And Then She Was Gone(33)

“No, I just got here. I was…” Jack cleared his throat. “I was sort of trapped inside all morning.”

“I know what you mean,” she said. “It’s such a beautiful day, you feel like a prisoner being inside on a day like this.”

“You can say that again. Is your husband here?” Jack asked. “I’d like to thank him for the invitation.”

Mrs. Dawson considered for a moment. Jack had the distinct impression she was deciding whether she should try to talk him out of that course of action.

Jack waited confidently.

Mrs. Dawson waved her hand toward the house. “He’s up there.” The tight smile on her lips conveyed to Jack that this was a meeting she really didn’t want to happen.

Mr. Dawson stood on the top step of a slate-covered patio like a king in command of his court. He had a cocktail in one hand and gestured expressively with the other at eight men on the steps below him, all listening attentively. When he joked, they all laughed at once, as if on cue. When he paused, they nodded with introspection. And when he started to speak again, they smiled and looked on with rapt attention. It was a puppet court, and Mr. Dawson was the one pulling the strings.

Jack’s back tightened as he strode across the grass. As he came close, the conversation on the steps abruptly stopped. Clearly there was some invisible barrier between these men and everyone else—and Jack had just shattered it. Silence descended on the group. Even a nearby dog stopped running around and watched.

Jack marched up to Mr. Dawson, smiled, and held out his hand. “Thank you for the invitation, sir.”

The ice cubes in Mr. Dawson’s drink clinked against the glass. Jack hadn’t waited for the king to call, a clear breach of etiquette that had caught Mr. Dawson off guard. A forced smile spread across the man’s face. He gripped Jack’s hand. “Glad you could make it.” He turned toward the other men. “This is an acquaintance of my daughter. Jack…?”

“Stratton. Jack Stratton.” Jack briefly met the men’s vacant stares. “Thanks again.” He nodded at Mr. Dawson, and then, while still in charge, he turned to go.

Mr. Dawson’s lips twitched. Jack wondered how much the loss of control bothered him. Mr. Dawson was used to running companies and manipulating people. He called, they came—and they stayed until he said that they were allowed to go. That was how everyone in his world operated.

But not Jack.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack noticed the side glances of the other men as he walked at a controlled pace back across the yard. The brief greeting had gone just how Jack had wanted. In, “thank you,” and out. Nice, quick, and polite.

Jack felt like a pirate king as he strode under the white marquee where Kelly was waiting for him. Courtney, next to Kelly, whispered something to her, and Kelly’s eyes widened. Then they both broke into a giggle.

“I’d sure like to know what you just said,” Jack said to Courtney.

“I was just thinking aloud.” Courtney crossed her arms. “You must have—”

“Courtney!” Kelly gasped.

“I was kidding!” Courtney grinned impishly.

Kelly took Jack’s hand. “Let’s get a drink.”

Jack headed over to a table covered with assorted bottles and drinks and poured himself a glass of iced tea.

“That was impressive.” Kelly fixed herself a drink. “My father’s about as approachable as a porcupine. Thank you for doing it.” She swirled the soda in her glass and looked up at him through her lashes. “Do you have plans for Friday night?”

“What’s the matter with tonight?”

She lit up, then huffed. “I have to go out with my mom.”

“Then Friday night it is.” Jack lowered his voice and his glass. “Now that we have the uncomfortable part behind us, how about we head over to…” Jack trailed off when Kelly’s startled gaze shifted to something behind him.

Jack turned to face three guys walking up. Tall, blond, fit, and well groomed, they looked like clones, all made from the same mold.

“Preston,” said the one in the red polo shirt. He stuck out his hand. “So you’re my baby sister’s new boyfriend?” He squeezed Jack’s hand, hard.

Jack just grinned.

Preston tilted his head toward his companions. “These are my friends, Warner and Archer.”

Jack had to fight off a smirk when he looked down at Warner’s and Archer’s distressed jeans. Both pairs were identical in their factory-made imperfections. Jack chuckled to himself. It says a lot about a guy if he has to pay to have someone break in his pants for him.