CHAPTER 16
Special K
I’m in a fog. A Boots fog.
But because Dad can’t stop celebrating the return of good weather, we’re having another family barbecue this afternoon. That means I’m back in my seat at the end of the long outdoor table, surrounded by chaos.
Today, the chaos is being served up with chicken and pork chops instead of steaks and burgers. Emma and Aunt Phyllis made the side dishes, including my absolute favorite kind of potato salad—the kind that’s loaded down with real bacon bits.
The food’s delicious, as always, but I barely take note of what I’m eating.
My family is loud and happy and laughing, but I have no idea what they’re going on about.
Because I’m in a damned fog.
I’m in a shitload of trouble.
A boatload, if that’s bigger than a shitload. I don’t even know what I’m thinking. It’s the fog. My brain’s is a jumble of disconnected thoughts. But one thought is so rowdy and deafening that’s is drowning out the others: What the fuck did I just do?
“More cornbread, Special K?”
“Huh?” I look up to see Summer balancing a large platter of Aunt Phyllis’s famous cornbread about two inches away from my forehead. “Oh. No, thanks.” I take the platter and pass it to Declan on my left, careful not to make prolonged eye contact with either of them. I don’t want to risk it.
I kissed the Squatter of Washoe Ridge. She kissed me back—holy shit did she ever kiss me back. And it was the hottest fucking kiss I’ve ever experienced in my life. I kissed Boots. She kissed me back…
The thoughts roll through my brain in a loop, like a Buddhist mantra, but instead of having a calming effect and guiding me closer to enlightenment, it’s making me sweat like a pig.
Plus, I’m tempted to stand on the tabletop and scream out across the ranch: I kissed the squatter, and she kissed me back!
I don’t, of course. I don't scream, as a rule, and Finn wouldn’t appreciate having to answer Jasmine’s questions about why I’m kissing our resident trespasser.
So, I keep it to myself, like I always do.
I shovel bites of pork chop and potato salad in my mouth and pretend everything’s fine. That nothing’s changed.
I know better. Nothing’s fine. Everything’s changed.
I just kissed Boots, and she felt perfect in my hands and under my lips. It’s like I’ve been walking around with a Boots-shaped hole in my world for years. It’s so unlike me. I never do shit like this.
What’s wrong with me?
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m hungry and I just want to eat in peace,” I answer Summer.
“That’s a crock,” she says, leaning in closer. “You look weird.”
“How kind of you to say.”
Summer’s been my friend for nearly a dozen years, and now she’s my sister.
But she’s always been a burr under my skin and one of those people who has no concept of personal space.
She’s been up my ass since the day she arrived at the ranch when I was still in high school.
Asking too many questions. Never dropping the subject.
Right now, I feel her eyes on me like lasers. I shovel in the food, planning to eat as fast as humanly possible so that I can excuse myself and get back to work.
I kissed Boots, and I plan to kiss her again. The sooner the better.
Fawn? Hell, no. She laid some bullshit on me by giving me that name. One look at her and anyone would know she’s got to have a name full of sass and sex, like Zoe or Roxy or Bijou.
But named after a small woodland creature? Just no.
I’m in a shitload of trouble.
A boatload.
I fill my plate again and ignore the continued scrutiny from Summer and Declan.
There’s no such thing as privacy around here, and when it comes to my private life, that’s never bothered me.
When I think about it, it’s a miracle that no one knows what happened with me and the Army Ranger, how I got drummed out of the Navy, and the extent of Cal’s sacrifice for me—for all of us. It’s a lot to keep quiet.
Keeping my mouth shut is one of my best qualities. Cal’s a damn ninja at it. Navy brass, too. And the senator was—and still is—the king of quiet.
He’s got good reason to be.
But my mind is a chatty sonofabitch at the moment. Just won’t shut up. Won’t stop doing the play-by-play about the warm welcome Boots gave me. The way she opened up to let my tongue explore her. And now I need to explore every inch of her with my tongue.
I suddenly realize that other than my brain and my chewing, it’s gotten way too quiet. I glance up from my plate, a forkful of Aunt Phyllis’s potato salad midway between my plate and my mouth.
Every single eyeball is staring at me. That’s a lot of eyeballs.
“What?” I shove the potato salad into my mouth.
Dad’s looking at me with curiosity. “Whatever happened with that woman up on the ridge, son?”
I don’t lie to my dad when he asks a direct question. I never have and never will. He deserves respect from his sons, not lies. So, no matter how much I’d love to lie to him right this second, I don’t.
“I’m taking care of the situation, Dad.”
“What does that mean?” Finn smirks. “Pretty vague, if you ask me. Pet sitters take care of dogs. Bus drivers take care not to run up on the curb. How exactly are you taking care of her?”
“Lay off,” Cal orders.
“Wait,” Declan says, standing. “Something’s happening here. It’s not just my imagination, right? Baby brother’s acting cagey. More than usual.”
“Leave the boy alone.” Aunt Phyllis holds up a large serving dish to distract him. “Here, Declan. Have more ambrosia. Emma made it with extra marshmallows the way you like. And mind your own business and ask your wife if she needs something more to drink. She needs to keep hydrated.”
“I’m good,” Summer plops her elbow to the table and cradles her chin in her hand. She looks at me like a snake eyeing a field mouse.
“Wait a second,” Evander leans in and scowls. “The squatter is still up there? You haven’t gotten her off our land?”
“I’ve noticed you've been acting squirrely.” Summer’s whisper is loud enough that everyone can hear. “What’s the squirrel’s name?”
I rest my fork on my plate, dab my lips with a napkin, and mentally step back, just as Cal advised before. I look at my loving, nosy-as-hell family. “She’s no threat to anyone. Just needs a place to stay a bit. I’ve got it handled.”
My father’s bushy eyebrows rise high on his forehead. “Stay? Up there? For crying out loud, son! No woman should be living up in that woodpile. There’s no power or water or heat. It’s still cold up there at night.”
“Jamie’s right,” Phoebe says, always a nurse and always concerned about everyone’s health and wellbeing. “Why is she even up there? Is she okay? Is she in trouble or hurt? She could come down here and stay with us. There’s plenty of room.”
“Isn’t she afraid to be up there by herself?” Emma asks.
“Where’s she from?” Victoria asks.
“How old is she?” Jasmine asks.
The questions are coming at me fast and furious, giving me a pounding headache. Since I don’t have the answer to any of the questions posed by my niece or sisters-in-law, I shrug and get back to eating. A few seconds pass, and I start to think maybe everyone’s forgotten about me.
No such luck.
“Kevin Eugene MacLaine.”
I look up at my dad, who’s standing with his hands on his hips. His booming voice reaches me down the length of the long table.
“Oh, shit,” Declan whispers. “Special K’s just been Eugene’d.”
“Middle and last name,” Finn adds. “This is serious.”
“Come on now, Kevin,” Dad says. “If you believe there’s no threat, I trust you on that. But a woman shouldn’t be up there all by…”
He stops. He’s staring over my shoulder into the distance. Everyone turns to look in the same direction. I turn to look, too.
“Are we expecting company?” Aunt Phyllis asks. “Should I get another plate?”
“Whose car is that?” Jasmine asks. “Is it the Washoe Ridge lady’s car?”
I have 20/20 vision, but I have no idea who it is and even less of an idea if the car belongs to Boots. All I see is a late-model luxury sedan of some kind, silver, half-hidden in a cloud of dust as it drives up the ranch lane.
I turn back to my plate. Whoever it is, Dad’ll greet them.
I’m not the greeter type. Besides, I’m still hungry, and I want to get more supplies and deliver them to the top of the ridge before dark.
I hear the crunch of tires on gravel and the sound of a perfectly engineered car door close, lock, and beep.
Only a moron would lock a car on Yosemite Ranch.
It’s not like we get a lot of car thieves around here.
A moron or a control freak. Either way, I’m enjoying my third pork chop.
“This should be interesting,” Evander says seriously.
“Oh, shit, Special K,” Cal says. “You need to turn around.”
Their focus on me is getting old, but I set down my fork and turn around.
My spine stiffens.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I’m not even sure I’m seeing what I’m seeing. I haven’t exactly been on my game lately, so maybe I really am ripe for hallucinating.
But from the collective reaction of my brothers, I know I’m not. I’m seeing what I’m seeing.
The woman who walked away from me when I needed her most is now walking up the deck stairs and heading toward me.
It’s Captain Harper Dunn-Spence, U.S. Naval Intelligence.
My ex.
In the flesh.