Read Online Checkmate With Bishop: A Hellions MC Novel by J. A. Hornbuckle - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: J. A. Hornbuckle
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straight overlapping lines. The ice clinked as I set the tumblers down on a side table before the smell of grass hit my nose. It was an aroma I loved, the smell of freshly cut greening reminding me of girlhood summers, of indolent days where my biggest problems were in deciding what to do and who to do it with.
The motor cut off and I turned just as J.R. cleared the stairs, swiping at the wet hair on his forehead. “Thanks, Mom,” he offered before dropping into one of the chairs that dotted our wide porch. I caught a whiff of male sweat and turned my head to hide my smile. He’s growing up so fast , I found myself thinking. Too, too fast . But I kept my thoughts to myself, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate my sentiment. J.R. had let me know on many occasions that he was impatient to grow up.
“Thought you could use a break.” I took the chair on the other side and promptly propped my heels on the railing. And in the ensuing silence, my mind went back to the arguments that had plagued me from the moment I’d opened my eyes.
Of why I’d told Stan we’d come to Montana.
In all truth, I had no need to hear him apologize or to even say goodbye. If he truly needed to accomplish those things, we could do it over the phone without any required face-to-face meeting. In fact, in my opinion, it was a bullshit excuse and was a cover for something else even if he wouldn’t admit to it.
But I wanted J.R. to see where I grew up, to share the stories and the scenery of when I was a girl. I also needed to go through the storage locker and finally resolve it.
And maybe, just maybe , introduce my boy to the man who’d help create him.
I opened my mouth to tell J.R. about the trip I had alternately been planning and deciding against. But none of those types of sentences came out. “You never ask about your dad anymore.” I think I shocked him as much as I did myself with the statement because the look his face held when I finally turned my head to glance at him was just shy of stunned.
“You’d get upset when I did,” he muttered over the rim of his glass, his hazel eyes dead on mine. “Upset or sad. So I just stopped.” The accompanying shrug seemed to indicate his lack of interest in the subject.
I thought I’d done a pretty good job at sidestepping his questions, giving short answers but in hindsight I could understand how J.R. had read my responses differently. And it was true that his inquiries had unsettled me whenever he’d broached the subject of his father.
“After a while, I just thought it was stupid to keep asking when you wouldn’t answer or anything,” he continued, setting his glass to the side as he stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles before anchoring his hands behind his head. “Besides, with him dead and all…”
I felt my heart stop and my eyes widen at his summation. “I never said your father was dead, J.R.”
He frowned and shifted his butt in the chair. “Sure you did. You told me…”
“That he was gone and wasn’t a part of our lives.” Dear god! All this time, I thought I’d explained it well without going into detail and my poor kid thought his father was dead and buried? How old had he been the last time he’d brought the subject up? Six? No, seven. The same year he’d fallen out of the Bailey’s tree house and broken his arm.
“He’s alive?” My boy’s question wasn’t as shocking as the tone he used to ask it, marked as it was by disbelief and a sharp note of betrayal. “Are you trying to say that my dad is alive?”
I swallowed deeply and turned away, unable to deal with the look in his eyes. “Yes, J.R. Your father is alive and lives in Montana.”
The tension between us was almost an invisible but physical wall that seemed to thicken with every second that passed.
“Montana? But that’s just up the freeway!” I could tell he was struggling and it made my
The motor cut off and I turned just as J.R. cleared the stairs, swiping at the wet hair on his forehead. “Thanks, Mom,” he offered before dropping into one of the chairs that dotted our wide porch. I caught a whiff of male sweat and turned my head to hide my smile. He’s growing up so fast , I found myself thinking. Too, too fast . But I kept my thoughts to myself, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate my sentiment. J.R. had let me know on many occasions that he was impatient to grow up.
“Thought you could use a break.” I took the chair on the other side and promptly propped my heels on the railing. And in the ensuing silence, my mind went back to the arguments that had plagued me from the moment I’d opened my eyes.
Of why I’d told Stan we’d come to Montana.
In all truth, I had no need to hear him apologize or to even say goodbye. If he truly needed to accomplish those things, we could do it over the phone without any required face-to-face meeting. In fact, in my opinion, it was a bullshit excuse and was a cover for something else even if he wouldn’t admit to it.
But I wanted J.R. to see where I grew up, to share the stories and the scenery of when I was a girl. I also needed to go through the storage locker and finally resolve it.
And maybe, just maybe , introduce my boy to the man who’d help create him.
I opened my mouth to tell J.R. about the trip I had alternately been planning and deciding against. But none of those types of sentences came out. “You never ask about your dad anymore.” I think I shocked him as much as I did myself with the statement because the look his face held when I finally turned my head to glance at him was just shy of stunned.
“You’d get upset when I did,” he muttered over the rim of his glass, his hazel eyes dead on mine. “Upset or sad. So I just stopped.” The accompanying shrug seemed to indicate his lack of interest in the subject.
I thought I’d done a pretty good job at sidestepping his questions, giving short answers but in hindsight I could understand how J.R. had read my responses differently. And it was true that his inquiries had unsettled me whenever he’d broached the subject of his father.
“After a while, I just thought it was stupid to keep asking when you wouldn’t answer or anything,” he continued, setting his glass to the side as he stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles before anchoring his hands behind his head. “Besides, with him dead and all…”
I felt my heart stop and my eyes widen at his summation. “I never said your father was dead, J.R.”
He frowned and shifted his butt in the chair. “Sure you did. You told me…”
“That he was gone and wasn’t a part of our lives.” Dear god! All this time, I thought I’d explained it well without going into detail and my poor kid thought his father was dead and buried? How old had he been the last time he’d brought the subject up? Six? No, seven. The same year he’d fallen out of the Bailey’s tree house and broken his arm.
“He’s alive?” My boy’s question wasn’t as shocking as the tone he used to ask it, marked as it was by disbelief and a sharp note of betrayal. “Are you trying to say that my dad is alive?”
I swallowed deeply and turned away, unable to deal with the look in his eyes. “Yes, J.R. Your father is alive and lives in Montana.”
The tension between us was almost an invisible but physical wall that seemed to thicken with every second that passed.
“Montana? But that’s just up the freeway!” I could tell he was struggling and it made my
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