Page 116 of Hot Stuff
“Yes. Grams used to call you a rogue all the time. Said you were one because it didn’t matter what was expected or should be done, you went your own way. It’s how we came up with the tagline too.”
“Well.” His eyes sparkle with moisture. “I’m honored and a little peeved you haven’t told me before now. Think of all the bragging rights I’ve missed out on.”
I laugh. “You’ve got enough to brag about.”
“The only thing I have that deserves to be crowed about is you.” He pulls me in for a full hug. “I’m so damn proud of you and I don’t care what anyone else says or thinks, marrying that man is the smartest thing you’ve ever done. He’s your Grams.”
“Yes. He is.”
“Did we ever tell you I asked her to marry me the day we met?”
“No,” I gasp, pulling back to look at him. “Why have I never heard that?”
“Don’t know. But I knew she was mine the second I laid eyes on her. We were barely eighteen and it took me a good two years to convince her to marry me, but I got there.”
“It’s the James stubborn gene.”
“It is. And as your Grams used to say, you’ve got it out the wazoo, Annie Oakley.”
“Why did you call her that, Pa?”
We turn to see Walker and Micky have joined us. I look at Pa and nod. I’ll let him tell the story—he always makes it sound better than me.
“Well, come here, young man, and let me tell you a tale about a little girl not much older than you and her love of water pistols.” He slips his hand into Micky’s then says, “We’ll be heading out for a treat and story time.”
“Single scoop. I don’t want either of your spoiling your appetites.”
He looks at his watch. “Double, one hour for each scoop to digest and we’ll be ready for dinner.” He gives me a wink before he leads Micky into the house.
“I want to worry about spoiling him but I don’t think it’ll hurt if we do for a little while.” Walker slips his arm around me as we watch them go. “How long do we have?”
Turning, I put both hands on his chest and tip my head back. “Long enough for you to show me what you’ve got on under those pants, Hot Stuff.”
Laughing, he bends, and before I work out what he’s doing, I’m looking at the back of his legs, my face bouncing off his hard butt as he jogs into the house.
Oakley
Standing in the driveway I glance over at Walker. “You sure this is where he’s staying?”
“Yep,” he says with a nod, but the frown has me worried.
“Hmm…”
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?” I doubt it but we’ll see.
“Yes. He hasn’t played in over a year and the last time he hit the ice, his blood alcohol level could have felled a buffalo.”
I smile. “I’m not thinking about any of that.”
Walker looks at me with one brow arched high.
“I’m wondering if we’ll have to break down the door and if we do, will I get a splinter.”
He shoves a hand into his jacket pocket and comes out with a key. And the cocky grin I love. “Nope.”
“Where did you get that?” We start up the drive toward the door.
