Jayson stared down into the bear’s fathomless black eyes, reflecting on how he’d been so clueless in the beginning. But he’d learned it all—from dealing with an infant to a toddler then sending his baby girl off to school. Hell, he’d fought back tearsthat first time he had to drop her off at kindergarten. He’d never forget the red and black plaid dress she wore and the little pink backpack on her small shoulders. Or the way she’d looked up and said, “It’s okay, Daddy. Don’t be sad. I think I’m going to like school. And when it’s over, I’ll come right back home to you.” So brave. Definitely an old soul.
He’d helped her with homework, cheered her on at every sports activity, bought her horses when she’d wanted to take riding lessons. He’d kissed every boo boo and been her shoulder to cry on when friendships fell apart or boys turned out to be buttheads.
Raising and loving his daughter had been the greatest joy and blessing of his life. Now, this next stage of her life was beginning, and even though he was so happy for her, he felt…lost. Ever since she’d moved out a little less than a year ago, he’d been dealing with serious empty-nester syndrome. It also didn’t help that his mom had died a couple of years ago. Things weren’t the same without his two best girls in his life every day.
Once Emma moved in with Brett, Jayson did his best not to hover like a smothering father who missed his little girl fiercely. But other than his Motley Crew of former military buddies, he didn’t have anyone else to turn to for advice. The guys didn’t always understand because none of them were fathers. Well, Chaz Madden had adopted his wife Lottie’s little girl and they were expecting, so he got it. But Jayson doubted the others would become dads any time soon since they were getting up there in age. Having a baby at fifty wasn’t usually on anyone’s agenda.
Of course, accidents did happen—hell, he knew that better than anyone—but other than Lottie, who was still in her early thirties, his other friends were settling down with women more their age. And they all seemed intent on enjoying the secondhalf of their lives together without the added responsibility of parenthood.
Other than himself, Lex and Xander were the last men standing. Jayson set the teddy bear aside and pinched the bridge of his nose. Xander Hawke had gone MIA on a recent mission down in Mexico and, at this point, they feared the worst.
And Lex Battle? That playboy would never settle down. Forget choosing only one woman forever—he was a flavor of the week kinda guy.
Glancing out the window still adorned with girly, white-ruffled curtains, Jayson watched the snowflakes dip and dance. The holidays had been nice. His friend and teammate Corey Emerson had gotten married. Once all the celebrating ended, Jayson quietly turned forty-nine and had been stuck in the doldrums ever since.
January in Cielo Springs, Montana, meant freezing temperatures and an influx of visitors looking to take advantage of the abundant ski trails and skies unaffected by city lights. He preferred staying inside, planting his ass in his leather recliner and streaming the latest action series on Netflix.
Christ, he was going to die in his La-Z-Boy recliner, and it would probably be days before anyone found his corpse.
The way he had a tendency to fall asleep in his chair before nine o’clock made him feel like he should be seventy-nine instead of forty-nine. And God knew, he might be getting up there, but he wasn’t fucking ancient. It’s why he was so grateful to be a part of the black ops team with the rest of his buddies. If it weren’t for a covert mission every now and then—one where he could flex his skills and take down some bad guys—he’d probably self-combust from boredom.
General Mitchell Evans kept them busy with jobs that were strictly off the books. Black ops stuff that Special Operations Forces couldn’t touch due to political red tape or potentialfallout with other countries. Secret shit like toppling one cartel regime for another and stopping Indonesian pirates from getting their hands on a nuclear device. Most recently, they’d intercepted a narco sub. There was no lack of bad guys in the world, and the Motley Crew worked in the shadows, under Mitch’s directive, to eliminate as many as they could.
Standing up, Jayson stretched, rolled the kinks out of his neck and looked down at his sweater. Emma called it his “Dadigan” or Dad cardigan. He called it comfortable. Rolling his eyes, hearing her joking laughter in his head, he toyed with the bottom button, deciding tonight would be the perfect evening to order a pizza, drink a couple of beers and watch the latest episode ofTulsa Kings. And he’d try not to fall asleep in his recliner before nine.
Looking down at the large watch on his wrist, he realized four o’clock was still a little too early for dinner. He wasn’t ready for the early bird special quite yet. He could always spend a couple of hours in his workroom, finishing up a dining room table for a customer order. He’d always been good with his hands and had applied his dexterous skills to quite a number of things—from building furniture to firing a gun to picking a lock to pleasing a woman.
While he’d actually done those first three items pretty recently, it had been a damn long time since he’d had a warm, willing woman in his bed. He shoved a hand through his brown hair and went downstairs. He knew he should start dating again. He wasn’t getting any younger, and he didn’t want to die alone, a bitter old man. Now that Emma was self-sufficient and happily settling into her own life, it was the perfect time to focus on himself.
Easier said than done. Cielo Springs was a small town, not exactly known for its booming nightlife or dating scene. The only place Jayson hung out was Old Glory, his buddy Brandon Ward’s bar. He’d thought about online dating, but everyone knew JoanMiller was the only one in Cielo Springs who did online dating. And good ol’ Joan was a cougar who preferred her men young, dumb and full of cum. Besides, if he went on a date with Joan, one of his buddies was bound to see them, and then he’d never hear the end of it.
No, fuck that. He’d have to cast his net further, but did he really want to drive one, two, three towns over? Especially this time of year when the weather was shit? Maybe if it meant getting laid, he supposed. Hell, he’d waited this long, maybe he should wait and attempt the whole dating thing in the spring after the snow melted.
“Christ, you’re an old man,” he grumbled under his breath. “Not even the possibility of sex is going to get your ass out of this house in January.”
Ah, well. Just call me Oscar the Celibate Grouch.
Sad, but true. His carefree days of hookups and one-night stands had ended a long time ago. Emma became his first priority the day Tara left. Sure, Emma had spent quite a few nights at her grandma’s house, but as a single dad, he’d mostly used those kid-free moments to catch up on shit like furniture orders or grocery shopping and endless errands. Or, hell, just plain relax. A couple of times, he’d needed to scratch the itch badly enough that he drove a few towns over, picked up a woman and spent a couple hours with her. But every few-and-far-between rendezvous took place at a hotel. He never brought a woman home with him.
The itch was still there, but it was much more convenient to just jerk off in the shower. He didn’t need a woman. At least, that’s what he tried to convince himself. Lately, he’d been watching his buddies fall like dominoes. Brandon, Weston, Chaz, and, most recently, Corey. As happy as he was that they’d found love and amazing women to share their lives with, another part of him couldn’t help but feel a little envious. And a little sadfor himself because he didn’t think he’d ever find anything as wonderful as they’d found.
“Shit,” he swore in a low voice. Maybe heshouldtry to meet someone. Because it’s not like Mrs. Right was just going to stroll up to his door and knock.
His attention flicked over to the window where snow flurries danced.In the spring,he decided.I’ll try dating once it’s warmer.
Done dwelling on his non-existent love life, he walked down to his workroom at the other end of the house. The large area where he built his furniture was a true man cave, filled with power tools, cans of chemicals and a big flatscreen TV on the wall. It was set apart from the rest of the place and had a ventilation system he’d installed because of the paints and varnishes he often used.
He popped in his earbuds and pulled up one of his many OG rap playlists. He didn’t care what anyone thought about his taste in music. Well, except for Emma, and that’s why he’d always worn headphones or earbuds. That way he could blast the beats of Dr. Dre, Run-D.M.C., Public Enemy, Beastie Boys, 2 Live Crew and Snoop Dogg, and not worry about his daughter hearing the lyrics. It allowed him to get into the zone and create all sorts of furniture. Furniture that, to his initial surprise, sold insanely well. But he was a picky bastard, a perfectionist, and held himself to the highest standards. Each piece was one-of-a-kind, which made him very nice money and drew customers from all over the country.
Music playing, Jayson lost himself in his work, completely focused on building the table. Attention to detail and perfect craftsmanship were his trademarks. His specification sheets for each project—which acted as a blueprint and contained dimensions, materials, sketches and finishes—were practically pieces of art in and of themselves. He didn’t half-ass anythingand spent hours upon hours creating each piece, making sure he took his time. He prided himself on his patience, including adhering to precise measurements. The plaque hanging on the wall, an old gift from Emma, had become his motto: “measure twice, cut once.”
He often had a tendency to lose himself in his work, and this night was no different. When his phone started vibrating in his pocket, it took a moment for him to realize it. Plucking his earbuds out, he pulled the phone free and dropped down on his workbench. A quick glance out the large window confirmed it was dark already.
“Emmie G” flashed on the phone’s screen. Smiling, he swiped to answer. “Hi, honey.”
“Hi, Dad. What’re you doing?”
“Working on a dining room table.”
