Jackson: The Sons of Dusty Walker Read Free

out at this view? Had he
ever thought of Jackson, wishing he could be out west with his son?
    He frowned. With one of his many sons.
    A twinge of loneliness hit him. Dad was gone.
    Jackson looked in the direction of the cemetery where Dusty
and his wife, Theresa, were buried. Or at least, what was left of them after
the car crash that killed them both instantly. A good plan would be for Jackson
to go visit the graves, forgive his dad, make his peace. But the anger residing
inside him at the man’s screwed-up idea of “the perfect family” grated like an
old rusty gate swinging in the wind.
    He scratched the side of his head, pulling on his too-long
hair. He’d always taken pride in having the same dark-brown hair as Dusty. But
now, Jackson wished he’d gotten it cut in Oregon before he’d left to come here
Sunday night. He’d spotted a barber pole somewhere down a side street. If the
August humidity got any heavier and made his hair curl, he’d go get it chopped
clean off.
    Jackson pulled his phone from his pocket and accessed his
email. The one with the flag on it, from his younger half-brother Dylan who’d
been here in town the week before, caught his eye again.
    He shook his head. He had a younger brother? And two older
brothers? “Strange world.”
    Crazy Dylan had suggested they all meet back in Red Creek on
the last day of the month, at noon at Cubby’s Restaurant. He’d written
something about the town having a lot to offer, the family business keeping his
interest, and the people here accepting him like a born-and-raised Red
Creekian.
    His younger brother had actually used the term Red
Creekian in a sentence. Even so, Jackson had no plans to ever revisit this
town after his week’s incarceration was up.
    No new emails, so he tucked his phone away and took a look
at the files sitting on the desk. With a deep breath, he prepared his brain for
another day of massive info dump.
    Jackson sat in his dad’s chair and opened the top file. West
Virginia coal and gas plant production specification codes … The words
didn’t even register as English. “Hell.” Jackson didn’t have enough fuel in him
yet for this tedious shit. He stood, hiked up his jeans, and walked back down
the hall to the small kitchen. Pouring a cup, he spotted a black ringed-binder
on top of the refrigerator.
    He pulled down the book and flipped it open. The first page
had a newspaper article about Dusty Walker’s first day as owner of the newly
re-incorporated company he and his wife had inherited from his father-in-law.
“Huh.” So Dad had changed the company name. And his wife owned half, which
probably explained why Dusty had stayed with her, the greedy asshole.
    Jackson felt the heat of anger surface again, and shook his
head. The guy was gone. Wasn’t it time to shove past this pissed-off phase and
move on to…moving on?
    He scanned through dozens of pages of news articles, the
first half from actual newspapers, the later ones printed from online sites,
all of them chronicling the rapid growth of the company under his father’s
leadership. He had to admit, Dad had a crap-load of business sense.
    “Hi there.” The receptionist’s voice reached him from her
desk.
    “Hi. Is he here?” A deep female voice had Jackson cocking
his head.
    “He is. Let me—”
    “Wait, which one is this, now?” That sultry voice again.
    “It’s Jackson, the third son. He’s twenty-five. From
Oregon.” Abby didn’t bother to lower her voice. She must not realize he was
just around the corner. Or did she know he was there, and just didn’t care if
she appeared professional or not? “Did you hear about what went on with Dylan
last week? You know Zoe Chapman, right?” Abby’s voice went quieter.
    “I know Zoe. What happened?” The sultry one sounded curious.
    Abby’s voice dropped down to a mumble and the two spoke for
a minute.
    Jackson strained to hear, but couldn’t catch anything.
    “That’s quite a coincidence.” The sexy