T. Lynn Ocean - Jersey Barnes 03 - Southern Peril Read Online Free Page B

Spud said. “It ain’t one of Jersey’s more interesting assignments.”
    The house phone rang, and Fran got to it before anyone else hada chance. Apparently, she’d made herself at home. “It’s Ox,” she mouthed to us before launching into a detailed conversation about life in the Jersey and Spud household. “Okay, sweetie, hold a sec. She’s right here.”
    Fran smashed the handset into her stomach in lieu of pressing the mute button. “It’s Ox,” she yelled, as though I were in the next apartment instead of five feet away. “That man is pining away for you, don’t you know. And you’re not in such great shape yourself. Anybody who bothered to take a look-see couldn’t miss the sparks flying between the two of you before he left.” Fran stopped to throw back a swallow of coffee. “I’ll tell you this much. If I was younger and more limber, I’d be all over him myself!”
    “Not if you had a taste of me first, back when I was younger and more limber,” Spud says.
    “Good grief. Just give me the phone.” I pulled the handset from Fran’s grip and headed outside to the privacy of a balcony off the kitchen. Fran and Trish didn’t bother to hide the fact that they planned to watch me through the glass doors. At least they couldn’t hear.
    “Hello?”
    “I see things are just as entertaining around there as usual.” The sound of Ox’s voice was a shot of warm brandy to my insides.
    “You heard all that?”
    He chuckled, and the sound seemed to come from mere feet away instead of Bristol, Connecticut. “I miss you, Barnes.”
    “I miss you, too.” The understatement of the month. “A lot.”
    “Five more weeks.” The sentence conjured up all sorts of reunion images, and most of them didn’t involve clothes. Now that we’d finally slept together, I couldn’t quit thinking about him.
    “How’s everything been going?” he asked.
    The Block was plugging along as usual, with only a few minor glitches, and I told him everything, right down to the contents ofthe latest mail delivery and the repair of three fluorescent overheads, broken by a couple of drunk sports fans who were tossing a football. I brought him up-to-date on the situation with the judge and Argo’s and Morgan. Listening, Ox was so quiet, I thought we’d lost the connection. When I finished, he filled me in on Lindsey’s classes, face time with the camera, and Chuck’s Steakhouse, Lindsey’s newest favorite restaurant that was built inside an old barn.
    Last year, Ox’s daughter, Lindsey, got her mother’s okay to move from California to live with Ox in Wilmington. I’m five eight, and the girl is taller than me, even after I’ve strapped on my most salacious high heels. Her features are her father’s: mesmerizing cinnamon eye color, smooth olive golden skin, thick hair, and a wide smile. She has earned a nice chunk of college money by modeling, but her plan is to be a television sports announcer. She entered a contest to earn a six-week work-study program sponsored by ESPN and managed to win an all-expense-paid experience of a lifetime. There were only two stipulations. Her high school had to allow her to attend classes virtually, with the use of a tutor, and submit assignments via e-mail. The principal of New Hanover High quickly agreed, since Lindsey is one of his star students. The second stipulation of Lindsey’s participation mandated that a parent or guardian accompany the teen. Ox didn’t hesitate. Six weeks of concentrated time with his daughter was irresistible. Selfishly, I almost wished that Lindsey’s mother were the parent to take her to ESPN’s headquarters. Ox and I had just begun to explore our relationship on a level other than best friends and business partners. And then he was gone. Handling his normal duties running the Block was the easy part. Not having him in the same physical vicinity was proving much more difficult.
    Through the glass, I watched the activity in my kitchen. Picking at yet