That Thing Called Love. Susan Andersen

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СКАЧАТЬ and black tie under a military-style black wool V-neck sweater with reinforced shoulders,

      elbows and forearms. Velcro-closure cotton epaulets decorated each shoulder, a badge was pinned to his chest, and gold, black and green shield-shaped patches, each sporting a spread-winged eagle and the Razor Bay Sheriff’s Office designation, decorated the sweater’s upper arms. He wore jeans and a black web utility belt that bristled with the tools of his trade—not the least of which was a serious-looking gun. “You following me, Deputy Dawg?”

      “Yeah, because I live in awe of the wonder that is you.” Max let the absurdity hang in the air a moment, then made a rude noise. “Get over yourself.

      I heard the navy’s doing maneuvers out here this week, and I’ve stopped by every day to see if I can catch the show.” He gave Jake a comprehensive once-over. “What’s your excuse?”

      Resurrecting as it did his many recent failures, the query made him want to snarl. Jake did his best, however, to shrug the mood aside. He intended to give Max’s question the brush-off, as well. Their relationship was a long way from either opening an emotional vein in front of the other. He didn’t share that kind of relationship with anyone.

      So he was astonished to hear himself admit, “I’m trying to get to know my kid, but if he can’t outright avoid me, he acts like I’m see-through.” He looked over at Max. “Did you know he plays shortstop for the Junior League?”

      “Yeah. I’ve seen him play.” Jake must have looked as astounded as he felt, because Max said with cool authority, “I’m the deputy sheriff. It’s my civic duty to keep tabs on the kids in this town.”

      Aw, man, he was so full of shit if he thought Jake bought that. But before he could call him on it, Max said, “He plays the same position as you, huh? I heard between baseball and your grades, you got yourself a full-boat scholarship to some fancy East Coast university.” He hooked his thumbs in the webbed belt. “It can’t be easy, following in your footsteps.”

      Jake looked at him in surprise, then wasn’t sure why he was so bowled over. Both of them probably knew a great deal about each other. God knew that once upon a time he had kept close tabs on everything Max did, rationalizing that it was simply good business practice to keep track of the enemy. The truth was he’d always been unwillingly fascinated by this guy who shared the same blood but was a dedicated adversary.

      “I doubt there was ever a comparison,” he said now. “I was out of the local sport scene for probably half a dozen years before Austin even attended his first T-ball practice. It wouldn’t have been like trying to fill your big shoes when they were practically still smokin’.” He waved the comparison aside. “In any case, from what I saw today, he’s good.” A headache sent preliminary scouts to see about the possibility of setting up camp in his temples. “That’s no thanks to my influence, either.”

      Max gave him a level look. “So why did you walk?”

      Jake stilled, his heartbeat a solid thudthudthud in his chest. “You really interested in knowing?” Who would have thought Max, of all people, would be the one to come right out and ask? No one else had since he’d been back.

      “Not really.” Max started to turn away, but then stopped and gave his shoulders an impatient roll before meeting Jake’s gaze head-on. “No, that’s not true. I am.”

      Girding himself, Jake remained silent for a moment. Then he drew a deep breath and blew it out. “For as long as I can remember, I wanted out of this town.” He looked out at the glassy water. “Kari and I made a lot of big plans to move somewhere cosmopolitan, and I spent our entire junior year plotting ways to make it happen that wouldn’t end up with me flipping burgers for the rest of my life.”

      He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Truth is, I had plans long before I met her. I’d been working toward that scholarship since Junior high. When it came through, I thought we were finally on our way.”

      He looked over at Max. “Then, barely a month into our senior year, the fucking condom broke.”

      “You stepped up and married her, though. And from what I hear, took a job at the inn.”

      “Because I didn’t want to be another Charlie Bradshaw, y’know?”

      “Hell, yes. We’ve got that in common.” Max studied him for a moment. “You must have loved her a lot.”

      An unamused laugh escaped him. “Like that ever lasts,” he said dismissively. “She went almost overnight from the fun head cheerleader I knew to a cranky, complaining shrew who was convinced I’d ruined her life. Not that I was any better. I was miserable working the front desk at The Brothers, and it made me damn moody.”

      “Then she died.”

      “Yeah.” Digging his fingertips into a headache that now thumped full force, he turned his back on the water, feeling vestiges of the horror he’d experienced at the sight of the blood-soaked sheets when she’d started hemorrhaging. “They send people home from the hospitals too damn fast these days. If she’d still been there they probably could’ve stopped the bleeding. But they discharged her, and within the space of a few short hours, she was just...gone. And I found myself with sole responsibility for this wrinkly, leaky little creature I had no idea how to parent. When Emmett and Kathy offered to care for him while I got my degree, I jumped at the chance.”

      And, eaten up with guilt, he’d hated himself for it. He had turned into the very thing he’d sworn he never would: a chip off the old block. Here his wife had died tragically young—yet had he been crushed? Had he stuck around? No, sir. He’d never wished her dead, but his dirty little secret was he’d been beyond relieved not to be stuck in a nowhere position in a nowhere town with a wife he’d fallen out of love with.

      At least Charlie had loved him for a while. Jake hadn’t felt anything but panic when he’d looked at his son.

      Max looked as uncomfortable hearing all this shit as Jake was at telling it. No doubt his brother was on TMI overload, and his gaze slid past Jake’s shoulder. Then he stood straighter. “Hey, what do you know?” he said with a casualness that was a little overplayed. “There’s a couple of cutters. The Trident’s likely not far away.”

      Grateful beyond measure for the change of subject—for anything that would rescue them from this dangerous talking-about-feelings territory—Jake turned to look.

      There was nothing to see except a couple of midsize navy boats cruising a half mile or so from the far shore, but he went over to his car all the same to retrieve his camera from the passenger seat. Back on the beach, he watched with Max as the boats navigated an obviously circumscribed area.

      Nothing happened, and perhaps to fill the long silence between them, Max suddenly said, “I’m sorry about your mom. I heard about it when I was in Camp Lejeune.”

      Jake nodded, his eyes still on the glassy water. “Thanks. Her having a heart attack wasn’t something anyone expected. She was only forty-six.” He turned to look at Max. “I’m surprised anyone here even knew about it—she moved to California the same time I started college.”

      Max made a wry face. “Small-town connections, little Bradshaw. She kept in touch with Maureen Gilmore, who was friends with my mother.”

      “Is your mom still in town?”

      “No. She’s living in England, of all places.”

      “Why СКАЧАТЬ