the dust particles, the constant heavy lifting, operating jackhammers and other heavy equipment, the work took a physical toll on the men and women employed by the mines. Jase had tried to get his father to quit for years, but it was only after a heart attack three years ago that Declan had been forced to retire. Unfortunately, having so much time on his hands had led him to a six-month drunken binge that had almost killed him. Jase needed to believe he wasn’t going to have to watch his father self-destruct ever again.
“Maybe they should since you’re a royal pain in my butt,” Declan growled.
“Good one, Dad.” Jase didn’t take offense. Insults were like terms of endearment to his father. “Why are you sitting here in the dark?” He picked up the chip bag and dropped it in the trash can in the kitchenette, then started washing the dishes piled in the sink.
“Damn cable is out again. I called but they can’t get here until tomorrow. If I lose my DVRed shows, there’s gonna be hell to pay. The Real Housewives finale was on tonight. I wanted to see some rich-lady hair pulling.”
Jase smiled. Since his dad stopped drinking, he’d become addicted to reality TV. Dance moms, little people, bush people, swamp people, housewives. Declan watched them all. “Maybe you should get a hobby besides television. Take a walk or volunteer.”
His dad let out a colorful string of curses. “My only other hobby involves walking into a bar, so I’m safer holed up out here. And I’m not spending my golden years working for free. Hell, I barely made enough to pay the bills with my regular job. There’s only room for one do-gooder in this family, and that’s you.”
It was true. The Crenshaws had a long history of living on the wrong side of the law in Crimson. There was even a sepia-stained photo hanging in the courthouse that showed his great-great-grandfather sitting in the old town jail. Jase had consciously set out to change his family’s reputation. Most of his life decisions had been influenced by wanting to be something different...something more than the Crenshaw legacy of troublemaking.
“I read in the paper that you’re sponsoring a pancake breakfast next week.”
Jase placed the last mug onto the dish drainer, then turned. “It’s part of my campaign.”
“Campaigning against yourself?” his dad asked with a chuckle.
“It’s a chance for people to get to know me.”
Declan stood, brushed off his shirt again. “Name one person who doesn’t know you.”
“They don’t know me as a candidate. I want to hear what voters think about how the town is doing, ideas for the future—where Crimson is going to be in five or ten years.”
His dad yawned. “Same place it’s been for the last hundred years. Right here.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know.” Declan patted Jase on the back. “You’re a good boy, Jason Damien Crenshaw. Better than I deserve as a son. It’s got to be killing Charles Thompson and his boys that a Crenshaw is going to be running this town.” His dad let out a soft chuckle. “I may give ex–Sheriff Thompson a call and see what he thinks.”
“Don’t, Dad. Leave the history between us and the Thompsons in the past where it belongs.” Jase didn’t mention the hit Aaron had put on him during the football game, which would only make his father angry.
“You’re too nice for your own good. Why don’t you pick me up before the breakfast?” Declan had lost his license during his last fall from the wagon and hadn’t bothered to get it reinstated. Jase took him to doctor’s appointments, delivered groceries and ran errands—an inconvenience, but it also helped him keep track of Declan. Something that hadn’t always been easy during the heaviest periods of drinking. “I’ll campaign for you. Call it volunteer work and turn my image around in town.”
Jase swallowed. He’d encouraged his father to volunteer almost as a joke, knowing Declan never would. But campaigning... Jase loved his dad but he’d done his best to distance himself from the reputation that followed his family like a plague. “We’ll see, Dad. Thanks for the offer. Are you heading to bed?”
“Got nothing else to do with no channels working.”
“I’ll call the cable company in the morning and make sure you’re on the schedule,” Jase promised. “Lock up behind me, okay?”
“Who’s going to rob me?” Declan swept an arm around the trailer’s shabby interior. “I’ve got nothing worth stealing.”
“Just lock up. Please.”
When his father eventually nodded, Jase let himself out of the trailer and headed home. Although he’d driven the route between the trailer park and his historic bungalow on the edge of downtown countless times, he forced himself to stay focused.
Three miles down the county highway leading into town. Two blocks until a right turn onto his street. Four hundred yards before he saw his mailbox. Keeping his mind on the driving was less complicated than giving the thoughts and worries crowding his head room to breathe and grow.
He parked his silver Jeep in the driveway, since his dad’s ancient truck was housed in the garage. It needed transmission work that Jase didn’t have time for before it would run again, and Declan had no use for it without a license. But Jase couldn’t bring himself to sell it. It represented something he couldn’t name...a giving in to the permanence of caring for an aging parent that he wasn’t ready to acknowledge.
He locked the Jeep and lifted his head to the clear night. The stars were out in full force, making familiar designs across the sky. He hadn’t used his old telescope in years, but Jase never tired of stargazing.
Something caught his eye, and when he looked around the front of his truck everything in the world fell away except the woman standing in his front yard.
Emily.
He wasn’t sure where she’d come from or how he hadn’t noticed her when he pulled up. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her mom’s 4Runner parked across the street.
She didn’t say anything as he approached, only watched him, her hands clasped tight together in front of her waist. Her fingers were long and elegant like the rest of her. As much as he would never wish her pain, the fact that she wore no wedding ring made him perversely glad.
“Hi,” he said when he was in front of her, then silently cursed himself. He was an attorney and a town council member, used to giving speeches and closing arguments to courtrooms and crowded meetings. The best he could come up with now was Hi? Lame.
“I owe you an apology,” she whispered. “And I didn’t want to wait. I hate waiting.”
He remembered that about her and felt one side of his mouth curve. Her mother, Meg, had been an expert baker when they were kids and Emily had forever been burning her mouth on a too-hot cookie after school.
“You don’t owe me anything.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s true. You were good with Davey tonight. Before bed he told me he wants to invite you for a playdate.”
He chuckled. “I told you we bonded over plastic bricks.”
“His
