Unspoken by Lisa Jackson Read Free Book Online

somethin’ about goin’ swimmin’ with Billie Ray and Pete Dauber.”
    “I don’t like him hangin’ out with the Dauber boys. They’re always into trouble.” He reached into the refrigerator and found a chilled can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. “Prob‘ly out smotdn’—”
    “Ah, ah, ah,” Peggy Sue cautioned, throwing a warning glance over her shoulder, then looking pointedly at the younger kids. “We’ll talk about this later.”
    “He should be tryin’ to find him a summer job.”
    “He bucked hay last month.”
    “And he could be doin’ it still if he hadn’t messed up with old man Kramer.” His bad mood worsening, Shep popped the top of his sixteen-ouncer and smiled as he heard that soft, familiar hiss.
    “Water under the bridge.”
    “I wants pie!” Donny announced.
    “After dinner. Now you run along, pick up them Legos and you, Candice, you help him.” To her husband she added, “Why don’t you fill up the wadin’ pool for ’em?”
    “In a minute.” He just wanted to settle into his recliner and watch the news, but the look she sent him would have skewered an angry rattler and he didn’t want to get into a fight, not now. He liked to pick his fights with her later at night and then spend some hours making up in the sack.
    When she wanted to be, Peggy Sue could be a wildcat in bed, the best damned fuck in the county. And she was his wife. For whatever reason he felt a sense of pride knowing that she was as horny as a wild mare in season, bucking and screaming on a Saturday night, only to rise early Sunday morning, get the kids cleaned up for Sunday school and lead the church choir with all the piety of an angel. He gave her a playful slap on the rump as he passed, and she turned on him. “Stop that and go fill the wadin’ pool. Now.” Shaking her head, she reached into a cupboard.
    “I will,” he promised and killed the Pabst, then tried to wrap his arms around her waist and cop a quick feel of her breasts. He nuzzled the back of her neck and pressed his cock, always at the ready, into that nice little crease in the backside of her jeans.
    “Stop it, Shep! I don’t have any time for this!” She wheeled to face him. Her mouth, where only traces of lipstick remained, was set, her jaw hard.
    “All right, all right. Hell, you’d think a woman would like a little attention now and again.”
    She muttered something under her breath as he found his old pair of sneakers. Neanderthal? Is that what she’d said? Not bothering with the laces, he walked outside and frowned.
    Skip strained at his leash and put up a ruckus.
    “Shut up!” Shep growled. Then, feeling a twinge of conscience as the retriever lunged toward him, hoping for some sign of attendon, Shep sighed and walked down the dusty path the dog had worn in the lawn to pat his head. “We’ll go out huntin’, you and I. Soon, ol’ boy,” he promised, then ambled to the hose bib, where wasps were hovering over a circle of mud from the leak in the faucet he’d planned to fix for weeks. Swatting away the pests, he pulled out the hose and walked to the pool. Week-old water stagnated, and blades of grass, weeds and dead bugs had collected on the surface. He dumped the . old water, filled the pool and figured he’d earned his spot in the recliner for the night.
    Donny and Candice clamored down the back porch and, squealing in delight or anger, splashed into the clear water. Candice was a beauty—would look just like her ma, he suspected—but Donny, he was a skinny kid with a nose that was forever running and big, watery eyes. Truth to tell, Shep wasn’t that fond of his youngest son and he felt guilty about it, but there it was. Donny was a whiner, a complainer, and Peggy Sue babied him, wouldn’t ever let Shep put a strap to the boy’s behind when he needed it.
    He twisted off the faucet and straightened, then looked past the side yard to the street where an aging El Camino glided past. Behind the wheel, her black hair blowing in