Cletus’s frown persisted as he studied me, but it became something else. Less confused, more thoughtful. More determined.
“You’re wrong. You have the upper hand, because my remarkable woman is astute, and strong, and kind.” He leaned forward slowly, holding my gaze, until our lips met. The kiss he gave me was both sad and sweet, resigned and rejoicing, and it crushed me, re-forming my body into a thousand tiny pieces of longing. I wanted to press closer. My thighs tensed on his lap. I wanted to live his kiss and touch his skin and dwell within his warmth and strength for eternity.
When our mouths parted, I chased his. But he tilted his chin to his chest until our foreheads touched. “You’ll always have the advantage of me, Jenn. Because I’m lost without you.”
CHAPTER 30
“Moral wounds have this peculiarity - they may be hidden, but they never close; always painful, always ready to bleed when touched, they remain fresh and open in the heart.”
― Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
Cletus
Perhaps I was being selfish.
In fact, I was being selfish.
It was too much to ask of a person—to be my salvation, to teach me how to have faith, to balance my world-weary view with rainbows and sunshine and gardening in overalls—but . . .
Oh well.
Too late for second-guessing. I was in love with the woman.
Consequently, she was stuck with me. She wasn’t ready for marriage yet, and that was okay. I would wait. I might ask her to marry me once a month until she said yes, but otherwise I would be the epitome of virtuous fortitude and patience.
Maybe not strictly virtuous.
Sporadic virtue would do the trick, with frequent episodes of impertinence and indulgence . . . unwrapping of presents.
Also stuck with me, my family.
So while Jennifer was still upstairs in Ashley’s old room, asleep on Thursday morning, I called a family meeting.
“Who made this coffee?” Roscoe called from the kitchen
“Cletus did.” Duane sat next to me on the couch and sipped from his mug.
Roscoe strolled out the kitchen, mugless. “Then, no thanks.”
“Really? You’re going to be judgy with Cletus about his coffee right now?” Billy smirked at our youngest brother.
Roscoe crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t care what he’s going through. I ain’t drinking his coffee. It smells like fish oil and tar.”
“Praise for my excellent coffee notwithstanding, I have something serious to discuss with y’all.” I sat forward on the couch, wanting to get to the point.
Roscoe had arrived late last night for the wedding festivities, which were set to commence this evening, starting with the bachelor party. All siblings were present.
I’d purposefully excluded Drew, because—as a federal game warden—he was law enforcement. I didn’t want him to feel any conflict of interest. Best to leave him in the dark.
It was time for me to share my proverbial burdens.
“Let’s hear it.” Ashley drank from her coffee mug, then smacked her lips. “My, my, that is some mighty fine coffee.”
Roscoe rolled his eyes, but ignored our sister.
I stood and crossed to the mantel, addressing the room. “I have two things to tell y’all. The first is a . . . theoretical situation, and I need your advice. I’d like for all of us to vote.”
“You want us to vote on a theoretical situation?” Duane, also drinking my coffee, frowned at me.
“That’s right.”
My siblings shared a sundry array of glances, most were wide-eyed and either confused or concerned.
Billy, sitting in Grandma Oliver’s favorite chair, folded the newspaper he’d been reading and set it to the side. “Okay. What is this theoretical situation?”
I cleared my throat, knowing this was the correct course of action. And yet, I hated losing control. I hated handing this over and not having a clear idea of what the future held. But Jennifer’s words the previous day had hit home. I’d been so busy trying to save my siblings, I hadn’t stopped to check in with them.
What did they want?
“Let’s say, theoretically, that I’ve been stealing evidence from the sheriff’s office that implicates members of a certain motorcycle club and placing that evidence in strategic locations.”
Again, my family traded looks.
Beau was the first to speak. “What does that mean? Why would you do that?”
“Because a RICO charge requires at least two acts of racketeering activity.”
The room fell silent. Coffee mugs everywhere halted halfway to mouths, and those mouths fell open.
“Oh my God!” Ashley gaped at me: part horrified, part proud. “What did you do?”
“RICO? You’re taking them down on a RICO charge?” Billy looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or shout.