Dylan: The Sons of Dusty Walker (5 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

He never thought he’d be this happy to step inside his father’s house. But it sure as hell beat spending another second pretending he understood the first thing about reading geological reports. He was beginning to think Dusty’s office staff were sadistically inclined, what with their endless enjoyment of thrusting paperwork in front of him that translated as easily as ancient hieroglyphics. Still, the brain-numbing work had offered the occasional distraction from his encounter with Zoe. Occasional being a loose term. If five minutes out of the day counted, well then, he guessed it qualified.

Scratching his jaw, he hooked the SUV’s keychain on the proper peg and ambled into the kitchen. He spotted Marliss washing what looked like a bunch of fresh mint in the sink. He glanced at the digital time display on the microwave. “Aren’t you supposed to be off the clock?”

She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Figured you might be thirsty after putting in a hard day. Made up a batch of my special mojito mix.”

He grunted. “Just happened to make up a batch, huh?”

Chuckling, she flicked the bundle of mint, giving the droplets of water clinging to the foliage a one way ticket down the drain. “I mighta discovered you’ve got a taste for the cocktail.”

“Been doin’ a little online reconnaissance on me?” He didn’t often do a lot of interviews and such. Usually the folks running the music blogs and whatnot were more interested in landing a one-on-one with Luke. Went with the territory. Being the founding member of Truckstop Pickup and the biggest star power in the band, Luke was definitely the headliner—as he constantly liked to remind Dylan and the rest of the crew. It was annoying as shit, but what could you do? The man did pack in the crowds and helped keep Dylan’s bill collectors at bay.

Not that he had to worry about that now. And truthfully, only his stubbornness was to blame for his leaner years in the beginning, before the band really took off and exploded on the scene. Other than the house in Nashville, he’d refused to accept any handouts from Dusty. And the only reason he caved on the house was because Georgianna had fallen in love with the place at first sight. Besides, she lived there a hell of a lot more often than he did, so it didn’t feel too much like a compromise. He suspected Dusty had continued to send money to her all these years before his death, but he never asked her about it. What he didn’t know wouldn’t piss him off.

Only now he was sitting on a huge inheritance that he didn’t know what the hell to do with. He couldn’t walk away from it. Not when he had Hunter to think of. And Zoe. She might very well snub the idea of taking money from him. Which made it pretty damn ironic, considering his own mule-headedness where that was concerned. But he’d do whatever it took to ensure his son was provided for.

Hm, and who does that remind you of?
He shook Georgianna’s phantom sing-songy-told-ya-so voice from his head. This was nothing like his and Dusty’s situation. More than likely his dad’s monetary support had been fueled by guilt. That wasn’t the case with Dylan. He wanted to do right by Hunter, and make up for all those years they’d missed. Starting tonight. Clearing his throat, he slid Marliss a worried look. “You, uh, wouldn’t happen to know what a three-year-old prefers to eat, would ya?”

She frowned. Not unexpected, given the question. “Well, depends. Sometimes they can be picky. And you also have to take food allergies into consideration.”

Aw shit. He shoulda asked Zoe about that.
I’m a fucking horrible father.
Sick inside at his utter ineptitude to get even this tiny aspect of parenting right, he dug his cellphone from his pocket and scrolled through his contact list until Zoe’s number was highlighted in the text window. He typed in a quick message asking for her and Hunter’s meal request. From now on he wouldn’t even attempt to wing it.

A few seconds later her response popped up on the screen.
Hunter loves pizza, and I do too. If it will make things easier, I can stop and grab one at Tivoli’s on the way over.

Damn. No, he was supposed to be the one doing the work here.
Do they deliver?   

She replied back almost instantly.
Why pay the extra charge? I’ll be driving right by there.

He wouldn’t be swayed by logic. Screw that noise.
Maybe I wanna support the local economy.

Her speedy comeback pinged a second later.
I’ll leave extra in their tip jar.

He gritted his teeth.
I’m reimbursing you the money.
All
of it.

Her final message took longer hitting his inbox.
Fine, you stubborn jackass.

Grinning, he pumped his fist in victory.

“I take it you got the answer you needed?”

He lifted his gaze to Marliss. “Yep. I’ll have a couple guests joining me tonight. We’re havin’ pizza.”

Marliss nodded. “Always a good choice.” There was no mistaking the curiosity in her eyes. “Nice to see you’re already making some local friends. At least, I’m assuming that’s the case.”

He recognized a blatant dig for information when he saw one. Didn’t bother him though. He liked Marliss, and considering the fact she was looking after him this week—and even made him his favorite drink—he didn’t mind providing the details. “Yup, but Zoe and I kinda go back a ways. So we’re not exactly strangers.” That was putting it lightly. He knew every intimate detail of her anatomy. He just hoped she’d give him the chance to discover even more about her. And not only the sexy stuff. Though he was certainly in favor of that too.

Marliss rolled the mint in a paper towel, soaking up the remaining moisture. “Are you referrin’ to Zoe Chapman?”

He shouldn’t have been surprised Marliss knew who she was. Red Creek being as small as it was, everyone was bound to be on a first name basis with each other. He also hadn’t considered the opportunity small town living provided. He could do a little digging of his own. “Yes, ma’am. Are you acquainted with Zoe?”

Marliss chuckled, confirming his suspicions. “No such thing as a stranger in Red Creek.” Stroking her chin, she raked him with her thoughtful gaze. “I can see you two together. What with the musical connection and all.”

He blinked. “Musical connection?”

“She teaches chorale at the elementary school. Also does private lessons. Lord knows she’s the only reason Cubby’s little June Bug can carry a note without causing a howling dog uproar within a twenty-mile radius. Bless that poor tone-deaf child’s heart.”

Dylan absorbed the shocking information Marliss had given him. Not so much the part about tone-deaf June Bug. While he was sure that was important news for Cubby and the Red Creekian canines, it was of little consequence to Dylan. Learning Zoe was a music teacher, though? Now that was a doozy. Particularly since she’d professed to have little interest in music, whatsoever. He remembered the conversation like it was yesterday. Probably because it’d involved her lying naked on top of him. Memories of her nude, coming, smiling, talking, or pretty much merely breathing within his vicinity tended to adhere to his brain matter like Gorilla Glue. He’d curled one of her long tresses around his fingertip and mentioned something about writing a song that’d commemorate the color of her hair. She’d laughed at that, and then informed him that she wasn’t a natural blonde. He’d busted her on that fib by pointing out that the carpet matched the drapes. So unless she dyed downstairs too, she’d have to live with him writing that song. To which she’d stunned him
and
broken his heart by admitting she didn’t give a donkey’s behind for music.

He’d been at a rare loss for words, the concept of someone not enjoying music more unnatural and disturbing to him than Miracle Whip salad dressing. Eventually she’d soothed his damaged psyche by sliding her pussy over the head of his cock, blowing his mind in an entirely different manner. By the time she’d bottomed out on him, everything had been forgiven. Hell, he’d been lucky to hold a damn thought in his head.

But now his mind was right back to that place of utter befuddlement.

Why had she lied to him? Unlike her flip remark about not being a blonde, she’d seemed so bored when the subject of music came up. She’d given him zero reason to suspect she was being untruthful.

Well, one thing was certain, he’d get to the bottom of this mystery before the night was done.

Reminded that Zoe and Hunter would shortly be on their way with the pizza, he dragged a hand across his jaw, wincing at the overgrowth of stubble. If he didn’t do something about that, he’d get mistaken for a mangy coyote soon. “I’m gonna grab a quick shower before they get here.” 

Leaving Marliss to finish fussing with her mojito makings, he jogged upstairs to his ensuite bathroom. He performed the quickest shower and shave in history and pulled on a fresh pair of Wranglers and the nicest rocker cowboy shirt he owned. After slapping on some aftershave lotion, he ran a comb through his hair and deemed himself presentable as he would get.

Nerves bouncing like they were performing a crazy Mexican Hat Dance, he headed downstairs. He paused in the entry. Should he hang out by the front door? No, that’d appear too anxious. He could turn on the TV in the great room though. Act like he was absorbed with a movie or something.

Studiously ignoring the photos of Dusty and Theresa, he grabbed the remote and clicked the tube on. The overly-loud voice of a news anchor boomed from the surround sound speakers. He lowered the volume several decibels and stretched out in the leather club chair, propping his boots on the adjacent ottoman. Despite his best intentions, his focus drifted to one of the portraits sitting on the built-in shelves across from him. Judging from Dusty and Theresa’s fancy duds, they were at some highfalutin shindig. Charity event? Could be. Regardless, his dad looked uncomfortable as shit in his starched shirt and navy suit. He had his arm around Theresa’s shoulder, but the gesture almost appeared strained.

Dylan had heard the rumors about the tension in their marriage, and he’d figured his dad deserved what he got. Dusty couldn’t have his cake and eat it too. But the longer Dylan stared at that picture, the more uncomfortable it made him. Like he was seeing past the facade of two people putting on their own performance for the camera lens. Dusty looked tired. Weary. As if the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders, and he didn’t know how to ease up the burden.

A deep pang pinched Dylan’s heart. He sucked in a breath.
Stop it. Stop it right fucking now.
He couldn’t think about Dusty. There was enough of Dylan’s past sitting on his plate at the moment. In fact, two incredibly important pieces were on their way to see him. That’s what he needed to focus on. Because shit knows it was gonna take every ounce of his attention.

The doorbell rang, and his pulse jumped like it’d been kick-started.

“I’ll get it, Mr. Walker,” Marliss hollered from the kitchen. 

It still felt weird having the woman address him that way. He wasn’t used to the formality, especially since it was common practice for his band members to call each other endearing pet names, like
Buttweiser
and
Anheuser-Ballsack,
depending on their beer of choice.

“No, I’m right here anyway.” He bolted from the chair before Marliss could beat him to the door. Yeah, arriving at the entrance wheezing from his sprint didn’t exactly maintain his image of not being anxious. But fuck it. He cracked open the door, his breath snaring in his throat for an entirely different reason than his mad dash across the room as he gaped at Zoe. Hot damn, she was the most beautiful woman on God’s green earth.

Much as he’d loved her snug yoga pants, the buttercup yellow sundress she’d exchanged them for made her look like a cotton candy-dipped ray of sunshine. Who knows how long he stared at her? Obviously several beats beyond appropriate because Marliss coughed pointedly from somewhere behind him.

“Mr. Walker, I reckon that pizza has to be hot.”

Snapping to his senses, he finally noticed the flat cardboard box resting in Zoe’s hands. Smothering a curse at his own bone-headedness, he relieved her of the package. “Come on in.”

He led the way inside, keeping his pace leisurely so that he could hang close to Zoe and Hunter as they took in their surroundings. He’d expected Hunter to be shy or wildly rambunctious, similar to how he’d behaved at the pharmacy. The little boy did seem uncertain of how he was supposed to act. Every once in a while Zoe would stroke the top of Hunter’s head, which did the trick of putting him at ease. Dylan could see why. Hell, if Zoe insisted on petting him like that he’d curl up in her lap, happier than a puppy dog.

They reached the kitchen and Marliss took the pizza box from Dylan. “Where would y’all like to eat? Dining room? Or it’s a gorgeous evening out now it’s cooled off. I could light the candles on the patio.”

“I wouldn’t want you to go to the trouble.” One glance at Zoe’s face confirmed the trouble she was most worried about was the romantic kind. Apparently candles crossed the line.

Marliss waved off Zoe’s concern. “Don’t be silly. Y’all get yourselves situated and I’ll be out in a sec.” She turned her back on Zoe and winked at Dylan before shuffling toward the cupboards.

Making a mental note to suggest a raise for Marliss and Lou to his brothers, Dylan escorted Hunter and his mama outside.  Truthfully, he hadn’t much thought of what would happen to Dusty’s housekeeper and cook now that his dad was gone. Marliss and Lou were well provided for according to Dusty’s will. As they should be. But other than that, he had no idea what their plans were after the end of the month.