Games of the Heart
Page 159

Then he kissed her gentle and he took his time before he lifted his head.
She pulled in a quiet breath.
Then she said softly, “Can you ask Jerra to come in? I have a wedding to plan. She has to go out and buy bride’s magazines. I’m all over this but she’s gotta be my legs and wheels.”
Mike smiled at her and yet again said, “Yeah.”
Then he leaned in, touched his mouth to hers and carefully got off the bed.
Layla woofed.
He paused to give her a head rub and when he was done she shifted so she was pressed down the side of Dusty’s leg and then Dusty’s fingers were gliding through the fur on her head and she got a head rub from Dusty too.
Mike walked to the doors but turned and looked at his woman in his bed.
She was alive, breathing, recuperating and they’d been assured if she took it easy that she’d have a full recovery.
That weight was no longer in his gut.
In a few weeks, Dusty healed, life would be good.
All good.
Finally.
Finally he’d be happy with not one thing f**king it up.
“Love you, Angel,” he called and her eyes went from Layla to Mike.
“Love you too, babe,” she replied.
He grinned.
She grinned back.
Mike took in her grin then he left the room.
*
Mike stared at the basket that was delivered to his door two minutes ago that he put on his kitchen counter.
It was from Audrey. Through the crunchy yellow-tinted cellophane that spiked out of the top and a big, shiny yellow bow, Mike could see inside different bottles of nail polish, lotion, something called “scrub” and other shit.
Mike had read the note with no remorse. No way he was walking some shit he didn’t know who it was from up to Dusty. It could be from Debbie.
It simply said in Audrey’s fine, tight, cursive, Dusty, I hope you get well soon. –Audrey
It was a nice thing to do. Thoughtful. Not over the top. Clearly the two times she’d been around Dusty she noticed Dusty took care of her nails.
And since his ex was still on track and that track might lead them to decent thing, a life as a non-nuclear family that got along, he had decided he’d give the basket to his woman.
He was about to do that when his cell rang and he pulled it out of his back pocket.
It said, “Merry Calling”.
He hit the button and put it to his ear.
“Hey, Merry.”
“Yo, brother. Want some good news?” Merry asked.
“Always,” Mike answered.
“Judge decided. They’re tryin’ Troy Piggott as an adult.”
Mike’s eyes went unfocused on the basket.
But his lips smiled.
*
“Soooo,” Rees, sitting in front of him on Blaise, drew it out but said no more.
“So what?” Fin asked, walking the horse carefully between the rows of corn on his way to take them to the watering hole.
“How do you feel about Dad and Dusty gettin’ married?”
Mr. Haines had told Reesee and No before she came over to Fin’s house.
Reesee had told Fin right away when she got there.
And Fin thought it was the shit.
“It’s the shit,” he answered and heard her soft giggle even as he felt it.
“I think so too,” she agreed. “And Dusty already asked me to be a bridesmaid.”
Reesee would look good in a bridesmaid dress.
Then again, she looked good in anything.
He didn’t tell her that.
Instead, he muttered, “Cool.”
She fell silent as they slowly made their way through the low growth of corn.
Then she announced, “I got my learner’s permit.”
“Know that, babe,” he replied.
She twisted in the saddle and looked up at him, grinning.
Fin looked down at her, not grinning just taking her in.
Serious to God, she was beautiful.
“Wanna teach me to drive?” she asked and, at that, Fin grinned back.
Then he said, “Yeah.”
“Cool,” she muttered and twisted to face forward again.
Fin’s hold around her belly tightened. Then the cornfield opened up into the dirt road that led to the watering hole. So he pressed his chest into her, held even tighter and touched his heels to Blaise.
They took off, the wind in their faces, Reesee’s hair drifting against his neck and jaw, the Indiana sunshine burning hot and muggy on them.
A perfect day. Nothing could be more perfect. Nothing. Not anywhere.
Not London. Not Paris. Not Shangri La.
Not anywhere.
But there.
On his farm.
In Indiana.
*
Clarisse was concentrating and she wasn’t sure she should do it but she figured if she was going to do it, now was a good time.
She could hide behind concentrating.
So as she brushed the kickass deep, dark burgundy fingernail polish her Mom gave Dusty on Dusty’s toenails, she muttered, “Love you, Dusty.”
She kept her eyes on Dusty’s toes and kept brushing.
Then she heard in Dusty’s sweet, musical voice a soft, “I love you too, Reesee.”
She loved it when Dusty called her Reesee.
She loved it that Dusty loved her.
She loved it bunches.
She smiled at Dusty’s toes and kept brushing.
And since she did, she missed Fin, who was lying stretched out beside his aunt, his arms up, elbows bent, head on his hands, ankles crossed, turn his head on his hands in the pillow and smile at Dusty.
And she also missed Dusty smiling in return.
And she further missed No, who was sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed opposite Clarisse with his guitar in his lap that he was strumming absentmindedly, look at Fin and roll his eyes. But he did it being a dork because he too was smiling.
And last, she missed her Dad walking in and stopping dead in the door.
But even if she saw him, she could have no clue as he took in the bed that he was thinking for the first time that that big, ridiculously expensive bed was worth every f**king penny.
*
“Soooo,” I drew it out and Mike’s eyes went from the book he was holding open on the pillow beside me to mine.
“So what?” he asked when I said no more.
“Debbie phoned today,” I announced then watched Mike’s eyes flare and his mouth get tight.
“Tell me you did not take that f**kin’ call,” he growled.
“She’s being persistent,” I told him something he already knew.
“Sorry, darlin’, but she does not get to play devoted sister after bein’ a bitch to you thirty-eight years because you gettin’ shot woke her shit up. She’s got penance to pay. And I’m not showin’ if you invite her to the wedding.”