“Nothing much to report,” I said, my throat tight with the lie. But it wasn’t really a lie, because there truly wasn’t anything to report.
What could I say? Oh, you know that woman I’ve been pining over for the last five or so years? The one I never told you about? The reason I haven’t seriously dated anyone until just recently? Well, I saw her in town on Saturday with Sienna and Jethro Winston. I was covered in pie and looked like a fool. She looked stunning. We didn’t speak. I’ll likely never see her again except in her movies. And that was that.
Besides, the woman was engaged. My blood pressure spiked every time I thought about Raquel with that scumbag, cheating loser . . . rich, famous, sex symbol. I grit my teeth.
Moving on.
Rebecca returned with my father’s ice water, and he muttered a thank you, taking a sip before asking, “Are you and Boone running that marathon next month?”
“We are. Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” Boone was another deputy, real smart guy, and my roommate. He’d moved in about eighteen months ago, to save on rent and expenses he’d said, but I also suspected he’d done it to create some distance between himself and his family.
Don’t get me wrong, the Boones were a great family. But when he’d been living on his own, I got the sense they felt free to come and go from his place whenever they wanted. Now that we bunked together, they’d become more circumspect.
My father chuckled. “Yeah, right. My marathon running days are over. How about the boat? You taking her out yet?”
I’d bought myself a Scout 380 LXF at auction. The weekender fishing boat had been abused and neglected by its original owner, a business mogul from Knoxville who’d gone bankrupt, but not before taking a shotgun to his cars and boats, destroying an entire fleet of luxury vehicles before the bank claimed them. I wasn’t too angry about it, I couldn’t have afforded the boat otherwise.
It had taken over four years, but I’d completely renovated her, teaching myself how to upholster, replace fiberglass and epoxy-infused carbon fiber, lay teak decking, add custom motorized awnings, install a shower surround, and rebuild a few Yamaha motors along the way. I’d also made a lot of early mistakes and had been forced to redo and redo and redo work until I’d done it right. But she still wasn’t ready yet.
“No, sir. The rudder system still doesn’t have full radius, so I ordered some parts, and they’ll be in next week.”
His eyes narrowed even as he smiled. “Jackson, is this a hobby or a boat?”
“A bit of both.”
“You ever planning on using that thing? Why don’t you just call Shelly or Beau to help you with the rudder? They’ll get her fixed up right quick, save you the hassle. Rely on the experts.”
Because I want to do it myself.
Forcing my jaw to unclench, I shrugged, saying lightly, “Oh, I know. If I can’t get it worked out this time, I’ll give Shelly a call.”
He looked me over, shaking his head like I amused him. “You’re stubborn like your momma, even when it serves no purpose other than causing delays and increasing your own frustration. Would you expect Beau Winston to do a better job at being a deputy than you?”
“Course not.”
“Then why do you think you’ll do a better job at fixing a steering system than a mechanic?”
“I don’t. I’m not stupid—”
“No. You’re not.”
“—but I still want to do it myself.”
He sighed, a smile still lingering around his mouth like he didn’t know what to think. “Fine. Just promise me you’ll have her ready by the time I retire.”
I grinned. “That gives me three years? I think that’s plenty.”
“Speaking of which, did Eugene reach out to you?” Eugene had been my father’s campaign manager the two times he’d run for sheriff opposed. But for the last four elections, my father had run unopposed. Sixteen years without a single contender. I reckoned it made sense. No one enjoyed losing by a landslide.
“Eugene did reach out. We spoke.” I eyed him, reluctant to discuss my potential run for sheriff in the next election cycle. As mentioned, our conversations never ventured near work issues during these breakfasts. I didn’t know if me running for sheriff in three years counted as a work issue.
“It’s okay. We can talk about it.”
When I still hesitated, he lifted up his hands. “Jackson, talk about it. I’ll be your father, not the sheriff. Can’t a father talk to his son about plans for the future?”
That was a good point. “He said my chances are good.”
“Did he?”
“Yep.”
“Then why do you look like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you just ate the bait instead of the fish.”
I glanced at the ceiling while reluctantly confessing the truth, “He said my chances are good because we share the same last name and first initial. Most folks will see J. James on the ballot and assume they’re voting for you.”
“I see.” A glimmer of something that looked like both sorrow and pride shone from his eyes. “And this is frustrating for you.”
“It is.”
He grinned in that quiet way of his, leaving his assumptions unspoken. But I could see he understood, I wanted to win on my own merit, not his.
“So, what are you thinking?”
“Maybe not run in the upcoming election? Maybe wait until the next cycle?”
His shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “You want my honest opinion?”
“Always.”
“I think that would be silliness, Jackson.”
I breathed a laugh. He did too.
“You’ve always had a peculiar perspective about right and wrong.” He didn’t say it, but I knew he’d always wished I’d included more shades of gray in my outlook. “But consider this, you’re not-not m-married. You’re not a-a family man.” My father’s discomfort with the subject was obvious as he spoke. He only stuttered like this when he didn’t quite know what to say, which wasn’t often.
And what he didn’t say—what he didn’t have to say because I understood the implication of his words—was that I had a reputation for being a ladies’ man. Eugene, the campaign manager, had said as much when we’d talked. Eugene also wanted me to keep “cleaning up” my reputation and “settle down as soon as possible.”
“I’m sure Eugene brought this up?” My father cleared his throat, another something he did when venturing too far into any subject that made him uncomfortable.
“He did. We came up with a plan.”
“Good. Because no matter where you are, how liberal or conservative the county, most folks—not all folks, just most—prefer a candidate who is settled, especially the sheriff. You having no spouse, no kids, it’ll hurt you in an election. You’ll be at a disadvantage even though it shouldn’t matter.”
“Right.”
“So why not run in 2026 and use the advantage of your name? Something else that shouldn’t matter.”
“Are you suggesting they’d cancel each other out?”
“Something like that. Just think about it. Also think about your momma’s offer to get the ball rolling on a campaign fundraiser. It’s never too early.” Looking harassed and ready for a subject change, he took a gulp of his ice water and then asked, “How’s Charlotte?”