Page 78 of Big Bad Wolfe

“Hellfire and damnation!” Dean Ramsay’s booming shout echoed down the hallway. “Where is everybody?”

“The office, Pop,” Jillian called out.

Dean stomped inside, eyes blazing, face scarlet while launching a blistering array of inventive anatomical suggestions for the “flaming assholes” who’d dared deface the Center.

Jillian clapped her hands over Casey’s ears, but not before the child’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

“Ohboy!” Casey chirped. “Donnie Ray said that same bad,badword onlyonceand he got his mouth washed out with soap. Are you gonna wash Poppy’s mouth out with soap, Aunt Jelly? Can I watch?”

Dean stopped mid-tirade. “My apologies. I didn’t even see Casey. I’m just so fu— Ah … furious.”

“What are you doing here?” Jillian asked. “You said you had an emergency to deal with today.”

“Zane called.” Dean jerked his thumb toward the door. “My men are outside, and we brought all the extra paint we had on hand, as requested. It’s green, not blue, but beggars can’t be choosy.”

A glowing Jillian flung her arms around Zane and kissed him full on the mouth. “You phoned Pop and asked for help!”

He shrugged, uncomfortable with the intimacy in front of her father. “Seemed logical. We’re in a time crunch, he has paint and a crew.”

“I’m peeved that you didn’t call yourself, daughter,” Dean said.

“But you had an urgent problem at your other site, and—”

“It can wait a few hours. You know I’m always here for you.”

Jillian stepped away from Zane. “I was so shocked I could barely function. I was just focused on getting to the school as fast as possible and stopping the kids from arriving.”

“Understandable considering the circumstances, and how much you love this place. Your Zane here has a decent head on his shoulders. Boy thinks fast on his feet.” Dean stalked to the door. “If he paints just as fast, we’ll have the front done before any of the kids get here. You can keep them indoors until we finish the sides and back. How about if you rustle us up some coffee? You can’t leave Casey alone in the building, and besides, you don’t want to get paint all over your workday clothes.” He turned, caught Zane’s eye. “We can’t spray it on because one spray-coat won’t be thick enough to cover the black and red. Plus, there’s no time to tape off the doors and windows. We’ll have to roll and brush. C’mon, Wolfe, haul ass.”

Amusement and something warm and welcoming curled through Zane at the camaraderie in Dean’s no-nonsense orders. No wonder Jillian was such a tenacious velvet steamroller. She would have to be. Especially if her brothers resembled their dad. He grinned as he strode to catch up to the big man. “Yes, sir.”

Dean clapped him on the back. “I told you to drop that sir crap.”

Old habits were hard to break. Stoneheart had insisted on being called sir. A stinging crack across the mouth reminded his sons when they forgot. “Yes, s— Okay.”

Zane, Dean, and the crew hauled ass, spreading grass green paint on the front walls faster than Andy Warhol on amphetamines. Farley, Calvin, and a group of the older teens soon showed up and cheerfully pitched in.

By the time the first parent and child arrived, the front of the building was vibrant green and obscenity-free.

Jillian brought out coffee and then left after another delighted kiss for Zane, which both pleased and flustered him.

The group moved to the left side. A welcome breeze floated off the ocean, diluting the oily smell of exterior paint. The Pacific Northwest’s built-in air conditioning kept the August day pleasant and comfortable. Gulls skimmed overhead, squawking loud opinions about all the unusual activity. Dean painted next to Zane in the warm sunshine. As they worked, his gruff voice related rambling, humorous stories about Jillian’s growing-up years.

Zane chuckled over Jillian’s inventive methods of making her brothers toe the line. No wonder she handled Zane with such aplomb.

As the duo left the group behind and painted their way around to the back, Dean glanced over at Zane. “Tell me about your folks, Wolfe.”

Unease slithered through him as Zane offered a non-committal shrug. “Not much to tell. We’re not close. Never have been.”

“Ah.” The big man paused to squeeze Zane’s shoulder. “You take good care of my daughter and grandson, and we’ll be your family.”

Zane choked up, covered it with a cough. Dean’s acceptance meant more than he could express.

Too bad he had to disillusion him.

“Look, s— Mr. Ramsay—”

“Dean.” He went back to painting.

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