Slow Burn: A Texas Heat Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

frosted hair, winter eyes and squat body made her look like one of J.R.R Tolkien’s Hobbits. She ushered Donavan inside. The house always felt suffocating to him, a marble tomb with rooms full of dusty treasures.
    While growing up, Donavan wanted for nothing materially. He had all the latest name brand clothes, a mountain of toys, video games, vacations to exotic locales and unlimited money. On the surface, he had an enviable childhood. He certainly enjoyed it. The part that sucked happened to be the man singing buck naked on the terrace. Allister McClain weaved across the Mosaic tile singing the 1970s song Baby Come Back at the top of his lungs. He cradled a bottle of imported Scottish brandy to his chest like a lover.
    “Oh ho! There he is!” Allister bellowed. “How’s my boy?”
    “Traumatized at the sight of your pale, flabby ass this early in the morning.”   
    “Ha-ha!” At least his dad was a happy drunk.
    Mrs. Gilbert shielded her eyes with one hand and held out a robe with the other.
    “Oh come on Donnie, do I have to put it on?”
    His father pouted like a petulant, fat toddler. Donavan helped his dad into the plush, Turkish robe.
    Mrs. Gilbert sighed her relief. “Would you like some breakfast?” she asked them hopefully. Nothing gave her greater pleasure than feeding the McClain men. It’s a wonder Donavan wasn’t five hundred pounds by now. “Yes, thank you.”
    She beamed at him, reached up on the tip of her toes and pinched Donavan’s cheek. “Oh you handsome devil.”
    Then she disappeared through the art gallery to the cavernous kitchen beyond. Donavan stared hard at his father. The older man’s skin looked pasty, blue eyes sunken in with purple shadows beneath, lips wet and raw from alcohol, silver blond hair matted. He reeked of unwashed skin and brandy fumes.
    Donavan assumed the familiar role of parent. He pried the bottle from Allister’s fingers. “Come on, you’re taking a shower.”
    “Aw man, do I have to?” his dad whined.
    “Yes damn it, you stink.”
    “You don’t have to be so mean.”
    Donavan walked him through the sunken living room, up the grand staircase and into the oak paneled bedroom. He waited in the two story library as his father took a shower. “And wash your hair!” Donavan yelled.
    “Okie dokie,” Allister called.
    Minutes later, Donavan forced his father to eat freshly baked bread, scrambled eggs and bacon. “Drink the coffee,” Donavan ordered. He winked at the housekeeper. She was really like a surrogate mother to him. “Mrs. G, thank you.”
    “Anything for my boy,” she said. She left father and son alone. Donavan glared at the view of acres of manicured lawn, infinity pool and tennis court.
    “I heard you played cops and robbers the other day, bang, bang.” Allister said with a goofy grin.
    Donavan ate without tasting his food. He knew it was only a matter of time before his dad drank himself to death. “Is she really worth all this?” Donavan asked quietly.
    Allister stiffened. Something desolate flashed in his eyes and faded to nothing. “Your mother was one of a kind.”
    The older man’s shoulder’s shook with heaving sobs. He burst into tears. For a second, Donavan could only watch. For a grown man to act this way was just pathetic.
    “Wives leave their husbands every day. It’s been fifteen years, get over it.”
    “You don’t understand,” Allister wailed. He wiped snot with his trembling hand. “Cindy was my life, I can’t go on without her.”
    Donavan’s jaw clenched. He hated the shadow of a man his once vibrant father had become. Cynthia McClain was a caring, attentive mother until the day she kissed Donavan on the cheek, told him she was going to the grocery store and never came back. He was ten years old. Within twenty-four hours, his mother filed for divorce, moved to Europe and shacked up with her lover. She never looked back.
    The emotional wreckage she left behind took years to heal. Donavan had Mrs.