Men of Smithfield: Seth and David by L.B. Gregg

Author:L.B. Gregg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-08-24T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

I exercised in my home gym every morning before work. At six eighteen the phone rang and I knew, even before I picked up, the increasingly difficult and verbally unimaginative Ben Martin was calling again.

I wiped my face on my shirt and then answered the phone. “Yeah.”

“Weston?”

“Just get to it. I’ve got things to do.”

“You think this a joke?” He wasn’t slurring this morning, so he must be hung over.

“What’s your goal, Martin? Do you have a plan? Are you trying to get legal custody of Molly? Visitation privileges? Are you making a political statement? Or, I know I’m reaching here, are you after money?”

“You think anyone’s going to let you keep the kid?”

He was serious? “As original as your thought process is, you need to understand that the law in this state is clear. It’ll come as no surprise to my attorney that I’m gay. You gave up your rights. I have guardianship. I’m Molly’s next of kin, officially. So tell me, what is it you really want?”

“What will you give me to drop this forever?”

He was serious. Unbelievable. “You did that six years ago. What will it take for you to stop calling? A charge of harassment? I can handle that.”

And he hung up. These calls were a waste of time. I set the answering machine and went to take my shower. Did he think I meant how much money do you want? Idiot.

But while Molly brushed her teeth and got ready for her day with Miss Pat, I got on the phone again—this time with Trooper Gervase.

* * *

We were hanging out in the driveway after work. Molly rode her bike in circles, the dog sleeping and snuffling, and I was hosing mildew off some lawn chairs and eating a granola bar, when a green Ford Escape pulled to the curb. David Cooke climbed from the driver’s side as kids spilled out of every door. There were eight people crammed into that vehicle, like some kind of clown car in a circus. The Cooke Family Circus. I shut off the hose. Molly dumped her bike and ran down the driveway to Katie, who scrambled out last. I wondered if she’d been riding in the glove compartment. Where the hell had he fit all those kids? And wasn’t that against the law?

David pointed my way, and then addressed the gathering horde. “This is Mr. Weston. Behave or I’ll kill you.” I hadn’t spoken to him since Monday evening, and I knew instantly that he’d come to apologize for his outburst. Something like a smile warmed my face.

A teenage girl, impossibly blonde, lean and pretty, came over and stuck out her hand, “Hi, Mr. Weston. I’m Claire Cooke. I’m eighteen. If you need a sitter, anytime, I’m available and my rate is negotiable. I have tons of experience, I mean, obvi, and I have references.”

I shook her hand. What the hell did obvi mean?

“Just excuse her. She’s trying to buy a car and she’s shameless about drumming up business.

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