Page 81 of Small Town Frenzy
She seems satisfied, and says, “Carry on.”
Resting my back against the post, I angle his way. “You know what else we have in common, Jacob?” He’s looking at me with such anticipation that I hope I don’t disappoint him. “Our eye color is the same. Hold out your hand like this.” I hold my hand out palm down next to his. “Our hands. Look at that.”
He says, “Whoa. The same.”
I hear the soft giggle from Cricket but try hard torestrain mine. It’s tough with this kid being as cute as he is. “Do you know why that is?” He shakes his head, staring right into my eyes as he waits for the answer. “It’s because we’re related.”
“We are?” He shoots his gaze to his mom.
“Hey,” I say, tapping his shoulder to bring his attention back to me. “Do you know how you met my dad at the ranch?” He nods vigorously, so much so it’s tempting to catch it before he rattles his brain. “I’m his son. He’s my dad, my parent. You have your mom, who is your parent. But you also have me, your dad.” The ending clogs in my throat and doesn’t come out as strong as I hoped, but I clear it to set them free. “I’m your dad, Jacob. Your father.”
He looks at Cricket again. She smiles, lifting the hat that’s barely hanging onto his head and brushing his hair back from his sweaty hairline before lowering it again. “I’m your mom. Griffin is your dad, buddy. Isn’t that great news?”
When his face whips back to me, his eyes study mine. He blinks a few times, and then says, “I want to paint.”
Cricket’s and my eyes meet under laughter. She doesn’t say a thing, though. He’s waiting for me to respond, so I nod toward the distance where we were doing the art. “Go paint, Champ.”
He hops down the steps, holding his hat, and then dashes off. He doesn’t get very far, though, before he turns around and comes running back. “I’m glad to have you as my daddy.” This time, he runs straight into my arms, into my life forever, and right into my heart.
CHAPTER 34
Cricket
One week later. . .
I lifton my tiptoes to scan the higher shelf, but even with my glasses on, I can’t see far enough. The text on the spines is too small, and the gold lettering has faded from age and wear and tear.
I go to the far corner of the library and drag the ladder on the track over to the section I believe is where the Dover family records have always been kept. I used to flip through some of the pages of these old records when I was a teenager and bored out of my mind.
Scanning the other books as I climb, I stop when I reach the fourth set of shelves a few feet below the twenty-foot-high ceiling. I’m not afraid of heights, but I’m not used to being up here in the heels I mistakenly chose to wear to work today.
“Duck. Duck. Duck. Duck. Duck.” I drag my finger alongthe wood instead of the books to help preserve it. “Goose.”Bingo. I remove books 1878–1928 and 1929–1979 from the shelf and carefully climb back down the ladder.
“What are you doing in here, Buggy?” My dad’s voice is gruff with the irritation he’s harbored inside most of his life. It used to startle me. I always thought I was in trouble. I finally realized that’s just who he is. He’s always been impossible to please, and his demeanor reflects it.
Strange for a man who was given everything from money to an empire that had already been built for him to lead. He has cars, a yacht, four vacation homes, and a wife who will do anything to keep the Dover name in good light and company at the table.
“Research.” I set the books on the large wooden table in the center of the room and smile. “Hello, Father. How are you?” Apparently, etiquette is reserved for business dealings and friends, not his grown children. Correction,not me. I know he loves catching up with William.
“On?”
He glosses right over the niceties like I hadn’t said a dang word. “Our family.”
He shuffles his finger in the air between the books and the ladder. “Put those up. You can ask me. I can tell you anything you need to know.”
“Actually, no one tells me anything, so I decided to do the research myself.” I sit down, setting my clasped hands on the wood in front of me, prim and proper, like what was always expected of me.
His footsteps are heavy against the wood floors as he crosses the room. Coming to the side of the table, he asks, “Don’t you have work to do?”
“You’re starting to make me think I might discover something you don’t want me to know.”
“You’re not an ingenue, Cricket. You’re a mother with no husband.” He shoves his finger in the direction of the entrance to the library. “That child has no father. I think you understand very well that every family has a dark past.”
The heat of my boiling blood reaches my cheeks. The fire burns in my eyes as I stare at him. I may be used to this treatment, but when he drags my son into it . . . “Jacob is not a part of your dark past. You created that all on your own. He’s the only good thing to come of this family.” I almost feel bad for not mentioning Savvy, but she’d rather me make the point than water down my argument. “Anyway, you’re wrong.”
“How so?” His fingers begin a sonata of heavy taps against the wood table. Playing piano used to bring him joy. He stopped playing years ago, but it would benefit him to pick up the hobby again.
I sit back under a shrug, and reply, “The Greenes don’t seem to fall under that concept. They’re the nicest people I’ve met in a long time.”
