Page 41 of Dahlia Made A List

“Flashy like new.”

“Is that allowed around here?”

He snorted, turning when someone called his name. I stood at the hood of a Hulk green low-slung car while Wyatt spoke with a man I didn’t know. Maybe I should have put learning cars on my list. I knew exactly two facts about the car parked in front of me. It was old and it was green.

“Your girl into Buicks, Wy?”

The man spoke as if me liking a Buick and puking up yesterday’s taco’s topped his list of least favorite things to do on a Saturday night. But when he and Wyatt both turned to include me in their conversation, when Wyatt didn’t correct the “your girl,” and simply cocked a sable black brow at me, I grinned.

“Is this a Buick? Just looks green to me.”

The older man’s belly shook with his chortle before extending his hand for me to shake. He held my hand a second longer with a wink and nod toward Wyatt. “Son, tell me you’ll save her from the hardship of a Buick, green or otherwise. Aren’t you more of a Chevrolet fan, anyway?”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks for no reason. Or maybe because of the way the man lumped me together with Wyatt. Or maybe because of how much I liked the way he lumped me together with Wyatt.

The man introduced himself as Rocky Hillbanger and I grinned as his name set off my imagination, but he didn’t notice if my eyes glazed over. And he pulled me back into their conversation soon enough.

“Only Pendleton worth a damn.”

Wyatt’s shoulders pulled taut. “Not a Pendleton.”

“Near enough.”

“Way I heard it told, the Conways and Westons never rubbed along with the Pendletons.”

“Until Minerva decided they would.”

I perked up at Minerva’s name. Wyatt’s gaze fileted Mr. Hillbanger where he stood, his lids narrowed, shallow lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. “Mr. Hillbanger, how do you figure your ancestors got the name Hillbanger?”

Both men turned their attention to me, Wyatt’s expression incredulous, Mr. Hillbanger’s bright with humor. “Well, I figure in the usual way. They say a man named Baker probably had ancestors who baked. I figure the same holds true for Hillbanger. I’ve just always wondered which hill.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Wyatt shoved his hand through the dark hair at the top of his head. He’d left his Renegades ball cap in the truck for once. “We’re done here.”

Old Mr. Hillbanger’s laughter chased us along the walkway until it was swallowed up by the loud car exhausts and laughing people. I kept my own grin tucked close, but apparently not close enough.

“Go ahead, fuckin’ laugh. Get it over with. ‘How’d you get your name, Mr. Hillbanger?’”

He said the last in some sort of mockery of a high pitch voice and I couldn’t hold back my laugh if I’d tried. I knocked against his shoulder and almost tripped over an invisible bump in the asphalt, my fingers over my mouth to smother the sound of my giggles. “You were getting all huffy. And then he went and mentioned your grandmother and I thought you were gonna bite his head off.” I rested my head against his upper arm as we weaved between people. “I can imagine it now. You’d start a new legend for Three Corners: the haunting of headless Rocky Hillbanger.”

“Ha fucking ha.”

Even as my laughter faded, I stayed tucked up close to Wyatt’s side. He nodded to people as we passed and I smiled at the ones who flicked their gaze down to me, too.

Strolling along the path at Wyatt’s side gave me a novel sense of belonging. I’d never experienced such a response before. I fit at his side, too. I didn’t feel an urge to entertain him or entice him or do anything more than just be.

The sensation stole my breath.

Blinking fast before he could notice the emotion brimming in my eyes, I quickened my step to pass the next car. Just then, Bear Lester and Orry rounded the far corner of the building and I shot forward to love on Orry’s big slobbery face. Behind me, Bear and Wyatt exchanged greetings and then Bear called for Orry and I had to look up.

Wyatt met my eyes, his gaze dropping to take in the rest of me, too. “Orry smeared your shirt.”

Sure enough, dog slobber dangled from the hem of my sweater. “Would you look at that? He sure knows how to accessorize, huh?”

“Maybe he’s marking his territory.”

My heart thumped. “I can think of nicer ways to stake a claim.”

Wyatt stilled, then his hand slowly curled into a loose fist. I waited, every part of me poised to catch his next words. The little muscle just below his temple and at the top of his beard bulged.

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