by Emily Minton
Each meal has been better than the last, and tonight is no different. She barbequed chicken on the grill, refusing my offer to help. She even made her own barbeque sauce that turned out fucking amazing. When everything was done, we ate on the back deck. Still now, an hour later, we are relaxing and eating on the leftovers. My guess, there won’t be a damn thing left by the time we go inside.
“I better hit the road. Gotta head over to the clubhouse,” Brass says, standing up and stepping away from the table.
He’s going in to talk to Walker. Our brother is leaving tomorrow, heading to Vegas to pick up Ronni’s stepbrother. It only took one call to the club in Vegas to have the man brought in. Guess the fucker has made some enemies down that way, and they were only too happy to help us take the fucker down.
Laying the half-eaten piece of chicken on my plate, I lift my chin to him. “Remind Walker to keep me updated. I want to know the minute he has that bastard in his hands.”
Ronni looks between the two of us but doesn’t ask any questions. She knows her dad is sending a brother to pick up Miles. He told her so before she even flew into town. Still, she hasn’t brought it up once, hasn’t even asked a question. Most of the time, she pretends like he doesn’t even exist.
Brass returns my chin lift then looks to Ronni. “You keep cooking like this, Ronni, and I just may have to marry you.”
“Such a romantic proposal,” she says with a shake of her head. “You sure know how to make a girl’s heart go pitter patter.”
Leaning down to her, he places his face just inches from her, laying his hand against her cheek. “I might not know much about a woman’s heart, but I guarantee I can make the rest of you do more than just pitter-patter.”
Fuck, I’m done with him trying to get into Ronni’s pants. I’ve tried talking to him about it, let him know that shit isn’t gonna happen. He hasn’t listened to a fucking word I’ve said. Instead, he started working her harder.
Tired of his shit, I scoot back and lift my foot, sending my booted foot into his back. “Get the fuck away from her, and I won’t tell you again that her name is Veronica.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” He lets out a chuckle before walking away.
I watch his back until he disappears around the side of the house. Then, my eyes scan the backyard, watching Cline chase after Denver, a smile covering her face. She should be in bed, but I can’t make myself force her inside just yet. It’s Saturday, so she can sleep in a bit in the morning. She’s having too much fun to make her stop now.
When we first came out here, she wanted him to play fetch with her. With it being dark, and only the back-deck light illuminating the backyard, neither she or Denver could see where the stick ended up. She quickly decided chasing him would be a lot more fun. Hearing her laughter, I realize that she needs another dog of her own. After her last dog died, after being attacked by a coyote, I wanted to wait a while. It looks like the wait is over.
Leaning back in my chair, I take another drink of my beer and enjoy the show a little longer. A beep from my side draws my attention to Ronni, sitting only a few feet away from me. I’m surprised as hell when I see a cellphone in her hand, while she types away on the screen.
In a flash, the phone is in my hand, and I’m shouting, “What the fuck are you thinking? Do you want your brother to find you?”
Dropping the phone on the floor of the deck, I lift my foot over it. Just before I obliterate the thing, Ronni jumps up and pushes my leg. My boot barely misses the phone. Before I can give it another shot, Ronni picks it up and steps back.
“Miles can’t track this phone. It’s a burner, completely untraceable,” she says, moving further away from me. “I used my real phone for the last time when I was in New York. Then, I left it in the hotel room, along with my luggage.”
Tito was worried that Cotton Plains would be the first place her brother looked for her, so he went above and beyond to make sure that her presence was hidden. With the help of her friend, they laid out a trail of breadcrumbs for the fucker to follow that would end in New York.
She left out of Chicago, using her own ID, and flew to JFK in New York. She then checked into a hotel, paying with her credit card. Leaving some of her luggage and obviously her phone in the room, she walked out and headed to LaGuardia. Using a fake ID and a credit card to match, she boarded a plane to Kansas City. Repeating the process, she used a different ID and flew into Indianapolis.
“I don’t care if it is a burner phone. It could still lead that fucker to my front door,” I growl, feeling my frustration building. “All he would have to do is look at your friends’ phones then track every random number he finds.”
She blows out a frustrated breath and says, “What’s your number?”
“Did you not listen to a fucking word I just said?” I growl, shaking my head at her stupidity.
“Please, just give me your number,” she begs, sitting back down at the table.
I finally do as she says, rattling off my number, crossing my arms over my chest, and waiting to see what she is up to. A second later, my phone rings. I look at the screen and see the name Myrtle Upton flash across the screen.
I shake my head, not believing this shit. “Some fake name is not gonna stop your brother from running a trace on the phone.”
If he has the right connections, he’ll be able to track the phone, no matter whose name it is listed under. For enough money, the right man can tell him exactly where she was the last time it was used. Next thing we know, trouble will come knocking.
She doesn’t bother to respond, just calls me again. Instinct has me looking at the screen again. I blink and read the words twice, not quite believing what I see. It says Mario’s pizza, with an 816 area code. If I’m not wrong, that’s a Missouri area code. Looking back through my call log, I see the last number starts with 270, a Kentucky number.
“What the fuck?” I mumble when my phone rings yet again, flashing a different name and another area code.
“My friend gave me this phone. Erin is a tech goddess. You put an electronic device in her hands, she can do anything,” she explains, laying the phone on the table. “When she or Kat calls me, their phone automatically scrambles the number. Even though they are dialing my actual number, anyone looking through their call log will see a random number.”
I look back at my phone, trying to wrap my brain around everything she said. “How the fuck did she do that?”
She shrugs, leaning back in her chair. “When I said Erin is a tech goddess, I meant it. Every security firm in the States and a few overseas has tried to get her on board. Even Homeland Security is banging down her door. Everyone wants her to work her magic for them.”
My mind immediately goes to the club and how she could help us. One of the brothers, Ram, is all into computers. He knows as much about the damn things as I do my bike, but I doubt he would even know how to attempt something like this. It would sure come in handy if we could get this chick down here to teach him some of her tricks.
“She take up any of those offers?” I ask, my brain turning with possibilities.
“Hell no, Erin isn’t ever going to do any of that shit. She doesn’t want to spend her life working for some company that doesn’t give a shit about her,” Ronni says with a shake of her head. “I don’t know where she makes her money, but I know she will never go to work at one of those places.”
I smile, liking this bitch more and more. “We need to get her down here.”
She leans forward and asks, “What?”
Draining my beer, I place the empty bottle on the table. “I’ll have to talk to your dad first, but I think she could teach us a thing or two.”
“She’ll love that.” Ronni lets out a whoop then jumps from her seat and grabs her phone.
My eyes are locked on her bouncing tits as my cock starts to thicken. I push thoughts of having them in my mouth away when her fingers are flying across the screen. Before this shit
goes too far, I stand up and jerk the phone out of her hand. I clear out the text she was typing and power it down, shaking my head the entire time.
“As I said, I’ve gotta talk to your dad first,” I remind her, putting her phone in my pocket and sitting down.
“He’ll agree. Dad loves Erin,” she states, plopping down in her seat. “We just have to make sure we never leave them alone.”
Cocking my head to the side, I ask, “Why not?”
“Erin’s goal in life is to get into my dad’s pants.” Ronni loses her smile as a look of revulsion covers her face. “That shit would scar me for life.”
A smile spreads across my face as I say, “Don’t worry, Ronni. We all have a few scars.”
Chapter Eleven
Van
Waking up, I roll over and look at the clock. I blow out a frustrated breath when I see that half the morning is already gone. I haven’t gotten any sleep all fucking week. My nights are filled with dreams of Ronni, each one waking me up with an aching cock. I’ve jacked off more in the last week than I have in the last ten years.
Knowing I can’t go back to sleep, I let out a yawn and sit up. Cline goes back to her mom’s today, and I want to spend as much time with her as I can. I swear, my time with her flies by, each week together seeming shorter and shorter, while the week we spend apart seems to drag by at a snail’s pace.
Climbing out of bed, I put on a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt and head toward Cline’s room. Before I even open the door, I hear Ronni moving around in the kitchen. Deciding to let my daughter sleep a few minutes more, I walk down the stairs and go straight to the kitchen.
Ronni is standing at the counter with a mixing bowl in her hand. Her hips are swinging back and forth as she sings the words of Follow Me by Uncle Kracker while Denver lays by her feet howling along with her. I can’t say I blame him. The chick is as beautiful as fuck, can cook like a five-star chef, makes me laugh my fucking heading off, but she cannot sing. I listen to her for a minute, trying not to cringe, enjoying watching her ass move. When she hits a particularly high note, I can’t stop a chuckle from slipping past my lips.
Ronni jumps at the sound of my laughter and quickly turns to look at me. “You can’t sneak up on people like that. You damn near scared me to death.”
“Wasn’t sneaking. I was just listening to you sing,” I say, walking over to the fridge and taking out a carton of orange juice.
I pour myself a glass, not bothering to ask Ronni if she wants some. She is a coffee freak, nearly dying the first morning she woke up here to find I didn’t have any. I’ve never liked the shit, too damn bitter for me, but she lives off of it. Hell, she’ll drink it in the middle of the night and still seems to sleep sweetly every damn night.
“What ya making?” I ask, taking a swallow.
“Cheese crepes with a triple berry drizzle,” she says, a smile on her face. “Since this is Cline’s last day here, until next week, I wanted to make a special breakfast for her.”
Ronni has bent over backward to make sure Cline had a great time this week. Ronni’s made all her favorite meals, giving each one her unique twist. She’s played games with her, even spent hours sitting at the kitchen table coloring with my little girl. If she hasn’t been at school, Cline has been at Ronni side.
I look into her beautiful brown eyes, hoping she can see how thankful I am for everything she has done. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”
“I hope so,” she mumbles, pouring the batter into a pan.
“She’s liked everything you’ve cooked so far, but she’s liked cooking them with you even more. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile so much,” I tell her honestly. “She’s had a great time, and she’ll be chomping at the bit to do it all again next week.”
For just a minute, I think about what it would be like to have Ronni around all the time. I wonder how it would affect Cline. I’m betting my girl’s life would be better for it. My life sure in the hell would be fuller, not to mention my bed.
“It was fun for me, too. I’m glad she enjoyed it. Some of my favorite childhood memories are of spending time with Mom’s cook. It’s the only time I felt like I could be me,” she says with a shrug. “Since I liked it so much, I figure she’d like it, too.”
Hearing her mention her mom’s cook reminds me of the different lives we have lived. There is no way this shit could work between us, not even if Tito wouldn’t fucking kill me for touching his daughter. We are just too different.
“I’ve gotta go get Cline up,” I say, realizing I need to get some distance from her.
Without waiting for a response, I walk out of the kitchen and head up the stairs. Denver follows me, somehow knowing I am going to wake up his best friend. Pushing open Cline’s door, I stand there for a moment, taking in the sight in front of me. She looks so much like me that I can’t help but smile. She’s got my red hair and blue eyes. Luckily, she inherited her mom’s finer features. Other than that, she’s all me.
“It’s time to wake up, baby girl,” I say, pulling down the covers and running my hand over her cheek. “Ronni is already fixing us breakfast.”
“Okay,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes.
Cline has always been easy to wake up, not at all like me. Only after she was born, and I knew she depended on me, could I wake up without an alarm clock. She is similar in some ways. She could probably sleep through a tornado, but as soon as I lay a hand on her, she’s up and raring to go.
“We’ve got a few minutes before breakfast is ready. What do you wanna do?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“I want to practice my guitar,” she squeals, jumping off the bed and pulling her guitar case from under the bed.
I figured she would choose a little jam session. It’s always been her favorite thing to do. I bought her first guitar when she was only three. I had to have it special made just to fit her hands. By the time she was five, she needed a new one. Looking at her now, I know she’ll need a bigger one before long.
I pick up her guitar and head to the door. “Get your teeth brushed and come on down to the living room. We’ll practice until breakfast is ready.”
She doesn’t waste time, petting Denver on the head and running past me to the bathroom. I smile at her excitement, happy that I’m the one able to give that to her. It’s something special, just between the two of us, and I love it.
After a quick stop in my room to pick up my guitar, I head back downstairs and walk into the living room. Taking a seat on the couch, I start to strum a few notes. The random notes turn into Here Without You by 3 Doors Down. I don’t get very far before Cline is running into the living room with Denver right behind her. She pulls her little chair in front of me and sits down. She starts strumming along, not quite able to follow along just yet.
She’s a fucking genius when it comes to the guitar. She was playing songs before most children even learn to pick a chord. Like me, she plays by ear. I’ve never learned how to read music, so I had no idea how to teach her. I’m gonna fix that shit, though. She’ll be starting lessons as soon as school is out for the summer.
“What do you want to play next?” I ask as I play the last few notes.
“Bama,” she answers, already plucking away.
I smile at her, knowing she knows the correct name but refuses to say it. I follow along, playing Sweet Home Alabama. It’s her favorite song, even though the thing is older than I am. It is a bit complex for Cline’s six-year-old fingers, but she hits enough notes to make it recognizable. Before long, she’ll be able to play it without missing a beat.
“Sing, Daddy,” she orders as she concentrates on her hands.
“Just for you,” I reply and start singing along with the guitar.
She follows along, not missing a single word. By the end of the song, she is playing nearly as well as she is singing. I swear, she just keeps getting better and better. By the time she is ten, she’ll be able to outplay me. Fuck, she�
�ll be able to outplay the best out there.
“Y’all sounded great,” Ronni says from the doorway. I didn’t even know she had been listening. She smiles at me then moves her focus to my little girl. “You’ve been holding out on me, girl. I knew you could sing, but I had no idea you could play the guitar.”
“Daddy taught me,” Cline says, laying her guitar on the couch and jumping up. “I’m gonna be the next Patsy Cline.”
“After listening to you, I don’t doubt that. Is that where you got your name, from Patsy Cline?” she asks, her deep brown eyes still focused on Cline.
Cline nods, but I answer. “It’s a family tradition.”
“Huh?” She lifts one brow, waiting for me to explain.
I’m surprised she doesn’t know; everyone else does. Then again, we haven’t really been around each other much. Even though I’m sure Tito has talked about me to her, I doubt he ever told her about my name. He’d have no reason to.
“Dad is a huge Lynyrd Skynyrd fan, so he named me after Ronnie Van Zant. I figured it would be cool to keep the tradition,” I answer, remembering how much I had to fight with Regina to give her that name.
Ronni smiles, letting out a laugh as she pets her dog’s head. I can’t understand what’s so damn funny. Nothing, as far as I can see. She must see the look of confusion in my eyes because she quickly stops.
“I’m not laughing at you, I promise. I love both your names; I really do,” she explains, pulling Cline in for a hug. “When Dad bought me Denver, he told me that he got him so I would never feel alone. He said all I had to do was look at the big lug and I’d know that my daddy was always thinking of me.”
I still don’t get it, so I shake my head. “And that’s funny?”
