Must Be Wright (The Wrights Book 3)

by Skye Jordan

  “I hope you’re planning on taking this home,” she said, “because I don’t cook enough to need any of it, and I don’t have room for it either.”

  “Just making sure I have everything I need.” He smiled at Miranda, but Gypsy could see the stress and fatigue beneath. “Are you up for chicken fried steak?”

  “And grits,” Belle yelled from the living room. “And green beans.”

  “Grits,” Cooper imitated. “Green beans.”

  “I’m with them,” Miranda said. “Count me in.”

  Gypsy lifted her hands out to her sides. Her world was spiraling. She shot a look at Miranda. “No.” Then to Wyatt. “No. I have work to do.

  “When I promise a lady dinner,” Wyatt said, “I provide dinner. Since you won’t go out with me, I’m improvising. My guys tell me I’m good at that.”

  “I bet they’re not the only ones.”

  “That jealous streak of yours is showing again.” Heat slid through his voice, and after Gypsy’s talk with Miranda, she was sure her sister heard it too.

  “Do you even know how to cook?” Gypsy asked. “You’d better not break something, like my stove or my fire alarm or—”

  “It’s all good. I love cooking shows. I watch them to decompress when I’m on the road. There’s something so soothing about the linear order of it all.”

  “You watch cooking shows? That hardly means you know how to cook.” Gypsy’s stress meter ramped up. “I don’t want you using my kitchen as a test laboratory.”

  Wyatt glanced over his shoulder toward Miranda. “Why don’t you get your sister to sit her butt down while the kids and I make supper? Cooper, Belle, get in here.”

  “Oh my God.” Gypsy’s mind filled with chaos. “No way.”

  “A cook needs his sous chefs,” Wyatt said.

  Miranda pulled her out of the kitchen. “If you’re not cooking, you’re in the way. That’s what Jack always tells me.”

  “Amen,” Wyatt said. “Why don’t you get to that paperwork you’re always complaining about? This shouldn’t take more than an hour. Miranda…” He lifted his chin toward another grocery bag. “I picked up some nice wine. Gypsy thinks she likes beer better, but that’s only because she hasn’t had the really good stuff. You two open a bottle.”

  “Stop bossing us around in my house.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Miranda said, searching the bags. “He can boss me toward wine anytime.”

  That made Wyatt laugh.

  “I have had the good stuff,” Gypsy added. “And I still prefer beer.”

  “Don’t worry, I picked up two six-packs of your favorite IPA,” Wyatt said. “Picked up something chocolate for dessert too.”

  Gypsy’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He’d been paying a lot more attention at the bar during her chats with the locals than she realized.

  Belle and Cooper ran in from the living room and chased each other around the kitchen. Giggles wafted into the air, and Wyatt and Miranda laughed.

  “Hey, guys, stop.” Gypsy raised her voice to be heard over the commotion. “We’re cooking. There’s knives and a stove and—”

  “Good Lord.” Wyatt stopped what he was doing, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and forcibly turned Gypsy toward the banquet they used as a table. “Chill out, sugar. I’ve got this.” He pushed her to a seat and gave her a warning look. “Now, stay put, or no dessert for you.”

  The way he said “no dessert for you” made it sound like chocolate wasn’t the only thing he had in mind. Despite her stress over the situation, Gypsy’s body responded with a very affirmative, Yes, please.

  Miranda sat across from Gypsy with a bottle of wine and brought along their empty wineglasses. To Wyatt, she said, “I’ve got her.”

  She blew her hair out of her face, glanced at the kids, the counter, and back to Wyatt. “You’re cleaning up.”

  He put his hands up in surrender. “You drive a hard bargain.”

  Miranda was already pouring wine when Wyatt returned to the kitchen. Gypsy’s gaze hung on his wide shoulders and the way his ass filled out his jeans. She vowed to keep their relationship professional and her fantasies to herself, but there wasn’t anything she could do about her body’s simmering reaction to him.

  “Better drink some wine.” Miranda brought Gypsy’s gaze back to the table. “If he catches you staring at his ass, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Shut up,” she said under her breath before she picked up the wine and drank.

  The rich Merlot flooded her mouth with pleasure. It was smooth, with a nice finish. She still liked beer better, but this wasn’t bad.

  She cringed as she watched Wyatt slide two stools up the counter facing away from Gypsy and Miranda and plop a kid on each. Then she watched Wyatt give Belle eggs to crack into a bowl and handed Cooper the bread crumbs to open and pour into Tupperware. Wyatt pulled a baking dish from a cabinet and unpackaged the steaks.

  She sighed and shook her head. “My kitchen will never be the same.”

  Once Wyatt and the kids were all in the flow, he started singing. Just a hum at first as he opened a few cabinets, pulled out measuring cups and assorted pantry items. Then he murmured a few lines to one of his newest songs, and heat tingled in Gypsy’s heart.

  She’d never admit it to him, but the sound of him singing made her head swim in the clouds and her heart twist into knots. She loved everything about his music—the words, the melodies, his voice, his performance.

  But what she admired most about him was the way he could drop into the bar and act like a nobody-local, picking up conversations with other regulars as if he wasn’t one of the most famous men in country music right now.

  Belle’s voice joined his, startling Gypsy back to the moment. She may not have inherited Wyatt’s talent, but she damn well knew his songs, word for word. When Cooper banged a wooden spoon against the counter to the tune, Gypsy’s air leaked from her lungs. She planted her elbow on the table, closed her eyes, and dropped her head into her hand.

  “Yeah,” Miranda murmured with a smile in her voice. “You’re fucked. May as well just give in.”

  “Don’t even.” Gypsy lifted her head. There was no way anyone wouldn’t find this scene crazy sweet. Belle measured things and added them to a dish, where Cooper stirred them together.

  “If I were single,” Miranda said, “I’d be all over that.”

  “If you were a single mom, you’d stay as far away from that as possible.”

  Cooper was telling Wyatt about the camp Gypsy had promised him. “It’s superhero camp. I get to go because I’m a big boy now. I pee-pee in the potty.”

  Wyatt chuckled. “That’s a pretty big deal. I sometime struggle with that myself.”

  Miranda started laughing, and Gypsy reached across the table and hit her arm. “Don’t encourage him.”

  “What do you do at superhero camp?” Wyatt asked while his hands were busy breading the steak.

  “We wear masks and capes, and we get to be any superhero we want.”

  “Like lightning bunny or robo rooster?”

  Cooper whooped with laughter, making Gypsy laugh too. “Noooo,” he drew out the word. “That’s just silly.”

  “Belle, let’s get your hands dirty.” Wyatt stood behind Belle, his huge hands over her tiny ones as he guided her in breading a steak. “Good job. Your turn, Coop.”

  Belle and Cooper traded places.

  “Wow.” Miranda’s wrist made a small circle, swirling the wine in her glass, watching the admittedly mesmerizing scene in the kitchen. “He’d make a great addition to the family.”

  Time to change the subject. “The only addition I’m interested in is another cousin for Coop. When are you and Jack getting on that?”

  “We’re working on it.”

  “Really?”

  She grinned. “Really.”

  “Aw, that’s awesome.” The sweetness of the idea of another baby in their family eased the stress in Gypsy’s shoulders. “That
’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time.”

  “Except for hitting that.” She grinned and tipped her glass toward Wyatt. “That’s by far the best idea of the year.” When Gypsy rolled her eyes, Miranda added, “I’m just saying. You deserve a little fun.”

  “I’m the mom of a three-year-old. Fun for me is an early bedtime.”

  “That’s my point.”

  “I don’t need a man to be happy,” Gypsy told her. “I have an amazing life.”

  “As amazing as that? Because that’s the best kind of amazing. All the pleasure. None of the strings.”

  Miranda refilled their wineglasses, and they spent the next hour watching Wyatt fry the breaded steaks, make grits and gravy and string beans, all with four little hands in the mix. All while the three of them laughed and sang and cheered when they achieved another step in the cooking process.

  And in that time, Gypsy started to see Wyatt very differently. As more than a fun-loving, sexy extrovert. He was so sweet with Belle and patient with Cooper and a good sport about Miranda’s not-so-subtle meddling.

  By the time he brought over a fresh bottle of wine and announced dinner was ready, Gypsy was beginning to think that having a little no-strings fun wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  11

  Wyatt had needed this night worse than he’d realized.

  Pulling the kids into cooking dinner had probably been a mistake—he’d be cleaning up for a couple of hours, but that would give him a couple of more hours to spend with Gypsy, and he’d take more time with Gypsy any day of the week and twice on Sundays. If the only way to get it was to include the kids, then so be it.

  When they’d finished eating, Cooper and Belle returned to the living room while the adults lingered at the table over wine. Gypsy and Miranda talked about the bar and Cooper and Gypsy’s search for a manager. Wyatt enjoyed watching Gypsy interact with her sister. Enjoyed seeing her at home. Enjoyed cooking for her. This was the most relaxed he’d been in what felt like weeks, but had only been days.

  “So, where’s the next stop on your tour?” Miranda asked Wyatt.

  His mind veered that direction, and trouble immediately filled his head. He pulled in a breath to speak, but his cell rang first, and he glanced at the display. “Speak of the devil. It’s my manager. We’re going to discuss that very thing. I’ll take it outside.”

  He stood and headed toward the door, with Gypsy calling behind him, “You’re not getting out of cleaning up, Jackson.”

  He shot a smile over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t think of it.”

  On the porch, he answered the call and wandered toward the railing, bracing himself there with one hand. “Hey, Aaron.”

  “Hey, how are things?”

  “Not good. I’m sick over this.”

  “Well, I bought you some time. I was able to reschedule the morning show, and Jimmy Kimmel agreed to go to Nashville for an onsite interview with the Opry as the backdrop. I’ve cleared it with the Opry, so you’re good to go there. But we’ve got Little Rock, Dallas, and Chicago coming up.”

  “My parents will be back in time to help with Chicago, but we’re going to have to cancel Arkansas and Dallas.” He knew it had to be done, but, God, he hated canceling. “Put the arena bills on my tab. I don’t want this affecting the guys any more than necessary.”

  “I figured that’s the way this would go. When I talked to the guys, they all agreed to canceling concerts until you had things figured out.”

  He was dying to talk to them. Several had kids, and he hoped he could gain some kind of insight into how he could best handle this with Belle. He also wanted to assure them that he was still all in and that he would do his very best not to screw up their lives. But with Belle attached to him at the hip, he couldn’t make those calls and speak freely. He had to wait until she was asleep.

  “How’d they take the news?” he asked Aaron.

  “You know them. They’re all behind you. Everyone’s cool with switching things up to make it work.”

  Wyatt had known they’d have his back, but he also knew this would bring them all stress. Darrell, the other guitarist, just bought a new ranch in Wyoming. Johnny, their drummer, had his third baby coming in a few months. Pete, the pianist, planned to buy his parents a house, and Mick, their violinist, was still paying off the debt from his last divorce.

  Sure, they made a lot of money, but the largest chunk came from touring. They still had a ways to go to become one of the iconic country bands who never went out of style and brought in passive income from their past work. Sadly, in this industry, out of sight, out of mind. There was always someone waiting in the wings to steal the spotlight.

  Unlike Wyatt, who played guitar, sang, and wrote music, it was much harder for the others to make money independently. And that didn’t take into consideration all their roadies. The men and women who traveled with the band, did all the hard labor, and relied on the concerts to pay their bills. People who Wyatt knew lived paycheck to paycheck.

  “We also have the Grand Ole Opry next Sunday,” Aaron reminded him.

  “Yeah, that should be fine. Thanks, man.”

  “Hey, Paisley is playing at the Opry. She’ll be in town for a few days,” Aaron said before Wyatt disconnected. “Paisley Jessip.”

  Wyatt smirked. “Is there any other Paisley?”

  “You should meet up with her and talk about that duet you two have been wanting to do. It would be great timing. She just announced the debut of her next album, which is a month away from yours. Awesome cross-promotion opportunities there.”

  “Yeah.” Wyatt rubbed at the fatigue in his forehead. “When I can find time.”

  “She leaves Friday for the next leg of her tour. Catch her while she’s in town.”

  Wyatt promised he would and disconnected. He blew out a long breath, his shoulders slumping under the weight of all his responsibilities. He braced his elbows on the railing.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Gypsy’s voice washed over him like a warm rain. He turned and leaned back against the railing. It was dark out now, and the porch light made her skin glow. She was such a beautiful woman. If she realized how sexy she was, it didn’t show. But there was so much more to her that kept bringing Wyatt back despite her steadfast rejection for the last three years.

  She was book smart and street smart. She talked tough, but when it came right down to it, the woman had a heart of gold. She had a killer sense of humor, an intense work ethic, and her dedication to her son blew him away.

  She might have been the same age as Francie, but she was far and away more mature. More present. More dedicated.

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve got it handled.” His response was an automatic shift into leadership mode—don’t let ’em see you sweat. But when Gypsy didn’t respond, he realized he couldn’t stomach pretending around the one person he felt so real with. “Actually, no. Things aren’t okay. The truth is I’ve got nothing handled. As in nothing. There’s so much pressure, I can’t take a full breath. I’ve thrown a wrench into our schedule, and everything’s going to shit. I feel like I’m in a vise between doing what’s right for Belle and doing what’s right for my band.”

  She met him at the railing and crossed her arms. “You may not want to hear this, but the kids always have to come first.”

  “But whose kids? Because if I bail, the band can’t play. If the band doesn’t play, the roadies don’t work, and no one makes any money. So what do I tell the dad who gets paid by the hour to handle all my shit on the road? Sorry, I have to take a break to figure my life out? I have no idea how you’re going to feed your kids, but that’s not my problem? No matter what I do, I’m messing up the life of someone’s family.”

  “Wow.” Her voice was soft and grave. “I never thought about it like that.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “No one does.”

  And damn it was lonely being the guy everyone was depending on to hold it together.

  “How can I help?” Gypsy asked.<
br />
  Wyatt didn’t immediately understand the question. He turned his head and looked at her. Her light eyes were direct, her expression open and compassionate. He huffed a laugh and shook his head.

  “What?” she asked.

  “No one asks how they can help me,” he said, realizing this for the very first time. “They order me food, they manage my schedule, they book my hotels, but no one asks me what I need—me, personally. And to be honest, I have no idea what in the hell I need right now.”

  Gypsy seemed to consider for a moment. “I’ll be right back.”

  She disappeared into the house, and Wyatt let out a long breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this overwhelmed.

  Gypsy returned wearing a jacket and carrying a thick blanket. She tossed him his keys and started toward the passenger side of his truck.

  “I can’t leave. Belle—”

  “She fell asleep in front of the TV with Cooper. She won’t even know you’re gone. Miranda said she’d watch them for a bit.” She tossed the blanket in the back. “Get in.”

  He followed her to his truck and slid behind the wheel. “Where are we going?”

  “My thinking spot. It’s where I go whenever I have a problem I can’t figure out. And I think you’ve earned a break today.”

  As long as he was with her, he’d go anywhere.

  Gypsy directed him along a dirt road on the property. They climbed a small grade, and at the top, the land fell away, leaving a stunning night view of the Nashville skyline. Gypsy directed him to turn around and back the truck in.

  He turned off the truck, got out, and wandered toward the tailgate, taking in the view. “Holy shit. Why aren’t all the houses up here? This view is incredible.”

  Gypsy rounded the tailgate, pulled it open, and jumped in, grabbing the blanket she’d tossed in the back. The night was cool, but not cold, and the air was still. Gypsy spread the cushy blanket out in the truck bed, and Wyatt’s mind veered off track and straight toward getting the curvy, sassy woman he’d been into for years naked.