Driving Whiskey Wild

by Melissa Foster

  “What’ve you done with my brother? Soon he’ll be wearing a dress and an apron.”

  Bullet scowled.

  Finlay whispered, “I bribed him with sex.”

  Bones pushed Bullet away from the sink. “Give me the damn eggs.”

  Bullet grabbed him by the back of his collar and hauled him away from the sink with a look so dark Finlay feared she’d caused real trouble.

  Bones threw his arms up in the air and laughed. “I’m kidding, bro.” He shoved Bullet’s shoulder so hard Bullet released him, still glowering.

  “Bones has a death wish.” Bear sank down to a chair at the table.

  Dixie laughed as she headed toward the door to the bar. “I’m going to get the ledgers from the office. Be right back.”

  Red sidled up to Finlay and said, “There are three things you don’t kid about in our world. Women, bikes, and family.”

  “I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” Finlay said. “It was a joke.”

  “You didn’t cause trouble, honey,” Red assured her. “Bones did. He knows Bullet’s been acting like he’s got a gorilla on his back lately.”

  Finlay made a mental note not to step out of her comfort zone and tease like that again. She was surprised Red had noticed Bullet’s edginess, and she wondered if she had any clue as to what was behind it. Finlay had tried asking Bullet, but he’d brushed her off each time, changing the subject.

  Biggs sat beside Bear and pointed his cane at Bones. “Cut the shit. One day Bullet’s going to let loose on you and you’re going to be sorry.”

  Guilt speared through Finlay. She knew Bullet and Bones had a special connection, and she’d hate to mess that up.

  Bullet’s lips tipped up and he held a fist out to Bones, who tapped it with his own.

  Relief swept through her. She moved a tray of cookies to the counter, distracting herself by spreading pink frosting over the lower half of each cookie and creating tiny pink bows at the top, making the baby bundles.

  Bullet wiped his hands on a towel. “Sorry, man,” he said to Bones.

  “No worries.” Bones leaned against the counter. “The weather’s supposed to clear up by noon. You coming with us?”

  Bullet nodded. “For a few hours.”

  Dixie returned with the ledgers, and Bear said, “Let’s get this show on the road. Dix?”

  An uneasy look passed over Dixie’s face. She crossed her arms, uncrossed them, then crossed them again. Finlay waited for an explanation, as Dixie had nixed every candidate she’d interviewed for the cook positions, having found something off about each applicant.

  “We haven’t filled the positions yet,” Dixie explained. “Fin spent all last week interviewing, and the applicants are all qualified. But they just didn’t feel right. I’m not sure about hiring a stranger.”

  “You’re the one who wanted this,” Bullet reminded her.

  The gruffness of Bullet’s comment rattled Finlay. She’d almost forgotten he hadn’t wanted her to work there in the first place, much less to expand the bar.

  She concentrated on adding the chocolate-chip eyes to the cookies.

  “I know, and, Dad, I know you want the expansion so we have a legacy to carry on for generations, but did you see how busy we were the other night when Finlay did the tasting session?”

  “Sure did,” Biggs said. “Finlay’s got quite a reputation around here.”

  “We’re not just looking at hiring a cook and a dishwasher anymore.” Dixie looked pleadingly at Finlay, and understanding finally dawned on her.

  Dixie was as worried about the staffing as she was.

  Finlay wiped her hands on a towel and said, “She’s right. The turnout the other night concerned me, too. It was wonderful, but worrisome.”

  Bullet reached for her, and when she went to him, his arm circled her waist. She loved his support and wasn’t sure if he’d noticed she was nervous, or if he just wanted to hold her, but she sensed it was both.

  “We started out looking for two part-time cooks and dishwashers so we could offer shifts, but based on the turnout the other night, which had zero publicity, I think you’re looking at a much bigger endeavor than you initially wanted.” She felt like she’d somehow let them down, even though she knew this was business, and she’d done nothing more than evaluate their needs.

  “I told you I thought this was a bad idea,” Bullet said.

  Biggs held up his hand, silencing him. “Let’s hear what Finlay has to say.”

  She looked apologetically at Bullet.

  He kissed her temple and said, “You’re good, lollipop. Go ahead,” and she breathed a little easier.

  “My recommendation is to decide what you really want out of this expansion. I believe the goal was to increase profits, which I think you can achieve on a large or small scale, depending on what you want. Jed’s only part-time, and Bullet already works more than sixty hours a week. Dixie and Red can’t be expected to waitress full-time seven days a week. So if you offer food all day, then you’ll probably need at least two more waitresses, another full-time bartender, two full-time cooks so they’re not working more than forty hours a week, and then you still need to hire the dishwashers. And if you go that route, it’s clear you’ll need a manager as well, unless Bullet takes that over. Dixie is fully qualified, of course, but she’s managing the auto shop, waitressing here, and doing the books. You’ll need someone to handle schedules, and I don’t know if you’ve thought this far ahead, but full-time employees should have health and vacation benefits, too.”

  Bullet and Bear shook their heads.

  “That sounds about right,” Red said.

  “That’s what worries me,” Dixie explained. “Then our family business will turn into something that’s so much bigger, it’s not going to feel the same. I think Bullet was right about that.”

  “There is another option,” Finlay said. “You could offer food only for lunch, for example. Then you’d need a cook, a waitress, and a dishwasher for, say noon to three, or similar hours. Twenty hours a week should do it. You’d still want a backup cook, I think, just in case that employee got sick or hurt, or went on vacation. Or you could offer only dinner, but dinner tends to be busier, in my experience, and would probably require more bartending staff.”

  “Finlay, what would you prefer, if you were working here? What hours?” Biggs asked.

  “Me? Well, I think you might find employees eager to work during the day rather than at night, so probably lunchtime.”

  Bullet tightened his hold on her. “She didn’t move back here to work at the bar.”

  “He’s not asking me to work here,” she said. “But I do enjoy being here. I love the people, and I get more time with you and your family. I think it’s a great place to work. It’s friendly, and sure, the crowd is rougher than what I’m used to, but they’re kind and funny, and—”

  “Stay,” Biggs said.

  Finlay startled. “Excuse me?”

  Biggs shrugged. “You’re already here. You know the customers. You’re the one coming up with the menus. You’re with our boy, like family. Stay. Work whatever hours you want.”

  “Work here?” Her mind zoomed through the idea. Working with Bullet was wonderful, and she’d meant all the things she’d said about enjoying the people. If she worked part-time, she could still do catering. She looked up at Bullet, who was frowning, and her stomach knotted up. “I…I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I haven’t had time to find a place to rent for my catering company. That’ll probably take me a while, so I really couldn’t commit…”

  “I don’t want Finlay giving up catering, and she’s not working nights at any bar,” Bullet said. He looked at his watch and whispered, “You’ve got to get finished, baby. You have to leave soon.”

  How could she have gotten so sidetracked? Her head was spinning with the offer, and with Bullet’s comments. He worked nights. Why didn’t he want her there?

  “I’m sorry, but I really do have to finish up,” she sai
d to Biggs, and went back to frosting the other tray of cookies. She mentally walked through the steps of turning the hard-boiled eggs into baby carriages, using deviled-egg mixture for the blankets and sausage slices for the baby’s faces, with chocolate sprinkles for the eyes. She could get it done in twenty minutes if she hurried.

  “Let me help.” Red went to the sink. “What can I do with the eggs?”

  “Thank you. If you can cut them into halves and remove the yolk, I can make the deviled-egg mixture and then slice those sausages.” She pointed to a tray of sausages.

  “I’ve got the sausages,” Dixie said, and grabbed a knife.

  “Thank you,” Finlay said.

  “Finlay, we don’t want you giving up catering, either,” Biggs said. “You can use this kitchen for your catering business, and as I said, work whatever hours you’d like.”

  Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head as she turned to face them again. Dixie nodded, smiling like it was the greatest idea ever. Bear and Bones were talking in hushed voices, but their agreement was obvious. Her mind reeled with possibilities.

  “I…” She looked at Bullet, but couldn’t read his expression. “What do you think?”

  He slid an arm around her shoulder, pulled her ear beside his mouth, and whispered, “No nights, lollipop. Please leave them open for us. And I don’t want you giving up your catering job. You love it too much.”

  Her heart swelled. “But you’re okay with it otherwise?”

  He nodded and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’m okay with whatever you want.”

  “Really?” she asked softly. “This is your place, and I know you didn’t want me here at first.”

  “I want you with me every second, baby.”

  “What do you say?” Biggs asked.

  Her heart was beating so fast. Bullet wanted to be with her, and they were offering her so much all at once. She forced herself to rein in her spinning emotions and think rationally.

  “It could be complicated,” she finally answered. “I wouldn’t want to let you guys down, but if I were the only cook, what if I got sick? What if I got hired to cater an afternoon event that was too good to pass up? It could put us all in an uncomfortable position.”

  Red’s hand stilled over the cutting board. “Uncomfortable position? Sweetheart, you’d be our saving grace. I don’t think any one of us wants to hire a crew to take over, or worry about managing people who aren’t part of our family.”

  “Yes, but customers need to know they can rely on what you’re offering. If you offer lunch, someone should be here to cook it, and if I get sick, I can’t be the one to do it.”

  Red and Biggs exchanged a knowing smile, one that Finlay wasn’t in on.

  “Sweetheart, this business isn’t successful because we run a tight ship,” Red explained. “Whiskey Bro’s has lasted this long because of the connections we create and the bond we have with the community. Trust, and those connections, are the very essence of this family business and what we all hoped to preserve when we looked at expanding. Having the right person holding it together is far more important than if you can serve lunch on a Friday.”

  “This is so much to process. Please don’t think I’m ungrateful, but can I take some time to think it over? To talk to Bullet in private?”

  “We’re in no hurry,” Biggs said.

  “But she is,” Bullet reminded her.

  Fifteen minutes later, Bullet had loaded up her van, the rain had stopped, and Finlay hugged everyone—including Bones—and promised to make a decision quickly.

  Bullet leaned into the van and kissed her. “You good? Know where you’re going?”

  “Yes. Thank you for your help. And, Bullet, if you don’t want me to work at the bar, that’s okay. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

  “I want you with me. I just don’t want my girl working nights. But during the day? That’s cool with me, babe. The closer you are, the more often I get to make out with you.” He nipped playfully at her neck. “Now, get out of here before I throw you in the back of the van and make you miss the baby shower.”

  “You can’t leave me with that thought in my head.” She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into another kiss. “My van has never been christened, so while you’re out riding, maybe you should think about all the things you’d like to do to me in it.”

  His eyes went coal black, and in her most innocent voice, she said, “Ta-ta, sweet man of mine. I must be leaving.”

  BULLET WATCHED FINLAY drive away. Then he stalked back into the kitchen, determined to demand a change in his hours.

  “Hey, B.” Dixie reached into a cabinet and handed him a pink box. “Finlay said to give this to you later, but I’m heading out in a sec.”

  Red and Dixie were watching him expectantly, and guilt swallowed him again. He couldn’t reduce his hours. He had to be there to protect them when they were waitressing. Motherfucker.

  “Open it,” Dixie urged.

  He opened the box, took one look at the heart-shaped tart with B + F written on it in blue and pink frosting, and said, “Fuck. I need to get out of here.” He turned to go outside and smacked into Bear’s chest. Without thinking, Bullet grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him off his feet.

  “What the hell, B?” Bear pushed from his grip, and Bullet released him. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

  “I can’t fucking do this anymore.” He paced by the door, gritting his teeth to keep from saying more.

  “Do what?” Red asked. “What’s got you so upset, baby?”

  Bullet glared at her. “Nothing.”

  “That’s the lyingest nothing I’ve ever heard,” she challenged.

  “It doesn’t matter. There’s no resolution.” He stormed out the door, and his family followed him out. He turned, ready to give them hell, but Biggs stood in front of the others, leaning on his cane, a barrier to absorb Bullet’s wrath. Bullet bit his tongue out of respect for his father.

  “Talk to me, son,” Biggs said. “You don’t have room to keep any more demons trapped inside you.”

  Bullet clenched his jaw.

  “You are one stubborn son of a bitch,” Biggs said. “Spit it out before it kills ya.”

  Bullet reached behind his neck with both hands and tipped his face up toward the sky, slamming his eyes shut. Never before had he wanted something so badly. He tried to fight it, tried to do the right thing and keep his damn mouth shut, for the sake of his family. But his love for Finlay was too strong, and the words flew fast and furious. “I can’t do this anymore, working until midnight five days a week, having no time off with Finlay. But I can’t cut my hours back. I’m fucked, and there’s no way out of it.”

  “About damn time,” Bear said under his breath.

  “What?” Dixie asked. “We were just talking about hours. You couldn’t have said something then?”

  Biggs held his hand up without turning, silencing her.

  Bullet glared at Dixie. “I can’t cut my hours. Who would protect you and Red?”

  “Protect us?” Dixie strode right past Biggs until she was in Bullet’s face. “Thought you didn’t want to be a hero?”

  “Dixie,” Red snapped.

  “No, I’m not going to shut up.” Dixie crossed her arms, holding Bullet’s stare.

  “I’m not anyone’s hero,” Bullet seethed.

  “Bullshit. You’re the very definition of a hero any way you look at it. The question is, whose hero do you want to be?”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Someone has to protect you and Red.”

  “Yeah?” Challenge rose in Dixie’s eyes. “Well, here’s a news flash. I can protect myself, and no one would dare mess with the wife of the president of the Dark Knights.”

  Bones and Bear approached, taking a stance on either side of Dixie. Arms crossed, heads held high. Fuck, he’d taught them too well. He just never thought he’d be the one facing them down.

  “She’s right, B. No one is going to screw wit
h them in our bar,” Bones said. “You’ve seen to that, Bullet. You’ve built iron bars around that place. You’ve threatened anyone who even thought about causing trouble. You’ve protected the people in that bar for years to come. That’s all you, B. You’ve given a lifetime to our family and then some. Don’t rob Finlay of the life you two deserve.”

  “You’ve got a girl now, bro,” Bear said. “You’re right to feel all churned up inside and to want to turn your life inside out for her. I know what that feels like. It hit me like a truck when I fell for Crystal, and it still does every damn time I see her. Go with that feeling, Bullet. You’re not getting any younger, and God knows how you suckered that gorgeous woman into your life, but don’t fuck it up out of some misplaced responsibility.”

  Bullet looked away, choked up with emotions.

  “Whose hero do you want to be?” Dixie asked again. “Mine and Mom’s? Or Finlay’s? I hope to God you choose the right one, because I’m pretty damn sick of you being my hero.” She waved her hand toward their other brothers and said, “That goes for all of y’all. I could use some space, and God knows getting Bullet out of the bar for a few hours at night would be a great start.” She smiled at Bullet and said, “I love you, but I’m overdosing on being protected lately.”

  Bullet shook his head. “Something happens to you or Red, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “The list of things you won’t forgive yourself for is already too long, Bullet. Don’t let losing Finlay be at the top of it,” Bones urged.

  “I’d give my life for her,” Bullet said honestly.

  “How about living your life with her, son?” Biggs stepped up beside Bones. “That’d be a much-deserved step in the right direction.”

  Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he said, “Thanks, Pop.”

  Biggs nodded, and Red came at Bullet with open arms. “My boy’s growing up.” She hugged him so tight it made him laugh.

  “Ma…”

  “Shush up, you big oaf,” she said. “Just let me be happy that another of my boys has found the other half of his heart.”

  Bullet’s phone rang in his pocket, and his mother released him as he pulled it out. Finlay’s name appeared on the screen, and he put the phone to his ear. “What’s wrong, babe?”