Page 1 of His for the Taking

PROLOGUE

ONE WEEK EARLIER

Jameson

“Come on, Josephine, let’s play while we wait for momma to get here,” I tell my nearly two-year-old daughter. Her mom and I aren’t together. We were each scratching an itch. Add a busted condom, and now here’s Josephine. Anyone who tells you that you can’t feel when a rubber breaks is a dumb-ass liar. I pulled out, not fast enough. She knew the moment it happened. A few weeks later when Emma called me, I knew what it was about. There was no doubt in my mind that Josephine was mine. Emma is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. We knew the two of us were like oil and vinegar. One night and a handful of talks later, once the doctor's appointments were out of the way, we set up a game plan. There wasn’t a chance in hell we wouldn’t be toxic to one another, and friendship is way better than two people vehemently hating one another for the rest of Josephine’s life. Our daughter didn’t deserve to know what a loveless marriage looked like and what she thought would be okay in her future relationships.

Emma and I are type-A personalities, both competitive, both hardworking in our respective careers, and both control freaks. We knew it’d be a recipe for disaster. I accompanied her to every appointment, and anytime a new milestone was hit, Emma would call me. It didn’t matter if the baby kicked, if she had weird cravings, or if the doctor said her blood sugar wasn’t within the right parameters. We kept an open line of communication and still do.

“Ma-ma coming?” Josephine's baby blues light up her entire face. She’s the perfect combination of Emma and me. Our girl has soft blonde hair like I had as a child; it’ll more than likely turn darker like mine has. She’s also got my blue eyes. The shape of her mouth, eyes, and lips, well, those are all Emma’s. Today, she’s decked out in a white frilly top, white and pink belle-bottom-style jeans, a gift from my brother and his wife the last time they stopped by. It’s now a repeat outfit for Josephine, and far be it for me to fight with her over clothes. Oh no, we deal with that enough when it comes to her hair. I’m a guy. I get that I’m not the best. I’ve tried the trick of using the hairbrush to get the bumps out of her ponytail, making sure it’s wet, and have even attempted the vacuum cleaner trick to get it all slicked back in a secure pony or two pigtails. It’s never what Josephine wants, and try as I might, Emma does it better. So, when she’s with me, it’s a sloppy whatever I can manage to do. I’ve got big fucking hands and big fucking fingers.

“She’ll be here in a few minutes.” I check my watch, seeing it’s later for Emma to arrive than usual. She’s usually prompt or will call to give me a heads-up unless a meeting kept her later than normal and she can’t pull her phone out. Emma’s job as a cooperate lawyer forty minutes on the outskirts of town means she’s in the thick of it. Our schedule of sharing Josephine works. We trade off back and forth—one week I get her four days, the next week I’ll have her for three days, and if we need a breather or something comes up, we work around it. While we’re at work, my parents help with Josephine for the most part. Though Emma has it in her head that Josephine should be in school. We’re supposed to be interviewing three next week. Where she found these schools in our small county, I’ve got no idea. I’ll say one thing: I’m not sold on the idea. Josephine is barely two, and I hate the thought of her being around strangers. Even if they are teachers. My parents love having her a few days a week. We’ve made it work. Sometimes, I’ll bring JoJo to work with me or Emma will work from home. So, it sucks that she’s willing to mix things up and cause this to be our biggest hurdle to date. I’ve asked Emma to reconsider it, but so far, it’s gone unanswered.

“How about if we look inside the fridge for Dad? I’ve gotta eat dinner, and snacks ain’t cuttin’ it.” The coffee table shows leftover snack remnants. My girl is a grazer, and I’m one hundred percent her snack bitch.

“Da-da, up!” Josephine holds her arms up in the air once I’m standing from the floor. The living room is a mess of toys, blankets, and pillows from our afternoon. She woke up from her nap and has been balls to the walls ever since.

“I hear you, princess.” I bend down to pick her up. Josephine’s arms wrap around my neck, legs looping onto my hip, and we head to the kitchen. If Emma’s much later, we may need to reassess dinner altogether. Maybe meet closer to her house and grab dinner along the way for all three of us.

“Snack?” Josephine’s hands come away from my neck as I take a few steps, cupping my cheeks to gain my undivided attention. Blue eyes lock on my own; it’s like looking in a mirror with the clarity of the color surrounding her irises.

“Dinner first, then a snack.” Compromising with an almost toddler is not for the faint of heart. If you don’t stand your ground, she’ll give you the puppy dog eyes, wobble her bottom lip, and then you’re on the receiving end of crocodile tears.

“No, no, no,” she starts winding up. I take a deep breath, ready to have a battle on my hands when my phone rings on the island countertop. I never thought I’d be happy for an interruption.

“Let’s answer the phone. It might be your momma.” That deters her from a meltdown over food.

“Ma-ma!” Josephine claps her hands. I plop her on the counter, keeping one hand behind her back just in case, grab my ringing phone, and find an unknown number on the screen.

“It’s not momma, princess. Hold on just a second,” I tell my daughter as her little grabby hands reach for the device.

“Me want.” Yeah, that’s not going to happen. This could be a work call, and while some people have no problem with a toddler, I can’t say the same for others.

“Hello, this is Jameson,” I answer the phone. The unknown number isn’t unusual, not with my line of work, so I figure it’s someone looking for a quote to clear their land.

“Hello, am I speaking with Jameson Evans?” a male voice asks on the other end of the line.

“This is him.” I’m waiting to hear who the caller is.

“I’m Deputy Sergeant Smith calling from Lane County Highway Patrol regarding Emma Kline.” I’m knocked back. My stomach feels like a lead bullet is lodged inside, and I haven’t even heard the rest of the reason for his call. All I know is this isn’t a call anyone wants to receive. Ever.

“Okay,” I croak the one-word answer, worry taking over my entire being as cold sweat coats my body while he talks.

“I’m sorry, sir. Mrs. Kline was killed in a car accident. Your name was found in her phone as the emergency contact listed.” I listen as he explains what happened, feeling as if I’m having an out-of-body experience. “Emma died on impact. A semi lost control after a car cut him off. She tried to change lanes, but it was unavoidable when the blown tire from the semi barreled her way.” The deputy sergeant takes a breath. Whether that’s for me or for him, I’ve got no clue, but I swallow, trying to dislodge the golf ball that’s settled in the back of my throat. “It’s an active investigation. We’re taking witness statements, and I’ll need you to meet me at the hospital.”

That’s when my body freezes, hands pressing Josephine closer as if she’s my rock, and it really hits me. Emma’s gone. Josephine won’t have Emma in her life anymore.

JAMESON

PRESENT DAY

The past week has been a clusterfuck. Emma had a goddamn last will and testament. Josephine would go directly to me, no time sharing if Leah, Emma’s sister, even remotely came back into the picture. Money set aside for school all through the years. Her house would be sold, and the proceeds would go to me in order to help support our daughter. If she weren’t currently buried six feet in the dirt, I’d be giving her a ration of shit. Though, to be fair, Emma was an attorney, so she had shit handled more than other people in their thirties. Hell, I’m not even that prepared, and I’m nearing my last year in my thirties. I swallow the lump in my throat thinking about everything Emma is going to miss out on. Josephine’s first day of school, learning how to ride a bike, and a slew of other moments I can’t even put into words. Christ, it still feels like it’s not real.

“How you doing, big brother?” Matthew asks as he walks up beside me. We’re at my parents’, where Emma’s friends and work associates are currently mingling. My family is here, too, for that matter. It took a bit for my parents to understand that we were just friends, especially Mom. She thought we’d learn to love one another until she saw Emma and me around each other a few times. Then it clicked and she was happy we were both okay doing the co-parenting gig. Leah, Emma’s only living relative, should be here, at least to say her goodbyes, but she isn’t. Something I can’t fathom. There’s a lot of heartache where the Kline girls come from, and it’s a damn shame all the hard work Emma dealt with to get out from underneath her parents went to waste on her sister. Both of her parents were addicted to drugs and overdosed when she was a teenager, forcing her to grow up too damn early. Emma did her best with Leah, but that didn’t stop her sister from shitting all over it. The way Emma told the story, the second Leah hit eighteen, she dropped out of high school and hit the roads running. They talk every now and then, but other than that, it’s like they were two strangers passing on a freeway. One going one way, the other going the opposite.

“As well as can be expected, I guess.” I rub a hand down my face, trying to clear the fog. Josephine’s been asking for her mom. I’ve tried to explain to her that she’s in the sky, but getting that through to a child isn’t easy. “What am I gonna do, man? I’ve got work piling up, and I can’t take the princess to work with me.” My job as the owner of a land clearing company makes it kind of hard when I’m on a skid steer for a few hours a day. Sure, there are times she can come to work with me, but on a few jobs, absolutely fucking not.

“You know we’ll take her, and so will Mom and Dad. But I get it. She’s going to have it tough without a female figure in her life. You ever thought about hiring a nanny?” I look at my brother as if he’s got two heads. A damn nanny. Not freaking likely.

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