Jack Who? (Book 1 Draft Version)

CHAPTER 17

Currently, the canine was on the other side of the patio door, and not happy at being on the wrong side of the glass, especially with a stranger so close to his young master. The dog, being a frisky lab, always needed several minutes to calm down, before being brought in, when someone visited. Hooking a finger in her collar, I released her into Tristan's care, then retreated to the kitchen. With much importance, he introduced his pet to Jack, then asked, “Exactly how much bigger is Bally than Rusty?”

“How about I bring Rusty to visit Bally one day and we can see?”

Pausing my stir, of the pot of gumbo on the stove, I evaluated that statement. Bring Rusty to see Bally, as opposed to Bally to see Rusty? Jack had not said a thing in all of our conversations about the paternity test, that according to the legal documents should be scheduled no later than next week. The only thing he had ever said about Tristan and Los Angeles had included me, in a casual statement, 'We should take him to Disneyland, and Legoland, does he like legos?'

“Okay guys, who wants a bowl of gumbo?”  Switching off the burner, I reached for flatwear and dishes.

“Me! Me!” Tristan affirmed, with much enthusiasm, then his voice went down a few decibels as he asked Jack, “You want some, right?”

“Gumbo?” Jack hesitated, and when he sent a dubious glance my way, it automatically slid down to my legs, then up again to my chest, before hitting my face.

“My mom makes the best chicken gumbo. It has sausage in it too!”

“Well,” Without breaking his gaze, Jack replied, “If your mom made it, I know it's the best. I will have some of that.”

Although I was getting off on his stares, I knew them for what they were. Right now, he was getting off, himself, in that ego way of males; appreciating a woman dressing up just for them. At the same time, whether it was a conscious thought or not, it was probably cheapening his view of me, to think that I was trying too hard at this stage of whatever our relationship was.

“Want to eat in there?” Once I had two bowls filled, I made the offer, knowing that Tristan was initially embarrassed anytime he had to walk with crutches in front of someone who had yet to see it.

The bending move was perfected, after all I was on the down slide to thirty, and I used it, yet again, to place the bowls on the sofa table.

Turning, I intercepted Jack's eyes on my backside, and sweetly smiled as I ventured, “Were you planning on hanging out here for awhile, tonight?”

Dark eyes melded with mine, then dropped to his bowl where he picked up the spoon. “I plan on hanging out here, as long as you want, tonight.”

The husky drop of his voice made the inference clear. If my phone had been in my hand, I would have swiftly canceled my devious plans of the night and ecstatically let myself hang over him, or him over me, all night.

Tristan, once again, picked up on the change in atmosphere, and regarded us with  unreadable eyes as he engulfed his meal. Steeling myself against those same dark eyes in his daddy's face, I proceeded with phase one.

“Cool! I thought, as long as you were here with Tristan, I would go out for a couple of hours.”

Nonchalantly, I added a cup, and a glass of sweet tea to the table, remaining bent a couple of extra seconds in the pretense of rubbing a smudge on the table with my finger. Only my nerves kept me from laughing at the various incredulous looks that crossed Jack's fine face. After the initial shock, he seemed confused, and finally furious.

“THAT's why you are so dressed up?!”

Shooting a protective look to our son, I returned, “Yes...This is not my normal gumbo getup...”