Kristen Ashley - Games of the Heart

Then she flipped the phone closed, tossed it on the couch and swept her eyes through the room.

“I’m takin’ a ding-darned walk,” she announced then she promptly stomped out.

After she left the room all occupants remained silent.

Finally, Dean muttered, “Better get my boots on and follow her. No tellin’, in this mood, what she’ll get up to.”

And after delivering that, he moved out the door giving his younger daughter a gloomy look and Mike a jerk of his chin.

When they were alone, Mike felt Dusty’s arms around him get tight and her face plant in his chest.

“Mom never did that,” she mumbled into his chest. “As in ever. Not even close.”

He bent his neck and put his lips to her hair.

“She’ll not get the farm, honey,” he whispered into her hair. “This shit’s a pain in the ass. It’s baffling why she’s done what she’s done. It’s annoying that she’s intent to do what she’s going to do. But, breaking it down, Darrin looked out for his kids, he owned this farm outright and no judge in the state of Indiana is going to find in favor of an attorney who lives in Washington DC and makes six figures at the expense of two boys with no Dad and a legacy farm. So, it might be a pain in the ass but, in the end, this farm will be safe.”

“I need to go back to Texas.”

Mike felt every inch of his body get solid.

“Pardon?” The word was whispered low.

She tipped her head back and caught his eyes, “Sell my place. Sort out the gallery. Deal with getting the bigger kilns up here. To fight this, we need money. To make a go of this farm, Fin needs help. This is no longer me stepping in for a few months, Mike. Debbie’s got her teeth into this, it goes to the courts, this shit could take months and not a few of them. I need to make the move permanent. Or, at least, rent my place out so it isn’t sitting there costing me money and go back once Fin is settled and hopefully Rhonda is sorted and lastly Debbie is out of the way. And Kirby’s bed is okay but staying in a teenager’s bedroom is gonna get old fast. I know this because it already is. And Kirb and Fin don’t much like the new arrangement either. They’re used to having their own space. With this new shit, Mom and Dad, I know, will be in for the long haul. I need space of my own. A studio apartment. Whatever. But I need to start sorting my life and I need to start doing it yesterday.”

Mike stared down into her eyes and he could not say this didn’t please the fuck out of him. It did. Absolutely.

But Jesus, she was making huge life decisions in a matter of seconds.

“Honey, maybe you might wanna think on that. A day, two or, better yet, a week.”

“Is Debbie’s mind gonna change in a day or two or a week?” she shot back and shook her head. “No. Is McGrath gonna vaporize into thin air? Especially when it becomes public record a family is battling over a farm he wants?” Another shake of the head. “No. Is Rhonda gonna snap out of it, especially now, with Mom here, a Mom who will cook, clean, grocery shop so she’ll have more time to retreat? No. I could go on, Mike. But, advice, get used to this. This is me, babe. I don’t fuck around. My family needs me and those boys don’t need me with it in the back of their mind that at any time I can bolt. They gotta know I’m committed. I’m committed. And, uh…by the way, I’ve fallen in love with one of The ‘Burg’s cops. He’s got roots I don’t wanna dig out because I like them. So, it might be a decision on the fly but you have to admit with all that, it’s a good one.”

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, fuck, it was soon, he knew it, he didn’t fucking 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.

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.

She’d told him and he saw upon arrival that she didn’t sell only her own work but the gallery showcased only local artisans’ wares. More pottery plus paintings, jewelry, glasswork, sculptures, carvings, Native American and Mexican art in all forms. It wasn’t large but it was attractive and she’d done it smart. There was something to fit a wide variety of tastes and incomes from postcards to handmade notecards to attractive but inexpensive one-of-a-kind stud earrings to one of the large pieces of art costing over two thousand dollars. When they arrived at the gallery which was located right on San Antonio’s popular River Walk, regardless that it was Friday afternoon, there were several patrons. It wasn’t packed but it wasn’t deserted.

And it was the first time Mike had seen her work. Considering what she told him it cost, although Mike was not into pottery, he was expecting it to be impressive.

He was right. It was. But it was more. Unusual, fluid, almost whimsical shapes but surprisingly glazed in subtle, muted hues – creams, beiges, grays and deep lilacs. It was eye-catching, extraordinary. They were not pieces you would take home and use to put flowers in or serve up mashed potatoes. It was meant to be exhibited, each piece being one that would bring elegance to a room.

As he watched her interact he saw Dusty clearly had a close, trusting relationship with the clerks and the manager. She chose the art and supplied her own; they displayed it and sold it. She told Mike that she had twice monthly meetings with the manager then let the woman do her own thing. Dusty made pottery and deposited checks. The gallery manager even managed Dusty’s pieces being supplied to other shops and galleries throughout the west.

Dusty had an accountant, a man who tended her land, a housekeeper and a manager. Dusty went to classes with her friend Jerra. She made her pottery. She toured Texas, meeting other artists and attending events that displayed and sold her work. She had dinner parties, went to them, ate out or went for drinks frequently with friends.

She had a good life in Texas.

Perfect.

No hassle, no headache (except LeBrec), she didn’t even clean her own damned clothes.

All good.

Mike did not have a housekeeper and looking into private schools on his own for Reesee, he never would. In fact, if his daughter didn’t qualify for a scholarship, there was no way in hell he’d be able to swing the tuition and still he couldn’t hire a housekeeper.

Even without grief, Debbie’s tricks and McGrath, Mike couldn’t provide Dusty a life without hassle and headache seeing as his was filled with teenagers and an ex who liked to play games.

He heard the deep thud of the heels of cowboy boots hit tile and his body jolted, pulling him out of his thoughts. His eyes moved to Dusty to see her rounding the bar that delineated the kitchen from the living room, her gaze on him.

He pulled in breath.

Her hair was a sleek, thick fall down her shoulders and chest. She had a little tee on that stretched tight at her tits but had some room, minimal though it was, at her midriff. It was bright purple and in grays and lighter shades of purple there was a cowgirl on it, chaps over a fringed skirt, cowboy hat, in mid-throw of a lasso. Charcoal gray suede belt with a big, silver belt buckle looped through her faded jeans. Black cowboy boots. More gray suede, this a thin strip wrapped again and again as a choker around her throat and at the front, small, round silver medallions hung. There was more silver at her ears and wrists. And even though they were going to a place that titled itself a “Saloon and Hoedown” her makeup was deeper and said, plainly, “fuck me”.