Tonight was the first time she’d seen beneath that protective mask he kept on at all costs. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of the exposure, but she sure didn’t like the way he’d come to her for help as soon as that mask slipped.
Fucking men.
She really had to work on being less…approachable, dependable. Or maybe just less of a sucker.
“Okay,” Belle said, “you go sit at your desk like you’re working, and I’ll come take your order.”
Gypsy pushed to her feet and rounded her desk. Belle went to the door and disappeared. Gypsy barely got into her chair before Belle reentered the office, chin high, step fluid and slow, as if she were walking the red carpet. She came to a stop beside Gypsy and broke out her biggest smile yet, complete with dimples and sparkling blue eyes. She curtsied, which was both adorable and amusing. Then she poised her pen over her pad and gave Gypsy an all-encompassing attention that reminded Gypsy of Wyatt—when he wanted something. “What may I get you, ma’am?”
The twang in ma’am made Gypsy laugh. The girl had the same charismatic, likeable energy as her uncle.
Gypsy rested her chin in her hand and glanced at the ceiling. “Let’s see.” A massage. Forty-eight hours of sleep. Two uninterrupted days on the beach. “I’ll take a grape Nehi.”
Belle made a face so funny, Gypsy laughed. “All right, how about sassafras.”
The girl’s nose wrinkled. “Sass-what?”
Grinning, Gypsy reached out and stroked Belle’s perfect cheek. “I’ll take a Shirley Temple, please.”
4
Wyatt’s set had only taken about an hour, but the autographing session afterward had taken just as long.
He’d escaped in a lull between people approaching for autographs and swaggered down the hall toward Gypsy’s office with his guitar strapped to his back. And, yeah, he was admittedly swaggering, because nothing made him feel as high or amazing as performing. Especially when he got to see Gypsy in the same night.
But as he laid his hand on the knob of the office door, he thought of Belle, and his heart sank. Then he thought of Gypsy, and it fell another notch. She had every right to kick his ass.
All his air rushed out of his lungs. He took a step back, pulled out his phone, and dialed Francie’s number. But her phone was either off or her battery was dead, because his call went straight to voicemail.
Wyatt leaned against the wall, dropped his head back, and closed his eyes. He’d have to go to the police in the morning. He’d already called, but they’d said that unless there were suspicious circumstances involved in Francie’s disappearance, Wyatt would have to wait to put in a missing person’s report. Evidently, bailing on your daughter’s birthday party didn’t fall in their “suspicious” category.
He hoped his mother was right. Hoped Francie had just been in need of some mommy-time, but his thoughts aligned with Gypsy’s. Disappearing without telling anyone and without making any solid plans for how her daughter would be cared for was the very definition of abandonment.
He wasn’t thrilled with the realization that his parents had been enabling Francie’s behavior, but he’d have to deal with that when they returned from their cruise.
All he could do now was keep Belle entertained and safe until her mother returned. But he was no more prepared to do that than he was to smooth the waters with Gypsy. And he was all too aware that being so pampered on the road with assistants and chefs and coordinators and managers and security had robbed him of his ability to deal with adversity.
Wyatt stepped up to the door and turned the knob, opening the door quietly in case Belle was asleep. His gaze landed on Gypsy’s desk first, which looked like a cyclone had just passed through. Following the inward swing of the door, he saw the entire office was a mirror of her desk. He stared at the boxes stacked on top of each other, banners haphazardly tossed over chairs, shelves stuffed with a mishmash of office supplies.
He was momentarily dumbfounded. This didn’t look like Gypsy at all. She had always been militant about the bar’s organization and cleanliness. She was a marketing wiz, a genius with the books. Every part of the business’s façade was tailored for a kickass image, right down to the coasters she put beneath everyone’s drinks.
This, Wyatt didn’t understand at all.
His gaze landed on a love seat in the far corner, and all the tension inside him eased. Gypsy and Belle sat together in the center. There was a kids’ book in Belle’s lap and her head lay on Gypsy shoulder. Gypsy’s head lay against Belle’s, and they were both asleep.
Wyatt leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb while crazy things happened inside him. Sparks flew, then melted. His stomach dropped, then floated. His heart squeezed, then released and filled.
And all he could do was stare.
Wow.
If he hadn’t already been crazy about Gypsy, he would have tumbled head over heels right now. She might not have been happy about it, but she’d selflessly put the needs of a little girl she didn’t even know above her own. This woman was even more incredible than he’d thought, and he was damn sure she’d be able to walk on water if she put her mind to it.
He made his way their direction and crouched in front of the sofa. Gypsy’s maternal side was seriously sexy. Wyatt had always known she was more bark than bite, but when she was with Cooper, or now with Belle, her heart glowed like a neon sign. And damn but she was beautiful. Her smooth face relaxed in sleep, long eyelashes curved against blushed cheeks, the swell of her breasts rising and falling as she breathed.
An emotion he couldn’t immediately identify flared in his chest, burning along his ribs. Stronger than attraction, deeper than affection. He’d never been in love, so he couldn’t say that was what he was feeling, but whatever it was made him want to back away slowly, the way one would from a hungry mountain lion. This woman had the ability to chew him up and spit him out. But he couldn’t look away. He hadn’t been able to look away for going on three years.
And, going on three years, she’d adamantly refused to get involved with any man, all so she could put Cooper first. She wore her priorities on her sleeve. She was up front and adamant about what she wanted and needed. And it wasn’t Wyatt.
He loved touring and entertaining and traveling. He loved his band and his crew. And he’d seen firsthand how his absence could damage the people he loved. His thoughts drifted to Brody, and his heart grew heavy with loss and guilt. So much guilt. Wyatt hadn’t been there for his brother, and he’d gone and killed himself. Wyatt had missed something important with Francie, and she’d abandoned her child.
No, Wyatt wasn’t fit for anything more than he had. And Gypsy deserved so much more.
Wyatt laid a hand on her knee and watched her lids flutter before her beautiful green eyes focused on him. All her anger from earlier was gone, leaving only a sleepy, sexy, remarkable woman. His gaze lowered to her mouth, and his mind drifted to the fantasy of feeling it under his own. Her tongue slid along her lips as she straightened, and all Wyatt’s blood flowed south.
“Hey.” Gypsy blinked and glanced around the office. “What time is it? Please tell me it’s time to close the bar.”