Rather than respond, she cuddled against him and sighed.
He stroked her hair, feeling like they’d taken a huge step back instead of the forward one he’d been hoping for.
CHAPTER TWO
Luke pinned Dylan with a hard squint the moment he stepped into the auditorium of the old Smithsville elementary building. “You look like shit on a cracker.”
“Mornin’ to you too, Sunshine.”
“You can leave the questionable charm for my daughter.” Grunting, Luke strode to the architect table that’d been slapped together with two sawhorses topped with a sheet of plywood. The surface was littered with the blueprints for the building remodel. If everything continued according to schedule, the band camp would be ready to open its doors by the end of the month.
Smothering a yawn, Dylan stepped toward Luke just as Malcom Flynn, Truckstop’s drummer, entered through the adjacent doorway, bearing a steaming container of Starbucks. Mal halted in front of Luke and held out his hand. Grumping under his breath, Luke dug his wallet out and forfeited a crisp twenty for the coffee. He glared at Malcom’s back as the younger man strolled toward Dylan. “Where’s my damn change?”
“Consider it my tip for driving halfway across bum-fuck nowhere for your overpriced swill.”
More grumbles issued from Luke before he returned his focus to the blueprints on the table. Malcom stopped next to Dylan and they exchanged a fist bump. Dylan fixed the bill on his trucker cap before hiding another yawn behind his fist. Mal grinned. “Sorry, man. Looks like I shoulda got you a coffee too.”
“Why? So you coulda robbed him of a twenty too?” Luke bitched from across the room.
“Nah. I woulda did it free for Walker seeing how he’s not a prick.” Ignoring the responding curses from Luke, Malcom returned his attention to Dylan and waggled his eyebrows. “Old lady keeping you up all night?”
“That’s my daughter you’re talking about.”
“Thanks for clearing that up,” Malcom shot over his shoulder. “Wasn’t entirely sure if you might have another one out there you’ve kept in the closet.”
His glare hot enough to singe Malcom’s mohawk clean off his head, Luke stuffed his hands in his pockets and stalked toward the exit, his posture stiff as a poker.
“Too harsh?” Malcom asked as soon as the man was out of earshot.
“No, he fucking deserves it. Besides, he’d think we’re going soft and give us a bunch of shit if we weren’t tough on him.”
Although Luke hadn’t technically kept Zoe a secret like Dusty had done with Dylan and his brothers, he had gone out of his way to nip in the bud any mention of him having a daughter. On the rare occasion any of the band members inquired about her, they’d immediately been met with stony silence on Luke’s part. Usually followed by him locking himself away in a hotel room for a weeklong bender. But that was back before he cleaned himself up a year ago. The man had been a fucked up mess. No wonder Zoe came with more baggage than an overbooked 747.
“How’s Zoe doing, by the way?” Malcom asked, breaking through Dylan’s musings.
“Okay, I think.” He scratched his nape, his thoughts cycling back to last night.
“You guys having trouble?”
There was no mistaking the concern in Malcom’s tone. Dylan quickly shook his head. “Nothing major. I just want to get moving on the wedding.”
“Have you set a date yet?”
Of course Luke chose that exact moment to reappear. “Date for what?”
“Nothing.” Dylan slid Malcom a glance, silently shushing him from any further talk of Zoe. The last thing he needed was Luke butting his nose into their business.
His gaze suspicious, Luke approached them. “Why do I get the feeling you’re keeping me in the dark on somethin’?”
Shit. Dylan racked his brain, trying to summon something to appease Luke’s inner bloodhound. “Well, ya know all my brothers are in Red Creek for the week.”
Luke crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re planning a date with your brothers? What are ya? Fucking fruit loops?”
Mal offered Dylan a pat on the shoulder. “My condolences on having him for a future father-in-law.”
Yeah. Thank Jesus that Zoe made up for it in spades. “No, I—” Dylan snapped the word in half as soon as he realized that Luke had just handed him the perfect red-herring. “Actually, yeah, that’s exactly what’s going on. And if I don’t come up with a killer game plan, my brothers are gonna one up me with some kind of awesome idea I can’t top. Shit, can’t have that.”
“What are ya, a complete dumbass?” Luke tossed up his arms before digging his cellphone out of his rear pocket. He passed the device to Malcom. “Get on the horn with that saloon in Red Creek.”
“How did I go from being your chauffeur to your personal assistant?” Sighing, Malcom keyed the info into the smart phone’s web browser. “I need a damn raise. Okay, got their number. What exactly am I asking?”
“You’re not asking anything. You’re telling them they’re gonna have a packed house tonight.”
Malcom grunted. “Sorry, didn’t realize you’re Nostra-fucking-damus.” Mal shook his head in response to Luke’s frown. “Dude, wouldn’t kill ya to trade your Penthouse mag once in a while for a history book. How do you know they’re going to be packed?”
“Easy.” Luke’s smile turned cagey. “They’re about to be graced with an impromptu gig by the hottest band in town.”
***
Well, Luke might not be Nostra-fucking-damus, but he’d certainly foretold the sardine can status of The Red Creek Saloon thanks to the infamous Walker boys and Truckstop Pickup occupying the same space. The owner shoulda charged a cover. He probably could have retired off the proceeds.
Dylan took another scan of the clapping and dancing crowd and sent a grin to the far table where his brothers sat. They looked like they were having a good time. Although he’d performed in some of the biggest arenas in the country, this little concert here in his newly acquired home town felt just as huge and important. Maybe even more so. Likely that had a lot to do with performing in front of his brothers. For many years, he’d substituted the band for flesh and blood family. Not that Truckstop wasn’t still an enormous part of his life. But now he had a real family off the stage too. It felt good to have these roots.
After they ended their set with the always requested Honkytonk First Date, Dylan stashed his guitar next to Malcom’s drums and clasped his bandmate’s shoulder. “Come on, I want you to meet my brothers.”
Malcom smirked. “Man, Luke’s gonna be pissed that I get to meet them before him.”
“Tough shit.” Dylan slid a glance toward the sizable queue already forming at the edge of the small stage. “He’s got his adoring fans to deal with anyways. They’ll keep him busy for a while.”
He and Luke might be getting along a lot better these days—despite all surly outward appearances on both their parts—but he’d be a damn liar if he didn’t admit to being happy to leave Luke’s intro for later. The man tended to rub people one of two ways. Either you wanted to bask in his bigger-than-life limelight, or you fought the strong urge to knock him on his ass. Most days Dylan leaned toward the last option. Of course, now that Luke was his soon to be father-in-law, wouldn’t exactly go over great busting his nose. Though hell knows it was mighty tempting at times.
After shaking a few hands thrust his way, Dylan elbowed his way through the crowd, heading toward the battered table where Jackson, Rogue, and Killian were parked. He made the necessary introductions, biting back a grin as Malcom ping-ponged his stare between the four of them. Although he was getting used to people being taken aback by his and his brothers similarities, it was still funnier than shit to observe their reactions.
Malcom scratched his jaw. “Uh, are you sure you guys aren’t quadruplets who were separated at birth?”
Killian chuckled. “That’s what I asked when I first saw these yokels.”
Jackson snagged an extra chair fr
om the table behind them, bemusement sparkling in his eyes as he inspected Malcom’s neon blue mohawk. “How long does it take you to get it like that?”
Dylan grunted. “You don’t wanna know. Mal spends more time primping than just about any woman I know.”
Malcom puffed out his chest like a peacock. “One of us has to be the pretty one in the band.”
“Don’t let Trinity hear you say that.” Snorting, Dylan grabbed the vacant chair next to Rogue. “She’d have your balls on a platter.”
“Yeah, gotta admit I’m currently grateful that she and the rest of the guys hung back in Nashville.” Wincing, Malcom dropped onto his seat and adjusted his fly.
Rogue pinned his focus on Dylan. “Heard an interesting rumor today. Thought you might want to confirm it.”
Aw, shit. He cleared his throat. “I was intending to spill the beans tonight about y’all being uncles. Honest to God.”
Three pairs of simultaneous sputters ricocheted around the table. Killian was the first to recover. “We’re uncles? Holy hell, you work fast.”
Dylan frowned. “Why are you so surprised? I thought that was the rumor you heard. Which, uh, isn’t exactly a rumor.”
“No, I was referring to you starting up some kind of a band camp. Shit, I think wherever this conversation is headed requires a drink.” Rogue signaled one of the nearby waitresses and ordered a round for everyone.
Once the woman rushed off, Dylan offered his brothers a sheepish look. “Only reason I didn’t say anything sooner is I wanted to give you some adjusting time to know me before meeting Hunter. And Zoe.” Although his brothers were either dating, engaged, or married to Zoe’s good friends, everyone had been too busy to do much of anything outside of work for the last several weeks. Plus with him being back and forth between the farmhouse, Smithsfield, and the occasional trip to Nashville, it just hadn’t been in the cards.
Jackson leaned back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. “So when’s that going to happen?”
“Yeah,” Killian piped up. “Don’t you think we’d like to give our stamp of approval on the special woman who’s got our little brother acting like a flustered dumbass?”
Corny as it was, a burst of happiness warmed Dylan’s chest. He’d probably never get completely used to having brothers who wanted to be a part of his life. Crazy to think that a short month ago the only one he’d had to keep him in line was his ma. Lord knows she’d be thrilled to know some of that burden had been lifted from her overworked shoulders.
“You plannin’ to settle down and become a family man?” Jackson asked before taking a draw from his longneck bottle of beer.
It took less than a second to come up with the answer to that question. “Hell, yes.”
He’d already lost three years. Although he’d never get those back, he had a lifetime of amazing memories ahead of him to create with Zoe and Hunter. And absolutely nothing would stand in his way of making that happen.
CHAPTER THREE
Two months later.
“Girl, when are you going to set a fucking date?”
Zoe winced, both at the question and Callie’s favorite F word. “I swear it’s a miracle you don’t scare off your clients with that vocabulary of yours.”
Her grin unrepentant, Callie Rogers spritzed a finishing gloss over Zoe’s newly applied lavender streaks. “Still here, aren’t ya?”
“Only because you give me a discount.”
“Aw, you know you love me.” Callie fluffed Zoe’s hair, admiring her handiwork. “Rawr. If I was a lesbian I would do the hell out of you.”
Zoe rolled her eyes. “I’m asking Santa to bring you a boyfriend this year.”
“Just make sure he’s packing some serious meat downstairs. No wimpy frankfurter either. Anything less than a bratwurst and he’s gettin’ sent back to the North Pole.”
Zoe slid a look sideways and caught Rori’s grin. “We’re never letting her loose in Santa’s workshop. Could you imagine the toys she’d cook up?”
“Only the best kind.” Her laugh wicked, Callie freed the Velcro on the barber drape and whisked it off of Zoe. She twitched her nose. “Some of us have a standing daily date with our battery operated boyfriends instead of hunky Walker men. We need world-class equipment.”
“Daily?” Zoe blinked.
“Hey, I cut back.”
“From what?” Zoe held up her hand. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”
Callie tossed the drape over the neighboring stylist chair before going to check on Rori’s nails. She clicked off the UV light with a hum of approval. “That color is hot.”
Zoe sent Rori a warning look. “Careful, she’s two seconds away from making an indecent proposition.”
Waggling her eyebrows, Callie uncapped the bottle of Opi polish and added a few artistic daisies to Rori’s manicure. “But getting back to my original question. You need to set that date soon so that we can start plannin’ your shower.”
“You guys don’t have to go to that trouble.”
Callie and Rori gave her twin looks of disbelief. Rori was the first to respond. “Why in the world would we not plan one?”
“And let’s not forget the bachelorette party,” Callie added.
Zoe gave her friend the stink eye. “You are definitely not doing that.”
“Lord, girl. You are the biggest wet blanket.” Callie pursed her lips into a pout. “Great, now what am I gonna do with that Pin the Dick on the Hunk game I bought for your party?”
“Please tell me you didn’t.” Zoe groaned as she grabbed her purse and fetched her wallet.
“Yes. And I already have dibs on the ten incher.” Callie returned the polish to her caddy. Once Rori’s nails were dry, Callie lifted from her seat and made change for them. Pointless, considering that both Zoe and Rori immediately stuffed it in the tip jar.
Zoe led their small entourage upstairs to the main living space in Callie’s colonial in the Creek View subdivision. Hunter raced toward her the second they stopped outside the kiddie playroom. She took one look at the bundle of fluff in his arms and shook her head adamantly. “Not happening, Boo Bear.”
“But, mama, she tolds me she wants to come live with Tigger.”
Tigger being the Tabby kitten that Zoe had been sweet talked into adopting from Callie’s mom.
“Did you hear that? Your child is the next cat whisperer. Best to take Smoky home with ya since the boy clearly knows what he’s talkin’ about.” Callie returned Zoe’s glare with an innocent smile.
Like the evil woman knew the first thing about being innocent. If she even owned a halo it was only to provide dressing for her horns. Zoe dropped onto her haunches and petted the kitten. The puff ball rumbled the loudest purr in existence, its big blue eyes full of sweetness. Aw, damn. This is why she avoided pet stores and animal shelters. Unfortunately there wasn’t much she could do when it came to avoiding Callie’s halfway house for cats, dogs, and pretty much every creature that took passage on Noah’s Ark. “Boo, we wouldn’t want Josh to be sad if we take Smoky.”
Right on cue, Callie’s six-year-old son looked up from his video game. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ve already got like eight of ‘em.”
Zoe sighed and lifted her attention to Callie. “You need a twelve step program.”
“No, what I need is for my mom to move out on a hundred acres somewhere so she doesn’t have to keep unloading her fur baby army on me.”
A rough kitten tongue swiped across Zoe’s finger. Hunter giggled. “See, mama? She loves you.”
Callie’s gaze sparkled, confirming that Zoe was screwed.
Five minutes later, Zoe hustled Hunter out to her truck, his beloved new kitten hugged tight to his chest. Best to get out of there before Callie foisted anymore puff balls on her. She buckled Hunter into his car seat and slammed the door shut just as a black Range Rover pulled into the neighboring driveway. A muscular behemoth of a man climbed from the vehicle, his eyes shaded by a pair of mirrored sunglasses. He nodded to t
hem. “Ladies.”
They all stared after him as he made his way inside the single-story ranch. As soon as he’d shut the door behind him, Zoe and Rori shot their focus to Callie and simultaneously demanded, “Who’s that?”
“Do I look like I know everything in this town?” Callie sighed at the pair of raised eyebrows her response elicited. “Okay. The only intel I have is his name. Quinn Lafferty. He moved in last week and I haven’t had a chance to dig for more information.”
“He’s certainly a big un,” Rori provided.
“Easily a ten incher, I’d bet.” Callie’s expression turned sheepish. “Not that I’ve been obsessively checking out his package every chance I get.”
“That wasn’t what I was referring to.” Chuckling, Rori tossed her bag inside her vehicle. “Though you’ll have to give us the scoop if you somehow work the question into your next round of intel gathering.”
“Lordy, you know she will. Let’s not encourage her further.”
“Mom,” Josh called from the front porch. “Snowball just barfed in your shoe again.”
“Oh joy. Sure you don’t want a matching set of kittens?” Chuckling at the look Zoe gave her, Callie offered her and Rori a departing hug before rushing toward the house.
Zoe turned her attention to Rori. “Want to grab lunch?”
“Wish I could but I’m due to meet a client at Cyber Wise in about fifteen minutes.”
“Next time then. Maybe we can get all the girls together before the hectic holiday craziness takes over our lives.”
Rori’s expression turned shrewd. “You could give us a good excuse by setting that wedding date.”
Zoe averted her gaze. “I’m working on it.”
“Honey, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”
Rori lifted her shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t know. It just seems like you’ve been pensive lately.” Worry flashed in her eyes. “You’re not having second thoughts about Dylan, are you? Because I can guarantee the man is crazy about you.”
Zoe & Dylan: The Sons of Dusty Walker Page 2
