she’d mentioned her plans to Josiah.
She turned the knob.
Sure enough, it was unlocked. That meant one of the Morgans was nearby, so she carefully slid the door open and called, “Hello! It’s Cricket Jasper!”
She waited for a “Hello, Deacon!” or something to that effect, but no one answered. Closing the door behind her, she walked into the hallway. “Hello! Gabe? Dane? Pete?”
All the brothers had moved into houses with their brides, leaving the ranch house to Josiah. Pete was the most recent to move, needing private space for his four new babies and wife. He and Priscilla had bought a house only a few miles down the road once the adoption was final, and Cricket was pretty certain Josiah had been crushed by the departure of the babies. “Anybody home?” she called.
Jack appeared in the hall like a ghost. “Hey, Cricket.”
He startled her into the fastest heartbeat she’d ever experienced. “You scared me, Jack!”
He grinned at her. “I can’t exactly claim that I’m home, to answer your question. But I’m here.” He looked around, his gaze returning to the flat stare he almost always wore.
“So what are you doing here?” Cricket demanded, her heartbeat still jumping around.
“What are you doing here?”
“Measuring for drapes.” Cricket slid past Jack, keeping an eye on him. After Josiah’s warning about his son, Cricket had decided her unhealthy crush was something she needed to put away. The man was sexy, but as a deacon she had no business mooning after a hunk who had not one good side but two bad. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just measure, draw some sketches and go.”
He caught her arm as she went by. Cricket jumped, snatched her arm back.
“Hey,” he said, “I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.”
“No,” Cricket said. “We’re fine. Let’s not trouble ourselves about anything except getting your father well.”
Jack looked at her, his gaze direct, sending a shiver over her. “I heard you telling a bunch of fibs to my father last night.”
She shrugged, clearly not remorseful. “So? Is it wrong to want him to be happy? Is it sinful to put him in a happy frame of mind before he has major surgery?”
He eyed her. “A fibbing deacon.”
She raised her chin. “Never you mind what’s between me and the Lord, cowboy.”
He grinned. “Your conscience is your own, my lady.”
“Good.” She started to turn away, but there was that hand again, holding her too close to him. She wished she didn’t feel an unsettling sizzle everywhere he touched her. This time, she stood firm, refusing to allow him to unsettle her.
“And while we’re examining your unusual conscience,” Jack said. “You wouldn’t help my father escape, would you, Deacon?”
Chapter Three
“What are you talking about?” Cricket demanded. “Escape what?”
“Pop left the hospital in the night. Checked himself out.”
Cricket seemed to consider his words, doubting him. She finally said, “He was fine when I was visiting.”
Jack shrugged. “Guess he changed his mind. Now I need to find him.”
“Is he here?” Cricket’s voice contained a dose of worry.
“No. Too obvious, though I was hoping he’d make it easy on me to take him back to the hospital.”
Cricket held her notepad close to her chest. Perhaps she was afraid he might take a bite out of her, a very tempting thought—but he was no Big Bad Wolf, contrary to his father’s opinion.
“If he doesn’t want to go back, you can’t make him.”
Jack smiled. “Maybe you could give me your best thoughts on where he might be. My brothers haven’t seen him, their wives haven’t seen him. The logical conclusion was that he’d had a yen to see the grandchildren. Then we figured he might be here. No luck.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry I can’t help.”
Thunder clapped outside and a slice of lightning cracked near the house.
“My word,” Cricket said, “that sounded close! If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my measurements and let you get on with your search. I hope you find him, I really do.”
Jack let her go. She didn’t know where Pop was. Nobody had the faintest idea; no one even knew where all the properties he owned were. He could be anywhere in the United States. Pete had mentioned that he thought Pop had sold the knight’s templary in France, but Jack supposed Pop could just as well have left the country. “He is the most difficult man on the planet,” he muttered, along with a well-chosen expletive or three.
“Did you say something?” Cricket asked, madly scribbling numbers on her notepad.
“Nothing fit for the ears of present company.”
She turned back to what she was doing. “I can’t blame him, you know.”
“Blame him about what?”
“He didn’t want your kidney. He didn’t want anything from you at all. I polished your résumé, tried to make it seem like you were the kind of son who—”
“I heard the polishing.” Jack threw himself into his father’s recliner. “Pop didn’t believe any of that crap.”
Cricket sniffed, went back to ignoring him.
“Where’d you stay last night?”
“With Pete and Priscilla and the four babies.”
He watched her stretch to measure the length of the current rod, admiring her lean body as she moved. “Full house?”
“Yes,” Cricket said. “I love being there. They can use the extra pair of hands, and I enjoy the fun.” She stopped to look at him. “Have you even seen any of your nieces and nephews?”
“Deacon, look,” Jack said, “I haven’t seen my brothers or my father in years. Why on earth would I have seen their offspring, which, by the way, only became part of the family in the past few months?”
She stared at him. “Some people like to make up for lost time.”
Her words needled him. She knew nothing about his family, knew nothing about him. He really didn’t feel like he needed judgment from someone who was supposed to be fairly nonjudgmental.
“Nothing short of a wedding will bring your father back here,” Cricket said, and Jack blinked.
“You don’t have any children?” he asked.
“I most certainly do not.” She bent down to examine the bottom of the windowsill and he didn’t bother to avert his gaze from taking in a scrumptious eyeful of forbidden booty. “Anyway, what matters is whether you have any children. Your father lives for family.”
“Jeez, don’t rub it in.” Darn Pop for being so difficult. He was almost tired of being lectured by Cricket, yet the instrument of his conscience-picking was at least attractive. Rain suddenly slashed the windows, and Jack noted the room had gotten darker. “When you plan for drapes, maybe something heavy enough to keep out the cold in winter and the heat in summer would be nice,” he said, watching the rain run in rivulets down the wall of windows. “No sheer lacy things that just look pretty and serve little purpose.”
“Oh?” Cricket straightened, much to his disappointment. “Planning on living here?”
“I don’t think so,” he said softly. “I haven’t stayed in the same place