This Old Wind (Leanin' N Book 5)

by BA Tortuga

  “I appreciate it. He seems like a great kid.” Simon’s return grin was so genuine. So sweet.

  “He is, and you have a fan for life.” Stoney met Michael’s gaze. “I didn’t think he’d do it.”

  “I’m proud of him, man. Seriously.” Michael winked at Stoney, showing he got it. You had to be amazed at your kids when they did something brave or wonderful or both. He took one more bite of ice cream, then leaned back and stretched, trying to make room.

  “I think your belly is pooching out like a snake’s,” Ford teased.

  Simon peered at him. “Nah. Still flat.”

  He arched his back and stuck his belly out as far as he could. “Ta-da!”

  The girls squealed, Chloe coming to beat his tummy like a drum. “Silly, Daddy.”

  Haley barked, making herself heard, and they all cracked up again.

  “Y’all finish up now. We have to help Mr. Geoff clean up. Can I keep this in the freezer for tomorrow?”

  “You can.” Geoff gave him a broad wink, and he had a feeling his sundae would shrink and some of the goo would just magically disappear.

  That would be a blessing, because, damn, this thing was something today. Tomorrow it would be horrific.

  He winked back, because he had to, then got up to help the clean-up crew, ignoring Stoney’s protest. By the time they were done, Simon was asleep leaning on his hand, Haley snoozing at his feet. Silly dog. Silly man.

  “Come on, y’all. Let’s get Mr. Simon home; then we’ll crash and watch TV. Mickey, grab the dog. Chloe, get two waters and a Dr Pepper.”

  “Yessir.” The girls spun into action, so he put a hand on Simon’s shoulder, shaking so gently. He didn’t want to hurt Simon any more than he was already aching.

  “Come on and go to bed, huh? Did you get enough to eat, or would you like a plate for your room?”

  “Could I take some bread? The rolls were so good.” Simon blinked hard.

  “Sure. Come on, honey.” It took seconds for Geoff to pack up a baggie and hand it over. “Let’s hasta. Girls?”

  “Coming! Come on, Haley! You need to potty before bed.”

  He grinned. They thought of that dog as a sister.

  Simon eased up, going a little pale but looking pretty steady on his feet. That was good; Michael didn’t think he could carry the man.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay, man? Can you manage alone?” They had a pull-out couch Simon could crash on.

  “I—I don’t know. My mom will show up at some point, and then there will be yelling.” That ghost of a smile was full of irony.

  “I have a pull-out. Come on, you can rest at mine and not be alone.” It was only right, after all.

  “Sh—oot, I don’t want to be trouble.”

  Chloe tilted her head but didn’t demand a dollar.

  “You won’t be any. You might get woke up occasionally by a dog…”

  “I love dogs.” Simon leaned when he slung an arm around the guy. “Thanks.”

  “Sure, buddy. Come on. Let’s go.” Together they toodled back to the cabin, and Michael let them in. He eased Simon down in the chair. “Okay, ladies, let’s get those extra pillows and blankets out of the dresser.”

  He could sleep on the sofa and let Simon have the bed, rest hard. The more he thought about it, the better that sounded. He made up the couch, noticing how plush the little mattress was. So much better than when he was a kid staying at his aunt’s house in Texas.

  “Let me grab my toothbrush and you can get into the bed. I’ll put the girls to sleep and crash in here.”

  “No, really. I can sleep in here.” Simon had been dozing, but now he smiled at Michael. “I appreciate it. I just—I feel like I ruined everything, and being alone I would beat myself up.”

  “If you want, we can watch television for a second, but first I need to get thing one and thing two to bed.”

  “Sure. I’ll just sit.” Simon winked, looking pretty pale.

  “Cool.” Jesus. Weird. Bedtime was short and sweet this time—the girls were tired, and the sugar crash had started. They were happy to cuddle in with a book and a kiss.

  When he got back, Simon hit the head real quick, then it was like slumber-party time. They both crawled onto the couch for TV time.

  He handed Simon the remote, not really knowing what to say, if he should say anything.

  “Thanks.” Surprisingly, Simon put on the British baking show Michael watched with the girls.

  He chuckled softly. “We all watch that every Saturday night.”

  “Yeah? Is it okay? You won’t be bored?”

  “It’s perfect. Nice and thoughtless. Do you cook?” When would the man cook, for fuck’s sake?

  “Not often. I mean, I conspire with the caterer sometimes, but I always wanted to take a class or two.”

  “Both girls want to take cake decorating classes next summer. I told them we could all go together.” They had a class at this little bakery in Aspen, focused on kids.

  “Neat! You’re a good dad, man. Really.” Simon relaxed, shoulder against his.

  “I try.” He wanted that to be his one big truth.

  “They adore you. That much is clear.” Simon shook his head. “Meanwhile, I think my sister will kill me later.”

  “She was okay, by the end. She looked beautiful in her dress.” Did that help?

  “Yeah? Are there pictures? I mean, that she can have?” Simon looked so damn sad, and he felt bad for him. Accidents happened, and the universe didn’t give a shit if someone had other plans.

  “There are. And a video. They even danced.”

  “That’s good. Country, right? She wanted country.”

  “Country, absolutely.” He didn’t think she’d even heard him. She’d been staring into her new husband’s eyes and smiling and getting ready for the rest of her life. Hell, she’d left Simon here to deal with tomorrow’s fallout, and Lord knew there would be plenty of that. The rest of the family was bound to show up sooner or later, and there would be hell to pay.

  “Cool. You always were easy on the ears.”

  “Thanks. I play a couple dozen weddings a year now.” Because I’m lame.

  “Do you like it?” Simon reached over, stroking his hand, playing with his fingers. He tried not to make anything of it; Simon was a tactile guy, always touching something.

  “Playing weddings?” He shrugged. Like was a strong word. It was a gig. An excuse to get up with the thing he’d wanted most in the world. “It’s a tax write-off.”

  “And making music,” Simon said softly.

  “Sure.” He would make music regardless, but getting money for it made him feel real. “So, is it amazing? You got everything you wanted.”

  “It has been.” Simon shrugged. “I’m getting old, I think.”

  “Shit, you’re still a baby.” Kind of like him, except he earned ten years per kid.

  “Tired, then?” Simon shook his head. “I love my life. I don’t love some of the people I’ve allowed to help make it, I guess.”

  “I can see that. That’s a common story, I guess?” What did he know?

  “So much in this business. When things get big, people change.” Simon rubbed his chest with his free hand. “I got so tired. I know I sound like an ass.”

  “No. No, does it hurt bad? Did they give you anything to take?”

  “They gave me some Tylenol. The strong stuff. I don’t do opiates much.” Yeah. Simon had been a cheap date back when.

  “Well, those deep bruises hurt like a bitch, I know. Why don’t you try and rest.”

  “You should go to bed, honey.” Simon was still holding his hand, though.

  “I’m not making you sleep on the sofa. That’s cruel.”

  “Nah. ’S comfy.” Simon was so cute when he was sleepy.

  “Come to bed, dork.” He stood and held out one hand. “Seriously.”

  “Okay.” Simon stood slowly, moving a little like an old man.

  “Thank you.” He brought Si
mon into the bed, sitting him down and helping him with his fancy biker boots.

  “Oh God. I just couldn’t imagine trying to take those off.”

  “No worries. You want me to get your jeans?” Because that’s not awkward. At all.

  “No, I got it.”

  Oh, thank God.

  “Good deal. I’m going to get my toothbrush. Get comfortable.” He escaped into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and washed his face. Simon was in his bed, and it wasn’t for anything like he’d fantasized about over the years. It was kinda sad, actually.

  Fantasies could really be a catch-22.

  He crept out of the bathroom, heading for the little front room. He’d have a beer, put in his earphones, and listen to music loud.

  “You can stay, you know.” Simon was half asleep but holding out a hand for him.

  “You don’t mind?” It would be so much more comfortable than the sofa.

  “Don’t be a dork.” Simon’s soft laughter still had the power to make chill bumps rise up on his skin. “I’m way too sore to molest you.”

  “No one’s molested me in years, man.” He was too busy surviving for that.

  “Bummer.” Simon yawned so hard his jaw cracked audibly. “I hear you, though.”

  “Sleep, man.” He got rid of the jeans, pulled on a soft pair of sweats, then went to grab the extra pillows and blankets.

  By the time he curled up in the bed, Simon lay sound asleep, lashes dark against his pale cheeks. God, he was pretty.

  “I remember our tour together,” he mouthed. “You were both perfect.”

  Michael closed his eyes, and if there were tears on his cheeks, no one was awake to tell, not even him.

  Chapter 7

  Simon woke up feeling warm and safe, held in a pair of strong arms. Damn, what an amazing dream. He loved this one, and it was usually Michael that starred in it. He really had fond memories of that summer.

  He opened his eyes, coming face-to-face with a dream. Jesus, it was Michael—pretty and blond, square jaw and broad shoulders, tiny pink nipples.

  Simon blinked, not sure what to do. He wanted to scream with happiness, but his chest hurt enough to say that was a bad idea if he wanted to be able to stay where he was.

  Michael had aged well, the man tanned with amazing laugh lines just beginning to form.

  Such a cowboy. He did love that look.

  Michael’s eyes cracked open, then closed again. “Dreaming.”

  “Nope. I mean, maybe you are, but not about me.”

  Michael frowned, head tilting, and then his eyes flew open. “Oh. Oh! Hey. How are you feeling?”

  “Better.” He was sore, but not nearly as bad as it had been.

  “Good. Good.” Michael sat up, blinking slowly. “You need anything?”

  “At some point I’ll need to hit the head, but right now I’m good.” Well, he’d been good. “Come on, babe. Lie down. Rest.”

  Michael blinked at him, slow and sleepy, and it took nothing to ease the sweet body back into the bed.

  Oh, yeah. Thank goodness. He wiggled closer, letting Michael’s warmth seep back into him. He loved that solid heat, the steady heartbeat against his arm. This was going to have to be enough to last him in his dreams another long while, so Simon reveled in it. Michael had become sort of an ideal in his dreams, along with Rhiannon, which was kind of a whoa-sobering thought.

  How could she possibly be gone? She’d been the bright light shining from the steady, stable base Michael had given her.

  He shook his head a tiny bit. It didn’t seem possible.

  “You okay?” Michael asked. “You need me to move?”

  “No, please. I’m being greedy, but I want to hold you.”

  “Okay. It’s nice. Resting with you.”

  “It is. You smell good.” Wow. Suave.

  “Stetson. The girls buy it for me every Christmas. Every. Single. Christmas.”

  “Yeah? That’s kinda hilarious.” He chuckled.

  “Yes. My momma never stops them, so…” Michael winked, suddenly looking so young.

  “Well, at least you know you won’t run out.” On Michael it smelled like a two-hundred-dollar-a-bottle scent.

  “No. Never.” Michael chuckled softly. “My goddamn soap is Stetson.”

  He got tickled by that and started laughing, holding Michael’s shoulders. Oh fuck.

  It ached, but nowhere near as much as he’d thought it would. It was more a deep-muscle thing, like a bad workout.

  “Better?”

  “Yeah, actually I am. I’ll have a Tylenol with breakfast, but I’m okay.” Not that he wanted to move.

  “Good deal. I have to admit, I was shocked as shit to see you here. Slamming into my truck…”

  “I’m so sorry.” He wanted to kiss that smiling mouth so badly.

  “Shit happens. I’m sorry you missed your sister’s wedding.”

  “Oh God, me too. I need to make it up to her when she gets back.” For real. He needed to really put his head to it.

  “So…your folks don’t approve?”

  “Of what?” He frowned, trying to follow.

  “Your sister’s guy? They didn’t come…”

  “Oh.” Simon made a face. “They don’t approve of the venue. Everyone—literally everyone but me is in Nashville. And they had a delayed flight. I mean, it’s no excuse, is it? Because they should have been here yesterday, the day before. His parents stayed in Aspen, even.”

  “The venue? I don’t understand. It’s beautiful here.”

  “It’s a ranch.” Simon waved a hand. “It’s kind of like they don’t want to remember where they came from. They wanted her to have it all in Nashville.” Jeez, they were all jerks.

  “Bah. This place is great. I bring the girls all the time.”

  “I haven’t had time to explore, but the food sure is good.” Simon smiled at Michael. It was gorgeous up here, and the people seemed exceptionally cool. He could see why Stevie liked it.

  “It is. I’m their accountant, so I can always find a way to come up.”

  His eyes widened so much they pulled at the corners. “You’re an accountant?”

  Michael turned a painful red, but he didn’t look away for a second. “I am. Rhi died from a blood clot when the babies were forty-five hours old. I had to figure out how to work and keep them. My mom put me to work as a bookkeeper. I took classes online and got my degree. Now I’m an accountant for a number of ranches and small businesses around the Roaring Fork Valley.”

  “That’s good, right? I just—you surprised me, that’s all.” He stroked Michael’s chest.

  “Yeah. I can’t support two girls as a part-time wedding singer.” Michael winked at him, but that smile was bittersweet. “I was never going to be a star.”

  “You’re amazing, though. I love your voice.” He couldn’t imagine Michael not singing.

  Michael chuckled. “Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.”

  “Eh. I’m starting to wonder if I ever had anything more than looking good in a pair of leather pants.” Simon rolled his eyes dramatically, knowing it was asinine, but his newest album project was just…stalled. He was busier than a one-legged butt kicker, but he wasn’t getting near as much done. He wanted to make music, but he was getting tired of being Simon the Rock Star.

  Everyone should be careful what they wished for.

  “Aw, hey. You’re stunning, and your last album was amazing.”

  “Yeah? What was your favorite song?” Half the time, people couldn’t name one.

  “‘She’s my Star.’” Michael didn’t even have to think.

  “Oh.” He blinked hard. “Thank you. I wrote that one.”

  “I know. I mean, I looked it up to make sure, but I knew.” Michael reached out for him, and then the bedroom door opened.

  “Daddy? Daddy, we’re dressed. Can we walk Haley?”

  “Sure, kiddo. Let me come look at the harness, okay?” Michael kissed his cheek, surprising him, then rolled out
of bed, still far too dressed.

  “We’re hungry too. Can we have breakfast soon?”

  “We can. I’ll call down and see what’s up. Y’all stay in the dog-walking area.”

  “Okay, Daddy. Morning, Mr. Simon!”

  He bit back a chuckle. “Morning.”

  Michael headed out of the bedroom, and Simon heard the rattling of a leash. He stretched, then rolled over gently to grab the phone and call up to the kitchen. Geoff had told him just to dial nine.

  “Good morning, Michael! How are you?”

  “Hey. Uh, it’s Simon. Is this Geoff?”

  “Nope. Tiny. What can I do for you?”

  Simon fiddled with the sheet. “Do you know what Michael’s girls like best for breakfast? I’d love to treat them.”

  “Oh yes. One huevos a la Mexicana, one pecan waffle, and one chocolate chip happy face pancake.”

  “Okay then. Is this something you guys can do this morning?” Wow. Those girls were already so self-aware. “And something Michael likes for us?” Simon usually just had coffee.

  “Oh, Michael is the pecan waffle. No question. Do you want double of those? And are you a coffee man?”

  “Yeah, and some eggs, scrambled hard, please. I need a little protein.”

  “You got it,” Tiny said. “I’ll send some bacon too.”

  “Bacon is always good.” He loved food, even if it didn’t love him sometimes.

  “Hell yes. Bacon is the path to heaven.”

  “I like you, Tiny. Thanks. Can you charge it to the wedding? It’s my tab.”

  “Sure. Sure man, no problem. I’ll leave Geoff a note.”

  “Thank you.” He hung up, smiling, feeling good he’d been able to do something for Michael. It had been incredibly kind, from inviting him in so he wouldn’t be alone, to offering him the bed.

  He probably shouldn’t insert himself into breakfast, but— Shit, did his parents honestly not approve of Stevie’s guy? It had never occurred to him. Jesse was a good guy.

  The simple fact was, Simon was busy.

  His folks might have their own set of issues, but he’d meant to make everything perfect for Stevie. He grabbed his phone and dialed her again.

  “Look, if you’re going to give me shit, I’m going to block your number.” She sounded stressed-out.