ready.”
She almost laughed at the confusion clouding Jase’s gaze. People went in front of a firing squad with more enthusiasm than Davey displayed right now. It would have been funny if this ritual didn’t break her heart the tiniest bit. Embarrassment flooded through her at what Jase might think, but the reward was too high to worry about a little humiliation.
She rose to her knees and opened her arms. Davey stepped forward and she pulled him close, burying her nose in his neck to breathe him in as she gave him a gentle hug. A few moments were all he could handle before he squirmed in her embrace. “I love you,” she whispered before letting him go.
He met her gaze. “I know,” he answered simply, then turned and walked out of the room.
She stood, wiping her cheeks. Why bother to hide the tears? She’d left the lion’s share of her pride, along with most of her other possessions, back in Boston.
“Sorry,” she said to Jase, knowing her smile was watery at best. Emily might be considered beautiful, but she was an ugly crier. “It’s a deal he and I have. Every time he finishes a set, I get a hug. A real one.”
“Emily,” he whispered.
“Don’t say anything about it, please. I can’t afford to lose it now. It’s dinnertime, and I don’t need to give my family one more reason to worry about me.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he nodded. “In case no one has said it lately,” he said as she moved past, “your ex-husband may be political royalty, but he’s also a royal ass. You deserve to be loved better.” The deep timbre of his voice rumbled through her like a cool waterfall, both refreshing and fierce in its power.
She shivered but didn’t stop walking out of the room. Reality kept her moving forward. Davey was her full reason for being now. There was no use considering what she did or didn’t deserve.
“Is that you, Jase?”
“Yeah, Dad.” Jase slipped into the darkened trailer and flipped on the light. “I’m here. How’s it going?”
“I could use a beer,” Declan Crenshaw said with a raspy laugh. “Or a bottle of whiskey. Any chance you brought whiskey?”
His father was sprawled on the threadbare couch that had rested against the thin wall of the mobile home since Jase could remember. Nothing in the cramped space had changed from the time they’d first moved in. The trailer’s main room was tiny, barely larger than the dorm room Jase had lived in his first year at the University of Denver. From the front door he could see back to the bedroom on one side and through the efficiency kitchen with its scratched Formica counters and grainy wood cabinets to the family room on the other.
“No alcohol.” He was used to denying his dad’s requests for liquor. Declan had been two years sober and Jase was hopeful this one was going to stick. He was doing everything in his power to make sure it did. Checking on his dad every night was just part of it. “How about water or a cup of tea?”
“Do I look like the queen of England?” Declan picked up the potato chip bag resting next to him on the couch and placed it on the scuffed coffee table, then brushed off his shirt, chip crumbs flying everywhere.
“No one’s going to mistake you for royalty.” Jase’s dad looked like a man who’d lived a hard life, the vices that had consumed him for years made him appear decades older than his sixty years. If the alcohol and smoking weren’t enough, Declan had spent most of his adult life working in the active mines around Crimson, first the Smuggler silver mine outside of Aspen and then later the basalt-gypsum mine high on Crimson Mountain.
Between the dust particles, the constant heavy lifting, operating jackhammers and other heavy equipment, the work took a physical toll on the men and women employed by the mines. Jase had tried to get his father to quit for years, but it was only after a heart attack three years ago that Declan had been forced to retire. Unfortunately, having so much time on his hands had led him to a six-month drunken binge that had almost killed him. Jase needed to believe he wasn’t going to have to watch his father self-destruct ever again.
“Maybe they should since you’re a royal pain in my butt,” Declan growled.
“Good one, Dad.” Jase didn’t take offense. Insults were like terms of endearment to his father. “Why are you sitting here in the dark?” He picked up the chip bag and dropped it in the trash can in the kitchenette, then started washing the dishes piled in the sink.
“Damn cable is out again. I called but they can’t get here until tomorrow. If I lose my DVRed shows, there’s gonna be hell to pay. The Real Housewives finale was on tonight. I wanted to see some rich-lady hair pulling.”
Jase smiled. Since his dad stopped drinking, he’d become addicted to reality TV. Dance moms, little people, bush people, swamp people, housewives. Declan watched them all. “Maybe you should get a hobby besides television. Take a walk or volunteer.”
His dad let out a colorful string of curses. “My only other hobby involves walking into a bar, so I’m safer holed up out here. And I’m not spending my golden years working for free. Hell, I barely made enough to pay the bills with my regular job. There’s only room for one do-gooder in this family, and that’s you.”
It was true. The Crenshaws had a long history of living on the wrong side of the law in Crimson. There was even a sepia-stained photo hanging in the courthouse that showed his great-great-grandfather sitting in the old town jail. Jase had consciously set out to change his family’s reputation. Most of his life decisions had been influenced by wanting to be something different...something more than the Crenshaw legacy of troublemaking.
“I read in the paper that you’re sponsoring a pancake breakfast next week.”
Jase placed the last mug onto the dish drainer, then turned. “It’s part of my campaign.”
“Campaigning against yourself?” his dad asked with a chuckle.
“It’s a chance for people to get to know me.”
Declan stood, brushed off his shirt again. “Name one person who doesn’t know you.”
“They don’t know me as a candidate. I want to hear what voters think about how the town is doing, ideas for the future—where Crimson is going to be in five or ten years.”
His dad yawned. “Same place it’s been for the last hundred years. Right here.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know.” Declan patted Jase on the back. “You’re a good boy, Jason Damien Crenshaw. Better than I deserve as a son. It’s got to be killing Charles Thompson and his boys that a Crenshaw is going to be running this town.” His dad let out a soft chuckle. “I may give ex–Sheriff Thompson a call and see what he thinks.”
“Don’t, Dad. Leave the history between us and the Thompsons in the past where it belongs.” Jase didn’t mention the hit Aaron had put on him during the football game, which would only make his father angry.
“You’re too nice for your own good. Why don’t you pick me up before the breakfast?” Declan had lost his license during his last fall from the wagon and hadn’t bothered to get it reinstated. Jase took him to doctor’s appointments, delivered groceries and ran errands—an inconvenience, but it also helped him keep track of Declan. Something that hadn’t always been easy during the heaviest periods of drinking. “I’ll campaign for you. Call it volunteer work and turn my image around in town.”
Jase swallowed. He’d encouraged his father to volunteer almost as a joke, knowing Declan never would. But campaigning... Jase loved his dad but he’d done his best to distance himself from the reputation that followed his family like a plague. “We’ll see, Dad. Thanks for the offer. Are you heading to bed?”
“Got