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“Hey, I work at it. Right, Foster?” Hope batted her eyelashes at Jarrod. He liked the little gremlin. She fit in well in Finley Creek, no denying that.
Their family had paused to wait for them. Jarrod took a moment to look at the Colesons up close. He knew of them, of course, but he hadn’t been this close to them before.
Then he looked again.
Double-take time. If he’d still possessed the ability to drool, his chin would be soaked right now. But…Haldyn had ruined him, after all.
There were women looking at him and Gunnar curiously. Lots of them. A dozen, maybe. He didn’t count.
Almost all of them were dark-headed, they all had those same killer brown eyes Heather and Hope had. And perfect smiles. Very, very beautiful women.
The Colesons were showstoppers. No denying that. These women could cause an earthquake when they were all together. Add in the governor’s wife and her collection of equally beautiful sisters, including Lake’s wife Zoey—whoa. That was some seriously fine DNA.
Still, he was more interested in where a certain strawberry-blond had taken off to. “Coleson and Coleson, and I suspect other far too gorgeous Colesons, it’s nice to meet you all. Now, I have a little rabbit to catch up to. Have fun today. I suspect you are all going to cause a riot. Or a stampede.”
“I’m sure of it.” Gunnar smiled at the women eyeing them. Just like always happened when that baboon turned his attention on women—most of them flushed and smiled and fluttered. Jarrod just didn’t get it. The guy wasn’t even trying. “If you’ll excuse us, the love of my life has taken off on me again. Powell is so just playing hard to get.”
The little crowd parted. Jarrod enjoyed walking through them, no denying it. But none of those gorgeous Coleson creatures had his heart pounding with anticipation.
No. That was reserved for his little redheaded rabbit who seriously thought she could get away from him.
Jarrod knew himself well. He was the kind of man who enjoyed the chase.
Well, now he chased.
34
Sol watched the hullabaloo from the edge of the crowd. He’d seen her over there. With that girl, the younger sister who worked in forensics.
Heather.
Sol had watched her before. He stood where he was and watched her walk by. That woman had a damned fine walk. Those jeans she wore, no wonder she was getting looks. She was a taller, thinner woman, but she had a shape that shouted female.
Those eyes of hers cut right through a man.
They had the first time Sol had met her. In the hospital, Heather holding an almost brand-new baby, demanding he find her sister and missing niece. He’d wanted to. One look at her had made his heart pound and everything. Heather Coleson inspired a man to want to be something more than the washed-up loser Sol knew himself to be.
Most of the men at the TSP watched her.
Well, except some of the married ones, maybe. Like Murdoch Lake; he didn’t watch Heather at all, of course.
Why would Lake need to watch Heather when he had her look-alike niece waiting at home? Lake had his own version of Heather to play with whenever he wanted. That one was around here somewhere today, too.
Sol seriously envied Lake that, really.
His own bed was damned cold now.
Lake’s woman had been nothing but trouble for years.
Lake’s wife should have died before. That she and those other three girls in that choir hall that day hadn’t—well, that was a minor miracle in itself.
He was glad they hadn’t, though. They were good girls. Spirited, fiery, far too smart for their own good, but good girls at heart. They had been nice to his sorry old ass, even after that damned shooting. Gave him home baked cookies once, too.
Little Hallie had come to his Maribeth’s showing, too. Her, little Madison, even that fiery little pain-in-the-ass Charlotte. They’d sent flowers, too.
And if they ever put it together with what Sol had done, he could kiss his freedom goodbye. He didn’t even know how he’d been able to look those girls in the eye lately. Considering.
He didn’t even know why he’d come today. Except those assholes who thought they were in charge of him or something had told him to. Like a good little paid goon, Sol was right there.
