Jackson: The Sons of Dusty Walker (2 page)

Jackson Walker stood on the white line running down the
middle of Main Street, Red Creek, Kansas as the sun rose behind him. His shadow
grew shorter by the second, merging with his body. As if his deceased father,
Dusty Walker, was casting a reminder that his third-oldest son would be walking
in his boots that week.

He glanced along the right side of the street where the town
stretched out for a few blocks before hitting the open space of the farm
implement dealer. Gazing at the left side of the street, he watched the
activity inside Cubby’s, where the metal
Open
sign hung on the
restaurant door in this time-warp of a town. He’d eaten breakfast at his
father’s…no…
his and his three brothers’
massive house out on the lake,
but with his cowboy metabolism, he’d be hungry again before the sun hit a
forty-five degree angle.

Next to Cubby’s, and directly to Jackson’s left, lights
gleamed from the big main level windows of the three-story building bearing the
name D. Walker Mineral Company. Although barely past seven in the morning, the
employees were already busy at work, like they’d been struck with gold fever.
He wandered that way, ready to start another long day. Today was only Tuesday,
and he’d signed on to stay the week, but yesterday, learning the business from
the three people who had worked for Jackson’s father, had exhausted him. The
massive amount of information he needed to assimilate made him dizzier than
riding a world-class bucking bronc.

He pushed open the glass door and greeted Abby, the
receptionist/bookkeeper. She winked at him from behind her tall counter, and
pointed toward the little kitchenette hidden around a corner. “Coffee’s fresh.”
Her short, blonde curls bounced as she adjusted her chair. Jackson guessed her
to be in her mid-forties, working to supplement her and her husband’s income
from their small farm outside of town. Although the company used an accounting
firm in Kansas City, Abby managed to keep everything at the office running smoothly.

“Thanks.” He trudged back toward the big office at the end
of the hall. Along the way, he passed the four open doors of the other offices,
but only one desk was occupied. The specialists worked odd hours, depending on
what time zone their current project landed in, and today, Vic typed as he
spoke Spanish into his earpiece.

Would Jackson ever get used to this incredible venture he’d
ended up owning a quarter share in?

His father’s banged-up wooden desk didn’t look like it
belonged to a multi-millionaire. Nor did the worn leather chair. But then, his
old man had traveled more than he officed, especially seeing as how he’d been
juggling five families around the country.

Kicking the rolling chair back with a little too much
aggression, he grabbed at it before it hit the bookshelf. Who the hell did
Dusty Walker think he was, starting families wherever he pleased? And when the
hell had his dad planned to introduce the brothers? At his retirement party?
“Shit.” Jackson would probably never find the answers he was looking for. The
attorney, Stanley Benner, didn’t have any clue, or at least he wasn’t talking.

With a long exhale, Jackson unbuttoned the cuffs of his
white and blue plaid cotton shirt and rolled up the sleeves, staring out the
window at Red Creek, which wound its way along the backs of the buildings on
this side of the street. How often had his dad looked out at this view? Had he
ever thought of Jackson, wishing he could be out west with his son?

He frowned. With one of his
many
sons.

A twinge of loneliness hit him. Dad was gone.

Jackson looked in the direction of the cemetery where Dusty
and his wife, Theresa, were buried. Or at least, what was left of them after
the car crash that killed them both instantly. A good plan would be for Jackson
to go visit the graves, forgive his dad, make his peace. But the anger residing
inside him at the man’s screwed-up idea of “the perfect family” grated like an
old rusty gate swinging in the wind.

He scratched the side of his head, pulling on his too-long
hair. He’d always taken pride in having the same dark-brown hair as Dusty. But
now, Jackson wished he’d gotten it cut in Oregon before he’d left to come here
Sunday night. He’d spotted a barber pole somewhere down a side street. If the
August humidity got any heavier and made his hair curl, he’d go get it chopped
clean off.

Jackson pulled his phone from his pocket and accessed his
email. The one with the flag on it, from his younger half-brother Dylan who’d
been here in town the week before, caught his eye again.

He shook his head. He had a younger brother? And two older
brothers? “Strange world.”

Crazy Dylan had suggested they all meet back in Red Creek on
the last day of the month, at noon at Cubby’s Restaurant. He’d written
something about the town having a lot to offer, the family business keeping his
interest, and the people here accepting him like a born-and-raised Red
Creekian.

His younger brother had actually used the term
Red
Creekian
in a sentence. Even so, Jackson had no plans to ever revisit this
town after his week’s incarceration was up.

No new emails, so he tucked his phone away and took a look
at the files sitting on the desk. With a deep breath, he prepared his brain for
another day of massive info dump.

Jackson sat in his dad’s chair and opened the top file.
West
Virginia coal and gas plant production specification codes
… The words
didn’t even register as English. “Hell.” Jackson didn’t have enough fuel in him
yet for this tedious shit. He stood, hiked up his jeans, and walked back down
the hall to the small kitchen. Pouring a cup, he spotted a black ringed-binder
on top of the refrigerator.

He pulled down the book and flipped it open. The first page
had a newspaper article about Dusty Walker’s first day as owner of the newly
re-incorporated company he and his wife had inherited from his father-in-law.
“Huh.” So Dad had changed the company name. And his wife owned half, which
probably explained why Dusty had stayed with her, the greedy asshole.

Jackson felt the heat of anger surface again, and shook his
head. The guy was gone. Wasn’t it time to shove past this pissed-off phase and
move on to…moving on?

He scanned through dozens of pages of news articles, the
first half from actual newspapers, the later ones printed from online sites,
all of them chronicling the rapid growth of the company under his father’s
leadership. He had to admit, Dad had a crap-load of business sense.

“Hi there.” The receptionist’s voice reached him from her
desk.

“Hi. Is he here?” A deep female voice had Jackson cocking
his head.

“He is. Let me—”

“Wait, which one is this, now?” That sultry voice again.

“It’s Jackson, the third son. He’s twenty-five. From
Oregon.” Abby didn’t bother to lower her voice. She must not realize he was
just around the corner. Or did she know he was there, and just didn’t care if
she appeared professional or not? “Did you hear about what went on with Dylan
last week? You know Zoe Chapman, right?” Abby’s voice went quieter.

“I know Zoe. What happened?” The sultry one sounded curious.

Abby’s voice dropped down to a mumble and the two spoke for
a minute.

Jackson strained to hear, but couldn’t catch anything.

“That’s quite a coincidence.” The sexy voice spoke.

“Yes, I thought so, too.” Abby tsked. “So, would you like me
to let Jackson know you’re here to see him?”

“Wait, is this the rodeo cowboy?” Ms. Sensual Voice sounded
disappointed.

“Yes. That’s him.” A giggle. “Is that a problem?”

Jackson set down his cup and moved a few inches to peek
around the wall. His jaw dropped.

Tall, maybe just a few inches shorter than his six-feet,
two-inches, even in her flat…red
high-tops
? Different. Her jet-black
hair shone in the bright light as it swung thick and straight, cut just at her
shoulders. Her jeans clung to her curvy hips and she had a booty that made him
forget to breathe. The graphic printed T-shirt strained at the press of her
full breasts against the front of the material.

He ducked back into the kitchen and swallowed, recognizing
the heat rushing through his body as blood racing from his head to his groin.
Holy hell, she was the best thing he’d seen in this town, by a long shot.

“I was hoping…” Her sexy voice switched to a long sigh. “For
one of the business-type brothers, but I was in Kansas City for two weeks
setting up new servers for a startup company, and I really need to talk to one
of Dusty’s heirs.”

Jackson took another quick look at her. Yeah, she definitely
put a rocket in his pocket.

“You should talk to Jackson. He’s a nice guy.”

Ms. Sensual Voice pressed two fingers between her eyebrows.
“It can probably wait until next week. Talk to that one, instead.”

Abby shrugged. “Why?”

Jackson knew he had to make his presence known before the
hottie said something that’d make her too embarrassed to go out with him. He
grinned. And he would sorely like to take her out. Then take her back home, and
spend the night with her. “Because…” Stepping out of the kitchen, he strode
toward her, using his sure-hit cowboy gait.

She turned to look at him. Her sky-blue eyes widened and her
cheeks pinked up to a sexy shade of embarrassment.

“Our guest thinks this dumb ol’ cowboy don’t have enough
gray matter upstairs to understand what she needs.” And what she needed was to
have those red lips of hers kissed. Hard.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Walker.” Her sensual voice rolled quietly
from her as her gaze dropped to take him all in, then shot back to his face.

He held out his hand. “Jackson Walker.”

She took his hand and the surge of electricity that ran up
his arm and through his nerves blotted out all thoughts except bedroom ideas.

“Aurora Hughes.” She pulled her hand back a little too
quickly, and sucked in an uneven breath. Did she feel it, too? That zip and
ping of lust?

“Is that your real name, Rori?” Abby smiled like she was
enjoying every minute of this meeting.

“Yes.” Rori’s blue gaze met his. “My friends call me Rori.”
She shook her head as if to pull her thoughts back from wherever they’d shot
off to. “May I speak with you for a few minutes, Mr. Walker?”

“Sure thing, and it’s Jackson.” He gestured for her to
precede him down the hallway. “Abby, hold my calls please.” Of course, he
hadn’t received one call since he’d arrived here, but it sounded good anyway.

“Yes, Mr. Walker.” She sing-songed with a smirk as she went
back to her keyboard.

In front of him, Ms. Aurora “Rori” Hughes walked stiffly,
but that nicely-rounded bottom of hers moved and swayed in an amazingly
seductive way. They stepped into the big office and he shut the door. When he
turned, she stood right there.

Those blue eyes stared into his, and when he inhaled, her
light patchouli scent wrapped itself around inside his head. She opened her
mouth.

He swallowed and leaned a centimeter closer, ready to kiss
her perfect lips if she gave one more sign that she wanted him as much as he
craved her.

“I want to apologize for what I said out there.” Rori nodded
toward the front of the building. “I meant no offense, but I have a bad history
with rodeo cowboys.”

Her words cooled his jets as effectively as a shovel-full of
snow dumped inside the front of his pants.

****

Rori bit her tongue when Jackson jerked back as if she’d
thrown a rotten tomato at his forehead. She hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but
oh boy, was he a barrel full of sexiness. Those inky blue eyes surrounded by
long, thick lashes. That mouth, full and curved in a teasing smile. A jaw that
looked strong enough to withstand anything a rodeo horse could throw at him.
She fisted her hands, wanting to run them through his shaggy, slightly curling
hair.

She’d almost imagined he wanted to kiss her. Right here in
Dusty’s office. Blinking, she backed up a few steps but bumped into the edge of
the desk. “Sorry. I’m a little…” Rori glanced at the desktop. What was she?
Incredibly turned on by a guy she’d met less than a minute ago? A shiver raced
through her, tightening her nipples and sending a sweet ache to her belly.

“A little…?” He reached around her and pulled one of the
guest chairs nearer. Leaning over her a bit too close.

He gave off the purely masculine scent of soap and outdoors
and she held her breath, keeping her gaze fixed on the desk to fight back that
naughty temptation. Rori had to remember the pitiful existence her cousin lived
because of a rodeo junkie. She refused to end up the same way.

When Jackson finally moved away from her, she sank into the
chair, glad her knees held out as long as they had, and watched him stroll
around the desk and take a seat in Dusty’s chair. Dang, she had more than one
reason to be uninterested in this man. Besides rodeo cowboys being poison, this
one was her benefactor’s son, to whom she was indebted. So why did the idea of
shoving all those files off the desk and spreading herself on the flat surface
for his pleasure keep intruding on her thoughts?

“Ms. Hughes?” He leaned back in the chair, watching her with
those too-seductive eyes. “What can I help you with?”

“It’s Rori. Please.” Her gaze darted around as she recalled
the points she’d come here to make. “First…” She blurted the word too loudly,
and his eyebrows rose. “First, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your
father. He was a kind man, a good businessman, and everyone in town is feeling
the loss.”

Jackson nodded once, his lips thinning.

Yep, she could imagine how he felt, learning he had three
brothers he hadn’t known about. She’d be angry as a hornet, too. Maybe she
could help him by showing him the good his father had done. “Second, I want to
talk about Cyber Wise.”