Bounty (Colorado Mountain #7) Read online

  “Hurts to say it, I did,” Bubba confirmed, not looking like it hurt to say it at all.

  I turned my attention to Deke.

  “Can’t confirm. I wasn’t there,” he stated. “And I’m glad.”

  He would be.

  I looked back to Bubba.

  “I’m uncertain, I have not had the opportunity to ask him, perhaps I’m wrong and he rolls whatever way anyone wants to roll with it. But it also could be the master rock storyteller, Bob Seger, is not fond of men all over stripping down to their tighty-whiteys and dancing around to ‘Old Time Rock and Roll.’”

  “On the whole, Tom Cruise has a lot to answer for,” Deke muttered and I turned laughing eyes and smiling lips to him.

  He looked at my mouth, his jaw got visibly tight before he looked away and loosened it to take another bite of his sandwich.

  “Lost a game of pool,” Bubba reminded me of that part of his story before I could come to some internal understanding of why Deke’s jaw got tight while looking at me.

  Probably a good thing.

  “Why on earth would you bet stripping down to your skivvies and dancing to Seger in a bar on a game of pool?” I asked Bubba.

  Bubba grinned at me. “’Cause I didn’t think I’d lose and the woman I was playin’ looked a fuckuva lot better in her skivvies and I know this ’cause it was Krys.”

  I burst out laughing.

  “Those crazy times are over,” Bubba continued when my laughter died down, doing this with his eyes sparkling. “Don’t miss ’em. Just glad I got some good stories to tell my babies and then the grandbabies they give me when that time comes.”

  “Always best to have a stock of those, the more embarrassing the better,” I replied.

  “Reckon that means Bubba’s gonna be the best daddy and granddaddy there is,” Deke noted.

  “Bet your ass,” Bubba agreed proudly.

  I started laughing again. Bubba laughed with me. Deke just allowed his lips to quirk.

  Since his lip quirk caused a clit spasm, this was both delicious and frustrating.

  We kept eating. Bubba told more stories. Each one was wilder than the last, indicating he’d embarrass the hell out of his children when the time came, at the same time providing fodder they should do as their daddy had done.

  Suck the most out of life as you could while you had it.

  Then we were finished with sandwiches, chips and Shambles’s daily contribution to our lunch (Reese’s Pieces peanut butter cookies, peanut butter being the day’s theme). The guys got down to starting back up with work and I got down to the limited business of cleaning up lunch.

  It was Thursday, a week after hot dogs and s’mores with Deke.

  We had Bubba for that day and the next in order to drywall the higher areas of the walls and start on the ceilings.

  The men didn’t figure they’d get the whole thing done in those two days but they weren’t messing around.

  As for Deke, the Friday after we had our cookout, the first thing he’d done when he came back to my house to work was give me a few outlets in the main area, and after doing this, he brought in three rickety (but working) standing lamps which he’d plugged in.

  He’d then ordered me, “Keep this on at night, Jus. You don’t need to break your ankle if you gotta move through this space and folks out there who might be around need to see this house’s got someone in it. Yeah?”

  I had noted that outlets and light in that area were kind of a priority, but I hadn’t mentioned it since everything was and I didn’t want to mess with his mojo and ask for something that was not in the contractor rota.

  But he gave it to me anyway.

  Deke looking out for me.

  Pleasure and pain.

  That was what my days were made up of.

  The pleasure part being, after giving me outlets, Deke spending the time in between then and now actually making serious progress on giving me walls. The whole downstairs was done. And he was taping because he needed an extra man to help him get the sheets of drywall upstairs so he could begin on that.

  The pain part came the day he told me, when we had him, Bubba would be helping with that too. To which I’d told Deke I could help him get the drywall upstairs.

  He’d then asked me to help him lift one bundle, which was two sheets.

  He was a powerhouse and lifted his end like he could also hurtle the double sheet through the air onto the upstairs landing. But even so, we barely got it up before I set my end down and announced that I’d like to enjoy my house when it was done and do it without a hernia.

  The pain was in the gift he gave me after I’d said that. That gift was him bursting out laughing, filling my crazy space with the deep, abiding beauty of his mirth in a way it seemed to tunnel through the drywall he’d put up, the foam insulation he’d blown in, to settle there for eternity. All I had to do to call it up was walk to a wall he’d given me, press my ear to it, and Deke’s rich laughter would sound in my ear like the waves in a seashell.

  Not done with the Deke-style generosity he had no clue he was sharing with me, he’d then walked to me, cupped the back of my neck in his big hand and swayed my whole body with it for a few beats, saying, “You’re damn funny, gypsy.”

  See?

  Pleasure and pain.

  That hadn’t been it.

  No.

  More pain (and pleasure) came when Max called on the Monday telling me he was arranging for Joe Callahan to come earlier to put in my security system.

  Max had shared this by saying, “Deke’s not a big fan of you up there all alone with not a lot of light, no animal and no security. So I’ll arrange things with Cal and get that sorted.”

  Deke’s not a big fan…

  I agreed to Cal coming earlier. Joe “Cal” Callahan did all my family’s security. As well as Lacey’s. And Lacey’s dad’s. And so on. He was the best in the business and in our business, which included some crazies, the best was what you got no matter the cost (and Cal cost a load, but he was worth it).

  It was a good plan and I should have actually asked Cal there before I’d moved in, to be honest.

  And I felt the warmth of friendliness Deke was giving by looking out for me.

  I just wished that warmth was of another variety.

  Needless to say, the boundary that Deke had swept away over hot dogs and s’mores he intended to keep swept away.

  But there was still another boundary.

  That said, he liked me. He showed it. The banter remained.

  He also asked once to check in if I’d heard from my brother and made it clear with his expression after I’d said no that he was there to listen if I did.

  And I’d straight up told him over sandwiches about how my girl Bianca had disappeared and how I was making calls to everyone she knew, I knew she knew but I didn’t know (if I could get their numbers), and anyone else that might tell me something.

  And coming up with zilch.

  Through this I’d shared that I was concerned with her partaking of certain substances, her increased imbibing of certain liquids and the fact that she had quickly dwindling resources (this I didn’t share being the trust fund her mother and father gave her, something with her behavior the last few years her dad had been staunch about not augmenting).

  And last, that even before this descent, she’d begun to seem aimless and lost so even if I was to get her to think about tackling the dope and the drinking, these, as ever, were seated in deeper issues that I did not have the tools to tackle.

  I’d obviously not shared that all this began with Bianca around the time Lacey and I started to follow in our parents’ footsteps, gain our own attention, acclaim and fame, and Bianca had gotten herself an agent in order to go out on auditions for television shows and movies.

  She’d been asked to do some commercials and had been offered some movies of the straight-to-video variety that had a lot of sex scenes. All of these she’d turned down, declaring no way she was going to do shit like th
at. She was no model or spokeswoman. And she wasn’t going to be her mother and be all about tits, ass and hair (even though, being all about this, her mother made a ton of money, earning a lot of fame along the way, and she made no bones about how she did it).

  Bianca, she’d proclaimed, was a serious actress.

  The problem was, she had the lush, big-blonde-haired, big-blue-eyed, big-chested, slim-bodied, fuck-me beauty her mom had with a lot of attitude and rock ‘n’ roll her dad had thrown in.

  But she wasn’t a good actress. Lace and I had seen her in a couple of plays that didn’t do so well, the reason was partially her, partially the plays sucking, but that well had dried up due to the it being partially her part.

  So I felt a strange sense of guilt I rationally knew I shouldn’t feel (and I knew, since we’d talked about it, that Lacey felt the same) that I was part of the reason she started to turn to the dark side.

  I hadn’t shared this with Deke either.

  He’d had no advice, just listened and commiserated, his face intent and sharing open concern, but not for Bianca.

  For me and my state of mind that I had too much shit on my plate and he didn’t like that for me.

  More pleasure and pain.

  And last, I’d been showing him stuff my interior designer sent me, as well as other stuff I’d clocked as possibilities to buy to make my house a home (once I had walls, floors and the rest).

  I did this as a joke at first.

  But Deke shocked the crap out of me by not only being interested, but opinionated.

  About everything.

  “No one needs a white couch,” he’d shared about one of the pieces the designer was suggesting.

  “It’s cream,” I corrected him, looking from my laptop to him.

  “No one needs a cream couch,” he’d amended. “Not only are you fucked, you slop ketchup on it, you get a dog, the hair’ll show and bottom line, it’s butt-ugly.”

  He’d been funny.

  He’d also been right.

  So out went the cream couch.

  There was further from Deke.

  “Don’t get nonstick pans. Coating always gets scraped off. Get the stainless steel stuff.”

  And…

  “You paint the guest bath pink, I’m taking away your cool card.”

  Also…

  “Why women buy kitchen towels I do not get. Why d’you think paper towel was invented? Use it, toss it, don’t gotta throw it in the wash, done.”

  I was going stainless steel (or actually thinking more along the lines of Le Creuset). I also threw out the misguided whim of painting the guest bath pink (the hue I’d showed him was more of a rose, but I didn’t correct him about that).

  But I was buying dish towels. They were more environmentally friendly, but it wasn’t that.

  Lots of dish towels were pretty and you could switch them out for holidays and everything.

  Something I’d never done. Items I’d never owned.

  But I was looking forward to it.

  These were my lovely, yet dismal thoughts as I took our trash from lunch to the garage and was moving back through the hall when I saw Deke come through the door that led to the great room.

  He looked at me, jerked his head toward my bedroom, and before I could ask what was up, he walked into the hall and turned right, going directly into my bedroom.

  Deke had never been in my bedroom.

  Standing at the door had been bad enough.

  Him in it?

  Catastrophe.

  Fuck, my bed was unmade and I hoped like hell I’d closed my nightstand drawers, or that there weren’t cords leading into them doing any special charging, because my vibrators were getting a workout, what with Deke around six days out of seven. And no girl wanted anyone, man or woman, but especially a man-bunned hot guy she was pining for to see her sex toys.

  Unless she was handing them over for him to use on her.

  Fuck.

  I walked in with Deke already in but standing at the edge of the opened door.

  A quick look while he closed the door behind me and I saw the nightstand drawers were all the way closed and no cords.

  Thank God.

  Deke led with, “He won’t ask, Jussy, so I’m askin’.”

  I turned to him and tipped my head back to catch his gaze.

  “Who won’t ask what?”

  He jerked his head to the door. “Bub. He won’t ask.”

  “Won’t ask what?” I queried when Deke said no more.

  “Preface this by sayin’, you say no, he won’t know I asked and it’s all good. I get it. Even if he knew I was askin’, he’d get it. It’s a lot. But I’m still askin’.”

  I took a step toward him, matching my voice to his that was low, and demanded, “Dude, spit it out. Ask what?”

  “You know Max pays time and a half on weekday overtime. He pays double time on weekends.”

  “Yes, I know this, Deke,” I confirmed.

  “Get shit done faster got another man workin’ with me on Saturdays. And the bar does a good turnover. They ain’t hurtin’ but they ain’t rollin’ in it and both Krys and Bubba wanna give good to their kid when she comes. Bub especially.”

  He shifted even closer to me and I had to tip my head way back and modulate my breathing, especially when his hand came out and his fingers lightly touched the back of mine.

  Pleasure.

  And pain.

  “Those stories he was tellin’,” Deke continued, “they’re funny but if he said some of that shit in front of Krys, she would not laugh. This is ’cause he used to be known as Bender Bubba. Took off on her to tie one on, have a good time, gone more than he was home. When he was gone, did shit no way he’s gonna tell his babies and grandbabies because it wasn’t right by any stretch of the imagination, the way he stepped out on Krys and did it constantly.”

  “Oh my God,” I whispered, not quite able to believe that Bubba, who obviously doted on Krystal, also had stepped out on her.

  Constantly.

  Deke nodded and kept talking.

  “They nearly didn’t make it. She bounced him. He dried out, doesn’t drink a drop, not anymore, and he pulled out all the stops to get her back. Haven’t seen him look at a woman unless he’s helpin’ at the bar and askin’ her what she wants to drink. Lives for Krys. Lives for them. But I still get he’s got the drive to prove she made the right decision by takin’ him back. Been years but he put her through the wringer and it’s penance that needs to be paid. If he could bring a little extra in, anytime he could, lighten their load, give her more, help set up their life so they’re ready for their kid, he’ll wanna do it. So you took him on on Saturdays, even that little’d mean a lot.”

  What that little would mean was that on Saturdays, I wouldn’t have Deke to myself.

  And even if this wasn’t what I wanted, I recognized it as a good thing.

  Further, I hated knowing this history because I liked Bubba but I knew the effects of cheating.

  I didn’t want that for Krystal and I wondered if that was part of her tears and fear in her car, something that was too intimate and maybe embarrassing to share with someone she barely knew. This not only being fear of the unknown of what she’d be like as a mother, but also if that huge change in their life might cause Bubba to go back to his old ways, including straying.

  What I did want for Krys was for that little to mean a lot.

  Bonus, stuff would get done faster at my house.

  “You want me to ask him or do you wanna tell him I’m down with it?” I said by way of answer.

  Deke smiled at me.

  I let that feed my poet’s soul the only way it could and smiled back.

  “I’ll ask him if he’s up for it, tellin’ him you’re wantin’ as much progress as you can get so you’re down with it. But I know he’ll be here on Saturday.”

  “Cool,” I replied.

  Another brush of his fingers on the back of my hand before he said, “Awesome of you, J
us.”

  “I want as much progress as I can get, Deke. So this is not a big sacrifice.”

  Right then he gave another gift.

  More pleasure.

  More pain.

  Deke winked at me.

  Then he muttered, “Gettin’ back to work,” turned and walked out my bedroom door.

  I stared at the door thinking “Pleasure and Pain” would be a great name for a song.

  So I grabbed my notebook, my guitar from its stand in the corner of my room, and I went out to my deck.

  * * * * *

  I was strumming, and alternately jotting, when I heard a deep, “Yo.”

  I turned in my Adirondack chair and saw Deke standing there, a few steps outside my opened French door.

  “Yo,” I returned. “Time to knock off?”

  He said nothing. He just stood there staring.

  Not at me. Not at me with my guitar.

  At the notebook balanced on the arm of my chair.

  “Deke,” I called when the nothing he said stretched.

  His body gave a weird jerk and his eyes came to mine.

  “Yeah, time to knock off,” he grunted, sounding just as weird as his body jerk had been.

  “Right,” I said, standing and resting my guitar on the chair, feeling funny for a lot of reasons.

  I’d definitely worked when he was around but he’d never seen me do it.

  I’d also been writing out lyrics to a song the first time he’d met me.

  So there was a lot of evidence there of a number of things he might figure out that could be uncomfortable because I hadn’t shared them with him.

  I didn’t know what to do because he just stood there, his gaze moving from me, to my guitar, to my notebook.

  “Deke,” I said softly.

  His attention sliced back to me.

  “Back with Bub tomorrow at seven, Jussy.”

  Jussy.

  That indicated it was all good, even if he still seemed removed in a way he hadn’t since the beginning.

  And I knew looking at him the time for my peace that came with being just Jus was over.

  Deke and I had become friends. And friends didn’t keep important things from friends. Such as the fact their father was a famous, alas now-dead rock star. Their grandfather was the same. And they’d followed in those footsteps, however short that path had been.