Chapter 18
Brant’s brothers had dropped his car at Molly’s.
By the time he got home, they sat at the kitchen table, eating cereal.
Tuck looked up. “You need a better place, Brant. If it was a week or two, maybe, but since you’re planning to stay, this doesn’t cut it.”
His gaze traveled over the cracked linoleum, ancient wallpaper, and faded paint, the kitchen so outdated, it was nearly back in vogue. Before he could agree, though, his phone rang. Afraid it was day care, he answered quickly. “Brant Wylder.”
“Morning. Kemper Dobson here. I heard your brothers are in town.”
“They are. No problem with the property, is there?”
“Nope, we’re good to go. The paperwork’s done, so whenever you three can come in, we’ll get it signed, and the place is yours.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dobson. That’s great news.”
Not one for wasting time, Tucker said, “Let’s get it done.”
* * *
They were in and out of the lawyer’s in half an hour.
“It’s ours.” Gaven rubbed his hands together in glee.
Brant slid behind the wheel. “Nice to have that finished before you head home.”
On the way to the house, they agreed that until they saw how things went, they’d keep their Lake Delores office open. Rudy, their go-to guy, would run it for them and send any new clients to their Misty Bottoms shop.
“The timing’s perfect,” said Gaven. “Other than our barn-find Vette, we have nothing pressing. Once Tucker and I get home, we’ll make arrangements to have our equipment moved.”
“Tyrone’s still making noises about us tricking out his Denali,” Brant said. “That’ll give us a start here.”
“Chances are good we’ll pick up a couple of his buddies, once they see his ride,” Tucker added.
At Brant’s, the three hunkered over sketches at the scarred kitchen table and argued over priorities.
“We need to get that fence up. Secure the place.”
“And,” Gaven pointed out, “hire a contractor to expand the building and set up the paint booth.”
Brant nodded. “I have one coming in day after tomorrow.”
“This is going to be so much better than the place we have now.”
“Yeah, it is, and with the acreage, we’ll have room to expand,” said Tucker. “This was a real find.”
Brant looked at him. “You do understand, not everyone is happy about us setting up shop in Misty Bottoms.”
Tucker shrugged. “That’s bound to be the case.”
“And you’d better believe all our business will be discussed over morning coffee at Dee-Ann’s.”
“Already is,” Gaven said.
“Oh?”
“I ran in for a couple to-go coffees after we dropped your car off, and a few old codgers had the back booth.” He deepened his voice. “They bring all those motorcycles in here, and next thing you know, Hells Angels will be pourin’ into town.”
“First brides,” Gaven intoned, “then motorcycle gangs and hot-rodders. Misty Bottoms is changin’.”
“Well, we can’t stop the talk.”
“But wait.” Gaven held up his index finger. “The best one. Rich folks comin’ to town thinkin’ we’ll bow to them and their highfalutin ways.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Hand to God I’m not, Mr. Rich Folk.” He grinned. “You gonna share all that money, BT?”
“Sure. Just as soon as I see some.” He hauled a pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge. “Anybody?”
Sprawled around the table, Tucker and Gaven both held up their glasses.
“Same plan as before?” Brant asked.
“Yep. If it ain’t broke—”
While they’d all get their hands dirty and work on the cars and motorcycles, it would be Gaven who’d actually be in charge of the shop itself. He’d been blessed with the golden touch when it came to restoration work. On top of that, he was a whiz at anything and everything mechanical. Brant had watched him start with a heap of metal, and by the time he was done, the bodywork and trim, the interior, and the engine made grown men weep…and pay big bucks for that heap.
But Gaven hated the details of running a business. Things like paying electric and water bills, ordering supplies, issuing paychecks—all jobs he passed on to his oldest brother. Tucker had the head for business, and his borderline OCD made him perfect for the job.
Himself? He was their marketing guru and jack of all trades.
Somehow, it worked.
“So how serious are you and Molly?” Gaven poked.
“Where’d that come from?” Brant drew back. “We’re…” What? he wondered. Sure as hell not just friends with benefits. Lovers? Girlfriend, boyfriend? That sounded pretty high school. “It’s complicated.”
“Yeah, I’d guess so,” Tucker ribbed. “Listen, I have to run. Gonna borrow your truck, Gav. I shouldn’t be more than a couple hours.”
“Where’re you goin’?” Brant frowned.
“You can drag your feet all you want, Bro, but I’ve got an appointment with Quinlyn. I plan to buy a house.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll be living here in Misty Bottoms, too.”
“Maybe I should go with you,” Gaven said.
“To make time with my real-estate agent?”
“Nah. So I can pick out my room.”
“No way, baby brother. I don’t want a roommate.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. You’re on your own.”
* * *
Molly had been surprised when Tucker called to ask her to house-hunt with him. She was giving Lettie a few last-minute instructions when he pulled up out front in Gaven’s pickup. “Got to go.”
She grabbed her purse as the door opened and Tucker stuck his head inside. “Ready?”
“I am. Lettie, this is Brant’s brother, Tucker.”
“We’ve met.” Lettie, never the shy one, asked, “Brant know you’re here for his girl?”
“Lettie, I’m not Brant’s—”
“Go on. You can feed that to somebody else, and they might buy it. Me? Tush!”
Tucker chuckled. “Brant has no idea I’m stealing her away this afternoon.”
“Really? I was just joshin’.”
“See? Fresh gossip. You’ll be the belle of the ball at Dee-Ann’s this afternoon.”
Molly raised her brows. “You really are a troublemaker, aren’t you?”
“I can be.”
“We’re looking at houses with Quinlyn, Lettie.”
“For who?” the older woman asked.
“For me. Brant’s not the only one moving to Misty Bottoms.” He held the door. “If you’re ready, we should probably head out. I promised we’d be on time.”
Once they were in the truck, Molly was amazed that just like Brant’s, it could never be mistaken for a woman’s. It was all male. It had that attitude, that scent—and that huge engine, she thought, when it roared to life.
Men and their vehicles.
“I only asked her to bring one set of keys.” Tucker drove with efficiency and confidence.
“The old blacksmithy.” He’d asked her about it at Fat Baby’s the other night.
“Crazy, huh?”
“Not really.” She tipped her head. “A little eccentric maybe.”
He laughed. “The polite Southern difference.”
By the time they pulled up in front of the house, Molly decided she liked Brant’s older brother. He was serious, yes, but considering he’d done several tours of duty in the Middle East, that came as no surprise, although according to Brant, he’d pretty much been that way before. But the man also had a wicked sense of humor, and he wasn’t afraid to poke fun at himself. Some woman would fall head over heels for this handsome guy.
Despite Lettie’s poking, it wouldn’t be Molly, because in spite of herself, she’d developed a real case for Tucker’s brother.
Quinlyn waited in the yard for them, looking both feminine and professional in her tan-and-black long-sleeved sweater and black slacks. All that gorgeous blond hair was pulled up in a twist.
The agent swept a hand toward the building. “It’s something else, isn’t it?”
* * *
Brant and Gaven had just finished installing a new heavy-duty hot-water heater Beck had delivered, when Tucker strolled through the door.
Brant swiped the back of an arm over his brow, wiping off the sweat that beaded there. “How’d it go?”
“I made an offer.”
“You did what?” Gaven laid the Crescent wrench on the shelf beside him.
“I bought the old blacksmith shop.”
Brant stared at him. “The two-story stone building on Firefly Creek?”
“Yep.” Tucker nodded.
Gaven looked from brother to brother. “Exactly how old is old?”
“Pre–Civil War. She’s been kicking around since 1860.”
Brant’s hand shot out to feel his brother’s forehead.
Tucker knocked it away. “Cut it out.”
“Molly says I’m eccentric, not crazy.”
“Molly?” An uneasy feeling, one he didn’t like, slithered through Brant. “When did you talk to Molly?”
“She went house-hunting with me.”
For an instant, a monster Brant hadn’t known lived inside him reared its ugly head. Then he caught his brother’s grin.
“Got you.”
Brant relaxed. “I didn’t think she’d go anywhere with a mug that ugly.”
“Oh, she did go. As a friend. As my brother’s girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Brant groused.
“Suit yourself.” Tucker shrugged. “The lot’s incredible. Tons of mature trees, and the yard runs right down to the creek.”
“How big is the house?” Gaven asked.
“No.” Tucker shook his head.
“No, what?”
“You’re not moving in with me. We already had this conversation. I want my own place.”
Brant understood. In Lake Delores, Tucker had rented a tiny apartment over the five-and-dime store when he’d mustered out of the Marines. That had worked, but this new place would suit him better. He’d have privacy and elbow room.
“Right now, the place is pretty much a shell—but a nice sturdy shell. Space for a media room and a pool table. Extra bedrooms, in case Mom and Dad want to come for a bit.”
“But you won’t let me stay,” Gaven muttered.
“They’d be temporary. You’d sit your hide down permanently.”
Gaven turned to Brant. “Looks like it’ll be you and me then, pal.”
He was tempted to say yes. The fixer, right? “Sorry, baby brother. Gonna have to find your own place.”
“What?”
“Call Quinlyn, see what she can round up for you—temporary for now or something permanent. That’s up to you. Tucker’s right. It’s time we stop living in each other’s pockets.”
“What the heck does that mean?”
“It means it’s time this band of brothers has separate, as well as entwined, lives.”
Gaven frowned. “Don’t I get a vote?”
“No,” Tucker and Brant said in unison.
“I’m getting a glass of water. For me. You two can get your own.” Gaven sulked out of the room.
The second he left, Brant narrowed his eyes. “Everything else aside, I have to agree with Gaven about the property you’re looking at. That place is pretty big for one person.”
“I’m not looking at it, BT. I bought it. And I’m not having this discussion again. We both know I’m better off alone. Some people are born one half of a couple. Not me. I’ll do some gal a favor by not getting involved with her. You want to marry somebody off, look to Gaven for that.”
Their younger brother stuck his head around the corner. “Marriage? Me? I tried it, remember?”
“Yeah,” Tucker said. “For eight months.”
“Eight and a half. Not for me.”
The two turned as one toward Brant.
“Don’t even go there,” Brant said. “Hope you’ve got some raggedy jeans in the trunk of that car, Mr. New Homeowner.” He handed Tucker a sledgehammer. “We’ve got another wall to take down.”
* * *
With Cricket’s wedding looming, the next couple of days flew. By the time Friday night rolled around and rehearsal had been dealt with, Molly was bushed…and confused. Although she’d talked to him and he’d sent her a beautiful bouquet for Valentine’s Day, she hadn’t seen Brant since they shared breakfast on her deck.
That was okay, she assured herself. Actually, it was better than okay. She’d asked for space, and he was giving it to her. Add in that he was caring for Jax, keeping tabs on Lainey, and working madly on the new building, and the man was slammed.
The rehearsal party moved to Sam’s house. With a nip in the air and a roaring bonfire, the outdoor, casual venue made perfect sense. Molly, being an only child of divorced parents, was shocked when Cricket’s and Sam’s big families poured in. Happy chaos ruled the night.
They roasted hot dogs, made s’mores, and laughed. As promised, the champagne flowed. Chubby Checker’s “The Twist” streamed from Sam’s stereo. Grabbing Cricket’s niece, Molly joined the dancers on the lawn. The stars shone brightly, and the fire crackled and snapped. It was by far the best rehearsal dinner Molly had ever attended.
The only thing missing? Brant.
* * *
The bonfire, as great as it had been, left her smelling smoky. Bubbles, after one sniff at the top of the stairs, deserted her with her tail in the air. Molly needed a shower and shampoo.
The water felt heavenly, and she stayed under it far longer than she’d meant. With her head back and leaning against the tile, she let the spray wash away the long day. Afterward, wearing her two-sizes-too-big Atlanta Braves T-shirt, she fell into bed with Bubbles curled up beside her.
As she reached to turn off the bedside lamp, the phone rang.
She didn’t need to check caller ID. It would be Brant. She swore the man had psychic powers. Last night, just like tonight, she’d no sooner slipped into bed than her phone rang. He’d wanted to check on her, to wish her good night.
It rang a second time. Should she answer it? Rolling her eyes, she called herself all kinds of a fool. Of course she would.
“Hello, Brant.”
“Hey, beautiful, how did rehearsal go?”
And she was lost. That deep, sexy voice seduced her as he asked about her day and shared the highlights of his.
“I miss you, Molly.”
“I miss you, too.” After a heartbeat, she asked, “Where have you been?”
“Working like a dog.”
“Where are you now?” She held her breath and wondered if he was standing outside, waiting for her light to go out. If only he were that close.
“Standing on my porch, staring at the stars. Where are you?” he asked.
“In bed with Bubbles.”
He chuckled. “Good night, sweetheart. Sleep well.” On an oath, she clicked off, wishing she had a landline so she could slam the receiver. The man was infuriating. After a call like that, she wouldn’t sleep, well or otherwise, and he knew it. She hadn’t lied, though. She missed him. Without thinking about it, she traded her pillow for his and caught just the faintest scent of him.
Tomorrow she’d strip the bed and shut off her phone…and get some sleep.
* * *
Cricket’s wedding day broke gloriously sunny.
When the stunning bride walked down the aisle in her soft-ivory gown, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. The corset top with its off-white beading showed off Cricket’s incredible figure, while the tiered tulle skirt increased her wide-eyed fairy look. For her “something blue” she’d chosen a gorgeous pair of pale-blue heels. The girl had taste.
During the recessional, though, it was the sexy-as-all-get-out man in the fourth row Molly couldn’t keep her eyes off. Brant hadn’t been sure he’d make it, but there he sat. Instead of his jeans and T-shirt or his tux, he wore dark trousers and a crisp white shirt.
She met his gaze, and he winked; she missed a step and nearly stumbled.
During the reception, Molly wandered from guest to guest, noting all the little details that made this wedding so special. A crystal chandelier decorated with gardenias and greenery hung above the table that held the five-tiered cake. All in all, the wedding fit the bride and groom to a T. Maybe best of all, they’d hired two food trucks to provide their guests’ meal. From the bonfire to the food to the dance with Brant beneath the magnolia trees, the wedding hit all the right notes.
Then Brant gave her a whopper of a kiss and donned his chauffeur’s cap to drive the happy couple to the airport in a gleaming Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud.