Page 9 of Breaking Emily's Rules
Jedd laughed. “Yeah, Emily has a way of doing that to a guy.”
Stone looked sideways at Jedd.
“Naw, Emily’s older than me and never gave me a second look. She was going to get married to some guy from Palo Alto. But it didn’t happen.” Jedd lifted a shoulder.
“I don’t need her damn biography. I won’t ever see her again.” He clicked his key fob to unlock the truck.
“If you say so,” Jedd said.
Stone should have followed his first instincts and kept to himself. Probably should have searched harder for an excuse as to why he couldn’t come out with Jedd. “I do. I’m out of here.”
“Thanks for coming out with me. See you Monday, boss—I mean, Stone,” Jedd called out.
Stone threw open the door and climbed in his truck, throwing the ice pack to the side. He’d be sleeping alone tonight and that would be okay. It would have to be. With damage like this in thirty minutes, who knew what she could do with a little more time? He didn’t need the distraction. All he wanted tonight was a warm body under him, and Emily wouldn’t stop there. She wouldn’t stop until she was another in his long list of commitments.
Speaking of commitments…
A few minutes later, he’d pulled into the driveway of James Mcallister’s sorry-looking single family home, shut off the truck and stared at his inheritance. The place needed a new coat of paint. Hell, it needed to be bulldozed down to the ground and started over. He didn’t have the time or inclination to do either. But he, along with his sister, Sarah, was heir to this mess.
Six months ago when he’d separated from the air force, Dad had said, “You didn’t have to come.”
“The hell I didn’t.” The air force might have been his life for the past twelve years, but when it came down to the AF and Dad, there had been no real choice.
The fact that it had taken him too long to make the choice? No use revisiting that scenario now. It had been tough to think anything could be strong enough to knock his old man down, but he’d been wrong about that. Should have separated earlier, when he’d first heard of the diagnosis. It seemed to be the first in a long line of mistakes he’d made lately.
Back then, Stone thought he’d have time with Dad. Time to say a long goodbye, fly their Cessnas in tandem a few times and maybe take a couple of fishing trips. But colon cancer had a way of sneaking up on a man. Four months. It was all the time they’d had, and Dad spent most of it telling Stone about his last wishes.
“I know this isn’t what you planned to do with your life. But stay long enough to sell the school so Cassie and Jedd can keep their jobs. Don’t listen to Cassie. She loves the place.”
She could have fooled Stone. “Don’t worry. It’s all taken care of.”
“When I die, Sarah will get my letter and half of everything. Be nice to her. I didn’t want her to know about the cancer. What would be the point? I sure don’t want her to see me like this.”
In the end, it had been a quiet death, not at all like all the other deaths he’d witnessed. There were no screams, no blood and no raging hot anger. No one fought death harder than a young airman. But Dad had been ready. The hospice nurse had nudged Stone out of a light sleep, and he’d been by Dad’s bedside to hear him take his last breath.
A few days later, Sarah had been notified, and the proverbial shit hit the fan.
Both the house and school would be sold and the proceeds split down the middle. He had a buyer lined up for the school, someone who loved planes and planned to keep everything the same. The way it should be. The way Dad wanted it.
Unless Sarah had her way.
He stuck his key in the front door, turned it and slipped inside. He wasn’t fooled by the silence for a second as he slipped into warfare mode. Granted, he hadn’t done any hand-to-hand combat in the air force. A good thing he’d been trained, though.
Stone flipped on the light switch in the family room. Winston, Dad’s ninety-pound golden retriever mix, flew around the corner and jumped on Stone. If licking could kill, he’d be a dead man walking.
Standing on his hind legs the beast nearly reached Stone’s height of six feet. But Stone had a knee, and he put it to good use by nudging Winston’s middle. “Off!”
Winston jumped down, his brown eyes wounded. It would take a lot more than a knee in the chest to hurt the monster, and he wasn’t fooling Stone.
“Don’t give me that look. I swear I’ll find you a new owner if you don’t stop jumping on me. The licking is bad enough. This is not going well.”
Within seconds, Winston had followed Stone into the kitchen, his food bowl in his jowls. Whoever said dogs weren’t smart had never owned a Winston.
“Yeah, yeah.” Stone fed him and watched Winston go to town. “With manners like that, you’ll never get a girl.”
Unfortunately, that made him picture the way Emily had moved in his arms and the curves she had in all the right places. It was possible that if he stepped back into that country music–infested den, he might see her again. Why that mattered he didn’t know, but if he didn’t get his mind off her, he might wind up making another trip to the Silver Whip, or the Silver Saddle, or whatever the hell they called it.
Stone stripped in his bedroom, took a shower, toweled off and didn’t bother with the boxers. Instead, he plopped on the California king, rolled into the covers and let sleep take him away.
