Chapter Thirteen
Charlie folded her arms at his innuendo, even if he stoked heat in her, her eyes glancing heavenward. “I think you know I can.”
He chuckled that lazy sound she liked. But Thaddeus had called her little girl Daze.
Like a dad’s fond nickname, and her little girl was eating up his every word of praise.
Still wearing his hat, she watched his tatted bicep twitch as he fished his arms back into his plaid.
Corded muscle. Ridges and valleys over his abdominals through his painted-on tee.
And play with his band? Old dreams dared to spark, but she quickly banked them. Although … why should she let Jason’s taunts upset her? Yet would McClintock grow to resent her too?
That divot popped as he reached out, plucked his hat off her head, so close she could see stubble growing back in on his jaw. Remembered the scrape of it on her skin. Could smell his male musk, his teak and mint, his sweat, his hint of fresh Dial soap.
Instead, he turned to Daisy. “How ’bout you and your momma take my truck home tonight—”
“No,” Charlie put her foot down. “We can’t do that.”
“Yeah, you can. That way if the Rover breaks down again you won’t gotta worry.”
“That’s not what I was getting at, Thaddeus.”
His eyes twinkled at her use of his name, like he was still growing accustomed. “And I’ll drive your Rover back first thing in the morning, all fixed up,” he finished, as if she hadn’t said a word.
“This is too much. How much will this cost?”
He waved her off, bracing his knees with his hands to get at Daisy’s level. “I just bought a pack of Reese’s Pieces but ain’t had ’em yet. My treat on paydays.”
“No tacos?” Charlie asked.
“Didn’t have a date tonight,” he added carefully, eying her. “They kinda tasted better when I did.”
“What about that girl? On stage,” she hedged, so carefully, and did she even want the answer?
“Ain’t taken anyone for a ride since I met this Flower Girl.” He cleared gruffness from his throat and returned his attention to Daisy.
Charlie’s skin tingled at what he was saying.
“Sure would hate for that there chocolate to melt in this heat. Why don’t you and your momma eat ’em on the way home so they don’t go to waste.”
Daisy grinned and dashed to her back seat and grabbed a box with the chick in, and got Artex out, who flopped to the ground and trotted happily up to him. Reared up on his hind legs to pin his paws to Thaddeus’s belly.
“Hey, big fella,” he said softly with a boyish edge as he ruffled his ears.
Charlie smiled.
“C’mon, Artex!” Daisy chirped, and he lumbered with Daisy to the truck.
Together, they climbed inside with a creak of the passenger door.
These band gigs never paid well, Charlie remembered from Jason. But Jason had never given Daisy a treat with his gig money, either.
“This isn’t necessary—”
“You got a better idea?” he murmured back, an inch of irritation finally seeping through the cracks of his exterior. “Can’t you just let me do something nice for you?”
She exhaled, looking down and picking at her fingernails at her waist. “Guys don’t do nice things for me unless they want something.”
A finger touched her jaw. Lifted her eyes to his, his searching hers. He brushed his thumb across her lips.
He leaned into her ear, hat brim skimming her bun. “Get that girl home so she can get to bed.” His breath warmed her lobe, ratcheting up her pulse at the familiarity of his scent.
He pulled back and she shivered, because her heart was still thumping at the thought that he hadn’t ghosted her and how sweetly he’d taken to her daughter.
“I’ll be over first thing.”
She chewed her lip.
He plucked it free, like he had that morning, as if he was allowed to. “What, Flower Girl?”
“The cost.”
“Nothin’ much. Don’t worry about it,” he replied, still so close.
“That’s not okay with me.” She shook her head. “You can’t just do nice things for me … for free. What do you want?”
He leaned into her ear. Cupped her cheek with that same reverence she’d see in the photo she’d kept. His lips touched her lobe.
His breath was warm and his smell, so comforting, so full of reminders of a romantic who’d cracked an inch that night with a woman he thought he had a chance with. “Maybe I just want a do-over,” he breathed.
He toyed with her hair; fingered the tresses like a jeweler handling gold, then pressed a soft kiss to her lobe.
“I wanted you up on that stage with me tonight. Already knew when I pulled her up I wasn’t ready to move on.
No one else is gonna do after you. You got a gift, baby.
You shared it with me, and it’s all I can think about. ”
Her throat squeezed. Her eyes stung. She shook her head. A kid and a career later, wasn’t it too late for her now? Jason never wanted you on stage. Didn’t want you upstaging him. Didn’t want other guys’ eyes on you. But Thaddeus seemed proud of her.
But what about when Jason was released? If she joined his band for a show or two, what hell would Jason give her?
Because he would be released. Somehow, he always got out, always got away with his increasingly threatening antics.
Would he stalk and harass her? Confront Thaddeus and chase him away?
Did she dare try, only for him to realize dating her was too much trouble?
Open Daisy’s heart up to someone who might fill the shoes of a father figure someday, only for him to leave?
“Thanks for making a bad night a little better.” She smiled. “My ex, uh, he makes me afraid sometimes. Tonight, he really scared us.”
His lips on her lobe burned, brushing against her flesh so softly as he breathed, and she turned her lips toward his—
“Momma, you coming?” Daisy chimed out the window.
They startled apart.
She pulled out her car keys and handed them over. “Feel free to text whenever.”
His fingers closed on hers, his eyes fixating on her shirt. “Careful what you wish for.” He winked. “Might get you into trouble.”
*
She climbed in his truck, Artex perched in the middle and the box on the floorboard, to see that Daisy had torn open said Reese’s Pieces, her fingers sticky. “Does he have a napkin?” She helped herself to his glove box—
“No, Daisy, we can’t go through his stuff! Put your belt on.” What if there were condoms in there?
Or a firearm?
“Wow,” Daisy said, holding up a photobooth strip. “They’re like the one you have.”
Her heart stopped just as she was about to shift into drive. Daisy had rummaged in her things, too? It was the only way she’d know about that photo.
“Daisy, you shouldn’t go through my things, either.”
“But you guys look like you love each other.”
Spoken so innocently … Charlie spared a look at the photos of that magical night.
Her laughing.
Him grinning as he kissed her jaw so that divot popped, so boyish and carefree.
Her head dropped back, her arms slung around his neck like they fit together.
But his hand … it cupped her neck. Gentle, as if he worried he’d break something. Just like it had tonight, in the midst of that whole crowd.
And Sharpied along the edge, it said, Fowler Girl. She smiled at the misspelling and slipped it back into the glovebox, as Daisy went through an old CD case—the truck had a CD player installed, replacing what had likely been a plain AM-FM radio, but no USB hookup.
“What are these?” Daisy held one up.
“Compact discs. Music. He plays in a band. He loves music.”
“C-Call of—I can’t read it, Momma.”
“Which is why you need to practice, Daze. You gotta get that reading and spelling grade up and stop fightin’ me when it’s time to do your homework.”
She took the disc from her and tipped it into the headlights from her Rover shining through the back window. Her brow crinkled, because she’d been expecting some country band but instead… “Huh. Call of the Wild.”
“What band is that?” Daisy said.
“It’s a book.” She glanced at the others as she put it back in the sleeve. “White Fang. Hatchet. Where the Red Fern Grows, Catcher in the Rye, Old Yeller…”
She pressed the eject button on his dash and a disc emerged. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
He liked classics? About adventures? Of boys dealing with grief, anger, or abandonment coming of age? The themes throughout the stories resonated.
Was it any wonder why with parents who’d kicked him out? And yet … he’d said he’d not been able to read well, had dropped out, that he often mixed up letters. He’d misspelled Flower Girl. He’d reversed two digits on his phone number and had a case of audio books.
Was Thaddeus, the boy whose parents made him hate his name, by chance … dyslexic?