Shane’s mouth twisted and his forehead wrinkled. “I guess you could call it that. At the risk of TMI, I’ve had some hot make-out sessions, but for one reason or another, it never went further. Usually because one of us was leaving town in a hurry.”
“Wow. I can’t imagine...” And that right there was a lie and not a particularly well delivered one. Because Brandt could picture in technicolor detail, a hot and heavy make-out session with this guy. What he couldn’t imagine though was that Shane had never ventured beyond that.
Rolling his eyes, Shane shook his head. “Well. Of course you can’t.”
“Hey now. I have restraint. Sometimes.” For example, there was that whole part of himself he seldom indulged. And he was ready to tell Shane that, admit that maybe Shane wasn’t the only one lacking in some vital experiences. He secured the last support for the crib and took a step toward Shane. Dangerous. Potent. Like the last moment before exiting a plane with a parachute. Probably ill-advised, but he needed—
Waaaah. The baby cried right as he took that step, and Shane looked away in a hurry.
“I’ll go get her. We can introduce her to the new crib.” Shane’s eagerness to get out of this conversation was more than clear, even if he was cute, wanting to show their work off. Still, Brandt couldn’t help but feel like a moment had been lost. And foolish as it was, hell if he didn’t hope another chance came along sooner rather than later.
* * *
Jewel hated her new room. Oh, she’d been adorable at first, lying on her back in the crib while Brandt danced the little soft toys they’d bought around her, trying to encourage her to reach and grab. And she’d been sweet, hanging out in her new swing while they managed to eat a quick dinner. But now it was three a.m. and she was angry. There had already been more wakeups than any night Shane had had her, and that was saying something.
“Come on, baby. Time for sleep.” Shane jiggled her from side to side, throat rough from humming to her. He’d tried everything, including re-reading the baby book while pacing with her.
“Want me to take over?” Brandt appeared in the doorway to the room. And damn. He looked way too good sleepy. Even with sharing dinner, Shane had managed to avoid more deep talk and had also given Brandt and whatever this strange energy was between them an extra-wide berth. But apparently the universe wanted to tempt him even more because here Brandt was all shirtless, fuzzy chest and ripped muscles on full display.
He smelled good too, like he’d showered with that pine soap before bed. And Shane was somehow supposed to concentrate on the baby with him this close?
“You’ve got work tomorrow. I’ve got this.”
“No, you don’t.” Brandt’s voice was both sleepy and matter-of-fact. Not nearly as cranky as Shane felt. “But I’ve got an idea. Hang tight.”
Shane nodded like he had much choice in the matter. Brandt disappeared only to return a few minutes later carrying the rocking chair that had been in a corner of the sunroom.
“Babies are supposed to like this, right?” Brandt’s grin was far too chipper for the hour, and he plopped down in the chair before Shane could thank him for the gesture. “Hand the diva over.”
“I can—”
“I know you can. But you’re dead on your feet. Let me.”
“Okay.” Shane couldn’t keep fighting him. He passed over the fussy, squirmy baby who almost immediately quieted as Brandt settled her against his chest. Figured. Shane would give a happy sigh if he got to cuddle those warm muscles too. “Don’t let her fool you. She’ll quiet then howl as soon as she hits the crib.”
“So we’ll rock a spell.” Brandt shrugged. The guy was undoubtedly oblivious to how he looked like something out of a diaper ad—gorgeous dad, sweet baby, perfect picture. A line of a song danced through Shane’s head, as elusive as sleep.
“Go sleep,” Brandt ordered, shifting Jewel so he could point at the doorway.
“Passed sleepy a couple of hours ago,” Shane admitted, perching on the edge of the twin bed. Exhausted energy surged though him, the same jangly nerves that made it hard to sleep after a late show.
“What? You need a bedtime story or something?” Brandt’s voice was light and warm and made Shane want to tease back.
“Sure. Tell me a story. Make it a good one, something I can use for a song.”
“Worthy of a song?” Brandt shook his head. “Tall order. Let’s see though. Country songs, those are all about achy breaky hearts and regrets right?”
“Something like that.” Shane was enjoying this far, far too much, and he made himself more comfortable on the small bed, pulling his legs up and sitting back. “Guess a lot of my songs are bittersweet, moments that passed by, wondering about what could have been, dealing with what never was. But also legends, the sort of epic stories that simply need a song. I bet you’ve got a few tales like that.”
“Hmm.” Brandt made a thoughtful noise, like he was actually thinking about this. “Legends, huh? Me, I’m not song material, but I’m gonna tell you about my buddy Roger. He deserves a song.”
“Okay.” Shane’s pulse sped up. Somehow he knew he was getting a story Brandt didn’t often tell. Something special. And he wasn’t sure what he’d done to earn Brandt’s trust, but he’d take it.
“It was my rookie smoke-jumping season. I’d done a couple of seasons with line and engine crews, putting in my hours, and damn, I was proud to get that call. Headed to California in a beat to hell Toyota, barely enough for gas money and some food. No plan beyond that. Young and stupid.”
“I get that. I’ve been there more than once, arriving in Nashville with little more than a prayer I wouldn’t be living in my car.” Shane stuffed a lumpy pillow behind his head. “That’s why I turned a few good checks from selling some songs into that old RV. I needed to know I wouldn’t be waking up with some cop’s searchlight in my eyes, telling me to move along.”
“Yeah, you get it. Southern California prices are like that too. I was prepared to spend the season in a tent if I had to, just to get the chance to jump. But first day of training, this freckle-faced kid comes up to me, says they’re one dude short for making rent on an apartment near the air base.” The chair creaked as Brandt rocked, slow and steady. “Terrible place, five of us squashed in there, but Roger, he’d done the math, knew we could afford food and stuff if we split it.”
“So you said yes?”
“Not at first. Didn’t have much to put up toward the deposit, but Roger was determined. That was just how he was. No way in hell was he getting cut from training either.” Brandt gave a low rumble of a chuckle as the baby snuffled, then settled again. “They said seven pullups, he’d do double. And laugh. They said eighty percent on a quiz, he’d go for ninety-nine. Some people would grab a beer after training, but never Roger. Head down. He was gonna be the best damn rookie ever.”