“Secret keeper,” Red said softly. “I couldn’t have defined him better myself. My boys are all so different. Bobby—Bear—wears his emotions on his sleeve, while Wayne—Bones—has always been able to distance himself from people just enough to see them clearly and evaluate his feelings without getting too involved. But Brandon—your Bullet—he struggles with it all. As a boy, if one of the kids got in trouble, he would take the blame, and he wasn’t sneaky about it. Imagine trying to keep a straight face when he told me he scratched ‘Wayne Rules’ into the kitchen table, or when I followed a blue paint trail of Bobby’s four-year-old footprints from the patio, up the carpeted stairs, into his bedroom, and back down the rear steps to the utility room, where I found Bobby, his feet stained from the paint they’d washed off and Brandon painting his own feet blue.”
Finlay laughed and covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, but I can so see him doing that.”
“Oh, it gets better, hon. You couldn’t argue with Brandon. When he took the blame, it was as if he believed it to his very soul. We tried to punish him for lying, but come on. He lied to protect his brothers. In the end, we’d punish him for what he didn’t do, with the hopes the others would learn that there were ramifications.”
“And did they?” she asked, unable to stop smiling as she pictured Bullet—her Bullet—painting his feet to save Bear.
“I don’t know if it helped, but Brandon then took it upon himself to teach the younger ones right from wrong. I heard him talking to Bobby later that afternoon, and I’ll never forget how much he reminded me of my Biggs as he told him about respecting property and how lying was wrong. Bobby asked him why he’d lied, and his answers told me everything I ever needed to know about my eldest son. He said, ‘Because Papa taught me to always do the right thing. And protecting you is the right thing.’ My heart broke and grew that afternoon, which I never knew was possible until I had children.”
Finlay had experienced her heart breaking and growing at once the first night Bullet had opened up to her, when she’d seen his tattoos, and it had happened several times since. She wanted to share that with Red, but those moments seemed too intimate to reveal.
“We should take these out there before there’s a rebellion on our hands.” Red picked up a tray and grabbed a handful of napkins. “You already have quite a fan club.”
“My mom used to say, if you want to have a happy crowd, all you have to do is feed them and smile.” Finlay picked up a tray, smiling as she thought of her mother. She’d told Red about losing her father and her mother moving away, and now, as she picked up a tray, she realized why she wanted to share her thoughts with Red. Red had a way of making people feel special, the same way Finlay’s mother did.
Red pushed open the door with her hip and held it for Finlay to pass through.
“I don’t think that heart phenomenon is reserved for parenthood,” Finlay said as they left the kitchen. “I think it’s just reserved for those you care deeply about.”
Red leaned in close as they approached the table they’d set up for the buffet-style tasting and said, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
Red motioned toward the bar. “Nothing makes a mother happier than seeing her child leading with his heart.”
Bullet’s gaze was locked on Finlay, and he had what could only be described as a goofy smile on his lips. Finlay’s insides melted. She didn’t think it was possible for Bullet to do anything that could even be mistaken as goofy, but that I’m-so-gone-over-you smile proved her wrong. And goofy had never looked so hot.
AS THE EVENING progressed, Bullet watched his beautiful girl work the crowd, and a few things became clear to him. That pang of jealousy he felt every time she smiled at another guy needed to be dealt with. No matter how much he’d like to have her all to himself, Finlay Wilson was a people person, and he’d never want to steal that joy from her. Accepting the latter helped him with the former. He knew he’d never slay the green-eyed monster, even though he had never believed it really existed until Finlay came into his life. But he’d dealt with enough painful situations to know this one was a different type of pain. A good pain. He looked down at the tattooed letters on his fingers, each one gracing a knuckle—Y-O-U-’R-E on his left hand and A-L-I-V-E on his right—written upside down, because the message wasn’t meant for anyone other than himself. He’d thought he’d always need that reminder to push past the pain of knowing he’d left a piece of himself on the battlefield, but now that he’d found Finlay, he didn’t need words to move past it. She lit up parts of him he’d thought hadn’t existed.
His father’s large hands appeared on the bar across from his. The hands that had once carried him across streets, taught him to toss a ball, ride a bicycle, and later, ride motorcycles. The hands that had taught him the importance of embracing and the strength of a handshake. The hands that were now wrinkled and covered with age spots and had never once met his flesh in a slap or a spanking—though Bullet knew there were plenty of times he deserved it. But that wasn’t the way Biggs worked. No, lessons were hands- or eyes-on. How many times had his father lifted a chin in the direction of a man saying nasty things to a woman and then pointed a finger at Bullet and said, Men don’t need to demean to make a point. You got a beef with a woman, you sit your ass down and talk eye-to-eye. Hear what she has to say. Got it? A good percentage of the time, she’s gonna be right. And when she’s not, she deserves your respect for speaking her mind. Harsher lessons came when Biggs would drag him out of bed to drive a drunk customer home, or tell him to get his ass on his bike and meet the Knights at some address in town, where they were taking a stance against one form of trouble or another.
Bullet met his father’s serious eyes, and he wondered how he could have ever been resentful of the man who had not only given him life, but had tried his damnedest to teach him right from wrong.
“Your little filly is quite the salesgirl,” Biggs said slowly. He nodded toward Finlay, who was sitting at a table with Dixie, Gemma, Crystal, and Penny, while Red, Chicki, and two other club members’ wives leaned over the girls’ shoulders. They’d been discussing the fundraiser ever since the crowd had thinned. “She talked with all the members tonight, got the business owners to agree to hold some sort of raffle for the Beckleys. Digger’s auctioning off twelve hours of his own time, equipment included. And Bud’s offering up a bouquet delivery a month for a full year. You mind gettin’ me a beer?”
“Sure, Pop.”
As Bullet filled a frosty mug, Biggs continued telling him what Finlay had accomplished.
“Butcher’s raffling off a side of beef. Heck, son, she used that sweet smile of hers to convince Rebel and two other firemen to get into a dunk tank, which Crow’s going to build. She’s got ticket sellers lined up and everything. And your gal’s not stopping there. She and the girls have plans to visit local businesses and get them in on it. It’s liable to be the biggest event to hit Peaceful Harbor in years.”
“She’s pretty amazing,” Bullet said proudly.
His father lifted his beer in a toast and said, “A miracle worker if you ask me. We haven’t been this busy in years.”
“People like to eat.”
Biggs’s mustache twitched as a crooked smile appeared on his face. “They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. You and I both know that’s not true. We got much needier parts than our stomachs.” He took a swig of his beer.
Bullet chuckled. Biggs had never been one to mince words.
“Nope,” his father said. “It’s not the food that brought everyone here tonight. That helped, of course. Finlay can cook like nobody’s business. But word’s gotten around that Whiskey’s has a new gal on board, and she’s got a knack for making every single customer feel special.”
“Pop, she’s not here for good. You know that, right?”
His father took another pull on his beer, and his expression turned serious again. “I’m aware. But I’m thinkin’ you probably ought to fix that.”
Bullet shook his head and crossed his arms, steeling himself for an internal battle. “My girl’s not going to spend her nights in a bar.” He wanted Finlay where he was every minute of the day, but no matter how much he wanted that, he knew it wasn’t best for her. She had dreams of expanding her catering business, and she hadn’t come to Peaceful Harbor to give those dreams up.
“She’s got a catering business to get off the ground. Hell, Pop. We’re coming in Sunday so she can use the kitchen to get ready for an event.”
“You’re coming Sunday? Not going riding with your brothers?” Biggs wrapped his fingers around the head of his cane and pushed to his feet.
“Maybe while she’s at the event, but Sunday’s my only day off. If she’s here, I’m here.”
His father’s gaze drifted down Bullet’s torso to his hands. “Sometimes words take on new meanings and what seemed like a penance turns into a celebration.” He motioned for Bullet to reach across the bar, and he gave him an awkward one-armed hug. “I love you, boy, and if I don’t tell you enough, I’m damn proud of you. Always have been.”
Bullet cleared his throat in an effort to quell the surge of emotions his father’s praise unleashed. He watched Biggs limp over to Red and pull her into his arms. He must have said something charming because his mother’s gaze softened, and she touched his cheek before pressing her lips to his. Bullet looked away, his eyes immediately finding his girl, and his father’s words pushed through his mind. Sometimes words take on new meanings and what seemed like a penance turns into a celebration.
He had reason to celebrate life all right, and she was sitting across the room holding up her phone. She and the girls were talking on a video call.
As quickly as his father’s words had come back to him, they were drowned out by another thought. She’s not here for good. You know that, right…? I’m aware. But I’m thinkin’ you probably ought to fix that.
Maybe his father wasn’t referencing the tattoos on his fingers after all.
Finlay’s eyes shifted, as if she felt the weight of his stare, and she waved him over. “Bullet! We want to ask you something!”
He headed over to the table and ran his fingers through her hair. “What’s up, lollipop?”
“Lollipop!” came from the phone with a snort.
He recognized the voice as Finlay’s mouthy friend, Isabel. They talked often, and he liked her; she was a firecracker.
“How many licks does it take to get to Fin’s sweet cent—”
“Izzy!” Finlay cut her off, earning giggles from the peanut gallery.
Christ. He didn’t want to get involved in this hen party. He started walking away, and Finlay grabbed the back of his shirt.
“Wait, please?” She glared at Isabel. “She’ll behave. She’s just had too much wine to drink.”
Isabel held up an empty wineglass. “That might be true, but I’d say it anyway, because it’s funny.”
“How about we not talk about my girl’s body parts.” He glanced at Finlay, who was smiling so brightly, he couldn’t help but smile, too. “What’s up, angel?”
“We were just thinking. If we bring on kitchen staff, we might need another bartender and a waitress, and we were thinking about hiring Izzy. She could work for my catering company part-time, and work here part-time.”
His mind selfishly went to cutting back his hours. He looked at Dixie, then at his mother, and that guilt noose he sported tightened again. He needed a fucking clone to protect the people he loved, so he could spend more time with the one he loved most.
“Why don’t we discuss it Sunday?” Red suggested.
Sunday. My only day off, and I’m spending most of it without Finlay.
Sunday was going to fucking suck.
Chapter Seventeen
SUNDAY BLEW IN with a sudden drop in temperature and fierce wind. Finlay had lived in Boston for so long, she’d forgotten how Maryland could be hot as Hades one day and sweater weather the next. As much as she was looking forward to catering the baby shower, she really wanted to curl up on the couch with Bullet, shut out the rest of the world, and disappear into him for an entire day. Since that wasn’t an option, she hung up her raincoat, slipped one of her aprons over her long-sleeved gray-and-white minidress, and began unpacking the groceries as Bullet carried them into the kitchen of Whiskey Bro’s. His family hadn’t arrived yet, and she hoped to get most of her baking done before their family meeting.
Bullet was supposed to go on a ride with his brothers afterward. She had a feeling he needed it, because he’d been a little edgier than normal this week, waking earlier and irritated about work. The only time he seemed completely at peace was in the mornings. He didn’t leave for work until eleven, which gave them several uninterrupted hours together. When he came home at night, once she was in his arms, their worlds came back together like a long-overdue sigh, draining the tension from his body and settling all the longing that had built up inside her all day.
“Will you still go on your ride in this weather?” she asked as she laid out the groceries and supplies. They’d gone down to the Snake Pit yesterday before Bullet had gone to work. As Chicki had promised, they’d gotten a tour of the kitchen, which was three times the size of Whiskey’s, and she’d talked with the chef about their menus. By the time they left, several guys had asked when he was going to ride with them again, and he’d been vague with his answers.
“If it clears up.” Bullet shrugged off his leather jacket and tossed it on a chair. His tattoos bled out from under the sleeves of his faded black T-shirt. He pushed a hand through his thick hair and shook off the rainwater. A chain hung from his belt loop to his back pocket, making it almost look as if he’d accessorized with his silver rings.
The thought of her man accessorizing gave Finlay a tickle. Bullet’s wardrobe consisted of dark jeans, faded T-shirts, and a host of leather bracelets and wrist cuffs. He always wore two or three skull or hammered metal rings, but she knew it had nothing to do with aesthetics. She was sure they all had meanings behind them, because one thing she’d learned about Bullet was that everything he added to his body was done purposefully.
He moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He was always doing that, touching, kissing, wanting more of her. And oh, how she always wanted to touch him, too!
“You said this baby shower will go on until two or three? If I ride, I’ll make sure I’m back by then.”
“Don’t cut your ride short. You don’t need to rework your life around me. I’ll be available when you get back. Just enjoy yourself, and your brothers.” She turned in his arms, and the fluttery sensation in her stomach she’d come to expect when they were close climbed into her chest. She reveled in that feeling.
“I’ve enjoyed myself and my brothers for thirty-plus years.” He lowered his lips to hers, taking her in a delicious kiss that brought her up on her toes. He rubbed his beard along her cheek and said, “I love when you do that.”
“Get hot and bothered?” she teased.
“Go up on your toes, like you can’t get enough of me.”
She’d never needed anyone before, but the closer she and Bullet became, the more she realized she’d needed him all along. She’d buried herself so deeply in work for the past several years, she hadn’t realized how much emptiness she’d been harboring. Bullet, and even Tinkerbell, completed her in ways no one and nothing ever had. Whether they were taking walks or Bullet was working on one of his bikes in the garage while she sat nearby preparing menus and kitchen schedules, or if they were lying in each other’s arms beneath the stars, which she didn’t think they’d be able to do too much longer, as fall was moving in, the three of them were together, and they were happy.
We’re putting down roots.
“I will never get enough of you.” She pulled him down for another kiss.
A little more than an hour later, Dixie came in through the back door, her fiery hair whipping around her face from the wind. Finlay looked over her sh
oulder as she put the wild king salmon, salads, seared spinach, and coriander yogurt sauce in the fridge.
“Wow. I half expected the Wicked Witch of the West to blow in.” Dixie peeled off her jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. “It’s so windy out there. I think we should have indoor options for the fundraiser, just in case.”
“I was hoping it would die down,” Finlay said as she began decorating the frosted sugar-cookie pizza with slices of strawberries and kiwis.
Dixie eyed the pink and blue cupcakes in a catering box on the counter and the Oreo-rattle pops and peanut-shaped tarts cooling on racks by the sink where Bullet was peeling hard-boiled eggs. She put a hand on Bullet’s shoulder and said, “You’re so domestic, I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“Finlay bribed me with sex.” He winked at Finlay.
“I did not!” She felt her cheeks burning. After Bullet had set her on the counter and tried to eat her for brunch, she’d promised to blow his whistle later if he let her get her cooking done. She couldn’t very well attend the event reeking of sex. Even though she’d learned her lesson when Bullet went with her anywhere and always carried extra panties. Sometimes that was enough, but when he devoured her, she got so hot and bothered, she needed a full-on shower afterward—a cold one, or the aftershocks alone nearly made her come again.
The doors to the bar opened, and Bones strutted in wearing his black leather jacket, a bike helmet in his hand, and the rest of his family on his heels. “Damn, it’s nasty out there. But it sure smells good in here.”
Bones set his helmet down and put his arm around Finlay as she prepared the frosting for the baby bundles, the peanut-shaped tarts she’d decorate to look like swaddled babies. Half the finished cookies would be blue, and half pink, with chocolate chips for eyes.
Driving Whiskey Wild Page 22