The glasses that framed big, brown eyes were sliding down her nose. She wore her typical long sweater, longer skirt and her hair in a ponytail. She’d moved into the old homestead a year or so back. What? If they were selling cookies or raffle tickets, he wasn’t going to be happy. He ran a hand through his hair again and tried to smooth it down a little. Yeah, his jeans were the same ones he’d worn yesterday and his shirt was pretty threadbare, but he was fully clothed and decent. He jerked the door open and the two people on his front porch stared like they’d just seen a man from Mars. He rubbed a palm across whiskers that should have seen a razor days ago.
When he got to the door he looked in the mirror on the wall and brushed his hands through his shaggy hair. The dog ran ahead of him and sat down in front of the door. He got to his feet and headed for the door, moving slowly and taking it easy. Every now and then a horse got the best of him, though. He’d given up bull riding a few years back for the easier task of raising bulls and training horses. Bruised kidneys, cracked ribs and a pulled muscle or two. Jackson shot the dog a look and Bud cowered a little. The door rattled again and the dog barked. He covered his face with his arm and groaned.
Or it could be that girl he dated last month, the one that wouldn’t stop calling. Unless the they in question weren’t his siblings, but instead someone with literature and an invitation to church.
The way he figured it, after another attempt or two they’d give up. Three nights of sleeping on the couch after a horse decided to throw him into the wall of the arena, and this morning it felt like a truck had run over him. Moving seemed pretty overrated at the moment. He opted for remaining quiet and taking his chances. Either they’d give up, knowing he was alive and ignoring them, or they’d break the door down because they assumed the worst. The way his luck went, it was probably one of his siblings coming to check on him. The chimes sounded through the house and the dog growled low, resting his head on Jackson’s leg. The person at the front door found the doorbell.
Jackson Cooper covered his face with the pillow he jerked out from under his head, and then tossed the thing because it smelled like the stinking dog that was now curled at his feet, taking up too much room on the couch. The rapid-fire knock on the door shook the glass in the living room window.
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