It was Denver. Tomorrow, it could be sixty degrees even in December. But that night it was freezing and the air felt like snow, not to mention the forecast said we were going to get a dump.
Good for the mountains and ski resorts, bad for Tessa O’Hara.
I loved snow, playing in it, looking at it, making hot cocoa and reading a book while it was falling outside.
Driving through it… not so much.
I opened the trunk and grabbed the handles of the plethora of parcels in the back, carefully arranging the bags in my grip, bags made awkward due to the copious rolls of Christmas wrap poking out.
I had a weakness for Christmas wrap. In fact, I had a weakness for any kind of wrap including bows and ribbons. I gave into this weakness often so I had an entire closet at my house dedicated to wrapping paper and all its accoutrement.
No joke.
Juggling bags while avoiding poking myself with rolls of paper, I slammed the trunk using my elbow and headed to Brock’s patio.
When my eyes went there, my brows drew together.
There was a Harley outside the gate. It wasn’t Brock’s. It was a Dyna Glide. And anyway, when not in use, Brock kept his Fat Boy on the patio under a sturdy, custom-made cover.
Hmm. It appeared Brock had company.
Still juggling bags, I maneuvered myself through the high, wood patio gate then through the storm door and front door.
Before I could call a word of greeting, I heard Brock say low, “Tess.”
I knew instantly he wasn’t greeting me. It was a warning to halt conversation.
Oh man.
“Hey!” I called, shut the door and walked into the living room, eyes to the right.
Then I saw them. A Hispanic man and a Native American man on the stools in front of Brock’s bar, Brock standing in the kitchen behind the bar.
My first thought, seeing as I was female and these thoughts usually took precedence above all others, was these guys were hot. Not hot, per say, if you were talking the average sense of the word. Hot in the Brock sense of the word which was to say mouth-watering, off-the-scales hot.
My second thought was they not only shared hotness quotients with Brock, but both of them in different ways also had the wild man, dangerous man aura.
For some reason, Brock was communing with his brethren and the serious vibe pulsing in the room said it wasn’t over beers, war stories and nostalgically reminiscing about the bitches they’d tagged.
This was something else.
“Hey babe,” Brock rumbled. “This is Hector Chavez and Vance Crowe, friends of mine.”
“Hey guys,” I greeted.
To this I got a, “Yo,” from Vance Crowe, the Native American man but the Hispanic man just gave me a chin lift.
Definitely Brock Brethren.
I hefted the bags up over the back of the couch and dumped them on the seat then turned to Brock, pulling off my knit cap and immediately running my fingers through my hair in an effort to fix or hide any possible hat head. “You need me to find something to do in the bedroom?”
“No,” he shook his head and then said softly, “Come up here, darlin’.”
Damn.
Just as I thought, that something else had to do with me and/or it was not good news.
My eyes did a sweep through the male talent in my man’s kitchen and I found myself having the curious reaction that not a lot of females would have and that was that I would rather go out, get in my car and track down Martha and Elvira to drink cosmos than take off my coat and join the three best looking men I’d seen in my life in my man’s kitchen.
Regardless of that, I nodded, unbuttoned my coat, took it to the hall closet that separated the down stairs to the boys’ rooms with the up stairs to the kitchen. I hung it up and headed into the kitchen.
The moment I got near, as usual, Brock claimed me with an arm around my waist, pulling my front to his side and I noted all the boys had bottles of Bud.
“You want a beer?” Brock asked and I looked from the counter to him.
“I was thinking hot cocoa.”
He grinned but he didn’t commit to it and I knew this because it didn’t reach his eyes and because it didn’t hit the room.
Damn again.
“What’s up?” I asked quietly.
“Some shit went down today, babe,” he answered.
Crap.
“What shit?” I asked.
He looked to his brethren then back down at me. “Olivia got the letter from my lawyer.”
I found this confusing or, more to the point, this reaction confusing. Brock had contacted an attorney and, using his change of career circumstances as an excuse, he was approaching Olivia to see if they could agree a joint custody schedule, the boys with Brock one week, back with Olivia and Dade the next.
In my mind, there were two possible reactions to this from Olivia. Relief that she could continue with her spa visits and shopping and whatever else she did during her days unhindered by the responsibility of her boys being around most of the time. Or anger just because she was a bitch. Brock, being Brock, had to have prepared for either eventuality.
“And?” I prompted.
“And, she phoned me.”
“Okay,” I said when he said no more.
“And when she phoned me, she asked if we could meet, have dinner. She told me she’s close to leavin’ Dade and she’s scared. She hasn’t worked in over two years, she signed an iron tight prenup, has no money of her own, isn’t in a position to set up again and take care of the boys and certainly not in the position to hire an attorney to deal with me. She reiterated she wants to discuss our situation, the boys’ situation, our family situation and the possibility of reconciliation.”
I felt my mouth get tight. Then I felt Brock’s arm give me a squeeze.
“I said no, babe,” he told me. “I told her that wasn’t a possibility. I’ve moved on, that move from her is permanent and at this juncture in our lives, we need to talk through our attorneys.”
My mouth relaxed.
“Then I got a call from Rex,” he went on and I blinked. He kept talking. “Rex was freaked, said his Mom picked them up from school and she was a mess. Cryin’, carryin’ on, told them what I was doin’, told them she was leavin’ Dade, told them she was scared, told them me bein’ with you meant we’d never have a family again, told them she didn’t know what she was gonna do. He called when they got home and told me even after they got home she was still cryin’ and carryin’ on and she was. I could hear her in the background.”
My mouth again got tight.
Good for the mountains and ski resorts, bad for Tessa O’Hara.
I loved snow, playing in it, looking at it, making hot cocoa and reading a book while it was falling outside.
Driving through it… not so much.
I opened the trunk and grabbed the handles of the plethora of parcels in the back, carefully arranging the bags in my grip, bags made awkward due to the copious rolls of Christmas wrap poking out.
I had a weakness for Christmas wrap. In fact, I had a weakness for any kind of wrap including bows and ribbons. I gave into this weakness often so I had an entire closet at my house dedicated to wrapping paper and all its accoutrement.
No joke.
Juggling bags while avoiding poking myself with rolls of paper, I slammed the trunk using my elbow and headed to Brock’s patio.
When my eyes went there, my brows drew together.
There was a Harley outside the gate. It wasn’t Brock’s. It was a Dyna Glide. And anyway, when not in use, Brock kept his Fat Boy on the patio under a sturdy, custom-made cover.
Hmm. It appeared Brock had company.
Still juggling bags, I maneuvered myself through the high, wood patio gate then through the storm door and front door.
Before I could call a word of greeting, I heard Brock say low, “Tess.”
I knew instantly he wasn’t greeting me. It was a warning to halt conversation.
Oh man.
“Hey!” I called, shut the door and walked into the living room, eyes to the right.
Then I saw them. A Hispanic man and a Native American man on the stools in front of Brock’s bar, Brock standing in the kitchen behind the bar.
My first thought, seeing as I was female and these thoughts usually took precedence above all others, was these guys were hot. Not hot, per say, if you were talking the average sense of the word. Hot in the Brock sense of the word which was to say mouth-watering, off-the-scales hot.
My second thought was they not only shared hotness quotients with Brock, but both of them in different ways also had the wild man, dangerous man aura.
For some reason, Brock was communing with his brethren and the serious vibe pulsing in the room said it wasn’t over beers, war stories and nostalgically reminiscing about the bitches they’d tagged.
This was something else.
“Hey babe,” Brock rumbled. “This is Hector Chavez and Vance Crowe, friends of mine.”
“Hey guys,” I greeted.
To this I got a, “Yo,” from Vance Crowe, the Native American man but the Hispanic man just gave me a chin lift.
Definitely Brock Brethren.
I hefted the bags up over the back of the couch and dumped them on the seat then turned to Brock, pulling off my knit cap and immediately running my fingers through my hair in an effort to fix or hide any possible hat head. “You need me to find something to do in the bedroom?”
“No,” he shook his head and then said softly, “Come up here, darlin’.”
Damn.
Just as I thought, that something else had to do with me and/or it was not good news.
My eyes did a sweep through the male talent in my man’s kitchen and I found myself having the curious reaction that not a lot of females would have and that was that I would rather go out, get in my car and track down Martha and Elvira to drink cosmos than take off my coat and join the three best looking men I’d seen in my life in my man’s kitchen.
Regardless of that, I nodded, unbuttoned my coat, took it to the hall closet that separated the down stairs to the boys’ rooms with the up stairs to the kitchen. I hung it up and headed into the kitchen.
The moment I got near, as usual, Brock claimed me with an arm around my waist, pulling my front to his side and I noted all the boys had bottles of Bud.
“You want a beer?” Brock asked and I looked from the counter to him.
“I was thinking hot cocoa.”
He grinned but he didn’t commit to it and I knew this because it didn’t reach his eyes and because it didn’t hit the room.
Damn again.
“What’s up?” I asked quietly.
“Some shit went down today, babe,” he answered.
Crap.
“What shit?” I asked.
He looked to his brethren then back down at me. “Olivia got the letter from my lawyer.”
I found this confusing or, more to the point, this reaction confusing. Brock had contacted an attorney and, using his change of career circumstances as an excuse, he was approaching Olivia to see if they could agree a joint custody schedule, the boys with Brock one week, back with Olivia and Dade the next.
In my mind, there were two possible reactions to this from Olivia. Relief that she could continue with her spa visits and shopping and whatever else she did during her days unhindered by the responsibility of her boys being around most of the time. Or anger just because she was a bitch. Brock, being Brock, had to have prepared for either eventuality.
“And?” I prompted.
“And, she phoned me.”
“Okay,” I said when he said no more.
“And when she phoned me, she asked if we could meet, have dinner. She told me she’s close to leavin’ Dade and she’s scared. She hasn’t worked in over two years, she signed an iron tight prenup, has no money of her own, isn’t in a position to set up again and take care of the boys and certainly not in the position to hire an attorney to deal with me. She reiterated she wants to discuss our situation, the boys’ situation, our family situation and the possibility of reconciliation.”
I felt my mouth get tight. Then I felt Brock’s arm give me a squeeze.
“I said no, babe,” he told me. “I told her that wasn’t a possibility. I’ve moved on, that move from her is permanent and at this juncture in our lives, we need to talk through our attorneys.”
My mouth relaxed.
“Then I got a call from Rex,” he went on and I blinked. He kept talking. “Rex was freaked, said his Mom picked them up from school and she was a mess. Cryin’, carryin’ on, told them what I was doin’, told them she was leavin’ Dade, told them she was scared, told them me bein’ with you meant we’d never have a family again, told them she didn’t know what she was gonna do. He called when they got home and told me even after they got home she was still cryin’ and carryin’ on and she was. I could hear her in the background.”
My mouth again got tight.
