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Andlooks.
Well, crap.
Maybe this meeting was doomed from the start, no matter how much Shepherd paid his good karma forward.
Still, he sticks out his hand and approaches my father, fearless and undaunted.
“Mr. Lancaster.”
“Foster,” Dad clips.
The way they shake hands looks more like two bears fighting over a salmon.
Dad never once looks away from Shepherd, his eyes flashing like gunmetal.
Oof, this is bad.
As far as Dad’s concerned, I’ll be his little girl until the day he dies. He’s an open-minded guy and not a complete Neanderthal, but I worry he’ll never get over the age gap.
It’s hard not to cringe, just imagining what kind of cradle-robbing sex fiend he imagines Shepherd to be.
A squeal from upstairs saves us just in time.
Eliza sails through the door with my little brother, Elijah, her airy perfume swirling around her. The wide smile on her face could tame a hurricane.
“Shepherd! The man of the hour,” she gushes.
The way Dad’s evil eye softens ever so slightly tells me that we just might survive this. Thank God for his wife.
If Eliza decided she’s giving Shepherd a fair shake, there’s no freakingwayDad will pull out a loaded shotgun.
He’ll never admit it, but he can never hold out against her, and it’s comically adorable.
Shepherd’s face relaxes into a smile as Eliza embraces him warmly.
I grab his hand, lacing my fingers through his. I squeeze like I’m hoping I can transfer every bit of goodwill in my bones.
“Something smells tasty,” I say, sniffing the air. “What did you make us this time, Eliza? New drink?”
“Let her show you. She’s only been fussing over it all week,” Dad grumps, leading us inside.
He leads us to the great room with a palace-worthy fireplace and mantle while Eliza disappears into the cave-sized kitchen.
I sit beside Shepherd and my knee knocks against his.
Dad notices the contact like an owl spotting a field mouse. I can practicallyfeelhis brain blowing a fuse at the mere thought that we ever do more than hold hands like Amish kids.
Nope, he doesn’t like that.
Or the rumors, the pictures.
Oh, God, has heseenthe pictures?
I swallow, smothering the awkward cough.
“I heard Miss Cerva already accepted a plea deal,” Dad says, choosing each word carefully.
Shepherd nods. “Didn’t have much choice. I put my best guys on the case, but she threw herself on the mercy of the court. Still, don’t think she’ll get up to much trouble if she’s let out on parole in thirty years, totally bankrupt.”
