Or rather, opened the front door.
The female voice that wafted from the front hall turned Jackson’s back into a stiff rod.
Tiffany.
Christ, he’d recognize her voice anywhere.
And then a male mumble reached his ears, another familiar drawl that produced a more violent reaction—Jackson’s hands curled into fists, so tight his knuckles turned white.
“Jackie,” Evie murmured in warning.
He swallowed and met his sister’s worried eyes. “Don’t worry, darlin’. It’s all good.”
Which was a big fat lie. There was nothing good about it, and Jackson was overwrought with tension as he waited for the newlyweds to make their appearance.
Shane and Tiffany entered the kitchen a minute later with timid expressions and half-hearted smiles.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Tiffany said in an overly cautious voice. Her blue eyes darted in Jackson and Mia’s direction before focusing on Arlene.
“Happy Thanksgiving, sweetie.” Jackson’s mother stepped over to give her daughter-in-law a brief hug.
Jackson didn’t miss the reluctance in his mom’s eyes. He knew that she’d never been able to warm up to Tiff again, not after what the girl had done to her youngest son. And he suspected that Tiff knew full well that she’d lost some of Arlene’s love and respect, because his ex-girlfriend’s body language didn’t relax even as she returned her mother-in-law’s embrace.
The hug Arlene exchanged with her eldest son was warmer, as was the tender look in her eyes as she kissed Shane’s cheek.
Jackson remained on guard as he studied the new arrivals. Tiff hadn’t aged at all in the three years that had passed—her ivory face was as smooth as cream, her long blond hair fuller and shinier than ever. Shane hadn’t changed much, either. He was still tall, still muscular, still wearing his brown hair in a buzz cut. Except he sported a full beard now, which was damn ironic considering Jackson looked like a lumberjack himself. It only made him all the more eager to shave his stupid precautionary beard.
After Evie went over to hug the newcomers, Shane and Tiffany finally turned to Jackson and Mia, their expressions more suited for an impending visit to the dentist than for greeting a long-lost relative.
“Jackson.” Shane cleared his throat awkwardly. “Welcome home.”
“Thanks.”
No handshake. No hug. Neither man so much as blinked as they eyed each other.
“Hey, Jackson,” Tiffany said softly.
“Tiff,” he replied with a strained nod.
“I’m glad you were able to make it,” she murmured. “Arlene said you might not come.”
Silence settled over the kitchen. From the corner of his eye, Jackson noticed Mia shifting on the stool, which alerted him to the fact that he hadn’t introduced her yet.
“This is my girlfriend Mia,” he said roughly.
Shane and Tiffany extended Mia the courtesy they’d denied Jackson by reaching over to shake her hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Mia said, her discomfort written all over her pretty face.
Another silence fell, this one laced with more uneasiness and a shitload of unspoken words.
Finally, Arlene spoke up in resignation. “Evie, why don’t you and Mia go out and set the table? Tiffany, you can help me fill up these water glasses while Shane carves the turkey. Jackson, find your father and tell him dinner’s ready.”
Arlene Ramsey, efficient as always, and a master at defusing potentially hazardous situations.
With that, everyone split up to complete their assigned tasks, and Jackson hurried out of the kitchen without looking back.
“Well,” Mia announced several hours later, her expression conveying deep weariness. “That was…brutal?”
Jackson followed her into his old bedroom, closed the door behind them and let out the colossal sigh that had been jammed in his throat all evening.
“I don’t know, though,” she went on thoughtfully. “Brutal might be too tame a word to describe that dinner. Maybe torturous?”
A tired laugh flew out of his throat. “Yeah, torture’s a good way to describe it.”
She chimed in with another “helpful” suggestion. “Or how about, ‘so uncomfortable I wanted to run out of the house, steal your father’s truck and drive straight to the airport’?”
“Also works.”