Lady Luck (Colorado Mountain #3)(162)

Ty’s eyes were glued to the box, he moved through the kitchen, opened the door, tagged it, closed the door, locked it, swung the blinds closed, wound them shut and walked the box to the island all the while I stood there and glared.

His head turned to me and he muttered, “Peña.”

I blinked, not prepared for that word to come out of his mouth. Then I asked, “What?”

The fingers of Ty’s big, strong hands were already shoving through an opening at the side as he answered, “Express from Peña.”

Great. This could mean anything and that included more sick-ass sex tapes.

I stomped to Ty as he tore the box open with his Mr. Humongo strength then he set it down, pulling out something inside that was wrapped in layers of bubble wrap. He tore that free and my breath stuck in my throat at what he unveiled.

It was a shining sun with wavy rays expanding out made of chips of Mexican tile artfully arranged and embedded in terracotta. It was unusual and extraordinary. I’d never seen anything like it.

It was magnificent.

Ty set it back on the pile of bubble wrap he’d shoved in the box and pulled out an envelope, slit it open with a finger and yanked out a card.

Then he whispered, “Fuck.”

I got close and read the card held in his fingers.

On it, it said simply, “Welcome to sunshine, esé.”

What should have been a happy day destroyed by annoying reporters melted instantly.

Just as instantly as I melted into tears.

And an instant later, I was in my husband’s arms.

* * * * *

The sunshine Angel sent us was made to decorate the outside of a house.

Without me asking him to, Ty mounted it in the kitchen so we were sure to see it every day.

* * * * *

One day later…

We came home to another box. This was a bottle of champagne from Samuel Sterling. Nothing on the note except a scrawled, black “SS” which was super cool.

I looked up the label on the internet and found that bottle of champagne cost four hundred and fifty dollars.

Samuel Sterling was hot, rich and had class.

I got his number from Ty and phoned him to ask him to dinner that weekend. Considering he was in Paris, he couldn’t make it but said he’d take a rain check.

Paris.

Totally, the dude had class.

* * * * *

Ty

A week and a half later…

Ty’s phone rang, he stepped away from the bike he was working on and pulled it out of his back pocket.

The number on the screen said it was withheld, he hesitated, opened it and put it to his ear.

“Yo.”

“Is this Mr. Tyrell Walker?”

“You first,” Ty ordered.

“Angela Buttner, California Attorney General’s office.”

“Restitution discussion goes through my attorney, Nina Maxwell.”

“Mr. Walker, I’m not calling about restitution. I’m calling you to explain we’ve had a request from Mrs. Jolinda Hayes. She’d like your contact information.”

“Who’s Jolinda Hayes?” Ty asked.

“She’s the mother of Shaun Hayes, the other man framed by Detectives Fuller and Palmer. The man who committed suicide three days prior to going to trial.”

Fuck.

Ty pulled in breath. Then he asked, “Why does she wanna talk to me?”

“She hasn’t explained that, sir. She just requested your contact number. Obviously, we can’t give her that information unless you agree.”

“Give it,” Ty stated.

“Sorry?”

“Give it to her.”

Pause then, “Oh. Okay, well thank you –”

Ty flipped his phone shut.

An hour and a half later, it rang again. He pulled it out of his pocket, looked at the display and saw an LA area code.

He sucked in breath.

Then he flipped it open and put it to his ear.

“Walker.”

“Tyrell Walker?”

“Yep.”

Pause then, “This is Jolinda Hayes, I’m –”

“Know who you are.”

Silence from Jolinda Hayes.

Ty wasn’t silent. “Know what he lived through, all of it, bein’ inside and not wantin’ to go back, bein’ framed, knowin’ he was goin’ down and why. Don’t know you; don’t know the kind of life you’ve lived but I do know it’s doubtful you lived through somethin’ like that. I know why he did what he did too. It was his choice. It was him takin’ his power back. It was him doin’ what he could to save you from livin’ through that hell with him. It was not the right choice but it was a compassionate one.”

When he stopped speaking, he heard quiet tears and he silently listened to them for a f**k of a long time.

Then he was done listening so he called, “Mrs. Hayes.”

I tearful hiccough then, “Yes, Mr. Walker?”

“Ty,” he corrected then didn’t hesitate and continued. “It’s too late but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there to savor. Your son got his shit together and died a good man and everyone in the country knows it. That’s worth somethin’ so savor it.”

“Rah… rah… right.”

“Right. Now, get a piece of paper and a pen. I’m gonna give you my wife’s number. You wanna talk, she’ll listen. You wanna laugh, she’s f**kin’ funny. You never call her, that’s your choice. But way I see it, we’re family and my wife does the welcoming.”