Games of the Heart (49 page)

Dusty moved to perch like her mother on the arm of the couch.

Mike moved into the room and crossed his arms on his chest.

Then he gave it to them straight but thorough.

When he was done, Della dropped her head. Her hands now in her lap motionless, she was the image of a mother who was wondering where she went wrong.

Dean, on the other hand, was red-faced and looked like he was about to explode. He was the image of a father who was wishing his daughter was thirty years younger so he could still tan her ass.

Dusty had her head up but it was turned, looking away. Her face in profile was thoughtful but her thoughts were easily readable – pain, confusion, anger mixed with relief.

“Why would she do that?”

This came from Della, it was whispered, injured, baffled.

Dusty, Mike was mildly surprised to see, didn’t jump all over that with catty comments, taking the golden opportunity to sink the blade of their daughter’s betrayal deeper by pointing out this might be a more egregious transgression but the behavior was not uncommon. Something Debbie wouldn’t hesitate to do. Instead, she remained silent and reflective.

“That doesn’t matter,” Dean answered. “What matters is, legally, the farm is safe. That’s what matters.”

He had moved from angry to relieved and he was right. Put it behind, move on.

“I’d like Debbie’s home phone number,” Mike requested. “I think we shouldn’t delay in informing her we understand what we understand and as she has no legal recourse, she’ll need to stand down. This will allow Fin, Kirb and Rhonda to rest easy, at least on this.”

“I’ll phone her,” Dean muttered, moving to the cell sitting on the coffee table and as Mike watched him do it, he debated the merits of allowing it.

However, Debbie would very likely be more responsive to a phone call from her father, who Mike had to assume she loved or at least had some feeling for, than Mike who at this point she’d convinced herself she detested.

As Dean dialed and Mike watched, Dusty left her perch on the couch and came to him. He looked down at her, again sliding an arm around her waist as both her arms circled his middle.

“So, Debbie’s derailed. Wanna go upstairs and celebrate by making out on a teenage boy’s bed?” she whispered.

No, he did not want that. What he wanted was to walk her back to his house, put her ass in his truck and drive her to the watering hole where they could celebrate decisively. But this time in the backseat where he’d have the freedom to flip her after she was done so he could drive in hard to give the same to himself using her silken, tight, wet pussy to find it.

Unfortunately, with her nephew on his couch, this was not an option.

Dean started muttering on the phone while Mike answered, “Sweet as that offer is, Angel, I’m gonna have to pass.”

“Barn?” she suggested softly for only him to hear. “I’ll bring blankets. We can break up a bale of hay.”

“Honey, love you but do not love the idea of gettin’ hard in your family’s living room with your parents in attendance. You wanna cut me some slack?”

Her face got soft with the “love you”, her eyes flashed in that way that made his dick go hard when he mentioned his dick getting hard then the humor slid through it when he finished.

All of this happened in seconds. It was a spectacular show.

“Right, I’ll be good,” she muttered.

“Appreciate it,” he muttered back.

“
Have you lost your mind!
” Dean shouted, Dusty tensed next to him and both their eyes cut to Dean Holliday.

Mike tensed too when he saw the man red-faced again, fist planted on his hip, head bowed to look at his stocking feet.

The room was silent for some time then the silence was ended when Dean spoke.

And his tone hurt Mike to hear and he had never been particularly close to the man, just knew him, respected him and shot the shit with him on a variety of occasions over twenty-five years.

It had to kill Dusty and that was why, as they listened, Mike turned into her and curved his other arm around her tight.

“I do not know you,” Dean whispered, his voice tortured. “I cannot understand why you’ve done what you’ve already done to this family with your mean-spirited deceits, your sister-in-law, your nephews having lost what they’ve lost and why you’re staying that course. I cannot understand it. I don’t
want
to understand it. You contesting your brother’s will has no possible result but more aggravation and heartache not to mention depleting the reserves Rhonda has to care for her boys as they try to make a go to keep this farm viable. And what’s worse, you’re a goddamned attorney and you know you have no hope of winning and still, you’re doing it. Out of spite. Out of greed. I don’t know which it is but neither of them say one good thing about you. It’s like you’re not of my loins, you’re not my daughter. I don’t know who you are. I just know that right now, Deborah Holliday, I don’t
wanna
know.”

Then he flipped his phone shut, tossed it on the couch and stared at it as he lifted up a hand to pass it over the back of his neck.

Then he dropped his arm and took in the room.

“She’s contesting the will,” he told them something they already knew. “She’s already got the ball rolling. Her talks with Rhonda were an attempt to get Rhonda on her side.”

Without delay, Della sprang from her perch on the chair, dashed to her husband’s phone, snatched it up, flipped it open and started hitting buttons.

“Della –” Dean started, his face ravaged but she lifted a hand his way, palm up without taking her eyes from the phone.

“Not a word, Dean,” she snapped and put the phone to her ear.

Della Holliday was a good woman, a good mother and a good wife. Further, she was an excellent farmer’s wife. He’d eaten her cooking often when he dated Debbie and enjoyed every meal. There was a reason Dusty was as she was. Della didn’t sing but she often had music on and would sway through the house doing whatever it was she was doing. She was a hard worker and always busy. If she had a failing, it was that she often inadvertently caused issues or aggravated them because she refused to see the failings in her children. She also had trouble keeping her mouth shut. But she loved her kids and showed it. She loved her husband and showed it. She loved the farm and showed it.

But when she got pissed, watch out.

“Debbie? It’s your mother,” she snapped into the phone. “No, you listen to me. I only have a few words to say, I’m gonna say them, you’re gonna listen to them and then you’re gonna think about them. You do this to this family, you are no longer my daughter. I am not joking. I am not threatening. That’s just the plain, ole truth. You do this, you will never,
ever
see or hear from me again. Think about that.”

Then she flipped the phone closed, tossed it on the couch and swept her eyes through the room.

“I’m takin’ a ding-darned walk,” she announced then she promptly stomped out.

After she left the room all occupants remained silent.

Finally, Dean muttered, “Better get my boots on and follow her. No tellin’, in this mood, what she’ll get up to.”

And after delivering that, he moved out the door giving his younger daughter a gloomy look and Mike a jerk of his chin.

When they were alone, Mike felt Dusty’s arms around him get tight and her face plant in his chest.

“Mom never did that,” she mumbled into his chest. “As in
ever.
Not even close.”

He bent his neck and put his lips to her hair.

“She’ll not get the farm, honey,” he whispered into her hair. “This shit’s a pain in the ass. It’s baffling why she’s done what she’s done. It’s annoying that she’s intent to do what she’s going to do. But, breaking it down, Darrin looked out for his kids, he owned this farm outright and no judge in the state of Indiana is going to find in favor of an attorney who lives in Washington DC and makes six figures at the expense of two boys with no Dad and a legacy farm. So, it might be a pain in the ass but, in the end, this farm will be safe.”

“I need to go back to Texas.”

Mike felt every inch of his body get solid.

“Pardon?” The word was whispered low.

She tipped her head back and caught his eyes, “Sell my place. Sort out the gallery. Deal with getting the bigger kilns up here. To fight this, we need money. To make a go of this farm, Fin needs help. This is no longer me stepping in for a few months, Mike. Debbie’s got her teeth into this, it goes to the courts, this shit could take months and not a few of them. I need to make the move permanent. Or, at least, rent my place out so it isn’t sitting there costing me money and go back once Fin is settled and hopefully Rhonda is sorted and lastly Debbie is out of the way. And Kirby’s bed is okay but staying in a teenager’s bedroom is gonna get old fast. I know this because it already is. And Kirb and Fin don’t much like the new arrangement either. They’re used to having their own space. With this new shit, Mom and Dad, I know, will be in for the long haul. I need space of my own. A studio apartment. Whatever. But I need to start sorting my life and I need to start doing it yesterday.”

Mike stared down into her eyes and he could not say this didn’t please the fuck out of him. It did. Absolutely.

But Jesus, she was making huge life decisions in a matter of seconds.

“Honey, maybe you might wanna think on that. A day, two or, better yet, a week.”

“Is Debbie’s mind gonna change in a day or two or a week?” she shot back and shook her head. “No. Is McGrath gonna vaporize into thin air? Especially when it becomes public record a family is battling over a farm he wants?” Another shake of the head. “No. Is Rhonda gonna snap out of it, especially now, with Mom here, a Mom who will cook, clean, grocery shop so she’ll have more time to retreat? No. I could go on, Mike. But, advice, get used to this. This is me, babe. I don’t fuck around. My family needs me and those boys don’t need me with it in the back of their mind that at any time I can bolt. They gotta know I’m committed. I’m committed. And, uh…by the way, I’ve fallen in love with one of The ‘Burg’s cops. He’s got roots I don’t wanna dig out because I like them. So, it might be a decision on the fly but you have to admit with all that, it’s a good one.”

She was not wrong.

“Don’t leave for a week,” Mike said.

“Mike, I have to –”

His arms gave her a squeeze and he dipped his face close.

“Don’t leave for a week,” he repeated. “Next weekend the kids are at Audrey’s. I’ll see if I can get Friday and Monday off. Talk to Audrey about keepin’ them Sunday night. We’ll leave Friday morning after the kids go to school. I’ll go down with you, help you out.”

“Oh my God,” she whispered immediately, “I would
love
that.”

She meant it, every word. No hiding. Straight out.

Jesus, fuck, it was soon, he knew it, he didn’t fucking care.

He loved the woman he held in his arms, straight up, straight to the heart.

“I’ll talk to my Cap first thing in the morning,” he whispered back. “Talk to the kids tomorrow after school.”

A shadow passed over her face before she asked, “Is it going to be okay, them staying with Audrey? Will they be cool with that? Will
she
be cool with it? And how did your talk go?”

“The talk, I’ll explain later. The other, it’s one night, they’ll survive and she’s indicated she wants to work on her relationship with them. She’s got Sunday night and Monday before she goes to work to start doin’ that.”

He watched her brows draw together. “She wants to work on their relationship?”

“This is her most recent claim.”

“That’s good,” Dusty said softly, pressing closer.

She did not know Audrey.

“We’ll see.”

She grinned suddenly. “You’re coming home with me.”

No. He was going to where her soon-to-be past home would be.

He didn’t share that.

Instead he grinned back and said, “Yeah.”

“Awesome,” she whispered. “So, we can’t celebrate by making out or other such activities. How about I get you a beer, you can fill me in on Audrey and then you can leave but not before you let me make out with you in the cold, dark, early March evening on a farm in Indiana?”

“How about you come home with me, we have a beer in my kitchen, I explain things about Audrey while doing double duty of providing my presence in the house which would keep Fin’s hands to himself. Also, gotta give Fin a brief about this recent shit, he should be in the know and has proved he can deal with it. Then you can walk home with your nephew.”

“I like my idea better,” she mumbled.

“So would Fin and Reesee,” Mike replied.

“Your idea doesn’t include making out,” she noted.

“Gotta get through the cold, dark, early March evening to get to my back gate. We’ll see if we can find the opportunity.”

“Bet we will,” she whispered.

“We won’t know unless you shut up, get your boots and jacket on and your ass in gear.”

“That sucks too,” she remarked and his brows went up.

“What sucks?”

“You’re hot when you’re angry and you’re hot when you’re bossy. These both mean I’m pretty screwed.”