Gypsy purposely took another long drink of her Shirley Temple, draining the glass to get the time required to refocus. “My answer is the same as it’s been for the last two years.”
“Actually, sugar, we’re going on our three-year no-date anniversary.”
“And my answer is still no. Besides, Saturdays are my busiest nights.”
“You win.” He straightened and pressed both hands to the bar and gave her a grin that hammered her good intentions. “Saturday it is. Right here in our special spot. I wouldn’t mind twirling you around the dance floor.”
Gypsy dropped her head into her hands. “Jesus Christ.” She drew a deep breath, lifted her head, and met his gaze before taking the sign still resting against her breasts—NO. JUST NO.—and putting it directly in Wyatt’s line of sight.
When she dropped the sign, his eyes were narrowed and his head tilted. “Is that a hard no?”
“It’s a bless your heart no.”
Wyatt dropped his head back and laughed long and deep. The sound skittered down her spine, swirled in her belly, and melted between her legs.
“Damn, I love the way you make me laugh, sugar.” He straightened and swept the bar with a towel. “Saturday night it is. I’ll come in and entertain your customers. Our date can begin as soon as the bar closes.”
He did love to twist words around to his benefit. “Sorry, Rockstar, I already have somebody booked to play Saturday.”
He delivered a comically shocked expression.
She stood and carried her glass back behind the bar, dropping it into the dirty dish bin. Then she faced him, one hand on the bar. “Thanks for the break. Now get out.”
“Who could you possibly have playing that I couldn’t replace?”
“Savage Justice. You recommended them, remember?”
Wyatt grimaced. “Ah, yeah.” He nodded, staring at the floor. “They’re good.”
She gestured toward the swinging door that led out from behind the bar. “Git.”
Instead, he planted one hand on the bar and jumped. But this time, he didn’t vault. He pulled one of those rock star moves and stood on the bar.
“Jackson.” Gypsy smacked his leg. “Get the hell off my bar.”
He set his boots wide, put two fingers in his mouth, and whistled so loud, Gypsy covered her ears. The music stopped, the bar quieted, and all eyes turned to Wyatt. He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. His name instantly fluttered through the crowd.
“How are y’all enjoying my friends Blacksmith?” Wyatt called to the crowd as if he were on his own stage.
The customers cheered, and Wyatt saluted the band, who greeted Wyatt in return.
“What an awesome crowd.” Wyatt waited as they quieted. “I hear y’all are going to be introduced to another great band Friday—Savage Justice. If you haven’t heard ’em play, make sure to come on out, because, like Blacksmith, they’re hot.”
They applauded the suggestion.
“I made your pretty little bar owner here another proposition, but she’s shootin’ me down, so I decided to take my idea to the masses. I’m proposing that I play for y’all Saturday night, maybe warm y’all up for Savage Justice. What do y’all think about that?”
Gypsy covered her ears just in time to block the whistles and claps and shouts from everyone in the crowd. They were still chanting “Wy-att, Wy-att, Wy-att” when she smacked Wyatt’s leg again. “Fine, you can play. Now get the fuck off my bar.”
Wyatt jumped down, landing directly in front of Gypsy. “I knew you’d come around.” He leaned in way too close, and lowered his voice. “Admit it. You like me.”
“I like making money. One set before Savage Justice plays, and you’re doing it pro bono.”
His grin cut through her barriers like a knife through butter. “Sugar, all I hear is yes.”
2
Wyatt stood on the sidewalk in front of his brother’s house in Franklin, Tennessee, a suburb of Nashville. The front door stood open, and the laughter and squeals of young girls poured through the screen door, out of the house, and through the front yard.
Wyatt had moved heaven and earth to share this day with his family, and the event should have filled his heart with joy. But it was wrong. All wrong.
Brody should slam that screen door open and tell Wyatt it was about time he got there. Offer him a beer. Ask when they were going fishing while Wyatt was in town.
Pressure built in Wyatt’s head, sadness in his heart, tears in his eyes. He looked up at the crystal blue sky and blinked back the sting. A gorgeous spring day for a little girl’s birthday party. Would have been perfect if that little girl had her father here.
It had been almost a year since Brody drove himself to one of their favorite fishing spots on the Cumberland River and put his Colt Classic semiauto to his head.
He’d done it while Wyatt had been on tour—because Wyatt was always on tour. He hadn’t been there to talk his brother off the ledge. To support his parents when they’d found out.
He turned his back on the house and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. When would this pain and guilt ease up?
“Uncle Wyatt! Uncle Wyatt!” The screen door did slam open then, and Brody’s little girl ran out onto the porch, her shoes clapping on the deck. “Mommy, Uncle Wyatt’s here.”
Wyatt took a deep breath, pushed his face into a smile, and turned to face Belle, braced to catch her. She flew down the porch steps, her yellow dress billowing behind her petite frame, long hair like her mother’s flying on the breeze in a dark tangle, and jumped into Wyatt’s awaiting arms.
It was their way. And now, with Brody’s daughter in Wyatt’s arms, a sliver of the pain eased. He hugged her tight. “Hey, monkey. Man, it’s good to see you.”
Instead of starting to jabber like she usually did, Belle kept her head on Wyatt’s shoulder, one arm tight at his neck. This was not their way.
“Happy birthday, little girl.” Wyatt leaned away and tried to get a look at her face to see if he could read her expression. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”
She lifted her head, gaze downcast as her small hands played with Wyatt’s three-day-old scruff. “Daddy’s not here.”
A knife jabbed Wyatt’s ribs. He ran his hand down her hair and kissed her forehead. “I know, baby, but I promise he’s thinking about you. He loves you so much. The day you were born was the best day of his life.”
Movement on the porch caught Wyatt’s eye. Francie, Belle’s mother and Wyatt’s sister-in-law, stepped out of the house, arms crossed. She wore a pretty light-blue sundress, but her expression exposed just how hard this day was on her. “Belle, it’s time to cut the cake.”
As if someone flicked a switch, Belle’s expression brightened. She turned her head to look at Francie. “And then presents?”
Francie nodded.
“Speaking of presents…” Wyatt said, setting Belle on her feet.
She jumped on her toes, sadness over her father’s absence gone. “What did you get me, Uncle Wyatt? Did you get me a pony?”
He pulled the envelope from his back pocket. “Not a pony of your own, but lots of ponies to share.”