Mischief and Mayhem (Whiskey Sisters) Read online

  Oh. Oh…no. No, no, no. I feel myself flush awkwardly, embarrassed by the direction my thoughts were headed until I recognized her. And maybe just a little bit after that, too.

  I’m looking at my brother’s wife. And she’s looking back at me.

  As the light of recognition dawns on her face, she starts to close the distance between us, throwing her arms around me in a big hug.

  “Scott!” she says, her voice muffled by my jacket. “I was worried you might not come.”

  I keep my arms out to the side, refraining from returning the embrace. Holy crap. If she had any idea what I was just thinking about her…

  “You probably don’t remember me…” she’s saying as she separates herself from my chest.

  Looking down at the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, I have the very unique experience of remembering someone who I’ve never really forgotten. Does that even make sense? Not in words, I don’t think. But in this creepy déjà vu thing going on here, it makes perfect sense.

  I fumble to get my equilibrium back.

  “Uhhh…no, of course, Jameson, of course I—I remember you. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. I had to fly out of a cornfield, and customs thought I was a drug mule, and then I hitched a ride with a woman and her iguana…”

  As I hear myself, I realize I must sound crazy to her. She’s probably thinking I’m a user of the drugs I’ve been suspected of transporting. But then she throws back her head and laughs—and it’s like nothing I’ve heard before. It’s the sound of wind chimes and church bells and singing birds all rolled into one.

  Wait. What? Where did that come from? I shake my head, trying to clear the bizarre Disneyesque thoughts from my head. I’m exhausted, and I’m getting a little punchy.

  Yeah, that must be it.

  “Uh, so what’s all the fuss about?” I ask, eager to move onto more neutral ground—and fast.

  “Oh! Bailey—you remember my youngest sister? She’s just been crowned this year’s Princess Mary.”

  My mouth drops open. “Bailey? Little Bailey? Isn’t she like ten or something?” I ask incredulously.

  And there’s that laugh again. “Oh! Oh, goodness, you have been gone a while, haven’t you? No, Bailey just graduated from Mayhem High. She’ll be eighteen in a few weeks…” Suddenly, her face turns serious again. “I’m sorry, you’re probably wondering about your father, and here I am chattering away about my sisters…”

  “No, no, it’s nice,” I assure her, already missing the smile of just a moment ago. “It’s nice to get caught up a little, you know? I’ve missed a lot…”

  “Well, plenty of time to catch you up on everything later. Let me get you up to speed on your dad. I’m not sure how much they told you before you left, but Big Win had a stroke yesterday morning, and he’s been unresponsive ever since. His vitals are good…but things could go south at any time. So right now, we’re just kind of waiting to see what happens. He might wake up and be fine. He might wake up and be impaired. He might not wake up at all. We should know more—one way or the other—within the next week or so.”

  I take this all in, hearing it and filing it away to be processed later, when I’m alone. Which really should be soon because I’m starting to feel as if I might just fall over any second now. “Do you think… I mean, should I go to him now? I was afraid he might not make it…”

  When she shakes her head, the waves of hair swing back and forth with a hypnotic motion.

  “No, no, he’s fine for the moment. But good Lord, you must be exhausted. I was thinking you could sleep at Big Win’s house—well, I mean, your house—tonight, and I could come by in the morning to take you to the hospital.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to put you out, especially with the baby. How is the baby, by the way? Maybe Win could just swing by on his way to work or something?”

  “Okay, first of all, you’re not putting anyone out. And Jackson’s doing great. He’s walking around calling you ‘Unca Sock.’ It’s adorable! My sister—you remember Hennessy, right?—she’s going to meet me at your dad’s place tomorrow to watch him so I can go with you to the hospital. Now, as for your brother…well, you know how he can be. We’ll see what kind of mood he’s in tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like Win’s as temperamental as always,” I note with a chuckle.

  Jameson nods. “You could say that. Now, let me run you over to the house. Just give me a second to grab my purse…”

  Before I can think better of it, I put out a hand and touch her arm. “I really can’t thank you enough, Jameson. For everything.”

  A lovely blush rises from her collar to her cheeks.

  “Don’t be silly, Scott. We’re family.”

  And there it is, like a bucket of ice water over my head—my not-so-subtle reminder to back off. This woman is spoken for in a big way.

  “Yes,” I have to agree, “we are.”

  …

  The dream is so vivid. I’m standing outside, under the punishing midday Mexican sun, when I look up at the sky. Suddenly there is rain—big, sweet, cool droplets falling on my face and forehead. But then it turns into more of a stream of liquid. And it smells surprisingly like apple juice. Apple juice?

  “Jackson Winston Clarke! You stop that this instant!”

  I’m wide awake now, staring up into the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen—eyes with a wicked little gleam the likes of which I’ve never seen before. It’s not sinister so much as…impish. Yes, definitely naughty in nature. This impression is further bolstered when he shakes his bright red sippy cup over my head, sending a tiny waterfall of apple juice raining down upon me.

  Jackson, I presume.

  “Hey there, big guy,” I mumble as I blink up at him and wipe the sticky dampness from my cheeks.

  “Unca Sock!” he squeals before chortling and running away on chubby little legs.

  I’m about to hoist myself up into a sitting position when the scenery changes abruptly. Suddenly I’m looking into those same green eyes…except they’re attached to the most beautiful face I’ve ever come across in nearly three decades on two continents in a half-dozen countries. And I’ve seen a lot of beautiful faces.

  “Jameson?” I croak as I struggle to sit up.

  She looks down at my dripping face in horror. “Oh, Scott, I’m so sorry! I was sure you’d be sleeping in one of the bedrooms. It never occurred to me you’d be right out here in the living room…and on the floor. Why are you on the floor, by the way?”

  “Uh…I tried…but I’m really more comfortable on a hard surface. I’m not used to a soft bed anymore. So I just grabbed the pillow and blankets and moved out here.” I pull myself up off the brown shag carpet and to a standing position, mindful to take the sheet with me, lest I pose for my sister-in-law in nothing but my underwear. As it is, she politely averts her eyes from my toga-clad form.

  “Let me throw on some clothes and we can talk properly,” I suggest and make my way down the hallway to my old room, where I’ve stashed the duffle. When I emerge in jeans and a T-shirt a few minutes later, I find her in the kitchen.

  “Hi,” I say from the doorway of the kitchen. And then she spins around, and I swear my breath catches in my throat. Her smile is nothing short of spectacular. “I…uh…” The words I was about to utter have abandoned me. Just gotten on a bus and left town, leaving me standing here looking like an imbecile while she looks…stunning.

  “Coffee?” she asks. I nod dumbly, and she turns back to what she was doing. “Again, I’m really sorry about waking you like that. And about the apple juice. Your nephew is a bit of a handful.”

  “Oh, no, it’s fine, really. Where is the munchkin?” I ask, concerned that he’s nowhere to be seen. Maybe he’s off setting the garage on fire or something.

  “He’s on your dad’s bed watching cartoons. My sister Hennessy is going to come by and pick him up in a few minutes so you and I can go to the hospital to see your father. I checked in this morning, and he’s doing abou
t as well as can be expected. We’re still in that fifty-fifty window, though.”

  I sit at the kitchen table and breathe a sigh of relief that things haven’t taken a turn for the worse overnight. “Well, I know I said this last night, but it bears repeating—I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’ve taken care of everything until I could get here.”

  Jameson sets a cup of coffee down in front of me, gesturing to the cream and sugar already on the table, and joins me with her own mug. “Let’s just say I’m glad you’re here now. Someone needs to be able to make the big decisions in case…in case his condition should start to deteriorate. And, as honored as I am that Big Win asked me to look out for his interests, I’d just as soon not have that responsibility.”

  Speaking of which…

  “So will my brother be meeting us at the hospital?”

  She gives me a sidelong glance as she fixes herself a cup.

  “Uhhh…I’m not too sure about that. When I picked up Jax this morning, he seemed to be getting ready for work. But you never know what Win’s going to do.”

  Something isn’t computing here. I put the coffee cup back down on the table and wait for her to join me.

  “I’m sorry—what do you mean ‘when you picked up Jax this morning’? Wasn’t he at home with you and Win last night? He’s a little young for sleepovers, isn’t he?” Jameson’s lovely face scrunches up into some expression I can’t immediately identify. Concern? Maybe confusion? Whatever it is, I immediately regret being the one to put it there. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

  She wraps her small hands around her mug, using it like an anchor as she leans forward across the table at me.

  “Scott, didn’t Big Win tell you?”

  Oh, hell. I do not like the sound of this. Whatever this is.

  “Tell me what?” I ask slowly.

  All at once she closes her eyes, rubs the bridge of her nose, and shakes her head. “Well, I suppose it was my news to tell. Mine and Win’s anyway… You should know that your brother and I are recently divorced.”

  I must’ve heard the expression “the world shifts on its axis” a thousand times, but until this very moment, I’ve never truly known what it meant. From one moment to the next everything seems to change and flip and reverse and sway.

  What I thought was true thirty seconds ago may not be true now. Or it may. All I know for sure is that the world has shifted on its axis and everything is different now.

  Chapter Five

  Jameson

  I don’t know why I’m surprised that Scott doesn’t know Win and I got a divorce. Who would’ve told him? It’s not as if he and Win have been pen pals all these years. And with Scott and their father estranged—they’ve only been in touch sporadically. The whole thing is just mind-boggling to me. I can’t imagine going ten days without speaking to my sisters—let alone ten years. But, then again, as different as the four of us are—and as often as we disagree—we’ve got one another’s backs no matter what. Period.

  Win and Scott Clarke are cut from a very different cloth as us Whiskey sisters. Not to mention each other.

  As Scott sits across the table from me right now, it’s like I’m seeing Win the way he could have been. For starters, you’d never guess they’re only eleven months apart. Scott seems not just younger, but much more youthful—and so…easy. I felt at ease with him as soon as we reconnected at the bar last night, which is pretty amazing, all things considered. I mean, we may have played together as children, but we’re virtually strangers after all this time. And yet…there’s just something about Scott Clarke that’s so familiar. And comforting.

  And then there’s the difference in their appearances. Like his brother, Scott is a very attractive man. Unlike his brother, his good looks are rugged and easy…a reflection of the man’s personality. While Scott is tall like Win, years of manual labor have given him more bulk. His broad shoulders and well-defined muscles stand out clearly against the pull of his cotton T-shirt. Where Win’s dark brown hair shows silvery signs of premature graying, Scott’s is threaded with a perfect golden glaze that only time out in the sun can create. It’s that same sun that’s given him a glowing bronze complexion that camouflages the pasty pallor of endless Minnesota winters.

  “Well, I’m…uh…I’m sorry to hear that, Jameson,” he says in response to my revelation. “I really had no idea.”

  I shrug and offer a weak smile. “It was good for a while…but then things got complicated.”

  “Oh, yeah. I guess it’s a lot with Jackson. And I’m guessing Win’s pretty involved with his work.”

  I snort abruptly and unexpectedly then spend a few seconds trying to compose myself again.

  “Umm, yeah, it wasn’t so much his involvement with work as his involvement with the women at work. The judge’s clerk, the bailiff, the court reporter. Then he moved on to the non-legal community of Mayhem—” I stop short when I see the alarm in Scott’s eyes. His big, lovely eyes with the long, lovely lashes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dump that in your lap. It’s just…it’s just still a little fresh, you know? We’ve actually done a good job with the co-parenting thing. So far, anyway.”

  “I can’t believe he treated you like that,” he says, with a sad shake of his head. “My brother never was one to appreciate a good thing when he had it.”

  Okay. Time to get my mind off of my ex-husband’s infidelity. And his brother’s eyes, for that matter.

  “I’ll be with you at the hospital today, but I want you to be able to get in touch whenever you need me,” I explain as I pick up my phone from the table and wait to input the number he’s going to give me.

  “Um, so…why don’t you give me your cell phone number?”

  “I don’t have one,” he informs.

  “You don’t have one what?” I ask, looking up at him over the phone.

  “A cell phone.” At first I think he’s joking, but there’s no sign of humor on his golden-tanned face. The golden tan that makes his caramel-colored eyes pop.

  Look away, Jameson. Just. Look. Away.

  “Uhhh… No cell? Really?” I’m trying to imagine how a person can manage without one in this day and age. Clearly, he was in a more remote region that I realized.

  He shrugs. “I mean, people have them—just not me. Don’t need it. Besides, some of the places I go don’t have running water, let alone cell towers.”

  “Ummm…okay, well, you need one now,” I proclaim as I get up to grab Big Win’s iPhone from where it’s charging on the kitchen counter. “Here.”

  I hand it to him, and he flips it over in his hand, examining it curiously.

  “So this is an iPhone,” he says, appearing fascinated by the sleek black phone.

  “Play around with it. You’ll figure it out,” I assure him. “There’s an internet browser on there as well so you can surf the web, same as on a computer.” And then a thought occurs to me…he’s been gone a while. But not that long…right? “You have used a computer before, haven’t you?” I ask with one eyebrow cocked. I’m daring him to tell me he’s that technically challenged.

  “Yes. I’ve used a computer before,” he replies, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in exasperation. “I was a whiz on the Compaq. I’m sure Dad’s still got it here somewhere…” He cranes his neck and glances around as if the ancient monstrosity is going to be sitting by the toaster.

  “Uhhh…yeah…I’m pretty sure he’s upgraded since then. A few times…”

  He grins at me.

  “Jameson, I’m kidding! I’m solid with the tech. I just haven’t had access to all the newest gadgets. I’ll figure out the phone.”

  Yeah, somehow I’m not totally buying the joke thing.

  “Can you text?”

  “Like I said, I’m sure I can figure it out.”

  I’m not at all certain I believe that, so I take a few minutes to show him the basics.

  “I’m going to have my sisters text you so you get some practice, okay?”
I offer when he’s proven he can unlock the phone and navigate to the messaging app.

  “Sure, sure. Thanks.”

  “And you know, if you get in a pinch, you can always have Siri do it for you,” I suggest.

  He looks up at me, brows drawn together in confusion. “Siri who?”

  Not so much as a hint of humor there. I try not to snicker.

  “She’s the voice in your phone, and she’ll do stuff for you. Look,” I explain, holding the phone up. “Hey, Siri, wake me up at seven.”

  “Okay. I’ve set your alarm for seven a.m. Don’t worry, I won’t forget!” Siri says in her trademark monotone.

  “Holy crap!” Scott exclaims, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Here.” I hold the iPhone toward him. “Have her send me a text. Just say ‘Hey Siri’ to get her attention and then wait for the beep to speak.”

  “Okay… Hey, Siri…” The phone beeps twice, and he looks like a kid with a new toy. “Uhhh…send a text to Jameson.”

  His command comes out a little loud and stilted, but Siri gets the gist of his request anyway. “All right. What would you like your text message to say?”

  Scott looks from the phone, to me, and back again, shaking his head in wonderment. “Thank you,” he says and then pauses. “For everything.” The slight delay adds a poignancy to the message that I can’t quite decipher. Clearly Siri can’t either…

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that.”

  “Try again, a little slower,” I suggest. He does.

  “Okay,” Siri informs us. “Your text to Jameson says, ‘Thank you for everything.’ Should I send it?”

  “Yes,” Scott instructs, and a moment later my own phone dings with the message he’s sent.

  I quickly type a reply and watch as his eyes light up when the words “You’re welcome” appear on his screen.

  “I think I’m going to like this Siri,” he says as he pokes at the apps and swipes at the screen.

  “There you go! She can be the new woman in your life,” I tease.