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“I’m showering, then meeting Poppy at the bar. The three of you do the same and we’ll meet up there.”
“Copy that,” Lucas agreed, and ended the call.
Making the turn to his house, he veered off from the other men, checked his rearview mirror, and, satisfied that he wasn’t being followed, continued to the house.
He drove down the street in front of the house first and made note of the black Lexus parked about halfway up the block. He knew the vehicle, knew the man who drove it.
He rode to the alley, parked in the back lot, swung off the bike, and faced the man resting against his pickup.
Now, wasn’t this unexpected.
“Can I help you, Crossfield?” he asked Poppy’s boss, seeing the smug smile that threatened to curl the other man’s lips.
Blond, still in good shape physically, still a threat, considering his background. Jack considered himself well able to match the other man in a fight, though. If it came to that.
With his hands resting comfortably in the pockets of his slacks, Crossfield straightened from the side of the truck and inclined his head toward the house.
“Can we talk?”
“Sure. Come on in.” Jack led the way up the cement path to the back door, unlocked it, and stepped inside.
“Beer?” he questioned the other man as he stepped into the kitchen, catching Caine Crossfield’s careful surveillance of the room.
Yeah, motherfucker, you’re being recorded, he thought.
“Beer would be good,” Crossfield said with a nod.
Pulling two bottles from the fridge, Jack handed one to Crossfield, then twisted the cap on his own.
“How can I help ya?” he drawled. “Or should I guess? Stay away from Poppy?”
Crossfield chuckled at the question, shaking his head. “No, I figure that ship’s already sailed. Poppy’s always been a stubborn little thing, and sweet on you for as long as I can remember.” His head tilted and he watched Jack curiously. “How the hell did you manage that, anyway? Make her wait on you like that?”
Jack tipped the beer to his lips, never taking his eyes off Crossfield, and took a large swig before setting the bottle aside.
“So, if you’re not here to warn me off, why are you here?” Jack asked, ignoring Crossfield’s question.
If Poppy hadn’t told the other man anything, then he sure wasn’t. Besides, like Poppy, he’d always felt that what had happened between them that night was their memory alone. It had nothing to do with this man for sure.
Crossfield took a sip of his beer, turned, and paced the living room, looking around curiously.
What the fuck was he looking for?
“I sent you several letters over the years, offering to buy your farm,” Crossfield remarked. “You never replied.”
He turned back to Jack rather quickly, as though certain he’d catch Jack moving for him, or betray some emotion in his expression. Jack just continued to watch him questioningly.
Jack didn’t say anything. He hadn’t answered the queries; that should have been answer enough for Crossfield.
“Did you get the letters?” Crossfield was acting amused, but Jack sensed his frustration.
“I got ’em.” Jack shrugged and said nothing more.
Crossfield was on a fishing expedition of some sort, and Jack was determined not to take the bait.
“Still not interested, huh?” Crossfield asked knowingly.
“Not today,” Jack assured him. “Next month? Next year? Who knows?”
