His fingers tightening on his glass tumbler, Dylan slammed a hard swallow and pivoted away from the window. He strode down the hall, deliberately avoiding the great room. The distant glow of lamplight drew his attention. He wandered into a dark-paneled room that he assumed was Dusty’s office. The masculine touches were in keeping with the common theme throughout the house. Various western art and landscape oils that he’d bet weren’t reproductions. The desk was a sight better than the battered hunkajunk Dusty used at D. Walker Mineral. Obviously Theresa had put her foot down when it came to him introducing his questionable design style into their humble abode.
He shifted his attention to the opposite wall and noticed the massive safe with its door wide open. A brief case and stacks of folders occupied the upper shelves. He’d seen enough paperwork the last few days to last him a lifetime. But the big box on the bottom made him curious. Then there was the little fact that safes often served the purpose of keeping information from prying eyes. Given his father’s history, the contents sitting in front of Dylan might very well be another curveball he wasn’t ready for.
Shit. Maybe his old man had sired a bunch of other children none of them knew about. There could be a whole fucking town of mini-Walkers out there for all they knew. Half afraid of what he’d uncover in the box, he hefted it from the safe and plunked it on Dusty’s desk. He popped the lid loose and pulled out the four album-sized books nestled inside. The top one had a big J stamped on the cover. He flipped it open and inspected the 8x10 photo taking up the entire first page. The sole subject was an infant wearing a tiny sailor outfit. Gauging from the resemblance the tyke bore to Dylan, he was looking at one of his brothers.
He ran his thumb down the spines of the three additional books beneath this one, his heart thumping. Did their dad keep baby books of them? It’d explain why they were tucked away in the bottom of a safe that Theresa presumably didn’t have access to. Unable to stop himself, he turned the page. The next image was of a trio. Same infant, Dusty, and a woman Dylan didn’t recognize. His dad had his arm around the female. The pose was similar to the one with Theresa, only there was no denying the happiness and joy in this picture. It was as if for one second suspended in time, the burden had eased from Dusty’s shoulders.
The next dozen or so pages chronicled the passage of years as the baby grew out of his toddler stage. Wanting to confirm his suspicions that he was looking at his brother Jackson—the J on the cover essentially offered this biggest glaring clue—he thumbed to the last several pages in the book. Sure enough, there were some newspaper clippings showing Jackson decked out in chaps and covered in rodeo dust. Apparently his brother was a big hot shot in the arena. That was pretty fucking cool. Maybe he could take Hunter to see Jackson compete sometime. If Killian and Rogue were game, they could all get together and have a guys’ weekend. Assuming his brothers wanted to have any kind of relationship with him.
Pushing aside his wistful thinking for the time being, he flipped to the end of the book. He stared at the envelope with Jackson’s name on it, written in Dusty’s familiar scrawl. Dylan’s heart pounded. Had their dad written them a letter? The envelope was sealed. There was no way for him to know without invading Jackson’s privacy any more than he already had. Looking at baby pictures and articles was one thing. He could bring himself to cross the line beyond that. Whatever was in that envelope was for Jackson’s eyes only.
He set the book aside and grabbed the one with the letter D on it. His hands shook. Just open the fucking thing. Maybe he’d finally find some sense of peace inside and forgive his father.
Blood whooshed in his temples, adding to the pressure building in his head. The walls were closing in on him again, like they had in the Red Creek office.
He wasn’t ready for this. Wasn’t ready to see his past laid out for him in the pages of a book. Pictures proved nothing. They were just one more lie captured by the camera lens.
Pulling his anger around him like the familiar comfort of his favorite blanket, he grabbed the books, tossed them inside the box and slammed the whole kit and caboodle back in the bottom of the safe.
CHAPTER SIX
Zoe’s cellphone vibrated in her shorts’ pocket midway through Mandy Sweeny running through her vocal chords warm up. She waited for the thirteen-year-old to finish her practice and the first couple of songs before announcing a break. Leaving the girl to enjoy her two minutes of texting free time, Zoe scanned her own inbox. The recent message was from Dylan. I’m taking off early from work. Benefit of being the boss. What’s your address?
She hesitated before punching in the directions with trembling fingers. It was ridiculous to be this nervous. For Pete’s sake, after their initial run in yesterday morning, seeing him again should be a walk in the park.
Only now she had the recent memory of his kiss tormenting her brain. The chemistry between them hadn’t lessened with time. If anything, it was stronger than ever. If she wasn’t careful she’d be right back where she started from. Letting him kiss the daylights out of her and then feeling her up in the backseat of a car. That’d of course lead to them ripping each other’s clothes off and tumbling into bed, a naked, sweaty tangle of limbs.
She couldn’t let that happen. No matter how much she ached to feel his mouth sliding over her breasts, teasing her nipples into hard peaks before wandering down her belly, and lower still to her pussy. She didn’t have many lovers to base Dylan’s talent in the oral department, but even so it was probably safe to say he was a maestro when it came to pleasuring any part of her body. A quiver shot between her legs in testimony of that memory.
This is what she got for abstaining from sex for too long. Granted, she didn’t have a ton of opportunities. In addition to most men hitting the road once they found out she had a kid, the pickings were also slim in Red Creek. Plus she didn’t want to develop a reputation of sleeping around. A woman in her position had to be careful. That’s why she rarely kicked up her heels in any of the hot spots in town. Ha! If you could call them that. Hottest thing you got around these parts was the coffee at Cubby’s.
Releasing a weary breath, she pocketed her phone and finished her session with Mandy. The girl fished out her Ipod and looked at Zoe with blatant pleading. Plenty used to her student’s persuasive skills, Zoe laughed. “Fine, you get one duet. Which song?”
“Honkytonk First Date.”
Zoe killed her groan. Oh Lord. She would have to pick that one. She narrowed her eyes at the girl. “Did Callie put you up to this?”
Her expression perplexed, Mandy shook her head vigorously enough to send her braids flying. Satisfied she was telling the truth, Zoe accepted the Ipod and synched it with the Bluetooth speakers. The guitar intro wailed through the sound system. She shivered, imagining Dylan’s fingers racing with lightning speed over the strings, working the same magic with those chords as he’d devastated her body with. She was so wrapped up in the moment she nearly missed her opening lyric. Quickly catching herself, she belted out the line, trying not to giggle along with Mandy when she got to the part about the goat ruining the couple’s attempt of a kiss in the petting farm. The song was the silliest thing in creation, you couldn’t help but laugh. The chorus kicked in and Mandy’s flawless soprano nailed the delivery. Beaming at Zoe’s thumbs- up, the girl lifted her fist to her mouth and shimmied to the left. Her eyes suddenly doubled in size and she screamed.
Jolting in response, Zoe swung around to see what had scared the bejeebers out of the girl. Dylan stood in the doorway, looking just as concerned as Zoe.
“Y-you’re...Dylan Walker!” Mandy’s shrill voice hit several octaves above glass-breaking on Dylan’s name.
Okay, that explained the scream. He probably dealt with that sort of thing on a regular basis. Sending him an apologetic glance, she leaned over the hood of the piano and turned the Ipod off. Mandy snatched the device and barreled toward Dylan. Zoe had to give him credit for not bolting in the other direction.
Mandy slammed to a halt in
front of him. “Can I have your autograph?”
“Sure. You got somethin’ for me to write on?”
The girl held out her arm. Well, it could have been worse. Give it a couple more years, and it likely would be. Taking pity on Dylan’s obvious discomfort, Zoe grabbed one of her Xeroxed music sheets and a pen and handed both to him. His smile melting her insides, he leaned over the console table near the door and scribbled his name on the blank side of the paper before he passed it to Mandy. The teen held the autograph to her chest like it was one of the Lost Scrolls.
A car horn honked from the vicinity of the driveway, announcing the arrival of Mandy’s mom. The girl never removed her gaze from Dylan. “I’ve gotta go.” Her solemn voice conveyed precisely how little she loved that unfortunate necessity. He nodded, and Mandy stumbled out the door, almost running into the porch post since she refused to unglue her stare from Dylan. Somehow she made it down the steps without breaking something vital.
The instant Mandy and her mom rolled out of the drive, Zoe shook her head and chuckled. “I’m so sorry about that.”
Dylan grinned. “Don’t worry about it.” His sparkling gaze swept her in a lazy glide and his expression turned downright smoky. “You look good enough to eat.”
Oh God. He would have to use that particular term. Dangerous, considering her raunchy thoughts earlier. “Thank you.” Suddenly acutely conscious of the fact that her tank top did a piss poor job of concealing the perky status of her nipples, she cleared her throat and covertly crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re looking well yourself.” Wow, could she possibly have sounded more stilted and lame?
Without warning, he reached out and fingered a strand of her hair. “I keep meanin’ to ask when you got these.”
It took forever to concentrate on anything other than the nearness of his face. Particularly that mouth she couldn’t get out of her head. If she stood on her tiptoes she could press her lips to his. Bad idea. And yet, oh so tempting. “You mean the pink streaks?”
“Yeah.” He trailed his finger lower, following the curve of her jawline.
She swallowed hard, praying he wouldn’t notice how his touch made her flush from the inside out. “Callie did them. She’s a stylist, and I sometimes let her use me as a guinea pig.”
“Hm, I like it. Suits you.” His focus dipped to her mouth before cruising upward to lock with her stare. The intense pull punched her equilibrium out of balance. His hand reversed course and slid to her nape. Even the simplest stroke of his fingertips threatened to liquefy her insides.
Feeling as if she was being drawn in by a magnet, she leaned into him.
“Told ya he was here!”
The sound of Callie’s bubbly shout acted better than a bucket of ice water sloshed over Zoe’s head. She quickly scooted back in time to watch her best friend race into the room two steps behind Hunter. The excitement lighting up Hunter’s face made up for having to endure Callie’s knowing smirk. Still, she had mixed feelings about her son’s growing attachment to Dylan. On the one hand it filled her heart with a special joy seeing the bond beginning to grow between them. But that also meant it would hurt Hunter so much harder if Dylan vanished from the picture.
And what were the odds that it wouldn’t happen? Sure, he’d promised he wasn’t going anywhere. But words were one thing. Actions always told another story.
His little legs pumping like pistons, Hunter ran across the room. Dylan dropped onto his haunches and their son slammed to a halt a foot away from them, suddenly shy. Completely unruffled by his son’s one-eighty in attitude, Dylan held his hand out for a fist bump. A giggle breaking from him, Hunter complied with the request with enough enthusiasm, it was a miracle he didn’t flatten Dylan on his ass.
Smothering her smile behind her hand, Zoe glanced at Callie and noticed she was also grinning like a goofball. Steadying himself with a hand propped against the console table, Dylan rifled his fingers through Hunter’s hair, leaving it an even wilder mess. Dylan lifted his gaze to hers, the sheer happiness shining on his face just as capable of knocking her off balance as their son’s powerhouse fist bump. Butterflies pirouetted in her tummy. Oh man, she was neck-deep in trouble here.
Where were lockable chastity panties when you needed them? Hell, maybe that wouldn’t even be enough to keep her safe when it came to Dylan. Her brain kept telling her one thing—there was no sustainable future for them—but her heart and her body refused to listen.
Forcing herself to look away from that beckoning enticement in his eyes, she turned a pleading stare on Callie. “Did you want to join us for ice cream?”
“Sorry, gotta pick up Josh before my mom buys him a pony or something else that will cost me an arm and leg to shelter and feed.”
Well damn, that pretty much left no room for argument. Having narrowly escaped her own mom trying to sweet talk her into letting Hunter have a Great Dane puppy, she knew the inherent danger in overextending grandparent visitation. “Give Josh and Louisa a hug from me.”
“Will do.” After collecting her own hugs for the road, Callie strolled to her minivan.
Dylan leaned in the doorway, looking too delicious for words. “I take it Callie’s a single mom too?”
“Yep. It’s a big part of why we clicked right away when I moved here. She’s a war widow, so her situation is certainly more tragic than mine. But she’s one of the strongest women I’ve ever known.”
“Sounds like you’re lucky to have met each other.”
“I am lucky.” Hunter, Callie, and her other good friends Rori, Lexie, and Kit had been her anchors in the storm the last three years. She didn’t know what she would have done without them.
Dylan scratched the back of his head. “For some reason I assumed you grew up here. Guess that’s not the case.”
She cringed, as always happened when her past crept into the picture. It was the last thing she wanted to get into with Dylan. “No, I moved here a few months after I had Hunter.” She remembered that trying, terrifying time well.
Scared, uncertain, and feeling more alone than she could ever remember, she’d packed up her meager belongings the minute her lease was up on her tiny cubbyhole of an apartment in Atlanta. Her mom had called her crazy for moving to a strange place with an infant, and no nearby support system to speak of. She’d accused Zoe of being bullheaded and self-centered like her father. For the first couple of months she’d constantly questioned whether her mom was right, at least about the bullheaded part. And true to form, she’d stubbornly held on, determined to prove that she could do it on her own. It hadn’t been easy, but she didn’t regret her choice to start a life for her and Hunter in Red Creek. The community had welcomed them as one of their own, and this place had become their home.
Dylan’s gaze softened. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for Hunter. For you.”
His confession brought her thoughts cycling back to their conversation at the lake. For that brief moment she’d flashed back to her childhood, to the constant disappointment of a father who couldn’t get his shit together long enough to be a father. She fully acknowledged that her daddy issues made it difficult for her to trust that Dylan would be different. That she and Hunter wouldn’t be superseded by his love of the stage and the limelight of adoring fans. But she wanted to believe his commitment to them would be stronger. With everything inside her, she wanted to believe it.
Tamping down the fear that ate away at her faith in him, she offered a wavering smile and took the first step at letting him past her defenses. “You’re here now. And that’s all that matters.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Zoe took one look at the sizable queue forming in front of the Dairy Freeze and rethought the wisdom of suggesting the place to Dylan. She should have known better. The ice cream shop was the prime hang out spot for the kids during summer break. “Uh, maybe we should come up with a Plan B.”
Dylan tossed her a surprised look. “I thought we were all agreed on ice cream.”
She groa
ned as those two magic words launched Hunter into a rousing chorus of icecreamicecreamicecream. Repeat that about million more times—which he did—and it was the makings for an Extra Strength Tylenol moment. She rubbed her temples. “Did you not notice how many kids are parked in front of that place?”
“Yeah,” Dylan responded, slowly dragging out the word.
“So that’s the equivalent of a whole bunch of Mandys, give or take a few dozen.”
Dylan rubbed his jaw. “I see your point.” After a brief period of apparently mulling the situation over, he shrugged. “Hell, I don’t mind if you don’t.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“I’ll let you in on a secret. The adult fans scare me a helluva lot more than the youngins.” He opened up the SUV’s center console and snatched a pen. “At least this time I’ll be prepared.”
Smart man.
For the next half hour he made good use of that pen and autographed every napkin eagerly passed to him by the schoolkids. He fielded their endless questions in easy stride and cracked jokes with them, quickly escalating their fan-crushing to an epic level. Zoe took in his natural rapport with the kids, her heart expanding. Those teens weren’t the only ones suffering from a serious case of crushing.
She had it bad for Dylan, with no hope for a cure in sight. Four years hadn’t lessened her feelings for him. If anything, they were growing more uncontrollable.
Jill, one of Zoe’s students, flashed a smile that displayed her braces in all their shiny glory. “Ms. Chapman, can Dylan come and teach us all how to play guitar on the first day of school?”
The question, though innocent, instantly carved a hollow chamber in Zoe’s belly. Dylan’s week would be up long before then. He’d likely be back in Nashville. Maybe even on the road. This is why you can’t hold on to a pipe dream. Much as she longed to refute the logical thought, she couldn’t. She glanced toward Dylan. He was still surrounded by a circle of kids, his head bent toward one of them while he attempted to tune out the cacophony around him. She returned her focus to Jill. “I doubt it, honey.”
Dylan: The Sons of Dusty Walker Page 7
