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As he stood, he heard another sound. A footstep? Turning quickly, he thought he saw movement in the shadows. Jack froze. “Who’s there?” he yelled, his eyes narrowing on the stand of fir just beyond the firelight.
No answer.
Hell, he was getting jumpy.
Too much booze, not enough food. He needed to go back into town. Walk off the alcohol. Face the goddamned music. Stumbling a bit he walked to the edge of the ridge where he’d imagined his ancestors had stood hundreds of years before, where he’d peed into the sea every time he’d come up here. He reached for his fly when he heard it again. The sound of footsteps rushing toward him. He whirled quickly. Saw a flash of movement. A jagged rock the size of a softball slammed into his forehead. Crack! Hot, white pain pounded through his head. He reeled backward, his boots slipping in the mud, his hands scrabbling in the air.
“Die bastard!” an evil voice hissed from the darkness.
Panicked, Jack pitched backward, his body slipping and bouncing off the rocky face of the cliff as he plummeted headfirst toward the rocks and angry black sea.
“You’re out of your fuckin’ mind!” Weston slammed his pool cue onto the table where he’d been practicing his bank shots before Harley had strolled down to the den and made his insane announcement. “You can’t marry anyone.”
“Why not?”
Weston leaned his butt against the edge of the billiard table and looked at his brother as if Harley were a bona fide certificate-bearing idiot. “Don’t you have some unfinished business with Kendall?”
“It’s over.”
“Is it?” Weston glanced to the hallway, where he noticed a shadow sliding down the stairs. Paige. Hell, that kid was always sneaking around, listening for gossip. Not for the first time Weston wondered how he could be related to his spineless moron of a brother and nutcase of a sister. In Weston’s estimation, Paige needed to see a shrink. And what about you? his mind teased, gnawing at him.
Harley picked up the eight ball and started tossing it nervously in the air. It was fitting somehow, the kid was always in trouble. He just didn’t know how deep. It wouldn’t be long before Kendall dumped the news on him that he was about to be a daddy—well, really an uncle—if things went as planned.
“Kendall seems to think that you two are still together.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Maybe it’s because you can’t stay out of her pants.”
Harley actually blushed. Jesus, he had no balls. “I’m not seeing her.”
“Good. Then you can marry Claire Holland and life will be perfect, is that what you think? Even though Dad will cut you off and college will be out of the question. Don’t you know you’ll have to get work as a grease monkey or a waiter, or a factory worker if you can hold down that kind of a job? And you’ll live in some crummy apartment in a bad part of Portland or Seattle or wherever it is that you finally find someone stupid enough to employ you. Dad won’t give you a reference, you can bet on it, and you’ve never held down a job in your life. As for Claire, she’ll have to work, too. As a secretary or receptionist . . . oh, no, she’s not good at that kind of thing, is she? Maybe she’ll train horses or give riding lessons or something. And everything will be just great. Perfect!”
“That’s not how it’s gonna be.”
“Sure it is, Harley. She’ll have no money and neither will you. Even your car is in Dad’s name. I don’t suppose you’ve broken the news to him yet, have you?”
“When he gets back into town—”
The phone rang shrilly and the shadow disappeared up the stairs. Good. Paige had a way of making Weston nervous. Why, he couldn’t figure. She was just a gawky kid. “When Dad gets back from Louisiana, you think he’ll embrace the fact that you’re going to marry one of the daughters of his archenemy? Sure Harley, that’s gonna happen. About the time I sprout horns.”
“I’ve got news for you, Weston. You already have.”
“Telephone for you, Weston!” Paige called down the stairs. “It’s Crystal.”
“Shit!”
Harley had the balls to grin. “At least I’m not banging some girl just for the hell of it. I’ll bet her brother isn’t too happy that you’re using her as a squaw-fuck. Isn’t that the term you use when you’re talking about her? Maybe someone should tell Jack.”
“Jack Songbird is an asshole.”
“I wouldn’t cross him.”
“He doesn’t scare me. No one does.”
“I said Crystal’s on the phone!” Paige’s voice was shrill as a screaming saw.
“Tell her I’m out!” Weston yelled.
