Page 42 of Driving Whiskey Wild
Red pushed open the door with her hip and held it for Finlay to pass through.
“I don’t think that heart phenomenon is reserved for parenthood,” Finlay said as they left the kitchen. “I think it’s just reserved for those you care deeply about.”
Red leaned in close as they approached the table they’d set up for the buffet-style tasting and said, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
Red motioned toward the bar. “Nothing makes a mother happier than seeing her child leading with his heart.”
Bullet’s gaze was locked on Finlay, and he had what could only be described as a goofy smile on his lips. Finlay’s insides melted. She didn’t think it was possible for Bullet to do anything that could even be mistaken as goofy, but that I’m-so-gone-over-you smile proved her wrong. And goofy had never looked so hot.
AS THE EVENING progressed, Bullet watched his beautiful girl work the crowd, and a few things became clear to him. That pang of jealousy he felt every time she smiled at another guy needed to be dealt with. No matter how much he’d like to have her all to himself, Finlay Wilson was a people person, and he’d never want to steal that joy from her. Accepting the latter helped him with the former. He knew he’d never slay the green-eyed monster, even though he had never believed it really existed until Finlay came into his life. But he’d dealt with enough painful situations to know this one was a different type of pain. A good pain. He looked down at the tattooed letters on his fingers, each one gracing a knuckle—Y-O-U-’R-E on his left hand and A-L-I-V-E on his right—written upside down, because the message wasn’t meant for anyone other than himself. He’d thought he’d always need that reminder to push past the pain of knowing he’d left a piece of himself on the battlefield, but now that he’d found Finlay, he didn’t need words to move past it. She lit up parts of him he’d thought hadn’t existed.
His father’s large hands appeared on the bar across from his. The hands that had once carried him across streets, taught him to toss a ball, ride a bicycle, and later, ride motorcycles. The hands that had taught him the importance of embracing and the strength of a handshake. The hands that were now wrinkled and covered with age spots and had never once met his flesh in a slap or a spanking—though Bullet knew there were plenty of times he deserved it. But that wasn’t the way Biggs worked. No, lessons were hands- or eyes-on. How many times had his father lifted a chin in the direction of a man saying nasty things to a woman and then pointed a finger at Bullet and said, Men don’t need to demean to make a point. You got a beef with a woman, you sit your ass down and talk eye-to-eye. Hear what she has to say. Got it? A good percentage of the time, she’s gonna be right. And when she’s not, she deserves your respect for speaking her mind. Harsher lessons came when Biggs would drag him out of bed to drive a drunk customer home, or tell him to get his ass on his bike and meet the Knights at some address in town, where they were taking a stance against one form of trouble or another.
Bullet met his father’s serious eyes, and he wondered how he could have ever been resentful of the man who had not only given him life, but had tried his damnedest to teach him right from wrong.
“Your little filly is quite the salesgirl,” Biggs said slowly. He nodded toward Finlay, who was sitting at a table with Dixie, Gemma, Crystal, and Penny, while Red, Chicki, and two other club members’ wives leaned over the girls’ shoulders. They’d been discussing the fundraiser ever since the crowd had thinned. “She talked with all the members tonight, got the business owners to agree to hold some sort of raffle for the Beckleys. Digger’s auctioning off twelve hours of his own time, equipment included. And Bud’s offering up a bouquet delivery a month for a full year. You mind gettin’ me a beer?”
“Sure, Pop.”
As Bullet filled a frosty mug, Biggs continued telling him what Finlay had accomplished.
“Butcher’s raffling off a side of beef. Heck, son, she used that sweet smile of hers to convince Rebel and two other firemen to get into a dunk tank, which Crow’s going to build. She’s got ticket sellers lined up and everything. And your gal’s not stopping there. She and the girls have plans to visit local businesses and get them in on it. It’s liable to be the biggest event to hit Peaceful Harbor in years.”
“She’s pretty amazing,” Bullet said proudly.
His father lifted his beer in a toast and said, “A miracle worker if you ask me. We haven’t been this busy in years.”
“People like to eat.”
Biggs’s mustache twitched as a crooked smile appeared on his face. “They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. You and I both know that’s not true. We got much needier parts than our stomachs.” He took a swig of his beer.
Bullet chuckled. Biggs had never been one to mince words.
“Nope,” his father said. “It’s not the food that brought everyone here tonight. That helped, of course. Finlay can cook like nobody’s business. But word’s gotten around that Whiskey’s has a new gal on board, and she’s got a knack for making every single customer feel special.”
“Pop, she’s not here for good. You know that, right?”
His father took another pull on his beer, and his expression turned serious again. “I’m aware. But I’m thinkin’ you probably ought to fix that.”
Bullet shook his head and crossed his arms, steeling himself for an internal battle. “My girl’s not going to spend her nights in a bar.” He wanted Finlay where he was every minute of the day, but no matter how much he wanted that, he knew it wasn’t best for her. She had dreams of expanding her catering business, and she hadn’t come to Peaceful Harbor to give those dreams up.
“She’s got a catering business to get off the ground. Hell, Pop. We’re coming in Sunday so she can use the kitchen to get ready for an event.”
“You’re coming Sunday? Not going riding with your brothers?” Biggs wrapped his fingers around the head of his cane and pushed to his feet.
“Maybe while she’s at the event, but Sunday’s my only day off. If she’s here, I’m here.”
His father’s gaze drifted down Bullet’s torso to his hands. “Sometimes words take on new meanings and what seemed like a penance turns into a celebration.” He motioned for Bullet to reach across the bar, and he gave him an awkward one-armed hug. “I love you, boy, and if I don’t tell you enough, I’m damn proud of you. Always have been.”
Bullet cleared his throat in an effort to quell the surge of emotions his father’s praise unleashed. He watched Biggs limp over to Red and pull her into his arms. He must have said something charming because his mother’s gaze softened, and she touched his cheek before pressing her lips to his. Bullet looked away, his eyes immediately finding his girl, and his father’s words pushed through his mind. Sometimes words take on new meanings and what seemed like a penance turns into a celebration.
He had reason to celebrate life all right, and she was sitting across the room holding up her phone. She and the girls were talking on a video call.
As quickly as his father’s words had come back to him, they were drowned out by another thought. She’s not here for good. You know that, right…? I’m aware. But I’m thinkin’ you probably ought to fix that.
Maybe his father wasn’t referencing the tattoos on his fingers after all.
Finlay’s eyes shifted, as if she felt the weight of his stare, and she waved him over. “Bullet! We want to ask you something!”
He headed over to the table and ran his fingers through her hair. “What’s up, lollipop?”
“Lollipop!” came from the phone with a snort.
He recognized the voice as Finlay’s mouthy friend, Isabel. They talked often, and he liked her; she was a firecracker.
“How many licks does it take to get to Fin’s sweet cent—”
“Izzy!” Finlay cut her off, earning giggles from the peanut gallery.
Christ. He didn’t want to get involved in this hen party. He started walking away, and Finlay grabbed the back of his shirt.
“Wait, please?” She glared at Isabel. “She’ll behave. She’s just had too much wine to drink.”
Isabel held up an empty wineglass. “That might be true, but I’d say it anyway, because it’s funny.”
“How about we not talk about my girl’s body parts.” He glanced at Finlay, who was smiling so brightly, he couldn’t help but smile, too. “What’s up, angel?”
“We were just thinking. If we bring on kitchen staff, we might need another bartender and a waitress, and we were thinking about hiring Izzy. She could work for my catering company part-time, and work here part-time.”
His mind selfishly went to cutting back his hours. He looked at Dixie, then at his mother, and that guilt noose he sported tightened again. He needed a fucking clone to protect the people he loved, so he could spend more time with the one he loved most.
“Why don’t we discuss it Sunday?” Red suggested.
Sunday. My only day off, and I’m spending most of it without Finlay.
