Games of the Heart (The 'Burg #4)(121)

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, f**k, it was soon, he knew it, he didn’t f**king 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.”

Mike grinned.

Dusty grinned back and snuggled closer.

He liked that but it didn’t stop him from ordering, “Boots, jacket, ass in gear.”

She rolled her eyes. Then she smiled big. Then she swayed up on her toes to touch her mouth to his.

Then she broke free, got her boots, her jacket and her ass in gear.

Chapter Fifteen

Uneasy

Mike stood in Dusty’s kitchen in Texas, hip to the counter, bottle of beer in his hand.

Dusty was in her bedroom getting ready to take him to Schub’s. It was Friday night. Hunter and Jerra were meeting them there. Texas barbeque, beer and Mike meeting her best friends in the environs of a dive bar that Dusty warned him had sawdust on the floor, a mechanical bull and line dancing was required.

He was not about to line dance.

He was also feeling uneasy.

This was because, as far as the eye could see, was beauty.

And she was giving this up for her nephews, her family farm…

And him.

Her one story house was attractive and sprawling, all the bedrooms and two baths off a long hall. The enormous living room jutted out the front and included a large, well-appointed kitchen. There were picture windows everywhere with vistas of the dust and scrub of deep south Texas plains, a small barn and large shed. All of it attractive, well kept with a vast amount of pots, half barrels, window boxes and hanging planters that were, in this climate in March, a riot of color.

The house, Dusty told him, was planted smack in the middle of the twenty acres she owned.

Twenty.

Plenty of room for her to roam and exercise her horses. Solitude for her to create her work. Not a single housing development in sight. Beauty as far as the eye could see.

The Holliday farm was more than fifty times the space but from April to November, the vast majority of that land was taken up with corn.

You could not ride a horse through corn.

Mike took a sip of beer then dropped his hand and left it curled around the bottle on the counter, his mind continuing to sift through the things he’d learned that day.

Dusty’s gallery was less than an hour’s drive away and they’d arrived late morning. They’d driven to it early afternoon because Dusty needed to meet with the gallery manager.