Page 66 of Nixon’s Promise

“I told you so.” That was Holden.

“Jesus,” Nixon mumbled and pulled away. “Let me introduce you.”

He leaned down and kissed my forehead before grabbing my hand and twining our fingers together. Nixon walked us into the house and three men were openly staring at me.

Great first impression I make.

“McKenna, this is my team. Chasin.” He pointed to the shortest man of the group. “And that’s Jameson,” Nix motioned to the man with midnight black hair and arresting green eyes.

Holy mother of God.

He finished his introductions with a blond man who looked more like a Southern Californian surfer than a gun wielding former SEAL. “That’s Weston.”

“Hi. Sorry to barge in on all of you. Alec, Holden, nice to see you both again.”

“Sweetheart, you know how to make one helluva entrance.” Weston chuckled.

My face flamed red and the other two men said their welcomes.

“Well, I was just headed to town and thought I’d bring y’all back some lunch. Last time I looked in Nix’s fridge he had a package of pork chops and a six pack. And you all, um, look like you need more sustenance than a four-pack of chops.”

Damn, could I sound anymore a fool?

Nixon squeezed my hand and I looked away from the now-unarmed men to Nixon. He was smiling so big the lines around his eyes crinkled and he looked thoroughly amused.

“Where are you going?” Nixon inquired.

“Just to town. I need duck feed and dog food,” I told him.

“Leave it. I’ll pick it up for you later.”

“Leave it?”

“Yeah, babe, leave it. I have to go to town later today to pick up some shit for the house. I’ll grab your shit while I’m there.”

“That’s dumb, Nix. I can go to Tractor Supply myself.”

“You can, but you’re not gonna.”

I felt my eyes narrowing on him and his smile grew. Which kind of pissed me off.

“I can pick up my own dog food,” I snapped.

“I remember. I also remember the bed of your truck being stacked full with bags of feed. After Zack gets home from school, I’ll grab him. He can go with me to pick up your shit and help me pick up some tables.”

“Tables?”

“Babe?” He looked around the room and my gaze followed his.

There was a map rolled out on the floor. Someone had brought folding lawn chairs because they were scattered throughout the mostly empty living room.

“Why don’t you go to my house and use my dining room? I have a huge table in there and I’ll be gone for a few hours,” I offered.

“’Preciate the offer but you won’t be a few hours.”

“We’ll see,” I mumbled.

“Swear to Christ, McKenna, you go pick up two-hundred pounds of feed on your own, I’ll tan your ass when you get home.”