Page 61 of Nashville Lights

I put on a pot of coffee and pour Daisy a glass of orange juice, to make sure she’s getting enough Vitamin C, and one for Roxie, while trying not to get distracted by Roxie’s bare legs and perfect, puffy lips. I start getting the stuff out of the pantry to make the pancakes. It takes me a while to find the chocolate chips—which are on a lower shelf and there are a lot fewer of them than there were the last time I checked. “Here they are. And it looks like a little monkey might have helped herself.”

“It was me!” Daisy giggles. Then she goes back to her book. “‘The night Max wore his wolf suit and made m-miss-ch-chiff of one kind…’”Where the Wild Things AreisDaisy’s favorite book. We read it at least once every night before bed. “What’s miss-chiff again, Uncle Nate?”

“It’s like when you sneak into the pantry to eat chocolate chips,” I tell her.

Roxie’s leaning against the counter with her arms folded, sipping her coffee with an entertained smirk. “The hot Dad even cooks.”

I grin and shake my head a little, accidentally tipping the flour over because she’s so fucking cute in my oversized shirt. “Mickey Mouse pancakes with chocolate chips are my new specialty. And I can make a mean grilled cheese.”

“Ilovegrilled cheese,” Daisy offers, not looking up from her book.

Roxie smiles at me, her blue eyes glimmering—and if it wasn’t for the little princess reading her book out loud to us from the window seat, I’d already be ravaging Roxie Tucker right there on the kitchen counter. “Stop getting me hot,” I murmur in her ear. “You’re doing it on purpose.”

“Maybe.”

“Who’sthat?” Daisy says. She’s looking out the window, down to the driveway.

I go over to see what she’s looking at, wiping my flour-covered hands on a dishtowel. “Oh, shit.”

“UncleNate,” Daisy scolds me.

“Oh, shoot,” I revise. If it isn’t Travis and Vaughn Tucker getting out of Travis’s shiny blue Shelby.

“Who is it?” Roxie asks.

“It’s your brothers.”

23

Shit.

Who the hell do they think they are?

I go over to Nate’s door and open it. To loud music.

Travis and Vaughn are walking up the stairs. Travis is carrying his speaker, which is cranked up and playing—speak of the devil—the Down Home Boys. Vaughn’s shirt is open and untucked and he’s drinking out of a large flask with the word WHISKEY embossed in bold letters across it. Propped behind one of his ears is what looks like a very large joint.Damn it.Vaughn’s supposed to be strictlyonthe wagon, no exceptions.

But that lecture can wait. “What are you doing here?” I’m blocking the door so they can’t come in.

My brothers are both dressed in their usual denim and leather, with plenty of gold chains, tattoos and too-long hairthrown into the mix. They both look…well, like superstar musicians and two-thirds of the hottest country-rock band in the world right now.

“Roxanne Savannah,” drawls Vaughn, “you sly little minx. Making a beeline for the biggest dog in town as soon as our backs were turned.”

“Why are you here?” I’m not sure if I’m ready for real life to intrude on my newly-discovered slice of paradise, which still feels like a dream.

Having them show up out of the blue is like a splash of cold water—and not in a good way.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my brothers, but I don’t need them checking up on me. And that’s exactly what they’re doing.

Travis kisses me on the cheek. “You wouldn’t believe the rumors that are flying around the countryside, darlin’. But now that we’ve been pointed in the direction of Nathan Waylon Boone’s private residence by his own mother—and here you happen to be—it appears the rumors might be true.”

When we were kids, my brothers always got a kick out of the fact that Nate’s middle name is Waylon. In their opinion, the coolest person in the world to be named after would have to be Waylon Jennings. He’s one of their idols and biggest inspirations. Which is inconsequential right now, but it reminds me of how far we all go back. And how crazy this might seem to them.

Still, it doesn’t mean they can control me. “Where Ihappen to be is none of your concern, Travis Tucker. I’m on vacation.”

“Sounds like a fun one,” Vaughn bumps his shoulder against mine playfully.

“Also none of your business. I can’t believe you guys drove all the way out here just to check up on me.”

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