The Guy in the Middle (The Underdogs 3)

Trevor chimes in. “Yep, she’s right.”

“Damn,” she pipes up, “they look like dogs. I was expecting something a little more epic.”

Trevor chuckles, and I sigh. Three is the worst possible number. He reads my thoughts.

“Three,” he says, “if we take two of them out, it may solve the problem, but you never know.”

“Damn.” I train the scope on one of them and look over to Harper, who I know has a waiting smile on her lips.

“Did you want to ask me something, Lance?”

Harper

“We got ‘em, Dad,” Trevor announces proudly as the three of us enter the living room. “And our girl here got the third.” Trevor and I share a grin.

“Good job,” Jack nods toward me as I take off my jacket.

“To be fair, Lance took my aim. All I did was pull the trigger.”

Lance removes the gun from my hand and Trevor’s and locks them up in the cabinet next to the fireplace before securing the key in his pocket. He and Jack share a look I can’t decipher from where he sits in the recliner as Rip picks up a guitar on the couch next to him.

“Where’s Mom?” Trevor asks.

“She picked up another shift,” Jack replies before taking a sip from his tumbler.

It wasn’t until I got to the ranch that I found out Jeannie went back to work years ago to help out with the bills. She bartends at the only hotel in town. Not one person in this house ever stops, even retired, Rip comes out to help with the workload. He lives on the edge of town with his wife but is over almost every day. On the Prescott ranch, everyone is considered family. Rip’s talent takes me by surprise as I watch him run his fingers effortlessly along the strings.

“Wow. You’re good.”

“That’s nothing,” Trevor says, hanging his coat next to the roaring fire where I heat my hands behind me. “You should have seen him and Dad when they used to play. We have videos.”

“Yeah?” I look down at Jack.

“We used to open for Lynyrd Skynyrd,” Rip says.

Lance sighs as if he’s heard the same story a thousand times. He told me when we were dating that when his dad was younger, he played in a band, so chances are, that’s the case.

“Why did you stop?” I ask, knowing it doesn’t have anything to do with Jack’s Parkinson’s diagnosis. It was too long ago.

“Jeannie got pregnant,” Jack says as Lance looks over to me. “And we played when we could, we just never got anywhere. I wanted to settle down anyway, and no one was beating down our door to sign us.”

“Good times,” Rip says, clinking glasses with Jack before they both take a sip.

“Lance, pour yourself some,” Jack gestures to the bottle of whiskey on the table.

“Can’t. Training.”

“One drink, son,” he insists.

Lance shakes his head. “Got shit to do.”

“Bullshit.” Jack stands with his drink in hand and moves toward Lance before he loses his footing, falling to the carpet as though he’s been tripped, his tumbler spilling over.

Lance curses and is at his side in an instant, helping him up.

I feel the embarrassment, the tension, as Trevor looks on frozen, while Rip keeps picking his guitar. And then I’m on Jack’s other side as we secure him back in the recliner. Unable to handle another second of the tension, I pipe up. “Jack, that was the absolute worst Cupid Shuffle I’ve ever seen.” Lance’s head snaps to mine as I dig in. “You have a dance professional living under your roof, the least you could do is ask for help.”

Lance’s eyes bulge as Jack looks up to me speculatively before he starts to laugh. Rip joins in as I pick up the empty glass and hand it to Trevor, who’s smiling at me. “Get him another one.” Trevor doesn’t hesitate, he pours two fingers of the bottle in the glass and hands it to his dad. I look over at Lance and see him repeatedly swallowing before he turns and makes his way down the hall.