I round the corner and offer a hand to the old man. “Do you need help outside?”
Groaning as he gets to his feet, he takes both of my hands in his. “I’m going to be fine. Have a blessed day, sweetheart.”
“You too. Enjoy your breakfast.”
“It’s the best part of my day.”
I take a quick step and open the door for him. As he heads to his truck, I move to the window and watch him make his way off the stoop and through the gravel. Rummaging around the floorboard, he retrieves his keys. He hobbles into the front seat, adjusts his hat, and pulls out.
“Was someone here?” Walker asks from behind me. “I thought I heard the door a couple of times.”
Giving myself a moment to adjust before turning around, I scramble for an angle to talk myself out of this jam. I’m sure he’s not going to be thrilled with this bit of news, but I’m just as sure I didn’t have a choice other than to help them both.
“I was going to ask you,” I say, turning around. “How much would a used tire cost for my car?”
Furrowing his brow, he shrugs. “Depends on what size you have.”
“Um … the size of a Ford Ranger, I think.”
Walker crosses his arms in front of him, the muscles in his thick forearms flexing. “Funny. I didn’t have you pegged as driving a Ranger.”
“Funny. How do you know me well enough to know what I would drive?”
“I don’t,” he admits. “I’d say that a used tire would run you thirty-five bucks or so.”
He moseys across the room and stands next to me, so close I can barely think. He’s a step from my personal bubble, his cologne knowing no bounds and filling it with his heated, working man scent that has me shivering despite the heat.
“Looks like I need to call Kip,” Walker notes.
“Why?”
“Someone stole Dave Cooper’s truck. A Ranger,” he adds, watching me carefully.
Gulping, I take a step away. “I have another question. What would it cost to repair a car that hit a deer?”
He’s not amused. Storming across the room, he swings open the door. “Where is MaryAnn Maylor’s van?”
“Well, she was here,” I say, taking a couple of steps to the corner. “And so was Dave …”
His face doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even make an attempt to speak, just stares at me in a mixture of disbelief and disdain.
“Can you add their bills onto my tab?” I cringe, waiting for his eruption.
“You let them take their cars without paying?” he booms.
“No, I didn’t. I mean, I did,” I correct. “But it’s okay. I’ll pay for them.”
He walks in a circle, shaking his head. “Dave’s tire is about thirty-five bucks. But MaryAnn’s van was about fifteen hundred.” He stops and looks at me. “You have that in your pocket?”
“No, but I’ll get it.”
He flashes me a glare before heading back to the desk. One look at it and he’s back to me. “And I suppose you just messed this up too?”
“Oh, no. That was a mess before,” I shoot back. “I looked for the invoices, trying to do you a favor—”
“I didn’t ask you for a favor. I asked you to come by and apologize for fucking up my truck, not waltz in here like you own the damn place and cost me another two grand.”
“Fifteen thirty-five,” I correct, hoping for the best.
I think he’s going to explode. He turns away, his back heaving as he fills his lungs with air. The sound of it whooshing out of his body gushes through the room.
“What was I supposed to do?” I ask when he turns to face me.
There’s a weakness in his glare, one that tells me I can make him see the light. I see this in my brother Graham every so often when he’s trying to nix some idea I have. It’s an opening, a small window of opportunity to appeal to their humanity and get them to come around.
I stand in front of the desk, game face on. “I felt sorry for them. Dave needed to go have breakfast with his wife who has Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t even know he’s there every day. How sad is that? And MaryAnn walked all the way over here and it was like two miles with two babies.”
This seems to weaken his resolve.
“Why didn’t she call? Peck would’ve gone and picked her up,” he says, the irritation in his tone a little less prevalent.
“I don’t know,” I rush, trying not to lose momentum. “But she was stressed out, her husband’s working doubles, and they have a sick baby. So sue me for having a heart if you’re that much of a dick. But I’ll pay for all of it.”
He fiddles with the papers in front of him, the lines on his forehead melting away with each passing second. The room settles, the only sounds the beating of my heart and the papers he’s pretending to deal with.
“Don’t act like you know what any of that is,” I kid.
“It might look like a mess, but I actually do know where everything is. Most everything, anyway,” he grumbles. Retrieving two pieces of paper, one missing the bottom corner, he holds them in the air. “These are the invoices you were looking for.”
“I’ll take care of them.”
He sets them back down and leans on the desk. His brown eyes are filled with something I haven’t seen before, something that makes me feel like everything over the past few days comes down to this moment, like if I fall, I may never recover. Only it’s not a fall from a ledge or a fall from grace, it’s a fall into those chocolatey eyes. It’s a delicious and yet uncomfortable feeling and all I can do is shift my weight from one foot to the other and hold on tight.
“How am I supposed to take your money when you won’t take anyone else’s?” he asks.
“One is not dependent on the other.”
He looks over my shoulder and laughs. “Brace yourself.”
“Why?”
“My Nana is two seconds from walking through the door.”
The chime hits on demand and the entire feel of the room shifts.
“Walker Elder Gibson, what do you think you’re doing?” The door latches closed as she sees me. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. Are you busy?”
“No, Nana,” he says, his chin dipping with a shy smile. “I’m never busy. I just come here to hang out all day every day.”
“Don’t give me that …”
She’s in her mid-sixties, if I were guessing, wearing a white dress with tiny blue flowers. Her hair is gunmetal silver and set in a way that makes me wonder if she still visits the beauty shop on Saturday morning like the little old ladies in Savannah do. Her belly is round and in her arms is a wooden picnic basket.
She pauses in the middle of the room, giving me a quick once-over with the finesse of a professional. “I didn’t mean to walk in on the middle of anything,” she alludes, smiling at me. “Should I come back another time?”
“Stop it,” Walker hisses before I can respond. He crosses the room and plants a kiss on her cheek. “Did you bring me lunch? I heard you made fried chicken yesterday.”
“And you would’ve known that yesterday had you had your fanny in a pew at Holy Hills like you should’ve,” she sighs. “I wasn’t going to bring you any, then I prayed about it and thought maybe you had a good excuse.” She looks at me out of the corner of her eye, a grin tipping up the edge of her lips. “She’s awfully pretty, Walker, but she’s no excuse to miss out on Jesus.”
“Nana!”
Before I know what’s happening, my laughter fills the room. “You tell him, Mrs. Gibson,” I say, then cover my mouth with one hand.
“First, call me Nana,” she corrects. “Second, don’t cover your mouth. Women around here have to speak up or we’re never heard. Remember that.”
“I will,” I say, relieved.
“And you are?”
“I’m Sienna,” I say, offering a hand her way. She gives it a firm, yet gentle shake. “It’s nice to meet you. But, for the record, I’m not his excuse for missing church.” Peering over my shoulder, I give Walker a little smile
. “How could you disappoint this woman and miss church?”
Licking his lips, he’d say something altogether different if Nana weren’t standing here. That I know for sure. But she is, so he cocks a brow. “You better stay out of this, Slugger.”
“Now, I didn’t mean anything by what I said,” Nana says, either not paying attention or choosing to ignore the look her grandson and I are exchanging. “It’s just that I don’t ask nothing of this boy, or any of ‘em, for that matter, except they get their behinds to church on Sunday and come over for dinner most of them. That’s it. I’m not gonna be alive much longer and I—”
“Oh, you are too,” Walker sighs, cutting her off. “And I’m sorry about yesterday. I wasn’t feeling good.”
“You seem to be feeling better now,” she points out.
“Yeah, well …” He looks at me through the longest lashes I’ve ever seen on a man. “I’ll be there this week. Promise.”
“You better.” She hands him the picnic basket. “If I’d known you had company, I would’ve brought you extra. Speaking of which, is this your girlfriend?”
“Nana …”
“Oh, no,” I say hurriedly, not wanting her to get the wrong impression. “I’m just here to settle up some business.”
“He’ll be fair and he does good work,” she says, smiling proudly at Walker. “He’s a good, good boy.”
Walker’s cheeks turn a soft shade of pink as he switches the basket in his hands. “Let’s get back to the chicken. There’s more you didn’t bring? What are you saving it for?”
“For my grandsons who show up to church,” she winks, heading to the door. “Sienna, make sure he shares with you. I’m not known around these parts for my fried chicken for nothing.”
“Will do. Nice to meet you, Nana.”
“Same here, honey.”
“See ya, Nana,” Walker calls after her.
He sets the basket on the counter. There’s a sudden awkwardness, a void that needs filled and I don’t know with what or how. I can’t decipher the look on his face or the way my stomach is all twisted in knots. Despite not really wanting to leave, it’s the only choice. It’s the responsible choice. It’s the one I don’t want to make but do anyway.
“Let me pay you what I have and I’ll bring the rest by later,” I say.
His brows shoot to the ceiling as he fiddles with the edge of the basket. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Of course I’m going to worry about it.”
“The damage is done.”
“And I want to fix it,” I insist.
“Are you still arguing over Daisy?” Peck, the light-haired guy from the other night, comes from the garage bay, a huge grin on his face. “Just take her money and give it to me.”
“Fuck off,” Walker laughs.
“Ah, Nana brought you lunch after all,” Peck notes, knocking on the top of the basket. “It’s sickening how favored you are.”
The two of them spar back and forth, neither of them serious but both of them trying to win the argument. Walker fills him in on the Dave and MaryAnn drama and Peck continues to just give him shit about it. It’s hysterical and reminds me a lot of my brothers back home. I didn’t realize how much I missed this feeling of camaraderie, this sensation of family.
“I have an idea,” Peck says, bringing me back to the present. “We have a lot of shit that needs done around here. Since y’all can’t agree on money, why don’t you just stick around and help out some?”
“Because she’s not a fucking maid and that’s what we need,” Walker barks immediately, scowling at his cousin.
“Wait,” I say, looking between the two. Walker isn’t going to let me pay him back and I know he can’t afford to be out that much. I can’t live with costing him that much either. “That’s not a bad idea, really. I mean, I’m not your maid and I’m not cleaning that filthy bathroom.”
“That bathroom hasn’t been cleaned in years,” Peck sighs.
“I can believe that,” I say, scrunching my nose. “But I wouldn’t be averse to sweeping some of this mud up and maybe organizing that desk, because it’s driving me nuts.”
“It’s not necessary,” Walker says.
“It’s totally necessary,” Peck counters. “We were just talking about it before you got here. Well, the cleaning part. Not the you part. Although …”
Walker looks at me, the pools of chocolate dragging me in just like they did the other night. I’m not quite sure if he likes me or loathes me, but either way, I can’t look anywhere else.
“I’m technically on vacation for a couple of weeks and am probably going to leave town after that anyway. I’m going to have some time on my hands,” I point out. “I really don’t mind working off what I owe. Heck, it might even be good for me and I know it would be good for you.”
“I want it to be good for me,” Peck deadpans.
Walker rolls his eyes at Peck. “You sure?” he asks me.
“I mean, if you don’t want me …”
“We want you,” Peck jumps in, standing between me and Walker. “We. Want. You. I want you, anyway. If he doesn’t, I do. Let’s make that clear.”
Walker shoves Peck’s shoulder, making Peck laugh.
“If you want to, that’s fine,” Walker says, once Peck makes his way back into the shop bay. “But I’ll pay you. You aren’t helping out around here for free.”
“You aren’t paying me,” I toss back. “This is to work off the damage and today’s freebies. What time do we start?”
He twists his lips into a hesitant grin. “I have a feeling you’re going to show up whenever you want, so we open at eight. The rest is up to you.”
It would be so easy to stay, to linger beneath his lopsided smile. I could pull up a chair and fix us both plates of Nana’s fried chicken and listen to this gravelly voice tease me, grumble, whatever he likes, all day. Sometimes, though, the right option isn’t the easiest one. Sometimes, it’s the hardest.
“See you then,” I say.
Before he can get in the last word, I head to the door. Without looking back, I tug it open and make myself walk away from Walker Gibson.
Five
Walker
Papers flutter against the cork board, held in place by various thumbtacks, nails, and an occasional toothpick with the foil at the end that Machlan uses in Crave’s famous cheeseburgers. There’s nothing particularly interesting tonight. A coon dog that went missing out by the lake and a carpenter from Merom looking for help. Otherwise, it’s just a bunch of jokes, shift schedules for the factory, and some pictures from when a couple of the Illinois Legends football players were in a while back.
Mach works behind the bar, wiping down the bottles that line the counter below the oversized mirror. He’s the youngest out of us all. He shares my dark hair and a little above average height, but he’s more like our sister in that he can be a hard nut to crack. Things are right or wrong with Machlan, and he’s not above doling out justice when it’s deserved. A time or two this has put him into spots with Kip since he took the position of Sheriff.
As if on cue, Mach leans against the bar across from me. “Blaire called this morning.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to make sure I got my bartender license renewed. Apparently it was on her calendar as a ‘to-do’ item,” he grins. “How does our sister even know when it renews? I mean, I wouldn’t have known if my accountant didn’t remind me last week, but I pay her for that shit.”
“You know Blaire,” I say, peeling at the label of the beer bottle I just finished. “She just likes holding it over our heads that we need her. It’s her way of feeling relevant.”
“I think that fancy corner office in Chicago should make her feel relevant.”
“But to us?” I ask. “If she wasn’t our older sister, would we even give a fuck that she’s a lawyer with some hotshot firm? What do we care about law degrees?”
“Lance cares. He’d love to find some chick who could moan eight-sy
llable words as she got off.”
Laughing, I lean back in my chair while Machlan heads down the bar to refill a customer. He pauses long enough to have a quick conversation, making the guy I haven’t seen before feel welcome, but doesn’t hover.
No one sits at the far end of the bar to chitchat. They’re not even really there for the beer. They’re there to get away from something, maybe even everything. Then again, maybe the majority of people in a bar are there for that purpose.
I mean, I am.
Crave was my last-ditch effort to rid myself of a certain woman with the most aggravatingly irresistible vibe. A woman I’d love to fuck until she can’t respond with her quick comebacks anymore. Until all she can say is my name.
My phone glows on the bar-top. Swiping it on, I lift it to my ear. “Were your ears burning?”
“Should they have been?” Blaire asks.
“Machlan was saying you called him today and now my phone rings. Are you missing us, big sister?” I tease.
“Hardly,” she scoffs. Despite the gruff, I hear her smile. “Just thought I’d check in with you guys. I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“That’s because you’re too good for us these days.”
“Damn right I am,” she jokes. “I had a case end today that I thought was going to kill me. I might sleep for a week now.”
“You will not.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I just took on another case this afternoon.” She unloads a slew of put-downs in a very ladylike fashion, the words muffled as a car honks in the distance. “Sorry about that,” she says, coming back to the line. “Some asshole didn’t understand how crosswalks work. So what are you doing?”
“Drinking a beer.”
“Do you ever do anything fun?”
“All the time,” I deadpan.
“You’re a liar.”
“Don’t start on me, Blaire,” I warn, resting my elbows against the counter. “I don’t want to hear your shit.”
“You have to hear it from someone, and Lord knows neither of our brothers is going to give you sage advice.”
Gibson Boys Box Set Page 4