Lucky Charms: A Hudson Family Series- Book 3- Dalton and Cami

by Chontelle Brison

  “Camille, I’m really sorry, I really am. I just thought it would work out, you’re perfect for Dalton; he loves you, I know he does.” The way she spoke, I almost wanted to believe her.

  “Let’s not discuss it anymore, we’re here to celebrate the nuptials of two willing couples, and I, fer one, am done feeling sorry for meself.”

  “If it makes you feel better, Matthew blackmailed me into being here,” Alison spoke up from next to Sara.

  We all turned to look at her and she looked around at all of us and sighed. “Short version, I hired Matt the escort, not for sex, but for research for a series my boss is writing. I’m a literary research agent, so I do all the research for authors then they write the books. Sometimes it’s locations, sometimes it’s history, but Taylor is writing a series on escorts. She suggested this website and suggested Matt as one of the escorts to interview. Anyways, I hired him, asked him a slew of questions, he spent the night talking, he got the wrong idea, I left him tied to the hotel bed and when I got home I realized that I had left my case, with all my research notes that I had been gathering for Taylor, behind. No one could find them, and I tried to find Matt, but his agency wouldn’t give out any personal information. Somehow, the persistent, aggravating man found out where I lived and sent me an invitation to your wedding, a plane ticket, a gift box with a very pretty dress that I would never wear, and a note.” Alison looked around the table and seemed uncomfortable with our riveted expressions. This was better than cable.

  “So, what did the note say?” Rachel asked, her voice filled with excitement. I wanted to warn Alison right there to make a break for it before Rachel somehow got her married off to Matt, but I kept silent.

  Alison seemed to be trying to remember the wording and then said, “One date, you show up and be my date for my brother’s wedding, wear the dress, and you get your notes back… otherwise I dunk the written notes in the pond outback and record my rendtion of ‘Old Mcdonald Had a Farm’ over you’re recorded interviews… Matt. The last thing was his phone number, which he refused to answer. He would just text me and tell me to answer yes or no.”

  Rachel sighed and I rolled me eyes, then I remembered something Alison had said, “Wait, I bet I know how the lad got yer number, Alison.” I waited for her nod before I continued, “You said you work for a writer, named Taylor? She writes romance novels out of Washington, right? Wicked with a bow and arrow?” I almost laughed as Alison’s eyes widended as she nodded Even Sara was grinning, and Synclair was outright laughing.

  “Yes, all of that is true,” Alison answered simply.

  I sat back and grinned at her from across the table. “Taylor is one of Synclair’s best friends, and she knew Matt was an escort and was familiar with the website because Synclair helped him set up his profile page. Isn’t Taylor coming to the wedding?” I asked Synclair, who was typing a text message on her cell. Me guess was, it was to Taylor, and poor Alison had no idea what she was up against.

  “No, she’s got a really bad cold and couldn’t make it, but we’re going to have a huge reception at the house to celebrate the opening of Sara and I’s restaurant, the baby, and the wedding, so she plans to show for that.”

  I looked over at Alison, who’s tanned cheeks looked blush-red. “She knew? I spent over an hour venting to her about Matt and she was the one who gave him my address?” She looked ready to blow, then suddenly she let out a breath and smiled. “Damn, the man is crafty,” she finally said, and her voice almost sounded impressed.

  “Here we go, loves, cheesy chips with bacon and onions, all on the house, me dears.” The burly looking bartender beamed proudly as he placed the huge plate of chips, or fries, as you all call them, in the middle of the table and handed us each a plate.

  Sara and Synclair wasted no time diggingin while the rest of us just sort of sat back and observed the two wild pregnant women in their natural habit, stuffing their faces.

  A dog yelping in pain got our attention and we turned as a large, greasy-looking lad with brown hair and a scraggly beard came in, dragging the dog that Alison had befriended in by his collar. The dog look terrified as it whimpered and whined against the rough handling.

  “What’s this about, Marcus? Don’t bring that mutt in me bar,” the bartender demanded. Suddenly, I remembered the shirt that Alison had been wearing, and I turned to caution her against saying anything. By the time I was facing her, she was already zooming past me at light speed.

  Worried she was going to do something stupid, which was basically anything other than sit down and shut up, I hurried out of the booth.

  “Stupid mutt, I told him to stay right outside and, instead, I found him taking a piss on the church lawn across the street,” the ugly guy sneered as he pulled the collar on the poor dog, making him whimper louder. He raised one beefy hand to strike the dog when, suddenly, a glass flew out of nowhere and hit him square in the damn forehead. And by flew out of nowhere, I mean Alison threw it with deadly aim.

  The glass bounced off the man’s head and shattered on the ground, and he let go of the dog to hold his forehead, which had began to trickle blood.

  Shiiiite! Five minutes in the bar and the soft spoken one was the troublemaker! It’s always the quiet ones. I pulled Alison behind me and she patted her leg and the damn mutt came right to her side. Lovely, now she was the dog whisperer. Aware that the whole pub had stopped to watch, with some patrons on their feet to get a better look, I glanced over me shoulder, looking for an exit. Luckily, like many pubs, it had two entrances and I saw the second one against the far wall at the other side of the room.

  I didn’t want to scare Alison and I was painfully aware I had two pregnant women with me, but bar brawls happened quite frequently in Ireland and women were not opposed to joining in. The man Alison had clocked with the glass was now glaring at her over me shoulder and I backed up very slowly toward the booth the others were sitting at.

  “Don’t touch me,” Alison demanded from behind me. I turned around to find some biker-looking lad had grabbed hold of her arm and was pulling her toward him. I looked down when the seemingly scared dog went from whimpering to growling at the pointy-nosed fellow. I looked at Synclair and tried to tell her with me eyes that she needed to get Sara and Rachel out of here. She shook her head slightly and I glared harder; now was not the time for stupid Synclair heroics, now was the time to waddle her pregnant arse out of harm’s way. Seriously, I completely understand why Reece is always pulling his hair out over her. I mean, geez, the woman could give birth any minute, and she actually looked excited at the idea of a bar brawl!

  “Brings back fond memories, does it, cousin?” I asked, trying to divert the lad who Alison was struggling against. Hopefully I could get his focus off her long enough to do something.

  “Fond memories,” she replied as she and Sara moved out of the booth and Rachel followed. Synclair pulled Sara around behind the bar and then glanced down and then up at me and smiled.

  “Cousin, me bag, if you please,” I called out, and Synclair walked over to the booth, shook me bag, and the smiled. I used me eyes to let her know to chuck the bag and get her arse behind the bar.

  Syn threw me bag over the man and Alison, and I jumped up, grabbed it, and brought out me favorite birthday present ever: me brass knuckles, which also happened to be fashioned with little silver spikes, just for that extra touch. What? They don’t call us the fightin’ Irish for nothing, people!

  So many things happened all at once, I’m not even sure where to start.

  Alison screamed and the man holding her pushed her into the table, her body went flying and her cheek connected with a wooden chair on her way down. Upon seeing this, the dog leapt up at the man and began mauling his arm, and no matter how the man shook him, the dog would not let go. When he reached back with his fist to punch the dog, I ran forward, fell to me knees, and slammed me knuckled fist into his groin. The man dropped in pain and the dog immediately went to Alison, who seemed like she was having a hard
time standing. I would have gone to help her, but the man who beat the dog grabbed me shoulder, whirled me around, and tried to kiss me.

  I tried to dodge his terrible smelling mouth as he laughed and tried to pull me closer. With his hands clamped on me, all I could do was dangle in the air, hoping to get a shot off to his nuts.

  I was just about to head-butt the wanker when I heard Synclair shout, “Rachel, batter up!” I twisted me head around and saw me cousin pull a dirty bat from behind the bar while she smiled at the bartender like he hung the moon. Rachel stood up in the booth and grabbed the bat that Synclair tossed her. The cheeky girl jumped from table to table until she got to where greasy lad and I were struggling and leapt behind him, and then one second he and I were fighting, and the next second he was collapsing to the ground. I crab crawled backwards on me hands to put some distance between us and yelled for Rachel to watch out. Behind her, another lad was about to grab hold, when the most feral roar that I have ever heard from a human practically shook the windows of the pub.

  “Hey, babe!” Synclair called out as Reece, Lucas, Matt, and Dalton Hudson pushed through the doorway. Dear God, the men looked pissed. Reece grabbed the man that was ready to pounce on Rachel and slammed his fist into his face, while Matt looked ready to kill when he saw Alison struggling to stand. I winced when I saw the bruised cheek she was sportin’. Lucas slammed together the two lads who didn’t seem to take kindly to the Americans busting up the entertainment, then pushed them aside and walked behind the bar, makin' his way to where Sara and Synclair were. Dalton went to move toward me, his eyes flashing with both anger and concern, when this stupid, skanky-lookin' slapper leapt on his back and started screaming and scratching at his face. I jumped up and, as I got to him, other lads started throwing punches.

  I got to Dalton, who was trying to remove the harpie without hurtin’ her, and I just sighed, tapped the twit on the shoulder and, when she turned round, I clocked her with me fist. I forgot I was still wearing me knuckles, so me slam to her cheek not only knocked her off Dalton, but knocked her out cold. Glancing back, I saw the bartender on the phone and knew the police were being called. I grabbed Dalton and he placed me in front of his body while Reece placed Rachel behind him, which placed her in front of me. Like a single-file line we made our way toward the back, the men pushing lads as they took swings right and left. When we reached the end of the bar counter, Reece grabbed Synclair, who had someone gotten herself seated on top of the bar, and Lucas shielded Sara’s body with his own as bottles started to fly. We were about to the door when Dalton stopped.

  “Where’s Matt?” he shouted and we all stopped and looked back toward the bar. It seemed everyone was swinging on everyone.

  Suddenly, we saw Matt lift Alison onto the bar top, and she was holding her cheek and yelling for the dog to follow. As soon as Matt dropped the mutt next to Alison, a huge, hairy, cigar-smoking fellow with a Black Sabbath t-shirt on, pulled back and clocked Matt in the face. We all gasped and Dalton and Reece rushed forward to help. Before they could reach him, Alison reached behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and slammed it over the huge man’s head. He turned and looked at her in a daze and she kicked both feet square in his face, knocking him back into a booth.

  “Don’t touch my date, asshole!” she screamed and then Matt wasted no time throwing the woman over his shoulder and racing past his brothers, with the dog on his heels. We raced out the door and Reece, Synclair, Sara, and Lucas piled into the rental car, and Dalton, Matt, Alison, meself, and the dog all piled in me car and we raced out of the lot. Passing the guarda, or the cops, as you may call them, on the way out of town, I took a moment and laughed. For a moment, Dalton stared at me like I was mental, then I heard Alison snicker and, before I knew it, we were all laughing like loons.

  Dalton

  I couldn’t believe it when Synclair texted Reece the address of some bar in town and told him that things were about to get ugly. Not even stopping to think, we all piled into Reece’s rental car and followed the GPS to this rundown-looking bar across from the church. I vaguely recognized it as the same block the club was located on, the one that I had been to last night with Camille.

  My heart dropped when I saw Camille on the floor, walking backwards on her hands toward Alison, who was obviously hurt. I didn’t even see Reece move past me to grab the asshat that was sneaking up on Rachel; the guy was lucky he was still breathing after Reece knocked him out on his feet. Still, it was a great tension-breaker to laugh in the car on the way home. I wanted to ask Camille if she was hurt, but she had made a point of ignoring me for the past few hours. So, while my brothers were getting lavished with attention by their women, who were so impressed with them for coming to the rescue, I was sitting here with a dog that smelled like old beer and sweat. Even Matt, the guy who had to blackmail his date to get her here, had fussed over Alison’s cheek and, in turn, she fussed over his split lip.

  Once back at the house, Michael and Keela had stopped by for awhile, mainly so that Michael could help fill in the gaps from last night, and Keela ran upstairs to Camille’s room.

  Even after Michael and Keela had left, Camille had still not come back downstairs. Jack and Kathryn returned and were ecstatic to see everyone was here early. Of course, Synclair regaled Jack with stories of our bar adventure and Jack started heating up his grill to make steaks.

  So, while everyone laughed and shared stories, I sat here on the end of the back porch, freezing my nuts off, petting a smelly dog and trying to make sense of what Michael had told me.

  I had asked him what happened at the club. According to Michael, we did a round of whiskey, danced with the girls, did another round, danced some more, and then somewhere between rounds three and four was when Camille and I disappeared. Since Keela wasn’t drinking, and Michael had stopped after two shots, they spent the next two hours looking for us. It wasn’t until they went to check and see if we were by the car that they saw us. We were walking out of the Chuch next door hand in hand. Michael said we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. The part that gut-checked me, though, the part that I couldn’t get past, was where Michael claims that I told Camille I loved her, not just once, but over and over again.

  Michael figured Camille and I were just wasted, so Keela drove Camille’s car home and Michael drove us in his. All Michael knew was that Keela left Camille’s purse and her car keys on the counter and saw Camille and I stumble upstairs with our mouths glued to one another.

  Was it true? Had I professed my undying love? Uh, yeah! Of course you did, you love her, you idiot!

  I can’t. I mean, I don’t love Camille, I can’t have found the one yet, I hadn’t lived enough yet, I wasn’t ready for babies, and parenting, and wedding cake toppers that looked like me. I needed her to be my friend, I didn’t want to lose the first woman friend I’d made. Maybe it wasn’t too late to go back to friends? It was worth a try.

  Besides, Camille doesn’t love me, she just feels attached because I was the first person she had really been intimate with, she’s just confusing it with other feelings.

  Liar, liar pants on fire!

  Ugh, inner voice needed to die!

  Cami

  The days leading up to the wedding passed by in a blur. I avoided Dalton whenever possible and, luckily, the girls ran interference for me when I found meself alone with him. I wasn’t rude or short with him, and when everyone got together the night before the wedding at the restaurant in town, I smiled at him and tried to make sure there was no tension. After all, me cousin and Sara shouldn’t have to suffer because of me bad life choices. I just needed to make it another few days and Dalton would fly back to Carson City. I had heard him making flight reservations to fly home the evening after the wedding, so it was clear he couldn’t wait to get back, probably to that phonebook he wanted to screw his way through.

  I tried not to let it hurt me, I tried to remember that I deserved better than following around after a man who either didn’t want me
or I just wasn’t worth the risk to love. Neither idea was flattering and, as much as it killed me to look at him when I loved him, the idea of being the only one in love kept me from making an arse out of meself and telling him we were married.

  Synclair was convinced I should tell him, that Dalton would never leave without sorting this out if he knew that we were hitched. She was convinced that he had to love me and wanted to marry me on some level, or he never would have, drunk or not. I wasn’t so sure. I knew how deeply the loss of his parents had hurt him - he had been young and it had made a deep impression on him. I had no way to battle that fear for him; life was what it was. People lived and people died, I just felt that even if I only got to love someone for a little while, it was better than not at all. However, judging by Dalton’s conversation with his brothers in the barn, he doesn’t feel the same way.

  Lucky for me, I was too busy to mope about Dalton, as I was directing the crew from Walt’s company on where to set up chairs and telling Keela and Michael how to place the flowers on the beautiful gazebo that Dalton and I had built together. Right up until I was supposed to walk down the aisle and take me place as the maid of honor with Rachel, I was checking music, seating cards, food, and everything else I could do to get me mind off the fact that Dalton was supposed to walk me down that aisle, right after Matt and Rachel.

  “Camille, it’s time!” I heard Keela shout from downstairs. I checked meself one last time in the mirror. I was wearing a long, blue silk dress that tied at the base of me neck, Keela had pulled me hair up in a bun that left tedrils of curls hanging about, and Rachel had done me makeup so that me blue eyes seemed to be larger somehow. Me lips were stained with a light pink gloss and I prayed I didn’t fall flat on me face in these heels. The good news was that although it was only fifty degrees or so, and the heaters were keeping everybody warm.