Gypsy King

by Devney Perry

Dash is going to love this.

  Twenty minutes later, my heart was racing as Dash and I pulled into the cemetery.

  After my call with Genevieve, I’d gone to the shop and told Dash about it, knowing full well he’d never let me go alone.

  We parked behind a gray sedan with Colorado plates. I sucked in a deep breath as I got off his bike. Ten seconds later, the rumble of another motorcycle filled the air.

  “Damn it,” I muttered as Draven pulled into the cemetery. “How’d he know we were coming here?”

  “Emmett must have overheard us talking and told him after we left.”

  This was a good lesson to remember to keep my voice low in the garage.

  “It’s bad enough that you’re here.”

  He pouted. “Gee. Thanks.”

  “Oh, you know what I mean.” I waved him off. “She needs a friend. Not a crowd.”

  Not to mention Dash still hadn’t warmed to the idea of Genevieve. He still didn’t trust her motives completely. Even though he believed she was innocent and hadn’t played a part in my kidnapping, I think the picture of her holding a gun to my head was permanently burned into his brain.

  “Can you watch from here?” I asked. “I won’t be far.”

  “I’m coming.” He moved to stand, but I put my hands on his shoulders, forcing him down.

  “She came here to see her mother’s grave, Dash. You of all people should be able to understand losing a mother. Let me go with her. Let me help her do this. Please?”

  He blew out a deep breath. “Fine.”

  “Thanks.” I leaned in and kissed his cheek.

  Behind him, Draven had parked and turned off his motorcycle. I could feel his anticipation from feet away. He wanted to meet his daughter, but I shook my head.

  He’d have to wait.

  Leaving them on their bikes, I walked over to the sedan. As I got closer, the door opened and Genevieve stepped out.

  “Hey. It’s good to see you.” Warm and dressed, not in the forest where I saw her in my nightmares.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  We hugged hard, like friends who’d known each other for decades, not days. The hug of two people who’d survived the unthinkable together.

  When we released each other, she shot a glance at Dash and Draven.

  “I have an escort. Sorry. Dash is a little overprotective at the moment.”

  Her face, if surprised or irritated, gave nothing away. She leveled them with a cool, apprehensive look, like she was bracing herself to be hurt.

  I wished I could promise her that Draven wouldn’t hurt her. But I wouldn’t.

  “Ignore them.” I took her hand in mine. “This is about you.”

  Genevieve nodded and we walked onto the grass, dodging tombstones until we came to a granite slab situated under a towering cottonwood tree. A vase of yellow roses had been placed by the tombstone.

  “This is a pretty spot,” I said.

  Genevieve simply nodded, wiping at her eyes before the tears could fall. “She shouldn’t be here. She should be smiling with a friend, laughing at a movie or talking to me on the phone. She should be in her kitchen, making Chrissy’s cookies.”

  “Chrissy’s cookies?” As in Chrissy Slater?

  “Yeah.” She wiped another tear away. “Those chocolate chip cookies I made the day you came to Denver. That’s what Mom always called them. Chrissy’s cookies. I guess she got the recipe from a friend named Chrissy once. I didn’t know the friend but the cookies are good. Doesn’t matter now.”

  So Amina had used Chrissy’s cookie recipe. Maybe someday, those cookies would be something Dash and Genevieve could bond over, something to bridge the gap. Or would it drive them apart? For now, I’d keep the origins of that recipe to myself.

  I squeezed her hand. “They are good cookies. The best. And I bet once we publish the recipe with your mom’s memorial, the whole town will love them too.”

  “I hope so,” she whispered.

  We stood there, staring at the tombstone and Amina’s name written in the white-and-gray-swirled rock, until a flash of movement caught my eye. Draven was hovering about twenty feet away. When he met my gaze, he held up a hand.

  The movement got Genevieve’s attention too and her frame tightened. The grip on my hand turned punishing.

  I leaned in close. “You have to meet him eventually.”

  “Do I?”

  “Do you believe what I told you? That he didn’t kill your mother? That he’s your father?”

  “Honestly?” She thought about it for a long moment. “Yes. But I wish I didn’t.”

  “I’ll leave you two alone.” Stepping away, I retreated toward Dash waiting on his bike. Draven stepped up to Genevieve, giving her an awkward wave before tucking his hand in a pocket.

  “I almost feel bad for him,” Dash said when I reached his side.

  “Will you ever forgive him?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe Nick was right. He’s off his pedestal now. Might give me a chance to see him as he is.”

  “He’s trying to right his wrongs,” I said, watching as Draven and Genevieve stood apart. They faced one another but she had her arms crossed over her chest, clearly indicating he was close enough. “Let’s leave them be.”

  Dash nodded, driving us back to the garage after a quick detour at McDonald’s to pick up some burgers and fries for the crew. We crossed the parking lot, each carrying paper bags dotted with grease.

  “I almost asked Presley if she’d let me borrow her car so I could sneak away to meet Genevieve,” I confessed. “But I thought you might have an aneurism.”

  He chuckled. “I would have. Do me a favor? Don’t give me a heart attack before I get a chance to meet my kid.”

  I smiled. “I’ll try.”

  “Fuck, but you make me crazy.” He stopped walking and pulled me into his arms. “If anything happened to you, I—”

  “It won’t.” I leaned back and cupped his cheek with my free hand. “I’ll be careful. Promise.”

  Dash dropped a kiss on my lips, his touch firm but gentle.

  My stomach growled, forcing us apart. We were almost at the office, more than ready to eat, when a familiar gray sedan pulled in behind us.

  “Is that—”

  “Genevieve?” I finished.

  She parked by the office, directly in front of the staircase that led to Isaiah’s apartment. Had Draven invited her here? He was nowhere in sight.

  “What’s she doing here?” Dash muttered.

  “Maybe she wanted to meet you?”

  He frowned. “Well, I don’t much care to meet her.”

  I elbowed him in the side. “Be nice.”

  Genevieve got out of the car, her eyes glancing up the staircase before she moved in our direction. “Hey, again.”

  “Hi.” I smiled. “Um, Genevieve, this is Dash. My boyfriend and your—”

  “Half brother. Right.”

  Dash stood there, not saying a word. The silence grew thicker and thicker, until finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and I elbowed him in the ribs. Again.

  He frowned, shuffling paper bags to free a hand and extend it. “Hi.”

  As quickly as they touched, the shake was over. Dash jerked his chin to the garage and marched away, taking my french fries with him. “Got work to do.”

  At least I had the bags with all the burgers.

  “Sorry,” I told Genevieve.

  “Two weeks ago, I was alone, trying to cope with losing Mom. Then I get kidnapped, find out I have a father in Montana who didn’t know I existed and a half brother who hates me. I’m numb to it all at this point.”

  I opened my mouth to tell her she actually had brothers, plural, but decided it could wait for another day. “Dash doesn’t hate you. He just hasn’t had much time to wrap his head around it.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She hung her head. “Nothing matters.”

  Before I could say anything, a pair of footsteps came down the stairs.

  M
y eyes widened. “Isaiah? Where have you been? We thought you left.”

  “I did. Now I’m back.”

  He’d been gone a week, ever since the day of the mountain rescue. No note. No call. He’d just . . . disappeared. Did Dash know he was back?

  Isaiah reached the bottom stair and looked at Genevieve. “Hey.”

  “Hi.” She lifted her hand like she was going to shake his but then changed her mind and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

  “Um, how was the trip?” Isaiah asked.

  “Long.”

  The Colorado plates. I hadn’t put it together at the cemetery, assuming she’d just rented a car, but this must be hers. Why would she drive to Montana? That had to be at least eight hours. Maybe more.

  “I’ll help haul up your stuff.” Isaiah walked toward her car.

  Stuff? Genevieve followed, her chin down, as Isaiah opened the back seat. It was filled with boxes and suitcases. Inside the trunk was more of the same.

  “Are you staying?” I asked her.

  Genevieve and Isaiah shared a look, one full of secrets. She nodded and Isaiah hefted out a suitcase and backpack, taking them up his stairs. She followed with a box.

  Neither of them answered my question.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Dash asked, coming to my side. “Was that Isaiah?”

  “Yes. And I have no idea.” Genevieve and Isaiah disappeared up the stairs. “But if I had to guess, I’d say Genevieve is moving into Isaiah’s apartment.”

  He looked down at me, as confused as I was. “What the fuck happened on that mountain?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Bryce

  “Morning.” I shuffled into the kitchen in bare feet, wearing Dash’s sweatshirt. It enveloped me, hanging thick on my shoulders. The sleeves draped past my fingertips and the hood bunched at the nape of my neck. Wearing it was like having my own personal Dash cocoon.

  I’d be taking it with me whenever I went home.

  Not that we’d talked about me leaving. In the three days since Genevieve had moved into Isaiah’s apartment, I’d all but moved into Dash’s home.

  “Hey, baby.” He crossed the kitchen from where he’d been standing next to the coffee pot. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better.” I yawned as he tugged me into his chest. “Thanks for letting me sleep in. I needed it.”

  “You were out.”

  “I know. I didn’t even hear you snore last night.”

  He chuckled. “Didn’t snore because I had my pillow.”

  “You have a special non-snoring pillow?” I leaned away to look at his face.

  “Not a non-snoring pillow, just a decent pillow.”

  My eyes bulged. “You think my pillows are indecent?”

  He grinned. “Admit it, my bed is better than yours.”

  “I don’t want to.” I smiled and fell back into his chest.

  It was Friday, Dash’s normal day off, but he planned to go to the garage later. Even though he had a ton of work to do, I’d begged him for a lazy morning. Some time to sleep in late and linger in the shower. I wanted to enjoy a few quiet moments, like this one, when the unanswered questions from the past six weeks got pushed aside.

  “This is nice,” I whispered.

  He kissed my hair. “Agreed.”

  We stood like that, leaning into one another, until my stomach growled and forced us apart.

  “Breakfast?” He went to the fridge. “What will it be today? More cereal? Or I can make fried eggs and bacon.”

  I scrunched up my nose. Just the thought of fried-egg-and-bacon-grease smell made my sensitive stomach turn. I needed bland. Carbs were my friends in the morning. “Cheerios, please.”

  “Cheerios,” he grumbled but got out a bowl for me and one for himself.

  We settled at a custom, farmhouse-style table in the dining room off the kitchen. It looked like a fancy picnic table with chairs instead of benches.

  “Any word from your dad?” I asked.

  He shook his head, swallowing a bite of cereal. “Nothing. But if something comes up, he’ll call.”

  “Damn.” We’d tried so hard to prove Draven was innocent. Now it looked like whoever had orchestrated this whole thing would win.

  I hated losing.

  Dash did too.

  “Did Genevieve text you back?” he asked.

  “Nope.” I dropped my spoon into my cereal bowl. She was beginning to irritate me with her silence.

  Whatever was going on between Isaiah and Genevieve, they weren’t talking. She’d moved into his apartment, and rumor had it, he’d spent a night or two in the motel.

  He’d asked Dash if he could keep his job, apologizing for skipping out without a word. Dash, of course, had cut him some slack and let him stay on because Isaiah was a good guy and a good mechanic. I’d hoped that Dash would have more luck with Isaiah than I had with Genevieve, but Isaiah was arguably worse when it came to opening up. He came to the garage every day, worked hard with as few words as possible, then left as soon as his shift was over.

  Meanwhile, Genevieve was gone each morning when we got to the garage and didn’t return until after we’d left for the evening. She also wasn’t returning my calls or my texts.

  I’d wear her down eventually. They couldn’t keep their secret forever, could they? At some point, they’d have to tell us what had happened on that mountain, right?

  But for today, I was pushing it from my mind.

  I finished my cereal, then turned my gaze to the enormous bay window that overlooked Dash’s backyard. The sun was shining. The grass was green. Under a bright blue sky, it was a peaceful corner of the world.

  Dash had a sprawling deck with his hot tub off to one side. The lawn was wide and deep with a tall privacy fence to keep it cozy, even though he didn’t have neighbors. An open field sat behind his yard. There was a small creek flowing through the middle and one lush grove of trees.

  “How many acres do you own?” I asked Dash.

  “Twenty. I wanted some space from the neighbors.”

  It was secluded but not remote. Close to town for convenience but away from the bustle. “Did you buy this house? Or have it built?”

  “Had it built about three years ago.”

  I stood from the table, taking my bowl to the kitchen sink, then slowly wandered down the hallway that ran in the opposite direction from his bedroom. I’d explored some while I’d been here, but today I wanted more than a superficial glance to get my bearings.

  The hallways were wide, the doors clean and white. The floors were a dark wood with rugs in a few rooms to soften them up.

  “It’s very . . . stylish,” I told Dash as I walked, him trailing close behind. “Not what I would have expected from you.”

  “I shelled out a fucking fortune to get a designer in here to make it stylish. Mostly, I wanted nice shit that would last and was comfortable. Some of the stuff she picked I had to veto, but otherwise, it turned out just right.” He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.

  I traced my fingers along a tattoo on the inside of his wrist. It was the one tattoo I hadn’t asked about yet, a date blocked in black letters. “What’s this tattoo?”

  “Mom’s birthday. It was my first tattoo. Got it when I turned eighteen. I celebrate on that day every year. Make a chocolate cake. Candles.”

  “I bet she’d love that.”

  “Yeah.” He pressed his cheek to the top of my head. “Glad you’re here.”

  “Me too. I like your house.”

  “Good.” He hugged me tighter, then let me go to turn me around. “Come check this out.”

  We turned and retreated down the hallway, making our way toward his bedroom on the opposite end of the house. But instead of turning into his room like I’d expected, he opened a door to the office across the hall.

  The desk in the corner was empty, nothing like the mess he had at the garage. The window on the side faced the front of the house. Outside the window was a bus
h full of white blooms.

  Dash walked into the middle of the room. “How about this for a nursery?”

  “Uh . . .” A nursery? Did I hear that right? I’d expected him to offer this room up for work, not a room for the baby.

  We hadn’t talked about the baby all week. I hadn’t wanted to push it. I’d wanted to give him—both of us—some time for the concept to really sink deep. We had months to discuss a nursery. We didn’t even know if we were having a boy or girl yet.

  “I’ll move the desk and stuff to one of the spare rooms. Or downstairs. I don’t use it much anyway. We can get a crib or bassinette or whatever you want. It’s right across the hall from our room. And—”

  “Wait.” I put a hand on the wall as the room began to spin. “Nursery? Our room? You want me to live here?”

  “We’re having a kid.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t dictate we move in together.”

  “Then how about you move in because I love you.”

  Seriously, my ears were not working right today. “You love me?”

  “More every day.” He came over and took my face in his hands. “Think how crazy I’ll be about you when we’re ninety.”

  A laugh escaped my lips. “Insane. I love you too.”

  “Good. That’ll make it easier to be your roommate.”

  I smiled wider. “We’re really doing this? Living together? Having a baby?”

  “We’re really doing this. Living together. Having a baby. Getting married.”

  “Married? Who are you and what have you done with Kingston Slater?” I’d gone to bed with Dash, a badass playboy, and woken up with a romantic. “Did you hit your head with a wrench yesterday? You’re aware that you’re asking me to marry you, right?”

  “Well, yeah. You said you wanted to have a baby when you were married and settled. Way I see it, we’ve got about seven months to make that happen. Might as well get to it.”

  Oh. My heart sank. Dash wasn’t doing this because he wanted to. He was doing it for me. “Dash, I appreciate it. But I don’t want to get married because you feel like it’s what I want.”

  “Then how about because it’s what I want.” His voice was low, smooth and silky. “Trust me, babe. I want to do this with you. Every day. Here until the end.”