Page 36 of His for the Holiday

17

HAWK

Iwalked into our house with a stupid grin on my face, but it dropped away when I saw Emery in the kitchen, making breakfast. Her eyebrows arched as she spotted me. “Where have you been all night, you little slut?”

“Out,” I said curtly, not quite ready to tell her who I had been out with.

She held my gaze, realized I wasn’t going to elaborate, and then shook her head. “I already have a hard enough time making friends these days, Hawk. I don’t need my playboy brother making it worse.”

“Playboy?” I scoffed. “I assume you’re referring to another brother I didn’t know you had.”

She rolled her eyes at me, but I finally saw a glimmer of humor light up behind them. “I wish. Unfortunately, I set up Google alerts for you back in the day when I cared about what was happening in your life. I know all about your dating habits.”

“Those stories were always grossly exaggerated.” I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a piece of toast. Tearing a bite out of it, I headed for the stairs.

She barked a dry laugh. “They were gross alright.”

I was about to ascend to go grab a shower when I saw my dad walking out to his truck. Emery noticed him at the same time, and she let out a soft grunt as she started turning off the heat on the stove. “Dammit, Dad. Let me grab him.”

“No,” I said immediately, turning around and deciding to go down to the docks to work with my dad for a bit. “I’ll do it.”

“He’s still not very happy with you,” she pointed out, but stayed where she had been instead of walking around the kitchen counter to follow him. “He won’t thank you for going after him.”

“I know, but he won’t thank you either. It’s my turn.” I followed him outside, knowing he didn’t want me there, but it was about time he let me help my sister with this.

He saw me as he turned over his truck, and scowled. Those bushy, graying eyebrows drew together and then rose when I hopped in with him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Coming with you,” I said easily after swallowing the toast. “Emery is busy with breakfast and I haven’t been at the port since I’ve been here. I figured now was as good a time as any to get my hands dirty.”

He grunted but threw the truck into reverse and backed out of the driveway without ordering me to get out. It wasn’t exactly a warm welcome, but it felt like progress.

Who would have thought I was a silver-lining kind of person?

Then again, I doubted anything was going to get me down today. Last night with Sutton had been beyond hot—and definitely worth waiting ten-plus years for. I felt like a new person after finally getting to spend a night inside her. I could handle anything today.

Dad was silent as he drove directly to the port. He headed over to his boat to talk to the crew about something without inviting me to come along. I drifted to the docks with him anyway but stopped when I ran into another boat owner I’d worked with back in the day.

“Tim Porter.” I grinned when I saw the guy walking in my direction. “It’s been a while, man. How’s it going?”

“Not so well actually, Hawk.” He looked about half a century older than he had when I’d last seen him, but he flashed me a tired smile as he gave my hand a shake. “I have to go, but we’ll catch up soon, alright?”

I frowned. “What’s going on?”

“Meecham Maritime,” he gritted out, casting a deliberate glance over my shoulder.

I twisted to see another man striding toward us wearing a shirt that was mustard yellow, the color of the Meecham brand. Sure enough, as he got closer, I saw the logo of the company that had been terrorizing our port for a number of years.

“Tim,” the guy said snidely as he approached, his chin lifted in that way that told me he had a definite chip on his shoulder. “We need to talk.”

“We don’t,” Tim said, his voice low and his eyes narrowed on the other guy’s.

I frowned. When I’d known him, Tim had been the salt-of-the-earth kind, a fisherman who also ran a tourist charter. He worked hard, was always willing to lend a hand, and would’ve given his neighbors the shirt off his back.

Either this guy wasn’t his neighbor, or Meecham had been treating people around here just as badly as I’d heard. I stepped between the two men, giving the stranger a cool, aloof onceover. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” he shot back at me with a distinct sneer, his glare now moving to my face. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I haven’t seen you either,” I said evenly. “Hawk Brunson. Gold Star Shipping.”