Quiet Man

by Kristen Ashley

  He wasn’t done.

  “It was you bein’ pissed Mo’s dad is a dick. It was hearing about you takin’ on Tammy. It was you bein’ hilarious. It was knowin’ we were gonna have a beautiful woman among us who was also one of the guys. But most of all, it was the way you were with Mo. First time at our place, it was like you’d been there a hundred times before and you two were just chill.” Mag shot me a grin. “Outside you shoutin’ about his dad. Mo was goin’ through his mail and you were shoutin’ about his dad and you were all about him. I had to push it, ’cause he’s my boy. But I didn’t have to push hard.”

  “For me,” Axl put in, “it was the fact I was worried I wouldn’t get out of your house before you jumped on his dick.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at him.

  “I wasn’t even there for you,” Axl went on quietly. “He walked in, and suddenly, everything was gone, including me. You were all about him.”

  “Axl told us that,” Auggie added. “Before Mag even met you.”

  All the rest I knew.

  But that last was news.

  “We don’t trust people easy, Lottie,” Mag said. “But the people who might become a part of the lives of one of our own, that’s worse.”

  “I’m sure sisters can be tough to crack,” Boone shared. “They might not show it, but brothers…”

  Boone let that hang but I understood him.

  They weren’t brothers of the blood, and blood was thicker than water, but doing what they did for a living, all having served before, the trust that had to build, the men those experiences had made them, what they had was stronger than steel.

  “We’re here right now, for you, and we’ve known you two weeks,” Auggie reminded me. “The Morrison women are gonna love you, Lots. You got nothing to worry about.”

  I felt Mo’s arm tight around me, holding me to the strength of his big body.

  And I saw all Mo’s boys around me, giving me strength.

  I’d fallen for Mo.

  And along the way, I started falling for all of them too.

  I looked at Mag.

  “Evie for you. She’s a nerd. But she’s gonna sort your shit.”

  Mag blinked.

  I looked to Auggie.

  “Pepper for you. Just trust me on her. Perfect.”

  My attention went to Axl. “Hattie. You’ll flip your shit for her. And she totally won’t for you. You’ll have to work for it. But she’ll make it worth it.”

  Axl tipped his head to the side, openly intrigued.

  Finally, I turned to Boone.

  As suspected from nuanced vibes I was getting from him, there was something guarded in his expression, and I wasn’t sure if it was me he didn’t want to see it, or the others.

  So I went out on a limb he didn’t know was a limb.

  “Ryn,” I stated. “Kathryn. She’ll be beyond your wildest dreams. Your wildest dreams, Boone.”

  There was a flash of understanding that told me I’d guessed correctly, and I moved quickly in order not to allow the others to catch it.

  I’d have that conversation with Boone later.

  Alone.

  I turned in Mo’s arm, looked up at him and said, “I just need to finish sorting my purse and get my shoe on, baby. Then I’m ready to roll.”

  Mo looked down at me a beat.

  Then he smiled.

  Pep talk delivered, I was good to go.

  Still smiling, Mo dipped way down to touch his lips to mine and let me go.

  I sorted my purse, but it was Mo who crouched down to put on my shoe.

  And with hugs and kisses on the top of my head from the guys while standing by Mo’s truck, and promises from Mag that the next time they came over, he’d bring beer, we were on our way.

  * * * *

  I was not surprised at Mo’s mom’s house.

  He’d told me, in order to raise five children after his father ditched them without doing them the favor of actually ditching them, his mom worked hard to become a CPA. She’d semi-retired the year before, a partner in a big firm in town. She still worked VIP clients, two to three days a week, because if she didn’t, she’d go crazy seeing as she didn’t knit, paint, birdwatch (or the like).

  She’d also downsized houses after Mo had entered the Army out of high school years ago.

  So the brick Park Hill bungalow with the pergola over the front porch, brick path, thick, green lawn and tidy but not effusive landscaping that included black-eyed Susans in their final blooms was expected.

  Sadly, by the time Mo parked behind a shiny Chevy Silverado, the pep talk had worn off.

  This was the reason Mo turned to me and took my hand.

  I gave him my gaze.

  “The men hated Tammy,” he announced. “They hated the ones before her that they knew. And they didn’t hide it. Part of me was pissed at ’em. Those relationships weren’t working and the way the guys treated the woman in my life, it didn’t help.”

  I didn’t like to think of how even one of them not liking me would feel.

  Fortunately, I didn’t have to.

  “But I gotta admit, they were right,” he went on. “I should have ended things. Lookin’ back, havin’ you, I see that now. But they already knew it. They knew I didn’t have what I deserved. Now I know, and they know I do. With that, do you think, the minute they meet you, Ma and my sisters won’t feel the same way?”

  I loved what he was saying to me.

  I loved that he found it in him to say it to me.

  I still knew I needed to win over the women in that house, not for me.

  For Mo.

  But I leaned into him and replied, “I’m glad you now know what you deserve, honey. And I hope I always give you that.”

  “I don’t hope it, I know you will,” he returned, came to me, kissed me hard but closed-mouthed, and pulled away. “You ready?”

  I was not.

  I nodded.

  He let me go, shifted to open his door but turned back to me.

  “I help you out.”

  “Right, okay,” I whispered.

  It was then Mo nodded.

  It felt funny sitting there, waiting for Mo to help me from his truck, but it felt nice when he did.

  Like I was what I was by Mo—loved and looked after.

  We were halfway up the walk when the front door was opened by a blonde woman who was tall—not as tall as Mo, but really freaking tall, and built—not like Mo, of the feminine, curvy variety.

  She took one look at me and shouted, “Holy crap! That dress!” She then turned her head back toward the house and kept shouting. “I’m going on a diet immediately! After crab cakes, of course. And meringue cake, of course again!”

  With my dress, I’d gone black. I only had clingy because I only did clingy. It was sleeveless and halter neck with a racer back. It was also mid-thigh with a small slit on the left side.

  It was me.

  And I thought they should know who I was, no matter how nervous I was about it.

  The woman at the door turned back to us as we walked up the three steps to the porch then immediately back to the house she yelled, “She’s teeny! And she’s everything.”

  Oh my God.

  I wasn’t exactly teeny.

  But I was beyond thrilled she’d taken one look at me and described me as everything.

  Before I could feel the fullness of this relief, Mo ordered, “Marte, quit shouting.”

  “Mo, get her in here,” Marte ordered right back. “Mom wouldn’t let us touch the hors d’oeuvres until Lottie arrived and she made mini-corn muffins and smoked salmon sandwiches. You know Taylor isn’t into fancy food, but he’s into eating, and since he hasn’t since lunch, he’s getting cranky. As for me, if I don’t eat something soon, I’m gonna kill somebody.”

  “Right then,” Mo returned, and now we were standing on the welcome mat in front of her. “You wanna get out of the door so we can actually come in?”

  “’Course,” she replied, but d
idn’t do that. She pushed a hand my way and said, “Hey, I’m Marte. And I’m the least annoying one, no matter what Mo says to you.”

  “That’s a lie,” Mo muttered.

  I took her hand, smiling because this night was starting a whole lot different than I expected.

  “Hi, I’m Lottie.”

  “Jeez, Marz, what’s with the bar-the-door routine?” another tall, blonde, built woman asked, doing this while physically shoving Marte out of the way only to take her place. “Hey, I’m Lene and I’m just gonna say right now, Rick brought his poster of you. And if you don’t want to sign it, just don’t. I told him it was rude. Not at the first dinner. Not when Mom’s making us dress up and demanded we get babysitters. More like when Paul has his Columbus Day barbeque. And heads up, Paul uses every excuse to barbeque. So that’s not weird, for him. Labor Day, Memorial Day, Veterans Day, totally Fourth of July. Even Halloween. He tried to barbeque a turkey for Thanksgiving once, and Signe lost her mind.”

  I couldn’t help but stare at her, but when she stopped talking, I asked, “Your husband has a poster of me?”

  “Don’t be nervous,” she advised quickly. “He’s not a stalker or anything. He’s just a huge fan of those Rock Chick books. I swear, I nearly had to take him to the hospital, he was laughing so hard at the part where your sister goes to the poker games with her girls.” She leaned toward me. “He’s gonna ask you to ask them to sign his books. Don’t feel weird about telling him to shove off about that either. I got you, girl.”

  I kept staring at her.

  They knew who I was.

  They knew what I did.

  And she was okay with her husband having a poster of me.

  I had a variety of posters from back in my Queen of the Corvette calendar heyday.

  And in most of them I was clothed.

  Albeit scantily.

  “Do you mind if I actually take my woman in the house?” Mo requested, sounding beleaguered. “Or does one of you wanna bring a plate of corn muffins out here?”

  “Oh, right, sorry,” Lene said, then grabbed my hand, and I could do anything in heels, but I nearly tripped at the strength of her dragging me inside, inviting, “Come in, come in.” She barely got me a foot into the living room when she yelled, “Look everybody! Lottie’s here!”

  There were no children, and I would realize later this was about Mo’s mom not wanting to bombard me with all that was her family.

  What was in that living room was enough.

  At first glance, it was innocuous. Women in lovely dresses. Men in trousers and shirts, like Mo. Classy platters of elegant-looking food. Candlelight. Sinatra on low in the background.

  She’d gone all out.

  The whole thing was the shit.

  And every Morrison sister had the same look, so much so, they didn’t appear to be just sisters, but quadruplets.

  They also had the same type.

  Their men were all tall and huge (if not bald), like their brother Mo.

  I met Signe, Trine, Paul, Taylor, Rick, and finally, Ingrid, Mo’s mom.

  She folded my hand in both of hers and gently moved me further into the room, saying, “It’s so lovely to have you here, Lottie. Thank you for coming.”

  “Really, my pleasure,” I murmured. “Thank you for asking me here.”

  She nodded charmingly, giving me a graceful smile, and asked, “Now, what can Mo get you to drink?”

  “I’m having a John Collins. Make her a John Collins, Mo,” Marte ordered.

  “Sidecar,” Signe demanded. “Mo makes the best sidecars.”

  “Singapore sling,” Lene declared. “But let Taylor make it. He’s the master of the sling.”

  “Margarita,” Trine said. “I already made a pitcher, Mo.”

  Mo let them all say this then looked down to me and lifted his brows.

  “Margarita sounds good,” I told him.

  He nodded, gave me a small smile, bent to me and touched his lips to mine.

  He then walked to the bar cart.

  Ingrid had an actual bar cart.

  Total class.

  Totally the shit.

  “Can we eat now?” Taylor demanded to know.

  “Yes, Taylor,” Ingrid said serenely.

  Instantly Taylor, Rick and Paul fell on the hors d’oeuvres like they hadn’t eaten in a year.

  I almost burst out laughing.

  “Would you like me to wade in and make you a plate, Lottie?” Ingrid offered. “Before the trough expires.”

  “Don’t you eat all those corn muffins, Rick!” Lene snapped at her husband before I could answer her mother. “Those are Mo’s favorites.”

  “They’re mine too,” Rick retorted to his wife, mouth full of corn muffin.

  “Save him five,” Lene returned sharply.

  Rick gave a harassed look to Taylor.

  Taylor didn’t field it. He was busy shoving a muffin in his mouth.

  “Mo, now that you’re seeing someone famous, you need more shirts like that,” Trine decided, eying her brother’s awesome shirt.

  She then turned to me.

  “You’ll probably be doing fancy stuff and he’ll have to come along, which he won’t want to do because it’ll be stuff like book signings and movie premieres. But he’ll do it because he’s Mo and you’ll be wearing hot dresses like that one. Though probably it’ll be more because you’ll be wearing hot dresses like that one. We’ll go shopping. He looks fabulous in blue. He needs more blue. He’s always wearing black. Or gray. I blame Hawk for that.”

  I didn’t tell her I didn’t attend book signings or that there hadn’t been any movie premieres.

  I didn’t because I didn’t get the chance.

  “Hawk doesn’t buy his clothes, Treenz,” Marte rejoined.

  “He promotes an environment that’s manifestly male, Marz,” Trine shot back. “If given the choice, men would only wear black, gray and army green.”

  At that, Paul looked down at his burgundy shirt before he muttered to Rick, “Could have sworn I hauled my own fuckin’ ass out to buy this.”

  Rick grinned before shoving a mini-smoked salmon sandwich in his mouth.

  “Speaking of that,” Signe put in, ignoring this exchange, “when is Hawk going to hire a female commando, Mo?”

  Walking back to me with my margarita that was in an actual salt-rimmed, stemmed margarita glass that was the only one of the pure-class variety I’d ever seen, Mo didn’t have a chance to answer.

  Lene did it before him.

  “Never. He’s never gonna hire a woman. Except Elvira.”

  “This is because Elvira’s more woman than fifty women,” Marte mumbled under her breath.

  “That’s for certain,” Trine agreed.

  “I would not wish those boys on any woman,” Marte said. “Except Elvira. She’s the only one who can handle them.”

  “It’s still hardly equal opportunity,” Signe pointed out.

  “Seenz, you think Hawk has ever given the concept of ‘equal opportunity’ even a second’s thought?” Lene asked.

  The four sisters looked among each other, and then on a sister wavelength, in unison, they burst out laughing.

  Though I didn’t know Hawk very well, I did have firsthand knowledge he was a purveyor of quality badass and I wouldn’t think he’d discriminate if he thought the job would get done.

  I decided not to share this.

  “Mag’d tap their ass before they even were assigned a flak jacket,” Rick murmured.

  “Rick!” Lene abruptly stopped laughing to snap.

  “Am I wrong?” he asked.

  “No!” she kept snapping. “But Danny is Mo’s roommate. Don’t give Lottie the impression he’s a player.”

  That cat was out of the bag.

  And…

  Danny?

  I was so going to give him shit by calling him that from this moment on.

  And sharing it with Evie when the time came.

  I had a margarita in my hand and Mo�
��s heavy arm slung around my shoulder, so I coasted mine around his waist.

  “Get out of my way, Paul, I’m making Mo a plate. And Lottie. I’m making Mo and Lottie a plate,” Signe announced, nudging her husband out of the way and picking up a small, delicate, china plate with a graceful gold design on the edges.

  “The man can feed himself,” Paul muttered.

  “No he can’t, with all you boys guarding the food like rabid dogs,” Signe fired back.

  I heard Mo’s quiet sigh.

  I also again beat back laughter.

  And last, I was understanding how Mo learned to communicate nonverbally.

  He grew up with four older sisters who wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise.

  I took a sip of my drink.

  “Perhaps, if my girls can give Lottie the impression we’ve got a modicum of manners and aren’t one step down from lunacy, I could sleep tonight. Rather than tossing and turning at the thought my son’s new girlfriend is buying a one-way ticket somewhere very far from here to get away from us,” Ingrid suggested smoothly before taking a sip of what appeared to be a martini with olives from a stylish glass.

  Clearly, after my intro to the Morrison women, she’d retrieved her cocktail.

  Actually, probably because I was receiving said intro, she’d had to retrieve her cocktail.

  “And he can feed himself, Signe,” Ingrid continued. “And as it appears Lottie has full use of all her limbs, I’m sure she can too.”

  Mother spoke, Signe gave big eyes to her sisters, all three of them, put a corn muffin and salmon sandwich on her plate and retreated from the coffee table where all the food was laid out.

  When she did, Paul dropped a heavy arm on her shoulders.

  Rick cleared his throat and started, “Lottie, if you could—”

  “Don’t,” Lene interrupted him.

  “I’m just—” Rick tried again.

  “Nope,” she cut him off.

  “Laynz, she won’t be—”

  “Shut it,” Lene bit.

  “I’d be happy to sign your poster and ask the Rock Chicks to sign your books,” I offered. “I even know the author and can ask her too. They all like doing that, so they’ll be happy to and so will I.”

  Rick smiled big at me. “Thanks, Lottie.”