Love Under Two Jessops by Cara Covington Read Free Book Online Page B

twenty-year-old Chevy half-ton pickup. Beside him on the seat, his partly drunk bottle of whiskey sat snuggled up next to his nine millimeter, same as always.
    A man never knew when he’d need another drink, or when he’d need to shoot something.
    Uncapping the bottle, he took a long drink. The whiskey burned going down, a lovely kind of burn that helped make everything just a little bit numb. Not a lot numb, just a little, which was all he really needed anymore.
    As he set the bottle back on the seat, the fingers of his right hand brushed the cold metal of the gun.
    Some things, over time, became a part of a man. For some men, those things were hearth and home, and family.
    For others, it was booze and guns.
    Life was all a crapshoot, really, and there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot a man could do about which destiny he ended up with. Oh, he might have started out life full of idealism, determined to succeed, to make his mark. But in the end, it was all a twisted kind of joke.
    Two men, side by side, working their asses off, pulling twelve- to sixteen-hour days, working the land, never backing up, never backing down, always doing what was right—and one succeeds, while the other ends up with fucking nothing .
    Less than nothing, really, when everyone he ever gave a good Goddamn about deserted him. It just wasn’t right .
    No, it wasn’t right, but it sure as hell was life. It was his life.
    He turned the key in the ignition, and grunted when his old truck started, faithful as ever.
    This truck and his gun were all that was left of the life he’d had before, of the man he’d been before. He shifted the vehicle into drive, crept forward, and then stopped so that the “for sale” sign was framed perfectly by the open passenger side window of his truck.
    Without conscious thought he picked up his nine millimeter, aimed, and fired. The hole in the sign was substantial, right through the middle of the words, “ideal family home.”
    If there was any justice in the world, that fucking sign would have had the good grace to burst into fucking flames and turn to ash.
    Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
    Those timeless words echoed in his mind and Bill Porter nodded. “Yeah. That’s something to think about, now isn’t it?” He eased his truck back onto the road and reached for his bottle.
    Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
    He had a lot of thinking to do.
     
    * * * *
     
    “I think I’m paralyzed.”
    Eyes closed, Chloe wondered that she could even manage that much of a sentence. Her heart pounded in her chest as if she’d run a marathon. On top of her, one giant teddy bear of a gorgeous man rested with his head cradled in the dent of her shoulder, struggling to breathe.
    Clearly Grant was holding his weight off her because she had no problem breathing herself. Her arms had fallen to the bed, but her legs were still around his hips, and she wasn’t altogether certain she could feel her toes.
    “Me, too. Worth it.”
    Grant’s words tickled her shoulder and her sense of humor.
    “That good, huh? You look totally wrecked, brother.” Andrew ran his fingers up and down Chloe’s left arm.
    “Fucking A.” Grant sighed and then groaned and rubbed his chest against her breasts, a kind of relishing gesture that absurdly melted her heart.
    Andrew kissed the side of her face, and she smiled and then turned her head toward him, eyes still closed. She felt his nearness, and lifted her mouth just slightly, angled toward where she guessed he waited. He kissed her, as she knew he would, and the taste of him pulled her in deep.
    His tongue stroked hers, his lips sucked at her mouth. Andrew’s kiss was hot and wet and wonderful. But way too short, because just moments later he lifted his lips from hers.
    “You too tired for me, there, Chloe-doe?”
    She made a sound, one she’d never produced before. She guessed he got her message because she felt his smile. Just in case she was imagining that, she sent a stern command to her left