Jump Start (Texas Hotzone 1)

“I heard it,” he said, a second before a Doberman pinscher lunged toward them snarling and barking, teeth bared. Big teeth on an angry dog.

“Don’t move,” Jennifer said, her heart in her throat. “Anything we do to seem aggressive will make it attack.” The dog jumped forward and barked some more. “Of course, it might attack anyway.”

“Considering you’re a vet,” Bobby said, his voice calm, unaffected, almost amused, as if he’d faced far worse than an enraged Doberman, “now seems a good time to ask if you’ll be betting on me or the dog in the event a fight should ensue? Because if anyone is going to bite you, it’s me, and it’ll come with a heavy dose of pleasure. Fido here isn’t going to get a chance to bite you.” The dog snarled as if it resented the name. Bobby arched a brow. “Okay, I guess the name Fido isn’t macho enough to suit you. Kujo it is.” His gaze remained on Kujo. “What’s the answer, Jen. Me or the dog?”

“I might be a vet,” Jennifer said, amazed at how calm Bobby was because she was ready to crawl under the car, “but I wouldn’t like being ripped apart by a dog any more than you would.”

“Ripped apart is rather dramatic, sweetheart,” he said. “You know something I don’t?”

“I know I wish I didn’t smell like cat right now, and that dog is going to attack if we don’t do something and do it fast,” she said, all too familiar with the look in its eyes.

“Well, well, well,” came a countrified female voice. “Look what the dog drug up. Heel, girl.” The dog snarled once more and backed away, sauntering over to stand by the woman who stroked its head. “Good girl, Dixie.” The dog panted and glowed, a happy pet, rather than a killer.

Jennifer’s gaze lifted to the brassy redhead in cutoff shorts and a T-shirt with cowboy boots, and long, lean legs that any girl would kill for. But her tanned face with fine lines gave away her age.

“My God,” Jennifer said. “It’s Marcie in twenty years.”

“Kate?” Bobby said.

“Hell, yeah, boy,” she said. “Who else you know who’d put up with your father?”

“Who’s Kate?” Jennifer asked, confused.

“His stepmother,” Kate said, kicking up the dirt as she headed for Bobby. “Who wants a hug!”

“Stepmom?!” Jennifer asked, confused.

Kate gave Bobby a big hug. “I thought I was going to have to go to Russia or Iraq or some crazy place to hunt you down. Don’t you know how to call or visit?” She pursed her lips. “Never mind. Of course, I know why you didn’t.” She eyed Jennifer. “I’m guessing this young lady had something to do with you coming now.”

“This is Jennifer, Kate,” Bobby said, wrapping his arm around Jennifer and went on to explain to Jennifer, “Kate used to be my stepmother.”

“Still am,” Kate said. “I left the drunk SOB fifteen years ago because he was impossible to live with. Never divorced him.” She grinned. “So I figured I better kick his ass and keep him.”

Jennifer turned in Bobby’s arms, excited at the discovery. Expecting the same from him. Instead she found a troubled, solemn look on his face.

“He’s been sober three hundred and three days today, Bobby boy,” Kate said. “Surely you got my letters.”

He scrubbed his jaw. “I’ve been away on several long missions, back-to-back. I haven’t checked my mail in a few months.”

Kate made a “tsk” sound. “Come inside and holler at your father. He’s going to be tickled you’re here.” She started walking. “Come, Dixie.” The dog fell into step with Kate.

Bobby hung back, a stunned look on his face. Jennifer turned to him. “This is good, right?”

“Kate being back, telling me my father is sober and ‘tickled’ to see me is an alternative reality. I think I’m going to wake up any minute.”

Jennifer smiled and laced her arm with his. “Let’s go see your father.”

Arm in arm, they strolled into the garage, an old Camaro in the docking area that Jennifer guessed to be from the seventies. Kate stood beside it. “Come out of there, Joey. I got someone for you to see.”

“Tell ’em to hold their horses,” came a grumble from beneath the car. “I almost got this. Oh, well, hell. I need a socket wrench.”

Bobby stepped forward and grabbed a socket wrench from a metal table and bent down beside his father. “Here you go, Pops,” he said.

Silence. Then, Joey Evans slid out from under the car in mechanics overalls, his gray hair cut close to his scalp, his eyes wide. “Bobby?” And then he was standing up, hugging his son. For a moment, Bobby was stiff, unmoving. His father held on tight anyway. “I’m sorry, son. I’m sorry for everything.”

Jennifer’s gaze met Kate’s, and they were both crying. Father and son had found each other, and two loves had been reunited. In that instant, Jennifer wasn’t sure she could be happier.