behind a couple that wound up in jail for tax fraud?” I demanded.
Hudson shrugged. “Mr. Aldacott used to make dynamite fudge, and he wasn’t shy about sharing.”
I squinted at him. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Yup. I was instructed by my wife to stay close and keep an eye on things, and that’s what I’m doing.” He grinned cheekily. “The window to the kitchen isn’t quite big enough for her to do it herself.”
“There’s nothing to report,” I growled.
“You two were gazing into each other’s eyes,” he singsonged. “There was quite a bit of unnecessary touching.”
“I’m a toucher,” I informed him. “Last I checked, it’s not a crime to be a tactile person.”
His mouth twitched like he was holding in a laugh and treated me to another judgy “mm-hmm.”
“Nothing is going on between us,” I said firmly. “The title of that article was perfect to describe what Journey and I are to each other. Nothing but ancient history.”
“Is that so?”
“It is so.”
A few bills landed on the bar next to my glass. It took me a couple of seconds to realize someone had put the cash there and the ceiling hadn’t started raining money. Hmm. Maybe I had had a few too many.
I glanced over to see Journey standing there, his face impassive. I missed the slightly buzzed and flushed look he’d had before, those amber eyes warm on my face. I hadn’t said anything wrong, but I certainly felt like I had.
“I’d better get going,” he said. “Thanks for getting my mind off things, Foster. It was nice talking with you.”
Things were moving a little fast for my buzzed brain. I tried to catch up, but my slightly throbbing head made me give up rather quickly. All I knew was that he was leaving and I didn’t want that—not yet. “But—”
“Thanks for the drinks, Hud.” He ignored me as he tapped the bar. “You know I’ll be back. Best damned beer in town.”
Hudson grinned. “You haven’t had any other beer in town yet.”
He winked and a little of that personality was back. “Then you know I’m telling the truth.”
He touched my shoulder before he turned and left without a backward glance. I told myself it was for the best. At Hudson’s arch look, I told him that, too. He snorted. “Sure. I’ve seen you in here on quite a few dates, Cameron.”
“I don’t know if one date a month can be categorized as ‘quite a few.’ ”
“My point is that you had more fun tonight than you’ve had in a long time. He lights you up like nobody’s business. Always has.” That smug little smile of his was going to get him mugged one day. Maybe by me. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I wanted to, but I’d had enough of Hudson’s judgy mm-hmms for the night.
Chapter 8
Journey
When I made it to the hospital the next day, my father was still in bed sleeping. He looked so… frail. I guess anyone could look like that in a hospital gown, but it just wasn’t him. That still, pale figure was eons away from my blustery, ruddy-faced father, clad in his usual uniform of motor oil-stained jeans and an undershirt that had seen better days.
I knew how hard it was to get rest in a hospital, so I didn’t want to wake him. I sat carefully in the visitor’s chair, but I might as well have spared myself the effort.
“I’m fine,” a scratchy voice said. I glanced up to find my father frowning at me, heavy brows slashing down over his eyes.
“I know you’re fine.”
“Then stop looking like at me like you’re ready to throw flowers on my damn coffin.”
“Like I’d waste good flowers on you, old man.”
He chuckled and even that little bit of energy seemed too much for him as he sagged against the pillow. We stared at one another for a few moments, unabashedly cataloging the differences in our appearance since the last time I’d been in town. He finished first.
“You need a haircut,” he said gruffly.
“You need a hairbrush,” I said tartly.
I might’ve been teasing, but his hair was looking a little unkempt, and understandably, that was probably the last thing on his mind. It was a little thinner on top now and liberally streaked with gray, which was unusual. Dyeing it was his only real vanity, which he’d done since I was in high school. Nose hair trimming didn’t make the cut. Neither did his ear hair, which probably accounted for his propensity to make people repeat themselves