by Sarah Title
Fortunately, Henry had been on call in case Helen needed rescuing from her bad date. When he texted her to see whether she was having fun or being ax murdered, her response was so margarita-garbled that Henry rushed right over. He was cute, and a history professor, and he and Helen started talking about some papers that had been donated to the Pembroke Library and Lindsey’s eyes started to glaze over until she realized that these two spoke the same language, and surely they would speak the same language in bed.
The sudden stunned silence made her realize she’d said that out loud.
Oops. Well, what was the worst that could happen? Helen and Henry could reveal non-mutual romantic feelings and their relationship could be ruined. Or . . . or they could realize that the mad, passionate love each carried like a secret torch was the same mad passionate love carried in the heart of the other. And they would name their first baby Lindsey.
Or, she could just not drink so much.
The problem with margaritas, in addition to severely impeding her driving, was that they amped her up. Maybe it was the sugar, or some magic in the tequila, but when she drank margaritas, if there wasn’t a dance party nearby, Lindsey was apt to create her own. She needed to find her iPod.
Instead, she found Booger staring mournfully at the back door. “Poor baby,” she said, and let him out.
He made a beeline for the fence, and while she watched him sniff and huff like a crazy beast, she couldn’t help but notice the lights on in the garage.
Old habits die hard, she chided herself.
She and Walker weren’t in a fight. He just needed some space. That was hours ago. Surely hours was enough space. And he had a radio in there, she was sure of it. Iron Maiden radio. They could have a dance party, and then they could do her second-favorite thing to do when she drank tequila.
This would call for seduction. If he was in a funk, the only way to get him out would be some slinky lingerie. He hadn’t seen any of her slinky lingerie. She knew it cheered her up. Had to work on him too.
Propping the screen door open so Booger could come back in when he was done being Booger, Lindsey skipped up the stairs and dug around in the back of her pajama drawer for the robe and teddy set she’d bought when she broke up with Brad. It was a deep burgundy with lace around the edges, very low cut and very short and very silky against her skin.
The effect was somewhat ruined by her flip-flops, but she wasn’t going into that garage barefoot. Besides, if Walker was smart, he wouldn’t be looking at her feet.
She walked out into the yard and stood at the open garage door, listening. He was being pretty quiet. Maybe he was concentrating. Maybe he was napping. “Walker?” she called softly, then stepped inside. She saw a movement in the corner, near the big doors of the garage. “Ha. You can’t hide from me, you know.” She slid the robe off of her shoulders and listened to it whisper against the concrete. “Walker,” she cooed.
But when she rounded the table, the man crouching down at the roots of Walker’s tree was not Walker at all. He was big and bald and had a short beard and suddenly Lindsey didn’t feel so drunk anymore.
Instead, she screamed.
Walker woke up to the scream.
He had been really, really asleep, and it took him a second to process what the sound actually was. Was it even real?
Then the scream came again, followed by Booger barking like crazy.
Lindsey.
He shot out of bed and out the back door. He saw the lights in the garage and all he could picture was Lindsey in a freak air stapler accident. He skidded through the open door.
Lindsey was standing at the base of his tree, screaming at it.
And she was wearing . . . what the hell was she wearing?
He almost said, damn the danger. He wanted to fling her over his shoulder and lock her inside until he could get a really good look at the short, strappy, shiny thing she was wearing. And he might have, had he not caught a movement from the ground.
Someone else was there.
Which explained why Lindsey was wielding a lead pipe.
God, she looked hot.
He took a step forward, and she must have seen him because she turned and opened her mouth again, but this scream died out into a whimper. She was scared, and that drove him into action. In one step, he was in front of her and her pipe, and reaching for whoever was skulking around his garage.
He saw the back of a head, but didn’t take in more than that before he pulled the guy up by the neck of his shirt and shoved him back to the ground.
The guy turned onto his back and put his hands up. “Walker!” he yelled.
The voice stopped him cold.
“Red.”
Goddammit. His father was here.
Chapter 20
This was Walker’s father?
Lindsey wasn’t sure what she was expecting, exactly. Not someone quite so . . . hard.
According to Walker, he was a con man and an art forger, but maybe she’d seen too many movies because she was expecting a warm and charming guy. She wasn’t quite prepared for the thick, wiry muscles. He was short, and he really didn’t look like Walker at all, except for maybe in the nose and eyes. Walker’s eyes had been wary and closed off when she’d first met him, but now she could read them like a book. His dad’s were the same steel gray, but when he smiled, his eyes didn’t look happy at all.
And he did smile—another difference between Walker and his father. Red Smith smiled a lot, and asked a lot of questions about Walker and how he’d been, and asked what Lindsey did and how she liked living here and he hoped his son was treating her well. Despite his scary appearance, he acted very friendly, like it was no big deal that he had broken into his son’s studio and was now just sitting around making small talk.
Of course, she wasn’t one to judge others for breaking into Walker’s studio.
But the eyes really bugged her. Cold. That was what they were. Walker could be grumpy and private, but when he smiled, Lindsey knew he meant it. Heck, when he smiled, she felt it zap down through her core.
Red’s smile made her squirm in an entirely different, entirely unpleasant way.
But he was Walker’s father. And he hadn’t actually done anything wrong in this case—at least, nothing that Lindsey hadn’t also done, and Walker seemed to like her okay. Maybe Red looked that way because he was just out of prison. Maybe he just needed some time to get used to civilization again. Her opinion was probably clouded by Walker’s own dislike. She wasn’t going to give the guy a kidney, but she also wasn’t going to let Walker kick him out into the cold night.
Which was exactly what Walker wanted to do.
“You don’t just ‘swing by,’ Red.”
Lindsey noticed that Walker didn’t call him “Dad.” Clearly, the two were not close. But she didn’t miss the hurt flinch through Red’s face every time Walker did it.
“I told you I was getting out.”
They were sitting around Walker’s kitchen table, all very cozy and domestic. Lindsey had changed into sweatpants, and helped herself to Walker’s coffee pot. Red drank the coffee like it was going out of style—best coffee he’d had in ten years, he told her. She tried not to be flattered.
Walker just stared hard at his father, even when Red looked away and admired the house.
“Quite a spot you’ve got here,” Red told him. “You’ve done well.”
“All on my own,” Walker said quickly.
Red threw up his hands. “Hey, I never said otherwise. I always knew you were the real deal, son.”
“Don’t call me that,” Walker muttered, then took a sip of his coffee. Lindsey put a hand on his knee and squeezed. Walker was doing a good job of being mostly polite, but she could see Red was pushing his buttons. She didn’t really know what those buttons were, but Walker’s muscles were tightly coiled under her hand, and she wanted to stand up and wrap her arms around him.
That might interfere with the tough-guy act he was putting on for his dad,
so she stayed seated.
Lindsey let the silence linger between the two men. She had tried to fill it with small talk, but every time she engaged Red in conversation—that was another way he was different from his son, he actually knew how to make small talk—Walker got kind of a pre-transformation Hulk look about him. So she tried to keep her mouth shut. As a result, she was drinking a lot of coffee.
“What are you doing here, Red?” Walker asked again, despite the fact that Red had answered that question more than once. The first answer, “I thought you’d be glad to see me,” was clearly bull. It was pretty obvious that Red was not surprised by the cold reception he was getting from his son. Hurt, maybe, but not surprised. The second answer, “Just stopping by on my way out of prison,” was ridiculous.
Red sighed, as if Walker had finally worn him down and he was bracing himself to reveal the truth. Very dramatic, that sigh.
Lindsey gripped her mug tightly, trying not to die of curiosity.
“I got nothing, kid,” Red began. “I been inside for ten years. Got no money, got nowhere to go. I hitched a ride here—you know how hard it is to hitch a ride to Bugtussle, Kentucky?”
“Real sorry I couldn’t live somewhere more convenient for you,” said Walker, oozing sarcasm.
“Look, I know we have our differences.” Walker snorted, but Red continued. “I know you think I did you wrong growing up, and maybe I did. I was just trying to teach you how the world works. I know I’m not the world’s greatest father”—Walker snorted again—“but I did my best. I taught you how to survive, didn’t I? And look how you turned out. I’m proud of you, son.”
“Are you seriously taking credit for my life?” Walker’s back muscles trembled under Lindsey’s hand, even as she rubbed small circles with her thumb. He took a deep breath. “One more time. What do you want?”
“Ah, son, don’t be so hard on your old man. It’s hard for me to ask for help.”
“No.” Lindsey flinched at the coldness in Walker’s voice.
“Just for a few days. Just until I can get my feet under me.”
“No,” Walker repeated.
The two men stared each other down, and Lindsey felt the residual chill coming off them.
This was ridiculous. He was Walker’s father.
She cleared her throat.
Neither of them looked her way.
“Red,” she said, tentatively. She still couldn’t believe “Red” was actually his first name. “I’m sure you understand why Walker has mixed feelings about you visiting.”
“They’re not mixed at all,” Walker said, still staring down Red.
“But,” Lindsey continued, “I understand that you are going through a . . . transition period.”
Now both men looked at her. Red looked grateful. Walker looked like he wanted to dump his coffee on her head.
“I’m not suggesting he move in,” she told Walker. “Maybe just for a few nights.”
Walker’s mouth opened, then closed. The muscles in his jaw clenched so hard, she thought his teeth were going to break.
“But Red,” Lindsey said, turning to the older man, “you have to respect Walker’s space. He’s worked hard for his success, and he’s under a tight deadline.” Walker raised his eyebrow at her. She hurried on—she was no good at lying, and even if this was just a little fib, she didn’t want to dwell on it. “So you need to give him room to work. And you need to stay out of the studio unless you’re invited in. You can use these few days to find a job and a new place to live, but if Walker doesn’t want to talk to you, you have to respect that, okay?”
Red smiled, but not at Lindsey. “You got a real sweet woman here, you know that?”
Walker clenched his jaw.
“Just a few days, son, I promise. I’ll keep out of your way until I find my feet, and then I’ll be out of your hair for good.”
“Promise?” Walker asked tightly.
“Yeah, I promise.”
“You can stay, Red. One week. I know your promises don’t mean shit, but mine do. Today is Sunday. You’re out of here next Sunday, no excuses. Got it?”
“Got it,” Red said, a little sadly, Lindsey thought. “Thank you, son.”
“And quit calling me that.”
I don’t like the smell of this guy. I gotta keep an eye on him.
Chapter 21
“I meant it, son. You got a real sweet woman out there.”
Walker ignored his father, and instead focused on a mental inventory of the valuables in his apartment. He had the small fireproof box that contained his social security card and bank documents, and a copy of his contract with the Madison Kelly Gallery. A contract he needed to work on fulfilling, although not with any of the urgency Lindsey suggested earlier.
Lindsey. He stopped being mad at her as soon as she softly kissed him and thanked him for taking in his dad. She had no idea what Red was like, but Walker knew what Lindsey was like, and if there was any hope at all of a situation having a bright side, she would find it. He didn’t hold out much hope that Red was going to turn into a model citizen, but she was right. He was just out of prison; he had nowhere to go. And even though Walker’s first instinct was to tell his dad that he didn’t owe him a thing—and, in fact, that had been exactly what Walker had done—Lindsey was right. A little human kindness wouldn’t kill him.
He still wasn’t leaving anything valuable in his apartment.
Lindsey brought over an extra toothbrush and found a clean set of towels for Red. He gave her that damn charming smile of his, but she didn’t hang around to hear more of his sad story. Instead, she told Walker that she’d see him in a minute, and left the two men alone in Walker’s bedroom.
Walker didn’t know what she was expecting—a sudden father and son heart-to-heart, probably. Well, Walker might have been willing to give up his bed for a few nights, but that was about it.
“And a sweet house,” Red said, apparently unaware that Walker was giving him the silent treatment. “You got it all, don’t you, son? The dog and the yard and the sweet woman. You done good for yourself.”
No thanks to you, Walker wanted to snap back at him. The only thing that stopped him was that he didn’t want to give Red the pleasure. Because if Walker fought him, Red could say that his own son, his only flesh and blood, had kicked him when he was down, and that was why he wasn’t able to turn his life around. Instead, Walker just walked downstairs and outside, made sure his studio door was locked and padlocked, then headed back in through the open laundry room door. He whistled for Booger, who looked at him from the top of the stairs, then went back into Walker’s bedroom.
Great. His dad was even taking his dog.
He ran into Lindsey pulling sheets out of the dryer. “I think Booger is guarding Red,” she told him.
“What does he need guarding from?”
“No, I mean I think Booger’s keeping an eye on him.”
Smart dog, thought Walker.
“You want to help me make the bed?”
Sure, he could help her make the bed.
He took the bundle of sheets from her and she led the way up to the bedroom. She tossed the pillows onto the floor. Walker fished the fitted sheet out of the pile and handed her one end.
They stood across from each other, snapping the sheets tight and pulling the quilt up. It looked cozy.
“Uh,” said Walker, like a genius, “do you have another blanket?”
“Why? It’s not that cold.” She looked puzzled. Walker took that as a good sign.
“Wait,” she said, not so puzzled. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”
“I didn’t want to assume—”
“Unless you want to sleep on the couch.”
“Hell no.”
She smiled at him. “Good.”
“That couch is way too ugly to be comfortable.”
“Hmph.” She walked around the bed toward the dresser. “I could make you test it out.”
He grabbed her around her waist a
nd pulled her close. “No way.”
She laughed and swatted his shoulder. “Come on. I have to get up early tomorrow.”
Well, so much for that.
She took out a pair of pajamas—nothing at all like the maroon thing she’d been wearing earlier, dammit—and went into the bathroom. Walker sat down to pull off his shoes. They were really going to sleep together. Just sleep. That would be a first for them. He thought he should probably go next door and get some pajamas. Did he even have any pajamas?
But then Lindsey came out of the bathroom, looking adorable and clean and sexy. He recognized her little shorts as one of his favorites, and her tank top was doing all kinds of great things for him. Her face was scrubbed clean and as she got closer, he smelled her minty fresh breath.
She nudged him off the bed and pulled back the quilt. She climbed in and he thought, forget it. No pajamas. He tore off his shirt, stepped out of his jeans, and climbed in right next to her. They snuggled down and he put his arms around her. She sighed and put her head on his chest. He rubbed her back.
It was all very cozy.
He had a dog, a white picket fence, and now he was sleeping with his sweet woman. Just sleeping.
“So. Your dad.”
He should have known they wouldn’t just be sleeping. This was Lindsey. Of course they’d be talking.
“My father.”
“He seems . . . nice.”
“Yup, he seems that way.”
“But he’s not so nice?”
“He’s fine, as long as you don’t count on him for anything.”
“Or try to buy art from him.”
Walker hissed out a laugh.
“Does he look different? After ten years in prison, I mean.”
Walker shrugged. “More muscles. Less hair.”
She was quiet for a while, and Walker braced himself for whatever she was going to ask next.
