Page 2 of Jack of All Trades (The Morrison Brothers #4)

I force my face back to neutral as soon as I realize I'm almost smiling at Jack Morrison. The last thing I need is for him to think his cowboy charm works on me. Because it doesn't. At all.

Not even when the late afternoon sun streaming through the window catches the gold flecks in his brown eyes, or when his smile creates that single dimple on his left cheek.

Nope. Not working on me.

"So, we'll do a barbecue at your place," I say, keeping my voice businesslike. "I can handle the food and decorations. You just make sure the right people are there."

Jack tilts his head, his lovely eyes staring at me in a way that makes me uncomfortable. Like he's trying to see past the walls I’ve built over the years.

"What?" I snap.

"Nothing," he says, though his expression says otherwise. "Just trying to figure out why Rex never introduced us before."

I snort. "Probably because he knows your type, and I'm not it."

"My type?" Jack leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement stretches his clothes across shoulders that are unfairly broad. "And what is my type, Maya Torres?"

"Thin, blonde, giggly, and easily impressed," I reply without hesitation. "Basically the opposite of me."

Jack's eyebrows shoot up, and a flash of something—anger? hurt?—crosses his face before his easy smile returns. "You seem to have me all figured out."

"Rex talks," I shrug, ignoring the twinge of guilt. Maybe I'm being too harsh, but it's better this way. Men like Jack Morrison break hearts as easily as they breathe, and mine has been through enough.

"Well, let me know if you want the real story sometime," he says, his voice softer now. "Instead of Rex's version."

There's something genuine in his tone that catches me off guard. I look down at my hands, suddenly feeling the need to fidget.

"Can we just focus on the party? It's in three days, and we have a lot to do."

Jack nods, accepting my redirect. "Right. So, food, decorations, guests. Anything else?"

"Music," I say. "Rex loves those old country songs your dad used to play. The real country, not the pop stuff they play on the radio now."

Jack's expression brightens. "You know about that? About Dad's record collection?"

"Rex used to talk about coming over after school and listening to records with you and your dad in the garage." I pause, realizing I might have revealed too much. "He mentioned it once or twice."

The truth is, Rex talked about the Morrisons constantly when I was growing up.

How Mr. Morrison taught them basic mechanics when our own father was too drunk to care.

How Mrs. Morrison always made extra food because she knew Rex was hungry.

How Jack was the only kid at school who didn't care that Rex's clothes were secondhand or that his dad was the town drunk.

"Dad would have liked you," Jack says suddenly, his voice warm.

The unexpected compliment flusters me. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know you care about Rex. I know you're planning a thoughtful party that's actually about what he'd like, not just what's easiest." He shrugs. "That tells me enough."

I look away, uncomfortable with how easily he's cutting through my defenses.

"We should exchange numbers," I say, then immediately realize how that sounds. "For party planning," I add quickly.

Jack's lips twitch with amusement. "We already have each other's numbers, remember? That's how we've been texting all week."

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Right. Obviously."

"But I wouldn't mind if you wanted my number for other reasons," he adds with a wink.

And just like that, Charming Cowboy Jack is back, and I remember exactly why I need to keep my guard up.

"In your dreams, Morrison," I retort, but there's less bite in my voice than I intended.

"So, about the guest list," Jack continues, graciously changing the subject. "Besides the obvious—me, you, my brothers—who else matters to Rex?"

I consider this. Rex keeps his circle small, a habit from years of disappointment. "The five core guys from his club, I guess. Maybe a few others, but not too many. Rex isn't big on crowds."

"Got it. Small, meaningful gathering." Jack makes a note on his phone. "What about you? Anyone you want to invite?"

"Me? I don't know anyone in Pine Haven except Rex."

"Well, now you know me," Jack says with a grin. "And you'll meet my brothers at the party."

"Lucky me," I mutter.

"They're actually good guys," Jack says, ignoring my sarcasm. "Ethan's quiet but solid. He's a blacksmith now, lives outside of town. Michael's the smart one, built some tech empire. And David's the athlete, quarterback. They'll all be here for the party."

I try to match the descriptions with the stories Rex has told me over the years. "The Morrison boys," I say, remembering Rex's nickname for them. "Town legends, according to my brother."

Jack shrugs, but I catch a flash of something in his eyes, a hint of discomfort, maybe even insecurity. It's gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

"We're just ordinary guys," he says.

Something in his tone makes me think this is a sore spot, but before I can analyze it further, my phone buzzes with a text. I check it and sigh.

"I need to go. Rex is wondering where I am." I slide out of the booth, gathering my purse. "He thinks I'm at the grocery store."

Jack stands too, and I'm reminded of how tall he is. Not bulky like the bikers Rex hangs out with, but lean and muscular in a way that suggests actual strength rather than gym-built bulk.

"I'll walk you out," he offers.

"I can find the door," I say dryly.

He grins, undeterred. "Humor me. My mama raised me with manners."

Outside, the evening air has cooled, bringing with it the scent of pine and earth. My rental car, a sensible compact that looks absurdly small next to Jack's truck, sits at the far end of the lot.

"That's me," I say, gesturing to the car.

Jack walks me to it anyway, his boots crunching on the gravel. When we reach the car, I turn to face him, determined to end this encounter on my terms.

"I'll text you tomorrow about food specifics," I say, all business. "And I'll need your address."

"Or you could come by tomorrow and see the space," Jack suggests. "Get a feel for what we're working with."

I narrow my eyes. "Is that necessary?"

"Probably not," he admits with a shrug. "But it might help with planning."

I consider it briefly. He's not wrong. Seeing the space would make organizing easier. But spending more time with Jack feels dangerous in a way I can't quite articulate.

"Fine," I concede reluctantly. "What time?"

"How about noon? I'll make lunch."

I shake my head immediately. "No lunch. This isn't social."

Jack's smile doesn't falter. "Planning is easier on a full stomach."

"I'll eat before I come," I counter.

He raises his hands in surrender. "Have it your way. Noon, no lunch."

I nod, fishing my keys from my purse. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As I move to open my car door, Jack steps back, giving me space. But then he says, "You know, Maya, you don't have to work so hard at disliking me. Most people find it comes naturally."

The self-deprecating joke catches me by surprise, and a laugh escapes before I can stop it. Jack's eyes widen slightly at the sound, like he's discovered something precious.

"Tomorrow at noon," I say firmly, sliding into my car. "Don't be late."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replies, touching the brim of his hat in a gesture that shouldn't be charming but somehow is.

I start the engine and pull out of the parking lot, determinedly not checking my rearview mirror to see if he's watching me leave. Because I don't care if he is. Not at all.

The drive to Rex's apartment takes less than ten minutes in a town as small as Pine Haven. I use the time to mentally reorganize my defenses, which somehow got jumbled during my meeting with Jack.

I've only been in Pine Haven for three days, and already this town is getting under my skin.

It's exactly as Rex described it—picturesque, tight-knit, the kind of place where everyone knows everyone else's business.

The kind of place I've been considering moving to, though I haven't told Rex that yet.

My life in Seattle feels increasingly empty. My job at a corporate daycare is fulfilling but isolated. I love the children but barely know my coworkers. My apartment is just a place to sleep. And with Rex being my only family, Pine Haven has started to look more and more appealing.

I pull up to Rex's apartment building. A converted warehouse that looks exactly like the kind of place a biker would live, and take a deep breath. I need to focus on why I'm really here: to celebrate my brother's birthday and to quietly investigate whether Pine Haven could be my fresh start.

Jack Morrison and his dimpled smile are just a complication I need to manage.

As I climb the stairs to Rex's second-floor apartment, I steel myself. No more thinking about cowboys with kind eyes and disarming honesty. No more wondering what Jack meant by "the real story." No more noticing the way his voice gets softer when he talks about his family.

I have a party to plan, a brother to surprise, and a future to figure out. Everything else is just noise.

I knock on Rex's door, forcing a smile. When my brother opens it, tattooed arms crossed over his chest and a suspicious look on his face, I hold up the single bag of groceries I hastily purchased before going to the Rusty Nail.

"Sorry I'm late," I say cheerfully. "The store was busy."

Rex's eyes narrow. "You've been gone almost two hours."

I push past him into the apartment. "I got lost."

"In Pine Haven?" He sounds skeptical.

"I'm directionally challenged," I reply, setting the groceries on his counter. "What do you want for dinner?"

Rex looks at me for a moment longer, then apparently decides to let it go. "Whatever you're making. You know I'll eat anything."

That's true. Growing up the way we did, neither of us is picky. When you don't know where your next meal is coming from, you learn to be grateful for whatever's available.

As I unpack the groceries, Rex leans against the counter, watching me. "So, what do you think of Pine Haven so far?"

I keep my expression neutral. "It's nice. Quiet."

"Too quiet for you?" he asks. "After Seattle?"

"Not necessarily." I focus on arranging tomatoes in a bowl, avoiding his gaze. "I like that people say hello on the street. That doesn't happen in the city."

Rex grunts in agreement. "You should meet some of my friends while you're here. Get to know the place better."

"I'm only staying for two weeks," I remind him, though the lie feels heavy on my tongue. If things go well, if Pine Haven feels right, I might be staying much longer. But I'm not ready to share that plan yet, not until I'm sure.

"Two weeks is plenty of time to decide if you like it here," Rex says, with an intuition that has always been uncanny.

I look up sharply. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. "Nothing. Just making conversation."

But his eyes tell a different story. My brother knows me too well.

I turn back to the groceries, unpacking a package of pasta. "I met your friend Jack today," I say, changing the subject.

Rex's eyebrows shoot up. "Jack Morrison? When? Where?"

"At that coffee shop on Main," I lie smoothly. "He recognized me somehow. Said I look like you."

Rex snorts. "You got all the good genes."

"We only talked for a minute," I continue, keeping my voice casual. "He seems... friendly."

"Jack's the best," Rex says with genuine warmth. "Known him since we were kids. He's had my back more times than I can count."

"You told me he was a rodeo rider, right?" I ask, pretending I don't already know the answer.

"One of the best in the state," Rex confirms. "But don't tell him I said that. His head's big enough already."

I laugh, the sound more genuine than I expected. "I'll keep that in mind."

Tomorrow at noon, I'll see him again. I tell myself it's just for party planning, just for Rex, but… Deep down, I’m already not sure.