Delores Fossen - Those Texas Nights

Something he suddenly wished he’d done.

Clay frowned at that thought. He already had enough complications without adding his brother-in-law’s ex to the mix. Plus, Sophie hadn’t exactly stayed in touch or anything.

“The boys have gifts for you, too.” April made air quotes around gifts. “And I can’t wait for you to hear what Hunter told us.”

“He said he wanted to be a top like his Nunk Cay,” Brantley provided, followed by a laugh. “It was cute as all get-out.”

Cute, maybe, but also confusing. Clay got the Nunk Cay part because that was Hunter’s attempt at Uncle Clay. But it took him a second to realize that top was cop.

“No,” Clay snapped, a little sharper than he’d meant to. “You talk him out of that.” It made his stomach twist to think of a grown-up Hunter going through what he’d been through.

April rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. As if I’ve ever been able to talk Hunter out of anything. He’s like a mini version of me.”

He was, and that was even more reason to steer Hunter in another career direction. The next time he was at the bookstore, Clay would pick him up some kiddie doctor books. Lawyer books, too, if they published such a thing. Even books about cowboys. Anything but a cop.

“I’ll put the cake in the kitchen,” April volunteered. “We can cut it when the boys wake up. Oh, and we bought some steaks and burgers to grill for dinner.”

Clay thanked her and would have gone into his room to change if Brantley hadn’t caught onto his arm. “Can we talk?”

Hell. That was yet something else he hadn’t wanted to hear. “You’d better not be about to tell me that you’re dumping my sister.”

Brantley’s eyes widened to the size of salad plates. “No. Of course not. I love April. I love the boys, and I love our unborn child.”

“Good. And you’d better keep on loving them, or I’ll kick your ass into the next county.”

Brantley stared at him. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re scary?”

“All the time. And I also carry through on my threats.”

Clay waited. When Brantley didn’t say anything he asked, “Was that what you wanted to talk about—the threats?”

“Uh, no.” Brantley glanced into the kitchen as if to make sure April was still there. She was. “This is about Sophie.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I was, well, hoping you’d ask her out.”

Clay huffed. “First a dating site subscription and now this? I can handle my own love life.” Or lack thereof. “And didn’t you hear what your wife just said? She doesn’t want Sophie anywhere near her gene pool.”

Brantley huffed, too. “I’m not saying to ask Sophie out for your sake but for her own. She could be headed for some trouble.”

Until Brantley added that last part, Clay was about to tell him to mind his own business, but that got Clay’s attention. “Explain that.”

“Shane.” And Brantley must have thought that was enough of an explanation because he paused.

“Shane, the guy she’s got a date with tonight. Yeah, I know about it.” Clay had heard it from at least a dozen people who doled out sympathy over his and Sophie’s breakup. Apparently, Sophie was meeting this guy in a couple of hours at the Longhorn Bar at the end of Main Street.

“Shane Whitlock,” Brantley provided. He made another of those kitchen glances and leaned in closer. Clay was reasonably sure there was nothing Brantley could say that would interest him about Sophie’s date.

But Clay was wrong.

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