Crazy (The Gibson Boys #4)(25)

“And what were you gonna do with that?”

“Hit you in the eyeball.”

His laugh is quick and loud and, even though I know it’s at me, I laugh too.

“I might just cancel my home security with you around, Hawkeye,” he chuckles. “A saltshaker? Really?”

“It’s all I had.”

“Just a helpful hint—knives are in that drawer,” he says, pointing behind me. “Unless you have some super skill I don’t know about, they’ll come in handier than a damn saltshaker.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. The veins flex in his forearms beneath nicks and scrapes and scars. I look away before I get distracted in a very real way.

“Tell you what,” he says. “I’ll give you two minutes to ask me anything you want before we leave.”

“Leave? What do you mean, leave? Where are we going?”

“One minute, fifty seconds.”

I grin. “What’s your name?”

“Wesley.”

“Aha! I knew it!”

“You knew what?” He laughs.

“Your name wasn’t Peck.”

“I told you it wasn’t Peck, genius,” he teases. “I just didn’t tell you what it was.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “No one calls me that. Sometimes, I forget my name isn’t Peck.”

“Wesley, huh? What’s your middle name?”

“Chapman. Wesley Chapman Ward.”

I ponder that. It’s a very strong name and reminds me of a pastor in the Old West that would shoot you with his six-shooter if you acted up.

“I like it,” I say.

“Well, good, because there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.” He looks at his watch. “Anything else? Or are you sure I’m not a murderer?”

I raise a brow. “Well, I’m fairly certain you’re not. Wesley sounds much more good guy than bad buy.”

“And you’re pinning your safety on that? My name?”

No, I’m pinning it on that smile.

“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

“Nope. Your life.” He grins. “Now come on. We have somewhere to be.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere.”

“Unless that’s the name of an actual place, that’s a cop-out.”

He laughs and heads for the door. “Come on, Hawkeye.”

“I’m not dressed to go anywhere,” I say, looking at my dirty shirt and shorts. “I’m not presentable.”

The light fills the room as he pulls the door open. He stops with his hand on the knob and looks at me. He grins. “There’s not a damn thing wrong with how you look. Now come on before dinner gets cold.”

He bows his head and heads out the door. I follow, my cheeks aching from the smile on my face.





Ten





Peck



“Here we are,” I say.

My truck rolls to a stop next to Nana’s rose bushes. I cut the engine and take a deep breath.

Although I’ve never lived in the white house with black shutters, it’s the place I think of when someone says the word “home.” It’s where I’d go if I had a bike wreck—or a car accident as I grew up. This is the place for pot roast on Sunday afternoons, and where my cousins and I would gather to watch baseball games or fighting events because she’d fix us so much food we couldn’t eat it all. Christmases have always been held here, and the lawn has hosted more Easter egg hunts than any place I’ve ever been. Even now that we’re all in our late twenties and early thirties, we still hunt candy-filled eggs each spring just because it makes Nana happy.

And maybe us.

I look over my shoulder and see Dylan looking at me.

“Why do you look nervous?” she asks.

“I’m not.”

“Liar.”

Either I’m way too easy to read, or she’s making a stab in the dark, but she’s not altogether wrong.

I’ve never done this. Sure, I’ve watched my cousins bring girls to Nana’s house dozens of times, but I’ve never walked through her door with a woman. It’s always felt like a big deal to me. Like bringing a lady to meet the most important person in my life would be the moment I knew I’d found the person for me.

Yet here I am, sitting in the driveway with a girl I barely know.

I just invited her to tag along like I was heading to Carlson’s Bakery or something. I blurted it out before thinking it through beforehand—something Walker and Sienna say I need to do more often.

Clearly, they’re right.

Dylan leans against the door, squaring her shoulders to me. “Just because I’m staying at your house for a while doesn’t mean you have to cart me all over the world with you.” Her eyes glint with mischief. “I mean, unless you think I’m gonna steal your stuff while you’re gone or something.”

I laugh. “I have a history with you that makes me believe you’re anti-theft. Plus, you have this vigilante justice thing going on—ouch!” I say as she takes a swipe at my shoulder.

She laughs too. “Honestly, though. I can see you’re having second thoughts about bringing me here. I can just sit in the car. I’m totally cool with that.”