Property Of (25 page)

“He’s a cop, Bo; I think he can handle anything you and Finn dish out.”

“He’s held up so far, I’ll give him that much; we’ll just have to push him to the limit on Saturday.”

God save me from overprotective brothers.

“Bo, I really like this guy, can you—” my phone beeped breaking into my train of thought so I put Bo on hold and clicked over.

“Hello?”

“Are you at home?” Dallas inquired.

“No, I’m still at Gypsy’s waiting for you.”

“Do you like beer?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like burgers?”

“Yes.”

“Then meet me at McNellie’s in twenty minutes and we’ll eat and play a game of pool.”

I smiled because I loved McNellie’s Public House. They had the best sweet potato fries and largest selection of beer I’d ever seen.

I answered, “Ok, see you in twenty minutes,” then clicked back over to Bo.

“Bo, I have to go, I’m meeting Dallas at McNellie’s.”

“McNellie’s? If you bring me back some sweet potato fries, I’ll consider going easy on the man.”

“No way, you’re on your own if you want food. I’ll talk to you on Saturday at Mom and Dad’s.

“Right,” Bo answered, “gotta run.”

McNellie’s Public House is an Irish bar in downtown Tulsa with a limited, but excellent, pub menu and a beer selection with over three hundred and fifty choices and counting. If you like Lager, Ales, or even harder to find Lambic beer, then McNellie’s was the place to go. Built in 2004 by a fresh-out-of-college entrepreneur, McNellie’s was styled after Irish pubs the owner had frequented while on an extended trip to Ireland. Their menu was limited, but what they had got an A plus rating from me. However, the best part of the pub was the game room upstairs with its pool tables, dartboards, shuffleboard, and video games. You could eat, then go upstairs with a pint of Irish ale with your friends and ease the night away playing darts. This is what Dallas and I were doing when I heard a booming voice shout, “Yo, Nic, small world.”

The drink I’d been taking lodged in my throat when I turned around to find not only Bo standing there, but also Finn and my parents. I narrowed my eyes at the bastard, and then smiled warmly at my parents while I calculated how long we’d have to stay before I could sneak out the door with Dallas.

My father came forward first, putting out his hand to Dallas and shaking it while Dallas greeted him with, “Sir, nice to see you again.” Then he turned his bright blue eyes on me and I walked into his arms.

At fifty-eight, my father was still a handsome man. Originally from Oslo, Norway, he’d come to the states to study at John Hopkins in Baltimore, Maryland. Once he’d completed his residency and was about to return home, he decided to take one last cross-country trip with friends. Fascinated with American culture, Dad wanted to travel the Old Route 66 highway toward California. Fortunately, for mom, Old Route 66 cuts right through Tulsa and they’d stopped to rest for a day. Obviously, since Dad was still here, you can guess the rest.

He made the acquaintance of a local beauty and fell deeply in lust with her. While he continued his trip to California, he couldn’t stop thinking about the blonde-haired beauty. She’d given him her number before he left, so each night he would call when they checked into a motel. When it was time to return to Baltimore, then back home to Norway, all thoughts of leaving had vanished. Instead of getting back in the car and traveling back across the US, he jumped on a plane and headed for Tulsa. That was thirty-four years ago and they were still blissfully happy.

“Hey, Daddy,” I whispered as he engulfed me in a bear hug.

“Hello, my little one, how are you feeling today? Well, I hope.”

“Fit as a fiddle,” I replied on a squeeze.

“Good, good, my little pixie,” he replied with a smile wrapping me into a side hug. I had the distinct feeling he was claiming me in a way in front of Dallas, letting him know no matter what happened in the future between us, I was
his
little girl first, last, and always.

“I see you play darts, Mr. Vaughn. How about we throw some and you can catch me up on this mess my little girl stumbled into on Tuesday.”

Yep, definitely putting Dallas on the spot.

Dallas grinned and threw his arm out to let dad know he should lead the way. Seeing that, Dad let me go and moved toward the dartboard while I mouthed “sorry” to Dallas. He didn’t seem bothered by the request however, he just winked at me before he turned and followed my father.

“How are things going with Dallas?” mother whispered in my ear.

“We aren’t getting married, mother,” I replied with a sigh as I turned toward her and my brothers.

“Got any brownies left?” Finn snorted when my eyes landed on him.

“No!” I bit out then motioned toward my mother with sharp, angry eyes.

“Don’t worry about me sweetheart, your father and I acted out the movie 9½ Weeks when you and your brothers were staying with Momma and Daddy one weekend. A little food play is very healthy for a relationship.”

Finns grin vanished quickly upon Mother’s admission to sex in our kitchen. Personally, I wanted to throw my hands over my ears and singsong “I’m not listening,” but all I could think about was the fact Finn and Bo had told her.

“You told her?” I seethed at my brothers.

“I need a drink and some bleach,” Bo muttered as he walked off, heading for the bar.

“It’s not a big deal, sweetheart,” Mother laughed.

“Right, knowing that you and the boys talk about my sex life isn’t a big deal at all,” threw out.

“Don’t be such a prude, Nicola Grace. It’s a perfectly natural part of a relationship. Your father and I enjoy a healthy….”

“Jesus, mom,” Finn groaned as he walked away following Bo’s lead.

“That should teach them not to embarrass you any time soon,” Mom laughed as she watched Finn go downstairs.

“I need a drink, no, I need a bottle. Please tell me Daddy doesn’t know about the brownies?” I begged as I turned back to Dallas and my father. Dallas had a serious look on his face as my father spoke and I wondered what my father was saying.

“Why do you think your father wanted to play a game of darts?” she grinned.

Hell’s bells.

That did it; I could sabotage my own relationship without the help of my family. Whirling on my heels, I stomped over to where Dallas and Daddy were playing darts and grabbed Dallas’ hand, saying, “Night, Daddy, we’re leaving.”

Dallas didn’t stop me when I started tugging him toward the stairs, but I could hear him chuckling as he followed. When we got outside, he walked me to my car, telling me to follow him to his house. Ten minutes later, we pulled up in front of a small, brick Gingerbread Bungalow with an arched porch and big windows. There was minimal landscaping which didn’t surprise me since Dallas was single and worked most of the time. His interior was minimalist as well. Way minimalistic. From what I could see, the ex-wife got all the good stuff in the divorce and left him with the hand-me-downs. A flat screen TV and one old brown leather couch and matching recliner were all the living room held, apart from the pictures on the mantle. The living room sported a highly ornate fireplace that was indicative of the houses built in the 1920’s. In fact, his home was full of architectural details that, if he had the time and money to spend, could boost his home's value and make it feel more like a home than just a place he crashed.

Dallas walked through his sparsely furnished dining room that held only a small table with a single chair, into to his galley kitchen. I followed and leaned against the opening to the kitchen. He opened his fridge and pulled out two beers popping the tops off both before turning and handing me one. As I sipped my beer, I looked around his kitchen, took in the gold appliances with matching gold counter tops, and smiled. My brothers would love to get their hands on this place.

“You live very sparingly,” I commented.

“Yep, I don’t spend a lot of time here other than to sleep, so there’s no need to have a bunch of crap.”

“Do you work all the time because there is nothing waiting for you at home?” I inquired with interest.

Dallas took a pull from his bottle, his eyes watching me closely as he swallowed. Something about his mood seemed different since we’d left McNellie’s and it put me on guard.

“I know now where you get your old-fashioned sensibilities from,” Dallas told me after he finished his sip.

“Sensibilities?” I laughed.

“Isn’t that what you call them in your books?”

“Yeah, but my books take place hundreds of years ago, some even a thousand.”

“It occurred to me after talking with your father that your love for all things, I’ll call it provincial, seem to come from him,” he answered drawing closer.

“Oh, God, what did he say?”

Dallas looked around his house as if he was taking an inventory, when he was done, his eyes came back to mine and he paused before answering.

“He asked what my intentions were toward his daughter. Asked if I was serious where you were concerned, could I provide for you and any future children? Made it clear that as your father, he couldn’t give permission to a man, any man, that is, to marry his daughter if he didn’t think she came first in that man’s eyes.”

Instead of being embarrassed by my father’s old-fashioned attitude, not to mention, it was way too soon for that type of talk, I was nervous. I had a feeling after that statement Dallas had brought me to his home to show me just what I’d be getting myself into being married to a cop.

“Is that why you brought me here tonight, to show me a house that isn’t a home because you work too much, that if we
were
to get married someday, this would be my life?”

“You know I’ve been married before. She left because I worked too damn much and didn’t make enough money to provide her with a huge home.”

“Please don’t insult me, Dallas, I’m not your ex-wife,” I replied sharply because it hurt that he’d lump me in with someone who would cheat.

Dallas scanned me from head to toe, but his eyes weren’t giving anything away. For some reason it felt like he was slipping through my fingers while I stood there, and I didn’t get what had happened in a few short hours.

“You came from money, I can never give that to you,” he stated blank faced. “You’re accustomed to the finer things in life.”

“You think money matters to me?” I bit out, insulted that he thought I could be that shallow. Money never bought anyone happiness. Those who’ve had it know that, and I’d trade a simple home full of love over a mansion any day.

“Money always matters in the end when there isn’t enough. You grew up wanting for nothing; I grew up with parents who lived paycheck to paycheck. I’d never have gone to college if it weren’t for my football scholarship.”

“You know, that’s called reverse snobbery, Dallas. You’re, you’re . . . well, I’m not sure what you’re doing, but for some reason you’re holding my parents wealth against me.”

“I’m not holding it against you I’m trying to make it clear before this goes any further between us that I am who I am—I work too much and I’ll never be rich.”

I didn’t know whether to scream or cry. It felt like he was saying goodbye. Clearly, whatever my father had said had Dallas stepping back.

“Dallas,” I ask breathlessly, afraid of what his answer might be, “what do you want? Forget that my parents provided a comfortable life for me when I was a kid. Tell me what it is that you want.”

Drawing a sharp breath through his nose Dallas looked down and stared at his boots while he worked his jaw. I took a step back and leaned against his dining room table for support, afraid of what I might hear. After a few moments of deliberation, he raised intense eyes to me, but still didn’t speak.

“Dallas?” I whispered my heart rapidly firing because I couldn’t read his face. He rolled his lips between his teeth as he stared at me, deciding what it was he truly wanted. Taking another sip of his beer, he nodded as if he’d made up his mind then laid down his beer, moved in front of me, putting both of his hands on my face, as he looked deep into my eyes.

“What I want,” he told me firmly as he swept his thumbs across my cheeks, “is to own that part of you that you’ve never given away, the part that can only be mine. I want to put my hands on you and feel the way you shiver from just my touch, to slide inside of you and hear you moan. I want to make love to you every day until the world slips away, until it’s just you and me. I want to wrap you in my arms and protect you because you brought somethin' sweet back into my life when all I've tasted is sour for far too long. That’s what I fuckin’ want. That said,” he went on moving his hand to my shoulders, kneading the muscles gently, “I don’t want you to wake up one day and feel like you’ve settled. I need you to be certain before we go any further ‘cause the way I feel right now tells me if we continue, I won’t let you go.”

Blood was roaring in my ears, as I stood there shocked by his admission. Who knew a man like Dallas had it in him to spout tender words of love. I opened my mouth to tell him I’d waited thirty-two years to give that part of me away to someone who was loyal, protective, and possessive of his woman. A man like him who could make me feel cherished and wanted. So much so, that I knew if we were together fifty years from now, I’d still feel cherished and wanted.

Maybe he was right; maybe I do have old-fashioned ideas. I’d probably be frowned upon by feminist’s if they knew that the thought of having a strong man to take care of me filled me with hope for the future, instead incensing me that he thought I couldn’t take care of myself. As for his ridiculous idea that because I came from money I’d lose interest or fall out of love, well, that was just insulting. I
definitely
didn’t know whether to scream or cry. However, something told me, with a man like Dallas, I needed to get used to these conflicting emotions.

Bearing that in mind, I was ready to let him know that he could set his concerns aside. If we stayed together, he wasn’t the only one who would bring money to the relationship. I wasn’t rich by any standard, but I made a comfortable living off my books. Although right now, I just needed him to accept that I was not like his ex-wife, because something told me that deep down this was where his hesitation came from.