Page 17 of Nixon’s Promise

Then he continued on his way.

Four simple words so full of inuendo and promise.

8

Over the last five hours Nix had been working with Zack, he’d learned a lot about the kid and McKenna, too. Zack had nothing but praise for his eldest sister and excuses for his older one. The boy had told Nix his parents had died in a plane accident a little under a year ago and he and Mandy had moved from Los Angeles to Maryland to be with McKenna.

Nix knew a lot about loss. He’d seen more than his share of blood spilled over the last twelve years—both from the enemy and his brothers. But none of the horrors of war had marked him as deeply as losing his father. Nixon’s father had died when he was twenty-five—he imagined losing him as a teenager would’ve been worse. Especially at a time in a young man’s life when he needed guidance and direction on how to become a man.

As the day had progressed, the more he liked Zack. He’d made a silent vow to be there for the boy for as long as he stayed in the area. Nixon didn’t think he was the best role model, but he could teach him a few things about hard work and respect. He’d have to talk to McKenna about how much of the kid’s time he could occupy. There was a lot of work to be done, and the sooner Nix finished it the sooner he could get on with his life and figure out his next step.

He’d left the farm as soon as he was old enough to enlist. There’d always been a pang of regret he’d left his father alone to care for the land, but it had been his dad who’d pushed him to go and see the world.

Wayne Swagger had always told him he was destined for better. Now Nix wasn’t so sure. All the places he’d been, all the things he’d seen, none of them had compared to working alongside his dad. Nixon had learned everything he’d needed working on that farm.

“Did you start the pork?” Nix heard Zack ask.

“Yep. It’s already in the crockpot.”

“Awesome. Hey, Nix, wanna come over for McKenna’s famous pulled pork sandwiches? They’re heaven on a roll. And she makes homemade slaw to go with them.”

Nixon turned around and saw McKenna worrying her bottom lip. The movement conjuring up images of her biting that lip in an effort not to cry out while he was moving inside of her. More and more over the last week he’d been fantasizing about his sexy neighbor.

It was a dick thing to do, but thinking about her never failed to make his cock hard. It made him an even bigger asshole that he’d jerked off, remembering how hot she looked bent over her old pickup. Only, in his mind’s eye her jeans were around her ankles, her full tits were in his palms, and he was taking her from behind.

No other woman had ever invaded his thoughts the way McKenna had. Especially a woman he hadn’t even touched.

Before he could answer Zack about dinner there were tires crunching on the gravel and Nixon’s gaze swung to the SUV pulling up. The black Expedition stopped and Nix got his first glimpse of the gold sheriff’s crest on the passenger door.

The man exited the SUV and rounded the hood, coming to stop a respectable distance away. Sheriff Richard Dillinger looked every bit twelve years older than he did the last time Nix had seen him. He also looked like he hadn’t skipped a cheesesteak in the preceding years, either.

The man had never been in shape but Nix found it unlikely he could see his own dick under his protruding belly at this point. Sheriff Dillinger had been an asshole when Nix was a kid and by the smug look on his face, he was an even bigger one now.

“I heard the great Nixon Swagger was back in town.”

Yep. Still a dick.

“Sheriff,” he greeted. “Something I can help you with?”

Dillinger’s eyes narrowed, not missing the bite in Nixon’s tone. “I don’t know, Nixon, can you?”

“Don’t have time for your games, Dillinger. You came all this way to say something. So, say it, then kindly get your ass back in your truck and leave my property.”

“Am I gonna have anymore problems with you?”

Nixon didn’t want to have his confrontation in front of Zack and McKenna, but the sheriff had forced his hand. This wasn’t a friendly welcome home—Richard Dillinger had a point to make, and so did Nix.

“Problems? The way I see it we only ever had one problem. How is Dick these days? Has he learned that no means no, or does he still have a problem keepin’ his hands to himself?”

Richard Dillinger Jr. was Sheriff Dillinger’s son. A punk ass bitch who had a reputation in high school as a player. The only problem with that was, not all of the girls he’d hooked up with were willing participants.

Nix wasn’t down with that. So, after he’d heard straight from his friend Marcy that she’d said no and Dick Dillinger had preceded to shove his hand down her pants, Nixon had made it his life’s mission through his high school years to beat Dick’s ass whenever he could. And the cocksucker had provided many opportunities. Nixon didn’t feel bad about this. The way he saw it, he was providing a service to his community. Not to mention, retribution for Marcy and the other handful of girls who Dick had violated.

“That’s Deputy Dillinger. And you’d be wise to keep your lies to yourself.” The sheriff had gone from irritated to irate. He probably wasn’t all that keen on being reminded of what an asshole his only child was.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Good to know the sheriff’s office employs violent sexual offenders.”

“Now listen here, Nixon—”