Free The Wedding Garden by Linda Goodnight Page B

festering in him like poison.
    Justin tossed him a bottle of water from the small ice chest Sloan kept handy and headed for the back of the garden and the shade of huge drooping oak branches.
    Sloan opened the bottle of water and guzzled half of it, letting the cold liquid drip down his chin onto his steaming chest.
    Suddenly, his skin prickled and it had nothing to do with the cold water. Annie must be looking out the window again. Bottle to his lips, he glanced toward the house, saw her there and hitched his chin. She wiggled her fingers and Sloan felt a goofy lift in his belly.
    Man. He was messed up. She was waving at her kid, not at him. Annie was worried sick about the boy and probably scared that Sloan Hawkins was a bad influence.
    “You coming or you gonna stare at my mom?”
    Sloan grunted. Smart-aleck kid. He guzzled the rest of the water, tossed the empty onto the growing stack next to the fence, grabbed another bottle and followed Justin to the shade.
    The kid was doing all right. Even Annie acknowledged as much. After the initial few days when his smooth hands had blistered on the end of a shovel and he’d griped about the heat, the work and the injustice in the world, the boy had come around. Sloan figured most of the whining was posturing and now that he had it out of his system, they were getting along pretty well. Justin wasn’t afraid to work and didn’t really mind the dirt and heat no matter how much he griped—which wasn’t much the last few days.
    Together they collapsed beneath the huge, ancient oaks,leaning their backs against the rough bark of opposite trees. Both lifted their knees and dangled their drinks over one. Sloan thought it was kind of funny the way Justin imitated him. Funny and a little worrisome. What kind of role model was Sloan Hawkins?
    He removed his shades and hung them on the neck of his T-shirt. Justin, he noticed, did the same.
    Sloan laughed and pointed his water bottle at the rings of dirt around the boy’s eyes. “Raccoon.”
    Justin snickered. “You, too. Your face is brown as dirt and your eyes are white.”
    “Handsome dudes, too. Can’t keep the women off.”
    The boy allowed a tiny smile but Sloan could see he had something on his mind. “So, what’s up? Something bothering you?”
    “Yeah.” He took a swig of water and stared toward the house. Sloan followed the gaze. Annie had disappeared. “I was wondering something.”
    “Spit it out. I’m listening.” Sloan swigged at his bottle, casual-like, careful not to press the kid or look at him while he gathered the courage to ask whatever was on his mind.
    Justin tossed a dirt clod and watched it break against a tree trunk. When the small patter of sound subsided he said, “Are you my real father?”
    Sloan spit water halfway across the garden. Whoa! Where had that come from? He’d expected the kid to ask him about life or girls or paying restitution for his crime. Not this. Never this.
    Adrenaline jacked into his bloodstream like jet fuel. Sloan wanted to get up and run.
    He took a minute to think, to breathe, to get his heart back in his chest. Annie would kick him if he handled this wrong. He’d kick himself.
    Think, Hawkins. Do it right. The kid deserved a legitimateanswer, not some half-truth or platitude. If he was old enough to ask, he was old enough to know.
    Besides, hadn’t he wondered the same thing?
    Treading lightly to test the waters, Sloan said, “What makes you ask?”
    Justin’s expression darkened. “Just tell me. Are you? I hope you are because I hate my old man.”
    Whoa. So much for testing the waters. He’d just waded out into the deep with a rock around his neck.
    He took his time, leaned back against the rough bark of the oak, propped a foot, and dangled the water bottle over one knee.
    He knew from bad experience the kid didn’t need to go through life with unanswered questions hanging over him like a guillotine, waiting to slice him in two at every turn. If Justin had the