Always the Best Man (3 page)

Chapter Three

“I
s that you, Jase?”

“Yeah, Dad.” Jase slipped into the darkened trailer and flipped on the light. “I'm here. How's it going?”

“I could use a beer,” Declan Crenshaw said with a raspy laugh. “Or a bottle of whiskey. Any chance you brought whiskey?”

His father was sprawled on the threadbare couch that had rested against the thin wall of the mobile home since Jase could remember. Nothing in the cramped space had changed from the time they'd first moved in. The trailer's main room was tiny, barely larger than the dorm room Jase had lived in his first year at the University of Denver. From the front door he could see back to the bedroom on one side and through the efficiency kitchen with its scratched Formica counters and grainy wood cabinets to the family room on the other.

“No alcohol.” He was used to denying his dad's requests for liquor. Declan had been two years sober and Jase was hopeful this one was going to stick. He was doing everything in his power to make sure it did. Checking on his dad every night was just part of it. “How about water or a cup of tea?”

“Do I look like the queen of England?” Declan picked up the potato chip bag resting next to him on the couch and placed it on the scuffed coffee table, then brushed off his shirt, chip crumbs flying everywhere.

“No one's going to mistake you for royalty.” Jase's dad looked like a man who'd lived a hard life, the vices that had consumed him for years made him appear decades older than his sixty years. If the alcohol and smoking weren't enough, Declan had spent most of his adult life working in the active mines around Crimson, first the Smuggler silver mine outside of Aspen and then later the basalt-gypsum mine high on Crimson Mountain.

Between 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 father never bonded with him,” she said with a strangled sigh. “Despite my brother's best efforts, Noah has trouble engaging him.” She shrugged, a helpless lift of her shoulders that made his heart ache. “Even I have trouble connecting with him sometimes. I understand it's the Asperger's, and I love him the way he is. But you're the first...friend he's ever had.”

“He'll do fine at school.”

“What if he doesn't? He's so special, but he's not like other boys his age.”

“He's different in some ways, but kids manage through those things. I didn't have the greatest childhood or any real friends until I met your brother. I was too tall, too skinny and too poor. My dad was the town drunk and everyone knew it. But it made me stronger. I swear. Once I met Noah and your family took me in—”

“I didn't.”

“No. You hated me being in your house.”

“It wasn't about... I'm sorry, Jase. For how I treated you.”

“Em, you don't have to—”

“I do.” She stepped forward, so close that even in the pale streetlight he could see the brush of freckles across her nose. “I haven't been kind to you even since I've come back. It's like the nice part of my brain short-circuits when you're around.”

“Good to know.”

“What I said to you the other day on the football field about putting on your shirt.”

He winced. “My bony bod...”

“Had nothing to do with it. You're not a skinny kid anymore. You must know...” She stopped, looked away, tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, then met his gaze again.

Something shifted between them; a current of awareness different than anything he'd experienced surged to life in the quiet night air.

“The women of this town would probably pay you to keep your shirt off.” She jabbed one finger into his chest. “All. The. Time.”

He laughed, because this was Emily trying to be nice and still she ended up poking him. “I'm popular at the annual car wash, but I figure it's because most of the other men on the council are so old no one wants them to have a heart attack while bending to soap up a front fender.”

She didn't return his smile but eased the tiniest bit closer. “I didn't want you standing bare chested in front of me because I wanted to kiss you.”

Jase sucked in a breath.

“I wanted to put my mouth on you, right there on the sidelines of the high school field with half of our friends watching.” She said the words calmly, although he could see her chest rising and falling. He wasn't the only one having trouble breathing right now. “That's something different than when we were young. You make me feel things I haven't in a long time, and I don't know what to do about it. But it doesn't give me the right to be rude. I'm sorry, Jase. I can't—”

He didn't wait for her to finish. There was no way he was going to listen to the word
can't
coming from her, not when she'd basically told him she wanted him. In one quick movement, he leaned down and brushed his lips over hers.

So this was where she hid her softness, he thought. The taste of her, the feel of her mouth against his. All of it was so achingly sweet.

Then she opened her mouth to him and he deepened the kiss, threading his fingers through her hair as their tongues glided together. It was every perfect kiss he'd imagined and like nothing he'd experienced before. He wanted to stay linked with her forever, letting all of his responsibilities and the rest of the damn world melt away.

The moment was cut short when a dog barked—the sound coming from his house, and Emily pulled back. Her fingers lifted to her mouth and he wasn't sure whether it was to press his kiss closer or wipe it away. Right now it didn't matter.

“You have a dog?” she asked, glancing at his darkened front porch.

“A puppy,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his jaw and trying to get a handle on the lust raging through him. “My former secretary Donna had a female Australian shepherd that got loose while in heat. They ended up with a litter of puppies, part shepherd and part who knows what?”

The barking turned into a keening howl, making him cringe. “Maybe elephant based on the size of their paws. But Ruby—my pup—was the runt. She was weaker than the rest and her brothers and sister tended to pick on her. They kept her, but it wasn't working with their other dogs. I went for dinner last week and...” The barking started again. “I need to let her out to do her business. Do you want to meet her?”

Emily shook her head and a foolish wave of disappointment surged through him.

“I need to get back to the farm. Mom thinks I was running to the store for...” She broke off, gave an embarrassed laugh, then looked at him again. “You rescue puppies, too? Unbelievable.”

“It's not a big deal.”

“Tell that to Ruby.” She reached up on tiptoe, touched her lips to the corner of his mouth and then moved away. “You're damn near perfect, Jase Crenshaw.”

“I'm not—”

“You are.” She shook her head. “It's too bad for both of us that I gave up on perfect.”