Full Disclosure (Homefront: The Sheridans Book 2) Read Free

cabinets.
    “Aw, that’s gross. All the jelly oozes
out and gets on my fingers.”
    “Well, that’s what’s for lunch,” I say with
a sigh. I love how he shares his one-star reviews of my lunch choices after I’ve already packed his lunchbox. “And that’s what napkins are for. Please eat the
sandwich this time. I don’t want you just eating the cheese puffs.”
    “Okay. Can I unbuckle now?”
    “Nope. Still a couple cars ahead of us,
champ.”
    I ease my way through the line until Mrs.
Schumacher opens the back door of our car. I swear her cheeks look a little
more flushed than normal, and I’m betting she was just as affected by the
presence of Ryan Sheridan as I was. “Morning, Mrs. Schumacher,” I greet her. “I’ll
pick you up at aftercare at 5:30, honey.” My son nods in response and I blow him
a kiss.
    Firing me an exuberant smile over his
shoulder, he climbs out of the car and my heart nearly bursts, like always. I
don’t know when I’ll reach that point in motherhood when my kid’s smile doesn’t
completely undo me. I’ll probably never be at that point. My kid is my world.
    Mrs. Schumacher wishes me a good day as
she slams my door.
    I like starting my day off like this. I
like watching my son in my rear-view mirror as I pull away, his excited gait
showing that he’s still at that age when he loves school. I’m going to enjoy him
at this age, because I know from experience, it won’t last forever.
    I turn at the basketball hoop and slowly
make my way back up the hill toward the main road. The fog still hasn’t lifted,
and I figure it’s a good thing. If Natalie tries to flag me down and nail me
for some more fundraiser duties, I can just keep driving and act like I don’t see
her through the haze.
    I’m barely going two miles an hour when I
spot Ryan Sheridan again, standing next to a convertible Jag that, while
gorgeous, doesn’t hold a candle to its owner. The little girl is gone now. He
must have walked her into the building.
    But he’s not alone.
    Natalie Brimswall is with him.
    Oh, shit.
    I see the look on her face—the look
she gets when she’s identified fresh blood. And since he’s hotter than a bacon-wrapped
Carolina Reaper, she’s probably imagining him on every committee just so she
can hang around him and soak up his pheromones.
    Who could blame her?
    My car creeps closer, and I get a better
look. He’s unreadable, with the same stoic expression that he has on the
portrait that hangs in the main lobby of JLS Heartland, right alongside one of
his father, and one of his grandfather. I see his mouth open, likely poised to
excuse himself from her ambush, but then her expression changes.
    Oh, God, no! Not the guilt face. I remember it so
well. It’s what did me in last year. She’s about to unleash her “For the good
of the children” speech. It’s 99.9% effective.
    I should just drive on. He doesn’t see me
here. He wouldn’t even recognize me if he did. I really like my job at JLS, and
I don’t want to mess it up by looking the wrong way at the boss man. Maybe he wants to be on a committee or two. Maybe he wants to serve up pigs-in-a-blanket
in the buffet line or show up at the event an hour early to blow up balloons
and fold paper napkins around plastic utensils. Maybe he wants to wipe sticky
sauces off of the fold-out tables and fill up the dumpster with trash for two
hours after the event.
    Like hell he does.
    I can’t witness this. I can’t throw him
under the truck like this while I make a fast getaway onto Bendale Boulevard.
    I slow my car to a stop alongside them. Rolling
down my window, I’m still construing my plan and hoping he won’t think I’m
completely insane.
    “Um, Mr. Sheridan,” I call in his
direction. “You really better go now if you’re going to make that 9:00 meeting.”
    My voice trembles slightly. I’ve been
told I’m a quick thinker under duress, but I’m not very good at bluffs, which
is why my friends Allie and Cass won