well as I should. Sometimes he babysits for us, when we’re in a crunch.”
“He babysits the boys?”
“Yes. They love him. What I know about Jackson’s personal life is mostly just what I hear about him from others when I’m in town between location shoots. Small-town gossip, that kind of thing. And he’s definitely not married.” She said the word definitely funny, with a strong intonation that made me think maybe there was more to the story. “And he doesn’t date.”
“Wait, what does that mean? Is he gay?” My heart sunk while my brain raced to and then jumped off the cliff of hasty conclusions.
“No, no. I mean, as far as I know, he’s not. But I didn’t know Harrison liked men until he cheated on you that first time. And it’s not like I’m going around asking people where on the sexual orientation spectrum they fall. But, if I had to guess, I’d say Jackson is firmly and vigorously heterosexual based on his—uh—history. With women.”
Selfish relief mixed with suspicion, and I narrowed my eyes at her. “You’re babbling. Why are you babbling?”
“Sorry.” She laughed, looking like she wanted to say so many things. “You just caught me off guard.” Sienna picked up her shot glass and sipped it, watching me closely.
I glanced down at my shirt to make sure I’d hadn’t spilled something on myself. Finding my tank top free of liquid, I asked, “What?”
“Jackson.”
“Yes. Jackson.” Jackson James. I’d always liked the way his name sounded. He had a great name.
“You know, I’m kind of related to him.”
“Does that make him off-limits?” I blurted.
Another smile curved her lips, a slow, sneaky looking one. “No, no, he’s definitely on-limits. My husband’s brother Duane—one of the twins—is married to Jackson’s sister, Jessica.”
“That’s a lot of J names.”
“Indeed. Duane and Jessica just had a baby last year.”
“Let me guess, Jarvis?”
“No. Liam. Anyway, I guess Jackson is my brother-in-law, in a roundabout way.”
Parched, I reached for my water glass and took a big gulp. Sienna fiddled with her whiskey shot, her stare what I would call speculative, that secretive smile still on her lips like she had thoughts.
She was making me nervous. “What? What is it?”
“Nothing.” She shrugged, clearly lying. “So, what happened? Did you two keep in touch?”
“No. It was just a one-time thing. You know me.”
“Yes. I know you.”
“What is that supposed to mean? I’m feeling judged.”
“You shouldn’t. It’s not like it’s any secret that you don’t take home your leftovers. I’ve never seen you with the same guy twice, except Harrison.”
Blah.
“Hey, so.” Sienna shrugged, her tone excessively casual. “If you want me to set something up with Jackson or help you figure out how to approach him, I will.”
“You will?” I couldn’t keep the enthusiasm out of my voice. Oh man, this was great. So great. I had no idea how to approach him. What does one say to a man that one wishes to snog after five plus years of silence?
Hey, so, I know I said I’d never contact you again after our one night together, but do you maybe want to play golf. . . with my holes?
“Yes.” She inspected me for a quick second before asking, “Is he why you’re here? You need to be photographed with someone—to continue the Harrison ruse—and so you thought of Jackson James?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words arrived.
Be honest, Rae, if only with yourself. Is Deputy Dreamy the reason you’re here?
Looking toward the garden again, I tilted my head back and forth as I debated how to answer and ended up speaking the truth out loud. “Partly, yes. It’s been impossible these last few years, meeting someone, and I know that’s my fault. I used to not care. Work came first, always. But recently, I don’t know. It would just be nice to have a person who I didn’t have to pretend around, someone trustworthy who didn’t go running to the tabloids to sell an insider story. I meant what I said, I’m tired of having nothing real in my life. It’s . . .”
“What?”
“Exhausting. Pretending all the damn time.” I peeked at her, gauging how weird I might make things if I continued talking and were actually 100 percent honest.
As I’ve mentioned, Sienna was, by far, the most genuine, real person I knew in the business. She never faked anything. Or if she did, she was just that good an actress and she made her life look authentic. Since her wedding, I’d seen her with her husband at red carpet events and they always looked so happy, so in love, and they stood out from the crowd because of it. Where others—like me—were airbrushed and arduously determined to exude effortless perfection, Sienna and her Jethro were effortless perfection.
“You came here so you wouldn’t have to pretend?” she said after a while, her smile faint and shaded with concern. “And you think, with Jackson James, you won’t have to?”
“Why do you look worried?”
“It’s just—” she sucked in a breath, her eyes moving between mine “—he has a reputation in this town. He is a good guy, but he’s not . . .”
“Boyfriend material?” I pressed my lips together to keep from grinning because this felt like good news for me. “I’m not here to go steady with him, remember?”
“Yeah, well, then Jackson is perfect.” She chuckled. “What happened that night? Between the two of you? He must’ve made a big impression.”
“More like, he’s the last guy I’ve felt any actual attraction to and with,” I hedged. “If I have to get caught making out with someone, it would be nice to enjoy the experience.”
“I see.” Her eyes moved over me and narrowed, grew thoughtful as her smile flattened.
“Don’t worry, I won’t mack down on him at your house. It has to be public. And I promise, I’ll be out of your hair by next Friday.”
“Stay as long as you like, I mean it.” She sipped her whiskey, but her eyebrows told me she was troubled. “I’d be more than happy to host you all summer, if you want.”
Oh man, I wanted to accept her offer. But I wouldn’t. I wasn’t a freeloader. That said, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been as tempted to break my own rules as I was right now. Whatever Sienna’s secret for happiness was, I wanted it. But I couldn’t say that either. I didn’t want her to think I was needy.
So I said, “Thank you, you are very kind, but I probably should get back to LA,” because it was the truth.
Just not all of it.
Chapter 4
*Jackson*
“Spock was the sex symbol. A lot of people think it was Kirk. But, no, it was really Spock.”
Jolene Blalock
My father and I had breakfast together on the first Tuesday of the month, usually at Daisy’s Nut House. This was partly because the food was always so good, partly because it was so close to my parents’ house, and partly because Daisy expected us. And my father never did anything to disappoint Daisy.
“Daisy here?” he asked by way of greeting the moment he arrived at the booth, taking off his hat and glancing around the diner. “I don’t see her.”
“I haven’t seen her yet.” I took a sip from my coffee, my second cup since arriving thirty minutes ago. My father was on time, I’d been early.
After catching that quick glimpse of Raquel downtown on Saturday, I’d been early to every appointment and meeting since. But there’s no use thinking about that.
Moving on.
I typically only drank coffee brewed at home, so much cheaper than buying it elsewhere. This was especially true around Christmastime when local businesses sent the station heaps of gifts. The cafe on Main Street roasted their own raw coffee beans. They sent the station a pound for each deputy and ten pounds to the sheriff. My father didn�
�t drink coffee anymore, so I’d end up with eleven pounds to start the year.
“What’re you having? Green tea or water?” I lifted my hand toward Rebecca, signaling for her to come over.
She never came over unless we asked her to, convinced my father and I were discussing secret sheriff’s business. Little did she know, we never discussed work during our monthly breakfasts. He didn’t believe it would be right or fair giving me, one of his deputies, extra face time with him every month when he didn’t—and couldn’t—do the same for everyone. I agreed with him.
“Your mother watched me drink the green slime this morning. Water, please.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. He’d always hated tea—all tea, even sweet tea—but he drank green tea with ginseng every morning because it made my momma happy.
“Hey, Rebecca.” I gave her a smile as she approached, and she glanced between us, eyes wide. “My father will have an ice water, and I think we’re ready to order.”
She withdrew her writing pad silently, and I sighed. I’d known this woman my whole life, and as far as I could remember, she’d always been skittish with my father. Maybe she expected him to arrest her at any moment. Who knows what went through her brain?
“I’ll have the egg white omelet with four eggs instead of three, spinach and tomato. Instead of hash browns, could you ask chef to cut me up a bell pepper? Red or orange if y’all got it.” This was my regular order, but I always asked since it wasn’t on the menu.
She nodded, and I met my father’s eyes. Even after over a decade of me abstaining from meat, dairy, refined sugars, and processed grains—except on holidays, dates, and special occasions—he still looked at me with sympathy. But he hadn’t grown up with cystic acne, asthma, and chronic cluster headaches. Me eating picky meant I felt good.
“I’ll have the number three, please,” he requested gently, sending a warm smile her way even though she never looked directly at him, if she could help it.
With that, Rebecca dashed off, returning to the safety of the diner counter and then the kitchen beyond. I didn’t know if these kinds of interactions with folks bothered him or not. But I did know he never stopped trying to be friendly with anybody.
“So, what’s the news?”
“Nothing much to report,” I said, my throat tight with the lie. But it wasn’t really a lie, because there truly wasn’t anything to report.
What could I say? Oh, you know that woman I’ve been pining over for the last five or so years? The one I never told you about? The reason I haven’t seriously dated anyone until just recently? Well, I saw her in town on Saturday with Sienna and Jethro Winston. I was covered in pie and looked like a fool. She looked stunning. We didn’t speak. I’ll likely never see her again except in her movies. And that was that.
Besides, the woman was engaged. My blood pressure spiked every time I thought about Raquel with that scumbag, cheating loser . . . rich, famous, sex symbol. I grit my teeth.
Moving on.
Rebecca returned with my father’s ice water, and he muttered a thank you, taking a sip before asking, “Are you and Boone running that marathon next month?”
“We are. Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” Boone was another deputy, real smart guy, and my roommate. He’d moved in about eighteen months ago, to save on rent and expenses he’d said, but I also suspected he’d done it to create some distance between himself and his family.
Don’t get me wrong, the Boones were a great family. But when he’d been living on his own, I got the sense they felt free to come and go from his place whenever they wanted. Now that we bunked together, they’d become more circumspect.
My father chuckled. “Yeah, right. My marathon running days are over. How about the boat? You taking her out yet?”
I’d bought myself a Scout 380 LXF at auction. The weekender fishing boat had been abused and neglected by its original owner, a business mogul from Knoxville who’d gone bankrupt, but not before taking a shotgun to his cars and boats, destroying an entire fleet of luxury vehicles before the bank claimed them. I wasn’t too angry about it, I couldn’t have afforded the boat otherwise.
It had taken over four years, but I’d completely renovated her, teaching myself how to upholster, replace fiberglass and epoxy-infused carbon fiber, lay teak decking, add custom motorized awnings, install a shower surround, and rebuild a few Yamaha motors along the way. I’d also made a lot of early mistakes and had been forced to redo and redo and redo work until I’d done it right. But she still wasn’t ready yet.
“No, sir. The rudder system still doesn’t have full radius, so I ordered some parts, and they’ll be in next week.”
His eyes narrowed even as he smiled. “Jackson, is this a hobby or a boat?”
“A bit of both.”
“You ever planning on using that thing? Why don’t you just call Shelly or Beau to help you with the rudder? They’ll get her fixed up right quick, save you the hassle. Rely on the experts.”
Because I want to do it myself.
Forcing my jaw to unclench, I shrugged, saying lightly, “Oh, I know. If I can’t get it worked out this time, I’ll give Shelly a call.”
He looked me over, shaking his head like I amused him. “You’re stubborn like your momma, even when it serves no purpose other than causing delays and increasing your own frustration. Would you expect Beau Winston to do a better job at being a deputy than you?”
“Course not.”
“Then why do you think you’ll do a better job at fixing a steering system than a mechanic?”
“I don’t. I’m not stupid—”
“No. You’re not.”
“—but I still want to do it myself.”
He sighed, a smile still lingering around his mouth like he didn’t know what to think. “Fine. Just promise me you’ll have her ready by the time I retire.”
I grinned. “That gives me three years? I think that’s plenty.”
“Speaking of which, did Eugene reach out to you?” Eugene had been my father’s campaign manager the two times he’d run for sheriff opposed. But for the last four elections, my father had run unopposed. Sixteen years without a single contender. I reckoned it made sense. No one enjoyed losing by a landslide.
“Eugene did reach out. We spoke.” I eyed him, reluctant to discuss my potential run for sheriff in the next election cycle. As mentioned, our conversations never ventured near work issues during these breakfasts. I didn’t know if me running for sheriff in three years counted as a work issue.
“It’s okay. We can talk about it.”
When I still hesitated, he lifted up his hands. “Jackson, talk about it. I’ll be your father, not the sheriff. Can’t a father talk to his son about plans for the future?”
That was a good point. “He said my chances are good.”
“Did he?”
“Yep.”
“Then why do you look like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you just ate the bait instead of the fish.”
I glanced at the ceiling while reluctantly confessing the truth, “He said my chances are good because we share the same last name and first initial. Most folks will see J. James on the ballot and assume they’re voting for you.”
“I see.” A glimmer of something that looked like both sorrow and pride shone from his eyes. “And this is frustrating for you.”
“It is.”
He grinned in that quiet way of his, leaving his assumptions unspoken. But I could see he understood, I wanted to win on my own merit, not his.
“So, what are you thinking?”
“Maybe not run in the upcoming election? Maybe wait until the next cycle?”
His shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “You want my honest opinion?”
“Always.”
“I think that would be silliness, Jackson.”
I breathed a laugh. He did too.
“You’ve always had a peculiar perspective about right and wrong.” He didn’t say it, but I knew
he’d always wished I’d included more shades of gray in my outlook. “But consider this, you’re not-not m-married. You’re not a-a family man.” My father’s discomfort with the subject was obvious as he spoke. He only stuttered like this when he didn’t quite know what to say, which wasn’t often.
And what he didn’t say—what he didn’t have to say because I understood the implication of his words—was that I had a reputation for being a ladies’ man. Eugene, the campaign manager, had said as much when we’d talked. Eugene also wanted me to keep “cleaning up” my reputation and “settle down as soon as possible.”
“I’m sure Eugene brought this up?” My father cleared his throat, another something he did when venturing too far into any subject that made him uncomfortable.
“He did. We came up with a plan.”
“Good. Because no matter where you are, how liberal or conservative the county, most folks—not all folks, just most—prefer a candidate who is settled, especially the sheriff. You having no spouse, no kids, it’ll hurt you in an election. You’ll be at a disadvantage even though it shouldn’t matter.”
“Right.”
“So why not run in 2026 and use the advantage of your name? Something else that shouldn’t matter.”
“Are you suggesting they’d cancel each other out?”
“Something like that. Just think about it. Also think about your momma’s offer to get the ball rolling on a campaign fundraiser. It’s never too early.” Looking harassed and ready for a subject change, he took a gulp of his ice water and then asked, “How’s Charlotte?”
A pang of guilt twisting in my stomach, I took another sip of coffee to hide the reflexive tensing of my muscles. “Oh, she’s fine.”
I hadn’t done anything to feel guilty about. Every time thoughts of Raquel surfaced in my mind, I’d pushed them aside. I didn’t entertain hope for a renewed connection. I was committed to seeing things with Charlotte through, I was committed to her.
And yet, I felt guilty.
“How was your date Saturday? It was Saturday, right?”