The Lucky One(85)

“You noticed that, too? I thought it was kind of funny.”

“He’s not going to be happy.”

“Then he can join the club,” she said. “After what he did, he deserves to eat a worm.”

Logan nodded, and she snuggled up to him. He lifted his arm and pulled her close.

“You looked mighty handsome up there while you were playing.”

“Yeah?”

“I know I shouldn’t have been thinking that since I was at church, but I couldn’t help it. You should wear a sport jacket more often.”

“I don’t have the kind of job that requires one.”

“Maybe you have the kind of girlfriend who does.”

He pretended to be puzzled. “I have a girlfriend?”

She nudged him playfully before looking up at him. She kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for coming to Hampton. And deciding to stay.”

He smiled. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Two hours later, right before dinner, Beth saw Keith’s car plow through puddles on his way up the drive. Ben scrambled out of the car. Keith already had the car in reverse and was pulling away before Ben reached the porch steps.

“Hey, Mom! Hey, Thibault!”

Logan waved as Beth stood up. “Hey, sweetie,” Beth said. She gave him a hug. “Did you have a good time?”

“I didn’t have to clean the kitchen. Or take out the trash.”

“Good,” she said.

“And you know what?”

“What?”

Ben shook the water from his raincoat. “I think I want to learn how to play the piano.”

Beth smiled, thinking, Why am I not surprised.

“Hey, Thibault?”

Logan raised his chin. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to see my tree house?”

Beth cut in. “Honey . . . with the storm and all, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“It’s fine. Grandpa built it. And I was there just a couple of days ago.”

“The water’s probably higher.”

“Please? We won’t stay long. And Thibault will be with me the whole time.”

Against her better judgment, Beth agreed.





24

Clayton

Clayton didn’t want to believe it, but there was Gramps actually complimenting Thigh-bolt after church. Shaking his hand, acting like he was some sort of hero while Ben stared up at Thigh-bolt with big puppy-dog eyes.

It was all he could do to make it through brunch without cracking open a beer, and since dropping Ben at his mother’s, he’d already gone through four. He was pretty sure he’d finish off the twelve-pack before turning in. In the past two weeks, he’d had a lot of beer. He knew he was overdoing it, but it was the only thing that kept him from dwelling on the latest run-in with Thigh-bolt.

Behind him, the phone rang. Again. Fourth time in the last couple of hours, but he wasn’t in the mood to answer it.

Okay, he admitted it. He had underestimated the guy. Thigh-bolt had been one step ahead of him from the very beginning. He used to think Ben knew how to press his buttons; this guy dropped bombs. No, Clayton thought suddenly, he didn’t drop bombs. He directed cruise missiles with pinpoint accuracy, all geared toward the destruction of Clayton’s life. Even worse, Clayton hadn’t seen it coming. Not once.

It was beyond frustrating, especially since the situation seemed to be getting worse. Now, Thigh-bolt was telling him what to do. Ordering him around, like he was some flunkie on payroll, and for the life of him, Clayton couldn’t figure a way out. He wanted to believe that Thigh-bolt had been bluffing about videotaping the break-in. He had to be bluffing—no one was that smart. He had to be. But what if he wasn’t?

Clayton went to the refrigerator and opened another beer, knowing he couldn’t risk it. Who knew what the guy was planning next? He took a long pull, praying for the numbing effect to kick in soon.

This should have been easier to handle. He was a deputy sheriff, and the guy was new in town. Clayton should have had the power all along, but instead he found himself sitting in a messy kitchen because he hadn’t wanted to ask Ben to clean it for fear the kid would tell Thigh-bolt, which just might spell the end of Clayton’s life as he knew it.

What did the guy have against him? That’s what Clayton wanted to know. Clayton wasn’t the one causing problems, Thigh-bolt was the one making things difficult—and to rub salt in the wound, the guy was sleeping with Beth as well.

He took another drink, wondering how his life could have turned to crap so quickly. Sunk in misery, he barely registered the sound of someone knocking at the front door. He pushed back from the table and stumbled through the living room. When he opened the door, he saw Tony standing on the porch, looking like a drowned rat. As if everything else weren’t bad enough, the worm was here.

Tony took a slight step back. “Whoa, dude. You okay? You smell like you’ve been drinking.”

“What do you want, Tony?” He wasn’t in the mood for this.

“I’ve been trying to call you, but you didn’t pick up.”

“Get to the point.”

“I haven’t seen you around much lately.”

“I’ve been busy. And I’m busy now, so go away.” He started to close the door, and Tony raised his hand.