Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths #4)(20)
Author: K.A. Tucker

Reaching Reese, I slide the box into the backseat.

“She could sell this stuff,” Reese murmurs, lifting out one of the jars. “She could have her own little shop, like in a farmers’ market or something.”

“Yeah, she could,” I agree. “A lot of groves have markets on their property nowadays. She talked about doing that but, again, it’s just more work and she’s all alone.”

Reese ponders that, a crooked curl of her lips. “Too bad. That barn would be a great place for it.” She points out the old building.

I fight against the shudder that threatens. It happens every time I think about stepping in there again. “It’s full of saws and shit. My dad’s woodworking tools.”

She nods slowly and I hear the unspoken question. Why didn’t he come eat with us? Why hasn’t he come out to say hello? I already told her more than I usually tell people.

“We should get going.” Waving a hand at the backseat, I add, “And we’ll pretend like you’re getting all of this. Maybe I’ll let you have one jar if you’re really nice to me on the ride home.” My eyes graze over her body. I can’t even think about the afternoon in the grove. It’s torture. In fact, most of this day has been torture. It’s also been a ton of fun.

An impish grin passes across her face. “Wilma! Ben says he’s not sharing if I don’t—”

I hug her from behind, pulling her tight against me as I muffle her yells with my hand. “You brat!” I’m rewarded with a wet tongue against my palm. I start laughing. “After Cancún, you think a bit of spit on my hand is going to gross me out?” Sharp teeth digging into the meaty part of my forefinger a moment later has me jumping back and checking for blood, a curse trying to push its way through my gritted teeth.

“He’ll do no such thing, honey. And if he does, you call me right away. You’ve got the number now,” Mama calls back from the porch.

What? They’re swapping phone numbers? Ah, shit. I’m about to ask when the hell my mother gave Reese her number when the sound of doors rolling on casters fills my ears. The hairs on the nape of my neck instantly spike. I turn just in time to see my father stumble out from inside the barn, his only hand wrapped around a bottle of Wild Turkey, the dank darkness of his workshop a fitting backdrop beyond. The remains of his other arm hangs there, the stump that begins just above his elbow proudly displayed in an old, navy-blue T-shirt.

He normally goes out of his way to keep it covered with a long sleeve, even in the hottest of Florida days, so I know this is intentional. A reminder, for me.

“Joshua, come say hello to Reese,” Mom calls out. I hope Reese can’t hear the strain in her voice. Mama’s worried that we’ll start fighting, but there’s no need. I have nothing left in me for this man. No hatred. Certainly no love. All of that was lost long ago. I’m over him.

Joshua Morris Senior takes slow, steady steps forward and gives Reese a nod, his eyes drifting over her and then shifting to me again.

“Hi, Mr. Morris. I’m a co-worker of Ben’s,” Reese explains. By her voice she sounds at ease, but by her shrewd eyes, narrowing as she regards him, I know she’s anything but. I understand why. I may look like my dad but the hard, cold glare in his eyes separates us completely. Almost hesitantly, she adds, “Jack Warner is my stepfather.”

A slow, wicked smile creeps over my dad’s face. “Earning your way to the top the hard way, Ben?” he slurs.

“Joshua!” My mother’s sharp, surprised cry pulls his attention away from us.

“My dishes are in the barn, Wilma,” he mutters almost incoherently, hanging his head as he turns and picks his path up to the house, staggering all the way up the stairs to disappear inside.

My mama’s face is a mask of sorrow and embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, Reese. Ben and Joshua just . . . He . . . he must have had a bad day.” Mama stumbles over a suitable apology, though nothing about that explanation would make sense to anyone with half a brain. I can’t keep the snort from escaping. Yeah. Real bad day, staring at his tools and nursing a bottle of whiskey all while hating the world and this “shitty life” that was handed to him. Mama waves us off and follows him inside, but not without first mouthing, “I love you,” my way.

It’s not until we’re both seated in my Jetta and I’ve cranked the engine that Reese speaks up. “So, your father’s charming.”

I wondered how she’d respond to that display. “I warned you, didn’t I?”

She seems to ponder that for a moment. “Annabelle’s usually four gin martinis in by dinnertime. But she doesn’t have a ‘problem,’ ” she mock-clarifies, making air quotes with her fingers. After a pause, “How’d he lose his arm?”

“Accident in his wood shop about nine years ago.” I really don’t want to get into this with Reese. She’s got her own family issues and if I throw mine into the mix, we’ll become all about feelings instead of fun.

She lets out a low whistle. “A carpenter losing his arm? That’s a raw deal.”

“Yeah.” I throw my car into first gear and have us heading down the driveway, the oaks I used to climb as a child—when I was already completely disillusioned about my parents’ marriage—providing us with cover along the way. “He definitely took it hard.”

“I can’t believe you’re letting me take it all without even a blow job.” Reese’s eyes brighten as she surveys the contents once again, this time standing on her front porch.

“How about we don’t joke about shit like that with Jack in the house, okay?” His Escalade is in the driveway, so I know he’s home. That’s the last thing I need him to hear. Plus Reese just saying the words “blow job” is killing me right now. “And consider it fair trade for all the hours you’re going to be putting in with me this week.”

“Do you know who loves raspberry jam?” One eyebrow arches expectantly, holding up a red jar. “Mason.”

I chuckle, already seeing where her evil little mind is moving. “Let me guess . . .”

“Maybe I’ll eat it right out of the jar in front of him. With a spoon.” She grins viciously, and I have to stifle my loud laughter.

“He’s giving it to your best friend now, so maybe you two should try to get along.”

She cringes. “Right, I forgot about that. Thanks for reminding me . . . again.”

Wary of standing here any longer, I back up a few steps. “I’d better get out of here before Jack fires me.” If I don’t, I’m liable to do something stupid. Like kiss her, because that’s all I’ve been thinking about doing the entire ride home. Jeez, I need to get laid. It’s been weeks. That’s a new record for me.

“Not with this, he won’t.” Reese waves a tinfoil package of meatloaf leftovers in my face. “In fact, he may even sell me to you if he thinks it’ll get him more of Wilma’s home cooking because unless Mason’s cooking, the only thing that gets used around here is the microwave.”

“Mason cooks for you guys?”

She rolls her eyes. “Sometimes. Tofu and seaweed and . . .” Her face scrunches up with displeasure. “I don’t eat it.” Reaching behind her to grab the door handle, she stalls a bit and then offers, “Thanks for coming with me to shoot my ex and his wife today.”

“Anytime.”

“I had fun today.” And then she frowns as if she’s surprised by that realization.

“It was fun,” I admit with a smile. “I can’t remember the last time I spent an entire day with a woman without getting laid. Hell, even with sex, I don’t think I’ve ever spent an entire day with a woman.”

She shakes her head at me but there’s a smile at the end of it. “Where are you going now?”

“To a cold shower,” I admit, taking several reluctant steps backward, away from her. I’ve never been so excited to jerk off in my life. “See you tomorrow morning?”

With a wink and a fake lusty voice she offers, “Think of me,” before cracking the door and stepping through.

And . . . I’m rock hard again.

Like I wasn’t already going to be thinking about her.

Chapter 15

REESE

“I come bearing homemade preserves from the Indian River grove district.” I drop the box down on the counter in front of Jack.

Newspaper in one hand, chopsticks in the other, he first glances at the crate and then up over his bifocals at me. “You paid for those, right?”

“Paid?” I pause for effect and then wink. “They were a gift. There’s some homemade cooking here, too.”

That piques his interest. Jack’s a lot of things, but a good cook is not one of them. He frees a hand to reach in and pull out a jar. “What were you doing in the Indian River grove district today?” His brow furrows as he reads the label, adding, “At the Bernard Morris Grove.” By the suspicious look on his face, he’s already made the connection.

“Oh, you know . . . just helping out a friend.” I leave it at that, reaching for the chocolate milk jug in the fridge, feeling his inquisitive eyes boring into my back. “Are Mason and Lina here?”

With a sigh, he lets the question that I know is on the tip of his tongue go and answers mine. “They went out to dinner and a movie. They seem to get along well. She even took him shopping today for some new clothes and things.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Lina will discover how weird your son is soon enough and run for the hills.”

He chuckles. “Well, she’s best friends with you, so she must be extremely tolerant.” Pausing to watch me fill a glass—I drink out of the jug only when Mason’s around nowadays—, he finally asks, “Have you spoken to your mother in a while?”

“No. Why?”

He pulls his glasses off. “She called the office this afternoon, looking for you. Asked that you call her back as soon as you got home.” He watches me carefully. “It sounded important.”

“Huh.” First my cell phone, now Jack? If this were a typical woman, there’d be cause for concern. But what is important in the world of Annabelle usually doesn’t translate to important. Though I have to admit that I’m intrigued.

“Yes . . . ‘huh.’ My thoughts exactly.” His mouth twists with distaste as he asks, “Please do call her back, sooner rather than later. I’d prefer not to get daily phone calls from my ex-wife.” Once Annabelle gets something in her head, she’s like a dog on a bone.

That’s why I immediately pull my phone out. “Well, let’s just see what Mommy Dearest wants, shall we?”

Her deceptively soft voice—still seductive at forty—fills my ear on the second ring. “Reese?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t you have your phone with you today?”

“I did.”

A pause. “So you screened me.”

“Nice to hear from you, too. It’s been a while. I just got home and Jack told me you called him.”

“I’m surprised he gave you the message.”

A sharp pain shoots up my jaw and I realize that I’m gnashing my teeth. That’s always been a problem for me around Annabelle. At one time, I even wore a mouth guard at night because I was grinding my teeth subconsciously. It wasn’t until I moved out that the constant throb abated. She’s probably into the martinis tonight. It’s sometimes hard to tell because she holds her alcohol so well. “What do you need?” That’s what this is about—let’s be honest.

She huffs a sigh. “Ian and I are holding a charity ball in November and we think it would look best if our entire family is in attendance.” So this is a political thing. I guess she’s found someone perfectly suited to her, as concerned about his appearance as she is about hers. “I’ll send a suitable dress for you to wear. Have you gained any weight? And I hope your hair isn’t still that hideous color. You’ll need to have that fixed, if it is.”

I roll my eyes but don’t respond.

“I have the perfect escort for you. He’s a—”

“No.” We’ve been down this road before. When I was sixteen, she made me go to a stuffy country-club Christmas party with one of Barry’s law firm partners’ sons. The guy was a twenty-four-year-old med student with aspirations of becoming a gynecologist. Call me sexist—I don’t really care—but in this day and age of equal rights and women becoming doctors, I wonder about men who choose to poke around in vaginas all day long as a career. Naturally, I spent the entire meal interrogating him on his intentions and his motivations.

Much to Annabelle’s horror.

“Well, I can hardly trust you to bring a suitable man with you. Look what you married.”