Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Jackson
I drove back to the Angus and dropped off Greg’s car and keys, then hopped on my bike and headed for home. All the while, my mind was filled with the soft perfume and dangerous curves of a girl I had never expected to run into even twenty-four hours ago.
Jesus. Roxy Lawson.
I wasn’t kidding when I told her the years had been good to her.
At sixteen, she’d been strikingly pretty, with bright blue eyes, a mess of wavy blond hair, and a slim but well-proportioned body.
Now, years later, she’d grown into a stone cold knockout.
It didn’t seem like she really knew it, either -- at least, not based on my experience.
Most women I knew who were that beautiful were more than aware of it.
The way they tossed their hair in a carefully studied flip and pouted prettily to get their way made it pretty damn obvious.
But Roxy… she was different. Any adolescent awkwardness in her was gone now.
Even just walking through her living room, she moved with an effortless, unaffected grace that was captivating to watch.
But her spitfire personality was still there.
I could still see that no-nonsense look in her eyes -- the flash of a challenge she would always give me when we were younger and I’d tease her about something she didn’t want to be teased about.
That was the look she’d given me tonight, when she’d told me off for bringing Les home drunk.
It made me want to keep verbally sparring with her.
It also made me want to grab her by the arms and kiss her until neither of us could think straight.
Riding home on my motorcycle, a memory from long ago came back to me.
Growing up, Roxy loved to read, and she often had her nose in some book or another.
I remembered how once I caught her reading a romance novel — a thick paperback featuring a shirtless guy with ripped abs and pecs on the cover.
I teased her about that book mercilessly, holding it above her reach as I read cheesy romantic passages aloud to make her turn red.
I chuckled now as I remembered how hot under the collar she got when she finally ripped the book away from me.
She refused to talk to me for a couple of weeks after that.
Just the memory of how fun it had been to tease her had me smiling in spite of myself as I turned onto the street where the house I’d grown up in still stood.
I pulled into the driveway and cut the engine.
The sudden quiet hit me instantly, pushing away all thoughts for a moment.
The neighborhood was deserted, the only signs of life a few porch lights and the sound of a dog barking in the distance.
The darkened windows of the ranch-style home where I’d spent the first nineteen years of my life felt alien somehow as I stared at them now.
I’d almost never seen this house at night without at least the porch light on and one lamp illuminated in the picture window of the living room.
Looking at it now, the finality of my father’s death hit me in a way that somehow it hadn’t until right that moment.
With a heavy heart, I grabbed my saddle bags and made my way up the walk.
Moving aside the large flower pot by the front door, I easily found the key I knew would be hidden under it, as it had been since I was a child.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside the dark house.
A slight musty aroma greeted me, testament to the fact that the place had been unoccupied for the past couple of weeks.
The quiet was intense, more total than it had been outside.
So quiet that it almost felt wrong to disturb its reign.
Instead of turning on a light, I moved through the living room in the dark, my muscle memory telling me everything I needed to know.
Even after all the years I’d been gone, I still could have navigated through this house blind.
Nothing had changed; not a stick of furniture had been moved from its spot.
Even my childhood bedroom remained exactly the same as it had been, the double bed with the blue patchwork quilt my mom had made occupying its rightful spot against the far wall under the window.
I set my bags down and sat on the bed, then heaved a heavy sigh. So many emotions were running through my head I could hardly keep them all straight. It felt as though the last six years of my life had never happened. Except I had the nightmares to prove they had.
There was nothing left to do tonight except try to get some sleep.
As much as I didn’t want to face everything that the next days and weeks were about to bring, there was nothing I could do to stop any of it.
Short of just hopping on my bike and leaving town right now, I was back in Lupine for as long as it took to wrap up my dad’s affairs.
No matter how much I wished I could leave, I was back to being Jackson Stone of Lupine, Colorado.
The only son of Frank and Dorothy Stone.
They say you can never go home again.
Unfortunately, that didn’t mean you wouldn’t get dragged back in anyway, whether you liked it or not.
* * *
My sleep was restless that night, but it got the job done, mostly.
The next day, I got up, pulled on my jeans, and did a quick walk-through of the house in the daylight.
The place hadn’t changed much, just as I’d thought the night before.
Same faded old couch, same worn beige carpet, same paneled walls.
The same small kitchen table where my folks and I had eaten all our meals when I was a kid.
In the bedroom my parents had shared for over thirty years, it looked almost like my dad was still living there.
Except for a thin layer of dust that had begun to form on the surfaces, you would have thought he’d just left for work.
The bed covers were messily pulled up over the mattress.
A worn flannel work shirt was draped over an easy chair in the corner.
I imagined his daily life in the days and weeks before his death, and a lump formed in my throat at the thought of how lonely he must have been without my mom there.
I should have come to visit him more. A wave of guilt welled up inside me, but I pushed it aside.
Too late now. Too late to regret shit I couldn’t do anything about.
And I wouldn’t give myself the satisfaction of thinking my feeling guilty about it changed a damn thing.
I went to the kitchen to see if there was anything to eat.
The milk was spoiled, of course, and the bread was moldy.
But there were still some eggs in there that looked like they were probably okay.
I made myself a mess of scrambled, then ate it in silence at the kitchen table.
When I was done, I took a quick shower and left the house.
I didn’t feel like dawdling there anymore.
And besides, it was time to make an appearance at my old man’s garage.
Stone’s Repair Shop was on the other side of downtown.
I had to drive down Main Street to get there.
On the way, I passed by the pharmacy, and remembered how Roxy said last night that she worked there.
It was still early in the day, so the place wasn’t open yet, and no cars were out front.
I wondered if Roxy would be working today, and briefly thought about stopping by later to find out.
A couple minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot at the garage, knowing it would already be open at this hour.
Dad always opened Stone’s promptly at seven o’clock every morning except Sunday.
He had for as long as I could remember. As I walked up to the entrance, the door opened and an aging, stooped man in shop coveralls came ambling out.
“Jackson, is that you?” Harry Thurmond called out, peering at me through thick glasses.
“It is,” I replied. “How you doing, Harry?” I approached and shook his knobby hand, noting that age hadn’t diminished his firm shake.
“Well, well,” he murmured. “Could be better. Your dad’s passing was pretty sudden. My condolences, son.”
“Thanks,” I nodded. “And thanks for tracking me down.”
“Well, it wasn’t easy,” Harry chuckled. “You’re quite a rolling stone, Jackson.” Harry paused a moment, then burst out laughing. “Huh. Rolling Stone,” he cackled. “Didn’t even think of that!”
I smiled at his unintentional joke. “How’s the garage doing, Harry?”
“Good,” he shrugged, looking back at the building. “Too good, in fact. We got more business than we can keep up with, since your dad’s passing. There’s just me and Freddy Lopez now. I ain’t had time to try to hire anybody else yet, and the work just keeps piling up.”
“Need a hand?” I offered. “Maybe I can help you dig out, then we can figure out what to do about hiring someone once we get caught up.”
He nodded vigorously. “That’d be great. I can set you up on the payroll for as many hours as you want. ‘Course,” he continued, frowning, “I guess this place is yours now, anyway, so all that’s rightfully up to you.”
I held up my hands. “I don’t need a paycheck. Let’s just get this place caught up for now, and worry about the rest later. You want me to start this morning?”
“That’s up to you,” he said. “Sure thing, if you’re able.”
“I’m able.” I knew I needed to take care of a lot of things, like funeral arrangements and finding out whether my dad had left a will. But those things could wait. Right now, I was gonna do what my dad would have done in similar circumstances: Roll up my sleeves and get to work.