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She sneaked another glance at him as she came out of the pantry with the pancake mix. Despite his olive skin, he was pale, as if he hadn’t spent enough time outside lately. Even so, he radiated the same kind of sexual magnetism as his son, but Jack’s allure felt a lot safer. As she opened the box, she reminded herself to give Dean as hard a time as
possible today.
She concentrated on mixing the ingredients without screwing up the measurements. Usually, she made pancakes from scratch, but this wasn’t the morning to attempt it. Jack took pity on her and didn’t ask any more questions. As she poured the first batch on the new griddle, Dean sauntered in, all scruffy high style, his jock stubble as rugged as his father’s rocker stubble. Maybe it was genetic. The perfect number of wrinkles creased his periwinkle T-shirt, and his khaki cargo shorts fell on his hips at exactly the right point. He didn’t look at Jack. Instead, he took her in from head to toe before he settled on her face. “Makeup? What happened? You look almost female.”
“Thanks. You look almost straight.”
Behind them, Jack chuckled. Ohmygod, she’d made Jack Patriot laugh.
Dean leaned down and kissed her—long, cool, and so premeditated that she barely let herself get worked up about it. This was his opening move in another game, the one he played with the parents he hated. He was marking her as his teammate so that Jack knew it was now two against one.
Only after he drew away did he acknowledge his father’s presence with a crisp nod. Jack nodded back and tilted his head toward the windows in the dining niche. “This is a nice place. I never figured you for a farmer.”
When Dean didn’t bother to respond, Blue broke the tense silence. “First batch of pancakes coming up. Dean, see if you can find syrup in those bags in the pantry. And grab some butter, will you?”
“Be glad to, sweetheart.” He pecked her forehead with another strategic kiss. As she reached for the plates, she wondered if her life could get any weirder. Her life savings had been handed over to a band of South American guerrillas, she had a phony engagement to a famous football player, she was homeless and jobless, and she was making breakfast for Mad Jack Patriot.
As Dean came out of the pantry, Jack gestured toward Blue. “Where’s the engagement ring?”
“She hated the first one I got her,” Dean said. “The stones were too small.” He had the nerve to tweak her chin. “Nothing but the best for my sweetheart.”
She hummed the Speed Racer theme song.
By avoiding looking at Jack, she managed to deliver his pancakes without sliding them into his lap. Dean ate his standing up, hips resting against the counter. He talked to her as he ate, but made sure he directed an occasional comment to Jack so he couldn’t be suspected of ignoring him. She’d practiced the strategy too often herself not to recognize it. Don’t let anyone see the hurt. She didn’t like how well she understood him.
Since she couldn’t imagine eating her pancakes across the table from Jack Patriot, she ate standing up, too. The back door opened, and April came in. She wore khakis, a coral top with a ribbon tie, and her sandals with a rainbow wedge. Riley followed, her damp brown hair parted in the center and pulled back from her forehead with a series of iridescent blue clips that April must have arranged. With Riley’s curls tamed a little, her pretty toasted-sugar eyes were more noticeable. She’d exchanged yesterday’s FOXY T-shirt for a black one just as tight with a woman’s pouty, crimson lips on the front. Dean turned away to make a trip into the pantry. As Riley spotted her father, she stopped where she was.
Jack rose but, once he was on his feet, didn’t seem to know what to do next. He settled on the obvious. “There you are.”
Riley picked at a remnant of fingernail polish.
“I made pancakes,” Blue said brightly.
April avoided looking at either Jack or her son. “We ate cereal at the cottage.”
“I hope you thanked April,” said the man who’d once kicked a drum set across the stage and told a cop to fuck himself.
Dean came out of the pantry, an unnecessary jar of peanut butter in his hand. This might be the first time he’d been in the same room with both of his parents. He stood stony and silent. Although he didn’t need anyone’s protection, she went to his side anyway and slipped her arm around his waist.
Jack reached in his pocket. “I’ll call Frankie to pick us up.”
“I don’t want to go,” Riley mumbled. And then, as he pulled out his cell, “I—I’m not going.”
He looked up from the phone. “What are you talking about? You’ve already missed a week of school. You have to get back.”
Her chin came up. “Summer vacation starts next week, and I finished my work. Ava has it.”
He’d obviously forgotten, but he tried to cover. “Aunt Gayle is expecting you. She arranged for you and your cousin to go to that camp in two weeks.”
“I don’t want to go to camp! It’s stupid, and Trinity will get everybody to make fun of me.” She dropped her pink jacket and backpack. Red blotches sprang up on her cheeks. “If you try to make me, I’ll—I’ll just run away again. And I know how to do it.”
Riley’s show of rebellion took him aback, but Blue wasn’t surprised. This was the same kid who’d managed to get from Nashville to her half-brother’s farm in the dead of night. Dean’s muscles had gone rigid beneath his T-shirt. Blue rubbed the small of his back with her fingertips.
Jack palmed the phone. “Look, Riley, I understand it’s been really hard for you, but things will get better.”
“How?”
He was out of his element, but he put up a good effort. “Time will make it better. After a while it won’t hurt so much. I know you loved your mother, and—”
