Claiming the Enemy: Dustin (Porter Brothers Trilogy 3)

“We’ll see,” he said skeptically.

“Yes, we will,” she retorted confidently as Logan returned to the fire.

“Dad, you have to go back to the house. You forgot the graham crackers.”

“I forgot the crackers? I told you to put them in the bag—”

“Luckily, you asked me to come.” Jessie took a box of graham crackers out her backpack, giving it to Logan.

“You’re the best, Jessie!” Logan happily sat down and began compiling the s’mores.

Dustin gave her a decisive gaze. “You just happened to bring the crackers? You have any marshmallows or chocolate in that backpack?”

“Nope, just crackers.”

“Well …” he drawled out, “isn’t that a coincidence?”

“Isn’t it?” she stated happily, her eyes twinkling in the firelight as she smushed down a roasted marshmallow that Logan had made for her down onto a cracker.

Dustin did the same, nearly choking on a bite when he saw the tip of her tongue come out to lick a smear of chocolate off her bottom lip.

Shifting on the hard ground to hide his growing erection, he internally blasted himself for becoming aroused. The last thing Jessie needed right now was thinking she triggered another fire that was near her.

When they were done, Jessie took out a pack of baby wipes, giving one to each of them to wipe their sticky hands. Then Dustin turned on a battery-operated radio for them to listen to as they sat around the campfire.

Jessie wrapped her arms around her knees as Logan took out a leather bag that had once belonged to Dustin’s great-grandfather. It was then passed to his grandmother, who handed it down to Greer before she died.

Out of all her grandchildren, she had been the least close to him. She had been closest with Tate and Greer. They’d often gone to her at night to sit and talk to her into the late hours. Even with Rach, who was born three years before her death, she would allow her to come to her room and jump on her bed before watching the old television they’d managed to fit in the small space.

It was only with him that she had shown no notice of, usually pretending to be asleep when he would go to her room to keep her company or directing her attention to the television instead of what he was saying. Gradually, as he had grown older, he was able to recognize the wariness in her lined face and stopped making the effort. When she died, it had hit him hard that they hadn’t shared the same close relationship that she shared with his brothers and sister.

From the moment Logan had come to live with them when he was eighteen months old, he developed a fascination with watching Greer whittle. As soon as Greer would go outside with the leather bag, Logan toddled after him, raptly watching him make the little figurines. None of the wooden facsimiles looked like what they were modeled after, but they still held a place on a shelf in their bedroom.

When Logan had grown older, Greer had given him a butter knife and a piece of wood to keep him occupied when he whittled. Then one day, Dustin had come out onto the porch and saw Greer teaching him how to use a worn blade that he found in a pawn shop. At first, he and Holly protested, but at such a young age, he exhibited a talent that was undeniable, so Dustin had given in to letting Greer monitor Logan as he learned to whittle. His creations dotted their home, bringing envious gasps to those visiting.

“Did your dad teach you how to do that?” Jessie laid her head on her raised knees, watching Logan as he worked.

“No, Dad always cuts himself when he tries. Greer taught me.”

“Greer taught you?” Jessie raised her head to stare at him. “I didn’t think Greer would have enough patience to whittle.”

“Greer can have plenty of patience when he wants to do something. It’s only when he doesn’t that he can be stubborn,” Dustin answered her.

“You learn something new every day,” she stated, though Dustin could still see the doubt in her eyes.

“He isn’t as good as Logan. That’s why he gave Logan our great-grandfather’s tools.”

“May I see it, Logan?”

“Help yourself.” Logan nodded toward the leather pouch as he continued on the block of wood.

Jessie picked it up, running her fingers over the soft material. “It’s beautiful. Greer gave it to you?” She turned her head once again toward him. “I would have thought he would have saved it—” She delicately broke off what she was about to say.

“For his own son? No. I said the same thing when Greer gave it to him. He wanted Logan to have it.”

“That’s unusual. Greer hides his pickles and his cornbread, but he let Logan have something that obviously has sentimental value?”