Free Midwest Fighter (Kendall Family Book 2) by Jennifer Ann Page A

in his prime, and he’s in the best shape of his life.
    Having only recently left the corporate world, he’s transformed into a man of leisure, spending long days on golf courses as well as competing in triathlons. It seems whenever I ring, he’s in one kind of training or another. Since he failed to pass along whatever athletic gene it takes to understand putting your body through that level of torture, I merely celebrate the fact that he’s taking proper care of himself.
    As I step out from the car, he’s accepting my suitcase from the driver and shaking the man’s hand, saying something brilliant that has them both laughing.
    “My baby girl!” he calls out to me. “Welcome home!”
    Despite wanting to roll my eyes at the absurdity of calling something I’ve only set foot in once my home , I hurry into his open arms. Caught off guard by the swell of emotions suddenly choking me with his familiar aftershave, I clutch the back of his coarse shirt in my fists. Though I may not be close with either of my parents and only see them on occasion, for the first time in ages I’m able to appreciate the fact that I’m not orphaned.
    “I’ve missed you,” I say, sniffling.
    His lips press against my hair. “I’ve missed you too, sweetheart. How was your flight?”
    “It’s quite unnecessary to fly me first class whenever I come for a visit. I flew economy a few days ago and managed to get along quite well, even without the complimentary meal and entertainment. It’s not so scandalous how the other half lives.”
    “Only the best for my girl,” he answers with a chuckle. “Let’s go out back by the pool and relax before you settle in your room. Victoria made a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies with chunks, just the way you like them.”
    I back away with a laugh. “You do realize I’ve grown into a fully functioning adult and I’m no longer a four-year-old, yeah? I outgrew milk and cookies around the time I stopped lip syncing to Britney Spears in my knickers.”
    “That’s blasphemy! No one is too old for milk and cookies! It beats that crumpets and tea nonsense your mom was always forcing down your throat when you were little.” The kind of charming smile that helped him become a CEO numerous times tilts his mouth when he reaches for the handle of my suitcase and drapes his other arm across my shoulders. “Speaking of nonsense, have you heard from your mother lately?”
    “She hasn’t rang me in some time, but Aunt Camila said there were pictures of her latest rendezvous on Facebook. She mentioned something about the Dominican and a forty-year old Frenchman.”
    “At least I know my money is going to good use,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
    We haven’t even stepped foot inside the stark monstrosity of a house when I feel the vibration of his phone between us. Flashing an apologetic smile, he releases me to remove the smart phone from his pocket. “The lawyers are still pounding out some details on the sale of the company,” he explains. “Go on ahead and wait for me on the patio, sweetheart. I’ll be there in a minute or two.”
    “Of course.”
    It comes as no surprise whatsoever that I’ve barely spoken to the man before he’s pulled away by business. It’s what I’ve come to expect every bit as much as Mum’s inability to act like a fully functioning adult.
    I hurry across the stone floor through the living room with my head down, unable to stomach the sight of my massive sweet sixteen portrait on display above the mantel like it’s the bloody Mona Lisa. Once I’ve reached the safety of the patio, I let out a long breath as my eyes roll to the top of my head. Although quite lovely, the new Mediterranean-style house is far too grand for one person living on their own who breaks out in hives with the thought of entertaining. The sprawling backyard provides the kind of utopia I can fully appreciate, reminiscent of a Jane Austen novel with lush greenery and old-world