Page 1 of Jameson’s Salvation

1

Jameson

Jameson Grant was sitting on an old stump drinking a beer, looking at his buddy and former teammate’s old yellow barn. He was hot, tired, and his body ached from old-fashioned manual labor. He was doing that while thinking life was good—and since Jameson hadn’t had all that many really good days in the last fifteen years, he was thinking life wasn’t just good—it was fucking fantastic.

Cold beer, no neighbors for miles other than his best friends who lived with him on the old Swagger Farm, and of course Nix and McKenna who lived on the other side of the woods that surrounded the property. But other than that, no one. Nothing but the summer corn crop to his right, and a soybean field to his left.

He was living a goddamn country song and he couldn’t have been happier.

Business was good, money was rolling in, not that he needed much, but it was always nice to have.

So, life was perfect for Jameson Grant and it was about damn time.

His head tipped back, he took a few more swallows of the icy brew, and his attention went to the rumble of an F150 driving up the lane. The truck passed the house and continued the last quarter mile up to the barn, and suddenly Jameson’s life wasn’t so great.

He hated visitors. The only thing he hated more was when someone came calling unannounced. He watched as the pickup slowed, and he was happy to see it was filthy, that the seventy-five-thousand-dollar truck was used for working and not just for showboating. Said a lot about the truck’s owner.

Jameson hated when people showed off their money. Like anyone gave two shits you could afford a luxury vehicle. Or more appropriately, the bank owned it, and they were really living paycheck to paycheck like the rest of the population, yet pretending they were highfalutin’. He’d seen enough of that shit to last a lifetime.

It was safe to say, Jameson didn’t like much. People accounted for the majority of his gripes. That was because he’d learned the hard way that people sucked. They robbed, they lied, they cheated, and they killed. It was the last part he struggled with the most. Some could say he, too, was a killer and they wouldn’t be wrong.

He had indeed taken a life, many, as a matter of fact. One did not serve as a Navy SEAL for nearly fifteen years and not earn the black hashmarks he now had. One didn’t carry the burden of death and wonder if everything he’d done would be forgiven when he knocked on the Pearly Gates. Perhaps Jameson Grant would be an unwelcomed, unannounced visitor, the kind he detested so much.

Whatever was in store for him on the other side, was something he spent a good amount of time trying not to think about. And right then, as the driver of the pickup was opening their door, wasn’t the ideal time to be thinking about his morality.

The sun was setting and the last rays of the day were glaring off the windshield, making it impossible to see the occupant. Jameson stood and squinted as he waited for the driver to make an appearance. And when she did, the glimmers of light highlighted her shiny golden hair and Jameson was extra-pissed.

Kennedy Lane.

He’d seen her arguing with a man in her front yard, not two weeks ago. She’d been relieved when Jameson had appeared on the street, and with nothing more than a glare from Jameson, the man who had been yelling at Kennedy took off. She’d tried to show her gratitude by inviting him in for an iced tea.

Christ, an iced tea. For a moment, Jameson had thought he was living in Mayberry and not a small town on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Though by the look of the town, and the feel of it, too, he might as well be on the lookout for Sheriff Andy Taylor and Barney Fife.

Though, the last man that had served as sheriff of Kent County was a dirty piece of shit who’d tried to kill McKenna, Nixon’s woman. Thankfully, that scumbag was six feet under where he deserved to be. He’d been terrorizing the county for two decades. Just thinking about Sheriff Dickhead Dillinger made Jameson furious, and yet again reminded him why he disliked most everyone.

“You following me?” Jameson barked.

Kennedy jerked back in surprise before she smiled.

Good God, the woman was lethal. Her smile alone was enough for Jameson to break all his rules and ask her to sit and stay awhile.

“Hey. Jameson, right? How ya been? I’m actually lookin’ for Nixon. He around?”

Her musical voice floated across the barnyard and just as it had done the first time he’d heard it, it slammed into his chest, making him feel funny.

“Nixon?”

“Yeah. I need to talk to him.”

“’Bout what?”

Jameson had no clue why he was being nosey. It was out of character for him and he knew he should just tell Kennedy, Nix wasn’t there and be done. But he couldn’t stop himself from wondering why she wanted to see his friend.

He told himself it wasn’t jealousy and he was just looking out for a buddy who didn’t need a very beautiful woman causing trouble for him. And Kennedy Lane had trouble with a capitol T written all over her.

“Heard he set up shop,” she answered. “I know most of the gossip you hear around town you can’t believe but I thought I’d take a chance and see if it’s true.”

“And what’d you hear?”