three-point line. “Nice shot,” he muttered, and rewound the DVR so he could take another look at that bucket.
“You don’t need to leave Whiskey Creek,” his father said. “There are plenty of nice women right here.”
Martin didn’t want to lose both of his kids to other locations. “Like who?”
“Eve Harmon! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
He glanced over to see his father salting two pieces of fish, which he could smell from where he sat in the living room. “You want me to date one of Gail’s friends?”
“What’s so bad about that?”
He had to explain? “If things don’t work out, loyalty would force Gail to side with me, since I’m her brother, which could cost her one of her closest friends. That’s not fair.”
His father arranged the fish on the broiler and slid it into the oven. “You’re overthinking it.”
“How ironic.”
Apparently satisfied that he’d started dinner, Martin came to the living room doorway. “What’s ironic?”
Joe shot him a crooked grin. “Most dads tell their sons not to think with their dicks. Sounds like you’re saying just the opposite.”
“Most dads are talking to young boys. You’re thirty-six.”
“I left home once—and learned my lesson. Now you’re never getting rid of me.”
His father must’ve known he was only joking because he didn’t comment. He leaned against the wall, watching the game while they talked. “It’s time to get back in the saddle.”
“I’m not sure I’m willing to listen to your advice in this area, Dad.” He took a pull of his beer. “It’s a bit too much ‘do what I say and not what I do,’ don’t you think?”
When his father made no comment, Joe saluted him with the can. “You have nothing to say to that?”
“I guess you got me,” he replied, and went back into the kitchen.
With a chuckle, Joe shook his head. His father didn’t lose an argument very often. And he never acknowledged it when he did. “Listen, you can relax, okay? I’m fine. Quit worrying.”
“There has to be someone you find attractive,” his dad called back.
Cheyenne Christensen came to mind. But only because he hadn’t been able to forget her since he’d bumped into her at the grocery store earlier, he told himself. He’d known she was going through hell. It had to be hard watching a parent succumb to cancer. But she’d seemed more on edge than usual....
“You think Anita Christensen’s going to die soon?” he asked.
“Where’d that come from?” His father was digging around in the freezer. They were probably going to have frozen peas with the fish—a healthy enough choice but not a particularly exciting one. Predictable, boring, safe. That seemed to be the story of his life these days.
“I saw Cheyenne at Nature’s Way,” he explained. “When I picked up the milk and eggs.”
“What’d she have to say?”
Joe cursed when the Lakers went on a 6-0 run. “Not much. Just that she was fine.”
“So Anita’s hanging on.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Joe!” The surprise and reproof in his father’s voice demanded an explanation, if not a retraction.
“It doesn’t sound good to say it,” Joe admitted. “But Cheyenne and her sister would be better off.”
The stove ticked until a burner lit with the soft, distinctive poof of gas. Sure enough, Martin was putting some peas on to boil.
“Since when have you become so interested in the Christensen girls?” his father asked.
“I’m not,” Joe replied, but that wasn’t entirely true. Presley had never appealed to him. Physically, she was okay, even with all those tattoos. But she had a mouth more suited to a sailor and eyes that gazed out on the world with bitterness and suspicion. If there’d been a few warning signs he’d overlooked with Suzie, Presley came with neon flashers.
But there’d always been something about Cheyenne. His eyes followed her whenever they passed on the street. He couldn’t help turning around to
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