Zoe & Dylan: The Sons of Dusty Walker (2 page)

“You’re not the only one sufferin’ here.”

“Then how about you do something about it?” Zoe gasped. 

“What did you have in mind?” He rubbed against her palm, earning her frustrated groan. “I want to hear the words.”

“Fuck me senseless, you wicked man.”

He growled low in his throat and freed her hand from his groin so he could tug his zipper down. With an impatient wrench, he shucked his jeans and Jockeys past his hips and fisted his cock. He skimmed the engorged head over her pussy, glazing the crown with her wetness. Usually he wasn’t one to forgo a taste before sinking into her sweet heaven, but Zoe took the matter out of his hands by pushing back against his hips, seating him a good inch inside of her.

No possible way he could hold back on her now. Sliding his hands to her hips, he thrust deeper, plunging to the hilt. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back and immersed himself in the sheer bliss of being buried inside the woman who owned him, heart and soul. How had he survived the three years before she walked back into his life? It was a damn mystery. One he never intended to experience again, God willing.

Following the curve of her spine with his palms, he stroked all the way up to her shoulders and braced a hand on either side of her neck, his grip firm yet gentle enough not to leave a mark. He retreated, nudging with slow deliberation over her G-spot, before pumping deep again. He kept up the steady pace until sweat dampened his back and blurred his vision. His solitary focus remained on the ultimate goal—annihilating her senses with so much pleasure, she wouldn’t be able to think or walk straight for the next week.

The trembling in Zoe’s body grew more strained, her moans more desperate. He reached one hand beneath her and caressed her clit, coaxing her climax to the pinnacle breaking point. “Come for me, angel.”

A fierce shudder coursed through her and her pussy squeezed him like a velvet vise, her gasping soundtrack of his name muffled by the pillow. The firestorm of his own release caught him up, tearing a groan from his chest and nearly buckling his knees.

Breaths ragged, he slumped onto his side, drawing Zoe tight against him so he could spoon her. He nuzzled her neck, drunk on love, sex endorphins, and the heady sunshine and cookies fragrance of his sweetheart. “Marry me.”

A soft laugh fell from her. “I believe I already said yes.”

“No, I mean marry me now. Let’s not wait.”

She rolled over to face him. “Do you have any idea the amount of planning that goes into a wedding?”

“Exactly. That’s why we should just run off and get hitched. We’ve already gotten the child part out of the way, so what difference does it make?”

Zoe sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. She dropped her gaze to his shoulder. Refusing to let her shut him out, he cupped her chin and tilted her face back toward him. “Talk to me.”

“Did you have to put it like that?”

He frowned. “Like what?”

“Getting the child part out of the way.”

“Baby, I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” He exhaled wearily. “Sometimes things come out sounding dumbass though. Particularly if I’m the one doing the talking.” He leaned in to kiss her. Brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek, he stared into her eyes, praying she’d see in his every ounce of the emotion swirling in his chest. “I love you and Hunter. The sooner we can make this family legitimate, the better. That’s all I’m saying. But if you want the big wedding, I’ll be patient. As much as I can be.”

Rather than respond, she cuddled against him and sighed.

He stroked her hair, feeling like they’d taken a huge step back instead of the forward one he’d been hoping for. 

CHAPTER TWO

Luke pinned Dylan with a hard squint the moment he stepped into the auditorium of the old Smithsville elementary building. “You look like shit on a cracker.”

“Mornin’ to you too, Sunshine.”

“You can leave the questionable charm for my daughter.” Grunting, Luke strode to the architect table that’d been slapped together with two sawhorses topped with a sheet of plywood. The surface was littered with the blueprints for the building remodel. If everything continued according to schedule, the band camp would be ready to open its doors by the end of the month.

Smothering a yawn, Dylan stepped toward Luke just as Malcom Flynn, Truckstop’s drummer, entered through the adjacent doorway, bearing a steaming container of Starbucks. Mal halted in front of Luke and held out his hand. Grumping under his breath, Luke dug his wallet out and forfeited a crisp twenty for the coffee. He glared at Malcom’s back as the younger man strolled toward Dylan. “Where’s my damn change?”

“Consider it my tip for driving halfway across bum-fuck nowhere for your overpriced swill.”

More grumbles issued from Luke before he returned his focus to the blueprints on the table. Malcom stopped next to Dylan and they exchanged a fist bump. Dylan fixed the bill on his trucker cap before hiding another yawn behind his fist. Mal grinned. “Sorry, man. Looks like I shoulda got you a coffee too.”

“Why? So you coulda robbed him of a twenty too?” Luke bitched from across the room.

“Nah. I woulda did it free for Walker seeing how he’s not a prick.” Ignoring the responding curses from Luke, Malcom returned his attention to Dylan and waggled his eyebrows. “Old lady keeping you up all night?”

“That’s my daughter you’re talking about.”

“Thanks for clearing that up,” Malcom shot over his shoulder. “Wasn’t entirely sure if you might have another one out there you’ve kept in the closet.”

His glare hot enough to singe Malcom’s mohawk clean off his head, Luke stuffed his hands in his pockets and stalked toward the exit, his posture stiff as a poker.

“Too harsh?” Malcom asked as soon as the man was out of earshot.

“No, he fucking deserves it. Besides, he’d think we’re going soft and give us a bunch of shit if we weren’t tough on him.”

Although Luke hadn’t technically kept Zoe a secret like Dusty had done with Dylan and his brothers, he
had
gone out of his way to nip in the bud any mention of him having a daughter. On the rare occasion any of the band members inquired about her, they’d immediately been met with stony silence on Luke’s part. Usually followed by him locking himself away in a hotel room for a weeklong bender. But that was back before he cleaned himself up a year ago. The man had been a fucked up mess. No wonder Zoe came with more baggage than an overbooked 747.

“How’s Zoe doing, by the way?” Malcom asked, breaking through Dylan’s musings.

“Okay, I think.” He scratched his nape, his thoughts cycling back to last night.

“You guys having trouble?”

There was no mistaking the concern in Malcom’s tone. Dylan quickly shook his head. “Nothing major. I just want to get moving on the wedding.”

“Have you set a date yet?”

Of course Luke chose that exact moment to reappear. “Date for what?”

“Nothing.” Dylan slid Malcom a glance, silently shushing him from any further talk of Zoe. The last thing he needed was Luke butting his nose into their business.

His gaze suspicious, Luke approached them. “Why do I get the feeling you’re keeping me in the dark on somethin’?”

Shit.
Dylan racked his brain, trying to summon something to appease Luke’s inner bloodhound. “Well, ya know all my brothers are in Red Creek for the week.”

Luke crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re planning a
date
with your brothers? What are ya? Fucking fruit loops?”

Mal offered Dylan a pat on the shoulder. “My condolences on having him for a future father-in-law.”

Yeah. Thank Jesus that Zoe made up for it in spades. “No, I—” Dylan snapped the word in half as soon as he realized that Luke had just handed him the perfect red-herring. “Actually, yeah, that’s exactly what’s going on. And if I don’t come up with a killer game plan, my brothers are gonna one up me with some kind of awesome idea I can’t top. Shit, can’t have that.”

“What are ya, a complete dumbass?” Luke tossed up his arms before digging his cellphone out of his rear pocket. He passed the device to Malcom. “Get on the horn with that saloon in Red Creek.”

“How did I go from being your chauffeur to your personal assistant?” Sighing, Malcom keyed the info into the smart phone’s web browser. “I need a damn raise. Okay, got their number. What exactly am I asking?”

“You’re not asking anything. You’re telling them they’re gonna have a packed house tonight.”

Malcom grunted. “Sorry, didn’t realize you’re Nostra-fucking-damus.” Mal shook his head in response to Luke’s frown. “Dude, wouldn’t kill ya to trade your Penthouse mag once in a while for a history book.
How
do you know they’re going to be packed?”

“Easy.” Luke’s smile turned cagey. “They’re about to be graced with an impromptu gig by the hottest band in town.”

***

Well, Luke might not be Nostra-fucking-damus, but he’d certainly foretold the sardine can status of The Red Creek Saloon thanks to the infamous Walker boys
and
Truckstop Pickup occupying the same space. The owner shoulda charged a cover. He probably could have retired off the proceeds.

Dylan took another scan of the clapping and dancing crowd and sent a grin to the far table where his brothers sat. They looked like they were having a good time. Although he’d performed in some of the biggest arenas in the country, this little concert here in his newly acquired home town felt just as huge and important. Maybe even more so. Likely that had a lot to do with performing in front of his brothers. For many years, he’d substituted the band for flesh and blood family. Not that Truckstop wasn’t still an enormous part of his life. But now he had a real family off the stage too. It felt good to have these roots.

After they ended their set with the always requested Honkytonk First Date, Dylan stashed his guitar next to Malcom’s drums and clasped his bandmate’s shoulder. “Come on, I want you to meet my brothers.”

Malcom smirked. “Man, Luke’s gonna be pissed that I get to meet them before him.”

“Tough shit.” Dylan slid a glance toward the sizable queue already forming at the edge of the small stage. “He’s got his adoring fans to deal with anyways. They’ll keep him busy for a while.” 

He and Luke might be getting along a lot better these days—despite all surly outward appearances on both their parts—but he’d be a damn liar if he didn’t admit to being happy to leave Luke’s intro for later. The man tended to rub people one of two ways. Either you wanted to bask in his bigger-than-life limelight, or you fought the strong urge to knock him on his ass. Most days Dylan leaned toward the last option. Of course, now that Luke was his soon to be father-in-law, wouldn’t exactly go over great busting his nose. Though hell knows it was mighty tempting at times.

After shaking a few hands thrust his way, Dylan elbowed his way through the crowd, heading toward the battered table where Jackson, Rogue, and Killian were parked. He made the necessary introductions, biting back a grin as Malcom ping-ponged his stare between the four of them. Although he was getting used to people being taken aback by his and his brothers similarities, it was still funnier than shit to observe their reactions.

Malcom scratched his jaw. “Uh, are you sure you guys aren’t quadruplets who were separated at birth?”

Killian chuckled. “That’s what I asked when I first saw these yokels.”

Jackson snagged an extra chair from the table behind them, bemusement sparkling in his eyes as he inspected Malcom’s neon blue mohawk. “How long does it take you to get it like that?”

Dylan grunted. “You don’t wanna know. Mal spends more time primping than just about any woman I know.”

Malcom puffed out his chest like a peacock. “One of us has to be the pretty one in the band.”

“Don’t let Trinity hear you say that.” Snorting, Dylan grabbed the vacant chair next to Rogue. “She’d have your balls on a platter.”

“Yeah, gotta admit I’m currently grateful that she and the rest of the guys hung back in Nashville.” Wincing, Malcom dropped onto his seat and adjusted his fly.

Rogue pinned his focus on Dylan. “Heard an interesting rumor today. Thought you might want to confirm it.”

Aw, shit.
He cleared his throat. “I was intending to spill the beans tonight about y’all being uncles. Honest to God.”

Three pairs of simultaneous sputters ricocheted around the table. Killian was the first to recover. “We’re
uncles
? Holy hell, you work fast.”

Dylan frowned. “Why are you so surprised? I thought that was the rumor you heard. Which, uh, isn’t exactly a rumor.”

“No, I was referring to you starting up some kind of a band camp. Shit, I think wherever this conversation is headed requires a drink.” Rogue signaled one of the nearby waitresses and ordered a round for everyone.

Once the woman rushed off, Dylan offered his brothers a sheepish look. “Only reason I didn’t say anything sooner is I wanted to give you some adjusting time to know me before meeting Hunter. And Zoe.” Although his brothers were either dating, engaged, or married to Zoe’s good friends, everyone had been too busy to do much of anything outside of work for the last several weeks. Plus with him being back and forth between the farmhouse, Smithsfield, and the occasional trip to Nashville, it just hadn’t been in the cards.

Jackson leaned back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. “So when’s that going to happen?”

“Yeah,” Killian piped up. “Don’t you think we’d like to give our stamp of approval on the special woman who’s got our little brother acting like a flustered dumbass?”

Corny as it was, a burst of happiness warmed Dylan’s chest. He’d probably never get completely used to having brothers who wanted to be a part of his life. Crazy to think that a short month ago the only one he’d had to keep him in line was his ma. Lord knows she’d be thrilled to know some of that burden had been lifted from her overworked shoulders.

“You plannin’ to settle down and become a family man?” Jackson asked before taking a draw from his longneck bottle of beer.

It took less than a second to come up with the answer to that question. “Hell, yes.”

He’d already lost three years. Although he’d never get those back, he had a lifetime of amazing memories ahead of him to create with Zoe and Hunter. And absolutely nothing would stand in his way of making that happen.