by Dylann Crush
I shifted her in my arms, pulling her tighter. “Wow. That wasn’t the reaction I expected.”
“You did that for me?”
My hands cupped her ass. “Hell, Cassie, I’d do anything for you. Don’t you know that by now? We’ll figure out your restaurant, eventually get around to the baseball field. The whole thing.”
“But where am I going to live? And what about us? I thought maybe we should take things slow, you know, get used to each other again before we make any big decisions…” Her voice trailed off as her hand skimmed over my collarbone.
“We’ll figure it out.” I carried her toward the front door. “And what’s this nonsense about going slow?”
Her legs clenched together and a warm wave of desire washed over me. “I guess slow has always been overrated.”
“Exactly.”
She pulled back and met my gaze. “I love you, Robbie.”
Sounds cheesy, but as the words left her mouth, sunshine filled up my heart. My lips split into a grin as wide as the Missouri River, and I swept her up in my arms and twirled her around. “I love you, too, Cassiopeia Belmont. Now how about we go try out that tub?”
Epilogue
Cassie
I propped myself up on my elbows and watched Robbie finish up his handiwork on the old oak tree. Three generations of initials now decorated the trunk. He flipped his knife closed and made his way back to the blanket where I lounged, letting the setting summer sun wash over my skin.
The past year had been full of challenges and celebrations. We lost Robbie’s dad right before Thanksgiving. The two of them never hashed it out and made up properly, but they’d settled into a comfortable co-existence and even had a few deep conversations before Sheriff Jordan passed. After Parker bought me out, we were able to make some real headway on the field. Robbie was able to show his dad the progress and they seemed to make peace over Jeffy’s death. It was too bad he’d miss the grand opening, but I could tell he’d been proud of his son. Finally.
At Dotty’s insistence, I’d officially joined her catering business and we could barely keep up with the orders. We were up to our eyeballs in renovations on the old Lovebird Café, and as soon as construction wrapped up, we’d have a permanent space. I didn’t think there would be enough business in Swallow Springs for the restaurant and the catering, but Dotty made sure folks from every county in Missouri knew about our little venture. We were booked a year out and had a waiting list for cancellations.
Misty gave birth to a beautiful baby girl in April. Robbie kept worrying that I’d catch the baby bug since I spent every spare moment spoiling my new goddaughter. I told him not to worry, our furry baby was enough for me right now. We’d grown tired of calling her Cat so we’d finally broken down and decided to call her Angel after my mama.
Yeah, life had thrown me a few curveballs, but I couldn’t complain. Robbie decided the day I’d come back to Swallow Springs should be our official anniversary, so we’d be celebrating a whole year together tonight. So much for my big idea of taking things slow.
He plopped down next to me on the blanket and planted a kiss on my lips. His fingers landed on my shirt, nimbly unbuttoning the front. “Come on, Cass. Last one in has to service the winner.”
“Service, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s a special night…I say anything goes.”
I scrambled to my feet, and we raced to undress. Damn, Robbie. He hardly ever wore a shirt. Not that I was complaining, but it was one less piece of clothing he had to remove before belly flopping his naked ass into the pond.
He whooped and hollered, trying to splash me.
I slowly stepped out of my jeans, then made my way to the edge of the water, dropping pieces of clothing in my wake. Servicing Robbie wouldn’t be much of a hardship. I smiled as the warm water welcomed me.
The way I figured it, sometimes you had to take a lot of detours before you finally figured out what road would lead you home. And in my case, home was here, in freaking Swallow Springs, Missouri. Where the rooster still crowed all day and night and my past, present, and future waited for me in the middle of a spring-fed pond.
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Next up at the Lovebird Café…
Mud Pies & Family Ties
Falling in love has never been so dirty!
Moving from the big city of Los Angeles to the small town of Swallow Springs, Missouri was supposed to provide a quiet life for me and my kid. But then I meet Dustin, a gorgeous motorcycle stuntman and the best kisser I've ever known. He was only going to stick around until the fallout from his botched late night TV appearance settled--the perfect solution to a single mom's long dry spell.
Things get a little messy, and by messy I mean downright filthy. Now I'm up to my ears in wild animals, miracle mud and late night booty calls. I'm not sure what will be worse--giving him the green light or putting the brakes on before it's too late and he leaves skid marks on my heart.
Grab your copy of Mud Pies & Family Ties and deep dive into the world of Swallow Springs, where life is slower, love is stronger, and happiness awaits at The Lovebird Café.
Available on Amazon or FREE to read in Kindle Unlimited!
Turn the page for your sneak peek at the first chapter…
Acknowledgments
Huge thanks to everyone who had a hand in bringing this book to life. So many people have provided valuable feedback on this manuscript over the years. I don’t even want to try to name them all since I’m sure I’d miss someone. But special thanks go to my RWA chapter mates at From the Heart, my awesome agent Jessica Watterson, my critique group members and early readers (Cheryl, Liz, Marissa, Lynne, Laura, Jody, Paula, Joyce, Christine, Miguella, LeAnne, Dawn, Carrie) and my fellow Romance Chicks (Jody Holford, Christina Hovland & Renee Ann Miller.) And a big smooch to L.A. Mitchell—it almost did me in, but you were right about the twister.
As always, big hugs and kisses to my hubby and kiddos for their patience, support, and minimal pestering while I brought Robbie and Cassie to life. I love y’all more than chips and guacamole. XOXO
This book holds a special place in my heart since it’s based on a whitewashed farmhouse on a tiny tract of land in southwestern Missouri I used to visit in the summertime as a kid.
P.S. The clawfoot tub is still there.
Copyright ® 2019 by Dylann Crush
Cover Design by Christina Hovland
Editor: Jolene Perry at CookieLynn
Proofreader: Shasta Schafer
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, or stored in any storage or retrieval system without written permission of the author. Violating these rights is forbidden and punishable by the fullest extent of the law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, person living or dead, locales, or other status is entirely coincidental.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. The author is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Tickled Pinkest
www.DylannCrush.com
Thanks for picking up this copy of Mud Pies & Family Ties! If you’d like to go back to where the series begins, grab your FREE copy of Lemon Tarts & Stolen Hearts, the prequel novella for the Lovebird Café series!
For a FREE copy of Lemon Tarts & Stolen Hearts, click here! (www.dylanncrush.com/signu
p)
To the romance authors who have come before me and paved the way for others to do what we love…
thank you!
1
Dustin
Whoever said there’s no such thing as bad publicity must have been misfiring without all of his spark plugs. I sat across the desk from my high-paid Hollywood agent, waiting for him to take a break from the long-winded verbal ass-whupping he’d been delivering for the past ten minutes. I’d never seen him so riled. Spittle flew from his lips. The more worked up he got, the more his cheeks began to match the color of the Bloody Mary sitting on the edge of his desk.
Finally, the onslaught stopped. This was my chance. “Hey Mav, I get that you’re a little upset.”
“Upset? I was upset when you drove off the set of that television pilot last year. And I was upset when you didn’t walk the red carpet at your last premier.”
“Okay, okay.” I shrugged, wincing as my injured shoulder rose and fell. “What do you want me to do? Call and apologize? Send a bottle of bourbon?”
Mav looked at me, his mouth hanging open like a slack-jawed baboon.
“What? You think I need to send a single malt instead?”
His jaw snapped shut and he waved his hands in front of his face like he couldn’t bear the sight of me. “You need to get out of town for a while.”
“Don’t you think you’re over reacting a little?”
“Dustin, you sent America’s favorite late night talk show host to the ER.” Mav pounded a fist on the edge of his desk, making his drink clatter. “During his broadcast.”
“It was an accident.” I clenched my teeth. “I’ve done that stunt a thousand times, ten thousand times. There must have been water on the stage or something.”
Mav ran a hand through his stylishly cropped and colored hair as he began to pace. “Where can you go? There’s got to be a benefit or fundraiser somewhere I can send you.”
Seemed like a good time to mention the email I got yesterday from my high school back home. “I got an invite to a baseball field dedication.”
“Where?” Mav stopped in front of me. “Please tell me it’s far away.”
“Missouri.” Even saying it out loud made my heart jackknife in my chest.
He steepled his fingers under his chin, his thinking pose. “Yes, Missouri. That should work. When can you leave?”
“Wait a sec. You really think I need to get out of LA for a while?” I could understand laying low. But leaving town? “I’ve got projects in the works. I can’t just walk away.”
“Yes, you can.” Mav nodded, that familiar glint in his eye. The one that meant I was going to do whatever the hell he told me to. “In addition to garnering some good publicity, you need a break.”
“My shoulder’s fine. I saw the doc this morning and he said two to three weeks max.”
Mav shook his head. “You fucked up so bad last night I haven’t even had a chance to tell you. The executive producer for that movie we’ve been talking about made time for drinks with me yesterday.”
“And?” He’d better have good news. We’d been working together for the past ten years and he knew better than to jerk me around.
“And they want you. Bad.”
“I knew it.” My chest expanded as I took in a satisfying breath. “I told you I had a good feeling about that job.”
“You did and you were right. But—”
“Come on.” No buts. Buts were bad. Buts could make or break a deal in a flash. “What’s the hold up?”
“You’re your own worst enemy, my friend. They won’t sign on the dotted line until the heat from the late show incident blows over and you’re cleared by their doctor.”
“Their doctor doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. I only need a few weeks to heal. You know that’s how I work, how I’ve always worked.”
“Ass from a hole in the ground? That’s clever. Are you finished?”
Most of the suits I worked with would have thrown me out already. That’s what I liked about Mav. We got each other. He could listen to me rant and rave for twenty minutes then yank me back into reality. Granted, I paid him well to do that, but still—he was Team Dustin all the way. He’d proven that time and again.
“Yeah, I’m done.”
“Good. Then shut the hell up and listen. You’re going to take that little trip to the baseball field dedication in Arkansas—”
“Missouri.”
“Whatever. Fish in a river, feed a goat, get great huge gulps of that fresh country air. Their doc said he won’t even take a look at you for twelve weeks.”
“That’s bullshit.” I slapped my palm on the desk. “My guy said my shoulder would be better in two weeks, three max.”
“Yeah, and their doc says twelve.” Mav sighed, his telltale sign of being about to enter the part of the conversation where he’d pretend to take my side and then bust my balls in the end. “I know you’ve got your heart set—”
“Leave my heart out of it, okay? I’m one of the only guys who can do the kind of stunts they’re asking for.”
“You’re right. That’s why they’re willing to wait until you’re good to go.”
“What am I going to do for three months?”
“Like I said, breathe in smog-less air, get out on the water, catch up with your high school sweetheart. I don’t give a flying fuck what you do, Dustin. Just don’t show your face around here until the media’s found someone else to crucify and your shoulder’s at one-hundred percent.”
My breath left my lungs in a huff. “It’s not fair. Two weeks, that’s all I need—”
“Of all the people I work with, you know the last thing this business would ever be considered is fair.” He paused for effect, letting that obvious fact simmer between us. “I might be able to convince him to take a look at you in eight. But you’ve got to work on that shoulder. Find a PT or someone who can help you get loose. Kiss your mama. Eat some grits. Hell, maybe even get yourself laid.”
I wanted to argue, to push back and tell him I’d be back on the lot after Memorial Day, just like we talked about. But it was no use. My future, my fortune, and my career, were at the mercy of public opinion and some fresh-out-of-med school doctor who had no idea he’d just sealed my fate.
“Fine.” Mom had been begging me to come home for a visit, but I never seemed to have the time. At least that’s what I told her. And what I tried to tell myself. Maybe a quick trip home would make up for the fact I’d stayed away for so long.
Mav grunted, picked up his drink, and pointed toward the door. He wasn’t much for small talk, but I couldn’t complain about his management skills. He was the only reason I hadn’t had to tuck tail and crawl back to Swallow Springs, Missouri, when I’d made the initial trip out to LA. I’d had stars in my eyes and a chip on my shoulder the size of the rusted-out Bronco I’d borrowed from my uncle to make the sixteen-hundred-plus mile drive.
The Bronco didn’t make it, but I did. Once I caught Mav’s attention, he’d ensured I had my pick of motorcycle stunt jobs. I’d learned early on to shut up and let him take care of the details. That’s what I paid him for, and that’s what he did best.
So, as much as it irked me to think about sitting around twiddling my thumbs for the next two to three months, I knew he’d make sure it was worth my while in the end. And maybe, just maybe, this was a sign that the time had come to face my past.
Less than forty-eight hours later I’d almost completed my sixteen-hundred-mile road trip, and my ass hadn’t ached this bad in years. Not since I’d committed to making a living by straddling the seat of anything with two-wheels and an engine.
At least I had been making a career on the seat of my motorcycle, until I’d botched that, too. I shifted in the bucket seat behind the wheel of my truck and flipped through the satellite radio stations, trying to find something to take my mind off the sorry situation I’d crashed into. And when I said crashed, I meant literally crashed. The mention of my name made my finge
r pause on the button.
“The internet is exploding with images of last year’s Extreme Games winner, Dustin Jarrett’s now-immortalized wipeout on the set of Bobby Bordell’s late night talk show earlier this week. Rumor has it Bobby’s still being treated at Cedars-Sinai Hospital, but should make a full recovery. Bordell was injured when a motorcycle stunt by Jarrett didn’t go as planned. If you missed it, we’ve got the replay on our website at—”
I pushed the off button, silencing the radio. Thank God, Bordell would be okay. The fallout from my TV appearance had been bad—bad enough that Mav had me slinking halfway across the country to hide out at my mom’s place. But at least now I knew I hadn’t permanently injured America’s favorite late night talk show host.
I’d been on the road for close to twenty-eight hours. Would’ve been less but I had to pull over for a couple of quick catnaps. I’d forgotten how long of a drive it was from Los Angeles to the tiny part of western Missouri where I’d grown up. Apart from having to change a flat outside of Albuquerque, it had been a relatively uneventful trip.
Finally, the eyesore of a water tower that sat on the outskirts of town appeared in the distance. I’d never been so happy to see the ugly pea-green monstrosity as I was right now. It towered over the town of Swallow Springs, Missouri. Sat two-hundred-and-twenty-seven feet off the ground. I knew that for a fact since I’d spent many late summer nights attempting to scale it and leave my temporary mark with a can of spray paint.
