Free Jackson: The Sons of Dusty Walker by Randi Alexander Page B

no photos of Jackson or his brothers or their mothers, only
ones of Dusty, Theresa, and people he guessed were Dusty’s in-laws, since he
had no parents or siblings left alive.
    “Yeah. It’s something, I guess.” The house sat on acres
surrounding half the lake. If he ever wanted to build his own place, there’d be
room… He grunted. Why in the flying fuck would he ever build here? He glanced
at Rori. She didn’t want a rodeo cowboy, and he had no intention of changing
his ways.
    “What’s wrong?” She walked up to him and stared into his
eyes. “You look like a hungry bear right now.”
    “Just wondering what’s going to happen to this place.” Would
they sell it? Turn it into a museum? Would one of his brothers decide to stay
here in bumfuck Kansas?
    “Turn it into a bed and breakfast. Hire somebody to run it
for you.”
    He nodded. “A possibility.”
    “It’s a little out of the way, but some folks like a quiet
place to vacation.”
    This wasn’t his problem. He just wanted to do his time here
and get the hell out. And if the beautiful Rori Hughes wanted to help him pass
the time—solving a computer mystery and sharing his bed—he’d be the happiest
inmate in the history of probate incarceration.
    “C’mon, let’s get something to eat first.” He took her hand
and led her through the huge dark dining room into the big kitchen.
    “This is like heaven.” She ran her fingers over the golden
marble countertops, peeked in the double-wide refrigerator, then sat on one of
the chairs at the counter.
    “Like heaven? You said you don’t cook.” He leaned on the
counter across from her.
    “That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a room this awesome.”
She swung her gaze back and forth. “Look, you can see out both sides of the
house.”
    He hadn’t noticed that before. Big windows framed the lake
on one side, and on the other, French doors opened onto the pool deck that
glowed with the blue of the pool lights. “Yeah. It’s a showplace.” He opened
the refrigerator. “What’re you hungry for?”
    A half-hour later, full of reheated leftover Mexican food,
they waddled down the hall toward Dusty and Theresa’s offices. “I haven’t
checked out his computers. Or his office.” He felt a sorrowful tightening in
his chest. His dad was dead, and no matter how angry Jackson was at him for his
deceit, he’d loved the guy. He’d miss him.
    As if she could sense his mood, Rori ran her hand up and
down his arm. “I’m sorry. If this is too much too soon, we can wait.”
    “No. I’m good. It just didn’t seem right before, but now
that we have a purpose, I think it’d be wise to get this figured out before I
leave.” He glanced at her.
    Was that a wince? Had Rori winced when he mentioned leaving
town? Or was it a little smile of relief? Hell. He had to get his shit
straight. Just because she was the most interesting woman he’d met in as long
as he could remember, and just because sex with her was friggin’ outstanding
didn’t mean it would be that way forever. Did it?
    He stopped outside Dusty’s office and snapped on the
overhead light. Rori walked in, moving around the desk then tapping on the
keyboard. The monitor came to life and she rolled Dusty’s modern leather chair
closer and sat. The desk looked like it could have come from an old cowboy
movie, and the room’s dark paneling gleamed like it’d been in place for a
hundred years.
    She kept typing as he wandered around the room, looking at
the western and landscape paintings that looked original, a framed one-dollar
bill, a tall bookcase filled with books on geology, and finally the
refrigerator-size safe that stood open. Had Dad’s attorney opened it? Or had
Dylan last week?
    “Nothing.” Rori shook her head, her nose less than a foot
from the monitor. “I don’t find anything with the same name, and nothing
unusual.” She turned in the chair. “Do you know where his laptop is?”
    They spent a few minutes searching