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Authors: Susan Andersen
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vehicle hadn’t swung around to back a trailer down the ramp alongside his SUV. Instead, a car door opened and closed behind him and, as he rose to his feet to throw the first rock, he heard the gritty sound of shoes kissing sand-dusted pavement. Ignoring it, he hurled another rock, then another.
“Tourists pay big bucks for access to that water,” Max said from behind him. “They expect it to be there the next time they show up. So keep that up and I’m gonna have to write you a ticket for reef building within twenty feet of the shoreline.”
Hearing the deep tones of his half brother’s voice gave him the usual screw-you jolt of irritation—but laced this time with a new, unexpected thread of pleasure. He shrugged off the latter as a fluke, since his pleasure receptors and Max were a foreign pairing.
“Twenty feet?” he demanded, turning to face Max. “Please. I could throw these babies thirty in my sleep.”
Max’s mouth curved up on one side. “I’m guessing algebra wasn’t your long suit.”
“True.” His own lips quirked. “Business majors don’t need no stinkin’ algebra.” A degree he’d pursued in order to prove he was the financial achiever his father wasn’t. Not that Charlie Bradshaw hadn’t provided for his family—whoever that might have been at any given moment. But where he had been a middling salesman, Jake had an intrinsic knack with money. More important, he’d had an urge to be more successful than his father. To be better in every way.
The recollection wiped the smile from his face. Because look how well that had worked out for him. His precautions had failed, Kari had gotten pregnant and he hadn’t stuck around to be a father.
He wasn’t the least bit better than the old man. And in some ways was maybe even worse.
He eyed Max as he approached. His half bro wore a khaki shirt 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
“Tourists pay big bucks for access to that water,” Max said from behind him. “They expect it to be there the next time they show up. So keep that up and I’m gonna have to write you a ticket for reef building within twenty feet of the shoreline.”
Hearing the deep tones of his half brother’s voice gave him the usual screw-you jolt of irritation—but laced this time with a new, unexpected thread of pleasure. He shrugged off the latter as a fluke, since his pleasure receptors and Max were a foreign pairing.
“Twenty feet?” he demanded, turning to face Max. “Please. I could throw these babies thirty in my sleep.”
Max’s mouth curved up on one side. “I’m guessing algebra wasn’t your long suit.”
“True.” His own lips quirked. “Business majors don’t need no stinkin’ algebra.” A degree he’d pursued in order to prove he was the financial achiever his father wasn’t. Not that Charlie Bradshaw hadn’t provided for his family—whoever that might have been at any given moment. But where he had been a middling salesman, Jake had an intrinsic knack with money. More important, he’d had an urge to be more successful than his father. To be better in every way.
The recollection wiped the smile from his face. Because look how well that had worked out for him. His precautions had failed, Kari had gotten pregnant and he hadn’t stuck around to be a father.
He wasn’t the least bit better than the old man. And in some ways was maybe even worse.
He eyed Max as he approached. His half bro wore a khaki shirt 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
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