Page 40 of Tru Blue
He hoped by sharing the parts of himself he’d never shared with anyone else, Gemma would eventually come around and give him a chance to prove to her who he really was. Part of him wanted to tell her the truth, that it had been Quincy who had killed the man, but he’d never throw his brother under the bus. Not even for Gemma. He’d spent six long years in prison. He knew how to bide his time. Bear had reminded him too many times to count in the past forty-eight hours that he might never see her again, but that didn’t mean he was going to give up. No way in hell would he ever give up on her.
Truman handed Lincoln to his forlorn buddy, Bear. The smile his friend flashed when he nestled the baby in his arms brought warmth to Truman’s heart. He knew without a shadow of a doubt, if something happened to him, the Whiskeys would care for the babies. At some point he’d have to deal with the legalities of all of that, but there was no way he’d gain legal custody of the kids with a felony conviction, and he wasn’t ready to figure that out yet.
“I was thinking,” Truman said. “We have the old office that we use for storage, and we have acres of yard. If I pay for it, what do you think about fencing in a play area right outside the door and fixing up the office for the kids, like a playroom? It’s already got carpet, so all we’d need is to clean it up and paint it. It’s got two nice windows to let fresh air in. And I was thinking we could replace the lower half of the wall with Plexiglas so we can keep an eye on them.”
Dixie and Bear exchanged an approving smile.
“Crow can get us deals on everything,” Dixie said excitedly.
Bear scowled. “If he thinks he can get in your pants.”
Dixie rubbed noses with Kennedy and said, “Do you hear how silly Uncle Bear is? He’s a goof, isn’t he?”
Kennedy giggled, and Truman arched a brow at Bear.
“You know him as Lance Burke, the guy who owns Mid-Harbor Housing Supplies. Crow’s his biker name and he’s had a thing for Dixie since we were kids.”
“And the plot thickens,” Truman teased. “What’s wrong with Lance? He’s not a good guy?”
Dixie rolled her eyes. “Is any man good enough for me in the eyes of my big brothers?” She sighed dramatically and set Kennedy down to play in the playpen. Crossing her arms, she glowered at Bear. “He’ll give us a good price.” She dropped her eyes to Lincoln, his little hands going for Bear’s chin. “Are you going to turn that away because you think he’ll ask for something in return? Because if you are”—she swung her wild red hair over her shoulder with a confident smirk—“then you clearly have no idea how well y’all have raised me.”
Bear’s eyes dropped to Lincoln. He lowered his face, letting the baby stick his fingers into his mouth. “Okay, but I’ll call Crow. Not you.”
“You’re impossible,” Dixie groaned. “But fine. Anything for these little muffins.”
They talked out their ideas, and once they agreed on the layout, they began putting a game plan together to start renovations. Bear and Dixie insisted on sharing in the costs of supplies, since the renovations would have an impact on the value of the business.
Later, Truman fed and bathed the kids. He was getting the hang of things, thanks to his refusal to let them down. The baby bath Gemma had suggested he buy at Walmart certainly helped where Lincoln was concerned. And as long as he added bubbles to Kennedy’s bath (another big thank-you to Gemma), she was willing to take one alone. After getting the kids to sleep, he went to the tool chest and pulled out the bottom drawer. Adrenaline spiked through him at the piles of sketch pads before him. He also had boxes of them stored in the master bedroom closet. He fingered through them, knowing what each contained without ever having gone back to look at the pictures after drawing them. He could hide them in the closet, leave them out back in the pitch-dark, or shove them away in drawers, but the images never left him.
Lifting out the sketch pad he was searching for, he fingered through the pages and found the picture he wanted to leave for Gemma tomorrow morning. He carefully removed it from the sketch pad, wrote a note in the margin, and tucked it into an envelope. Gemma’s beautiful face sailed into his mind as he wrote her name on the envelope. He set it on the coffee table, gathered his painting supplies and the baby monitor, locked the front door, and pulled open the glass door to the deck—and his world careened at the sight of Gemma standing before him, her hand stopped in midair, as if she were getting ready to knock.
