The Ransome Brothers Read online

  Shit. No wonder Levi knows exactly what’s going on with me. I’m not doing a very good job of hiding this attraction. If I’m honest with myself, it’s fast becoming more like an infatuation.

  And, I realize, watching her, I’m not actually interested in hiding it. At all.

  She looks up then, meeting my gaze, and her smile fades. Replaced by something more intense, something that has me swallowing, my throat tight. She says something to the customer at the bar and slips around the counter, never dropping my eye contact as she crosses the room to me.

  There’s something about that, about the way she holds my gaze as she walks, that has my heart thudding painfully in my chest. Damn, I want to kiss her. Want to stand up right here in the bar and pull her into my arms. I haven’t felt a pull this strong in years. Actually, I can’t ever remember feeling like this, not unless I dredge up those old, painful memories of Rebecca.

  And that realization—that this thing between us, new as it is, feels big somehow—has me pulling back. Trying to keep it under control. I clench my hand into a fist on the table to keep from reaching for her, holding up my empty bottle instead. “Can I get another one of these?”

  She continues to watch me in that same, intense sort of way that makes me wonder if she can actually read the entire progression of thoughts in my head—from the desire to kiss her all the way through to that stab of fear. Finally she tilts her chin a bit and I get the sense that she’s decided something.

  “Or you could hold off for five minutes while I finish up my shift and we could go get a beer somewhere else.”

  I blink up at her, not quite understanding. Is she asking me out?

  She grins. “You look a little freaked out there, Ransome.”

  “No,” I say quickly while my brain screams at me to not mess this up. “Not at all. I can wait for five minutes.”

  “Good,” she says simply. “I’ve already worked like eighty hours this week and I need to get the hell out of here.”

  I swallow, trying to temper my expectations. Maybe she just needs a break from her bar. It probably has little to do with me and I definitely shouldn’t overreact here.

  Then she smiles again, leaning closer. “And you totally have been dying to take me out for weeks now.”

  A bark of laughter bursts through my befuddlement. “Is that so?”

  “I mean, it is pretty obvious.”

  I spread my hands wide, feeling slightly giddy. Which is not an emotion I’m really used to. “Sorry for being so transparent.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she says, leaning back and crossing her arms. “It got you the date, didn’t it?”

  Before I can find a response to that, she’s walking away, back to the bar, pulling at her apron strings as she goes. I fumble for my wallet, eager to get out of here as soon as she’s ready, and slap two twenties down on the table. My phone beeps with a text as I stand and I pull it out, glancing at the screen, distracted.

  The name flashing on the screen is Gwen Batista, one of the VPs at the label. Her text message is simple. Heard the walk through went well. Have some things to discuss, call ASAP.

  I stare at the phone, conflicted. I doubt a conversation with Gwen can be handled in less than five minutes. She probably wants to talk about the special we’ve all but sold to HBO. There are still tons of details to iron out, important issues involving camera access and the boys’ insistence on maintaining as much privacy as possible. The heavy negotiations just started last week and I know there’s so much to go over, that the label, as ever, isn’t exactly happy with the stubborn front I’ve been putting up regarding the boys’ best interests and—

  “Hey,” Ruby says, and I look up from the phone to see her standing in front of me. “Still up for this?”

  It strikes me, not for the first time, how gorgeous this woman is. She isn’t my usual type but there’s something about her, about the way her mouth seems to be constantly tugging upwards, the juxtaposition of her sass and bossiness with that spark of laughter constantly in her eyes. Her clothes are always simple—she’s dressed yet again in tight-fitting jeans and a tank top, her dark pixie cut a little messy around her heart-shaped face, like maybe she’s been pushing her hands through it all night as she dealt with obnoxious bar patrons. My fingers itch to feel that hair, to pull her close, to brush my fingers down across the dip between her waist and hip.

  “Will?” she asks, laughter in her voice, and I realize that I’m gaping at her, that it’s been several long seconds of silence since her question and that my mouth is actually hanging open. Real smooth.

  I give her a sheepish smile. No point in pretending I wasn’t checking her out. “Yeah,” I say, slipping the phone back in my pocket. The label can wait. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Since Ruby hasn’t had a chance to eat yet, we end up in a noisy sports bar a few blocks away where, she assures me, they serve the best nachos in the city. “The atmosphere’s a bit much to be putting up with,” she says, waving a hand around at the noise of sports announcers coming from at least six different games and the buzz of the raucous crowd. “But it’s worth it for the perfect nacho.”

  “You’re going to complain about atmosphere?” I ask. “At least I can’t hear any Jimmy Buffett in here.”

  She narrows her eyes. “I don’t play Jimmy Buffett.”

  “Oh, come on, Ruby,” I tease. “The first time I walked in your place I wondered if I’d taken a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in Palm Beach.”

  She gives me a horrified grimace. “Palm Beach? The Purple Cat is obviously Key West inspired.”

  I shrug. “What’s the difference?”

  Ruby closes her eyes. “You wound me. You really do.”

  Our waiter brings over our beers and pulls out his pad to take our orders. “Nachos Supreme,” Ruby says, not even opening her menu. “With the barbecue chicken.”

  “I’ll take the same.”

  Ruby eyes me skeptically as the waiter leaves. “You just ate.”

  I shrug. “I’m not going to pass up nachos that are good enough to be worth sitting through sports,” I say with a mock shudder.

  She laughs. “Not much of a sports guy?”

  “It was never my thing,” I say. “I was always too busy with music.”

  Her eyes light up at that. “I had a feeling you were into music.”

  I nod, not meeting her eyes. I suppose this was going to come up eventually, but that doesn’t stop the tight feeling from invading my belly whenever I think of the band.

  To my relief, Ruby changes the subject back to my second meal. “These nachos are pretty massive,” she warns. “Not exactly a post burger snack.”

  I laugh. “You don’t know me very well, obviously. All the Ransome men can put away some food.”

  She tilts her head a little. “Is that a fact?”

  “You should have seen my grocery bills when the boys were growing up. You’ve never seen anyone who could keep up with Cash. That kid…” I trail off, the tightening in my stomach growing as I realize what I’m saying.

  Ruby’s watching me, her eyes knowing. “Are you ever going to tell me about them?”

  My exhale is heavy as I wipe my palms over my thighs. “What do you want to know?”

  She shrugs. “Anything. I don’t even know how many kids you have.”

  “Four,” I say, my eyes drifting to one of the screens. Maybe it’ll be easier to talk about it if I’m not watching her. “Four boys.”

  “And they’re all grown?”

  I nod.

  “And they’re all…mad at you?”

  I blow out another breath and suddenly she’s reaching for my hand. “You don’t have to talk about it,” she says, her voice easy. “We can sit here and flirt and talk about music or the bar or whatever. That would be fine.” She squeezes my fingers. “But I am a good listener. And I kind of get the feeling you need someone to talk to.”

  Suddenly, I want to tell her. It’s been eating me up in
side for weeks and there’s no one, not one other person, who I can unload it on.

  “My kids are in a band,” I say, finally meeting her eyes. “All four of them. I’m their manager.”

  She nods, as if telling me to continue, but then her eyes widen and I know she’s putting it together, my last name, four boys, the band. “Holy shit,” she mutters. “Ransom.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But that’s…they’re huge!”

  I laugh. “I know.”

  “Wow.” Her eyes are still wide as she watches me, like she isn’t quite sure what to make of me now. “I would think that would be tough,” she finally says. “To watch your kids go through all that. I mean, awesome, I’m sure. But there’s got to be a lot of pressure.”

  I look down at the table where she’s still clasping my hand. “I didn’t always…handle it very well. I was pretty protective with outsiders. And I pushed them.” I sigh, feeling the first twinges of that old familiar guilt. “Too much, probably. I could see what they could be, and I knew they wanted it. And God, I wanted it for them.” Wanted to give them what I never had, I think. Wanted more for them.

  “And that’s why they’re mad?” she asks. “Because you pushed too hard?”

  I shake my head. “I made some mistakes. Some bad decisions. Way before they hit it big. But it’s easy for them to lump all of those things together. To assume my mistakes were about the band, about controlling things.”

  She frowns. “Are they right?”

  “No,” I say, knowing my voice is sharp but not caring. “I did what I did for them. I thought it was the right thing.” I sigh, the anger slipping away. “I was wrong.”

  “Hmm.” She gives me a small smile. “This is a bit vague, you know. Not giving me much to work with. But I would think if you just talked to them, told them you know there were mistakes—”

  “It’s not that easy,” I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut, a flash of Lennon in that hospital bed running through my mind. I swallow. Take a deep breath. Feel a little sick.

  And then I tell her everything. About Rebecca and the drugs she took, about her taking Lennon with her to her dealer, all the scary, terrible shit he witnessed as a child. About the day she left him in the car and forgot. In the summer, California. A heat wave. How he could have died, how he’d ended up in the hospital. And then everything that came after that. Rebecca leaving rather than getting help. Lennon not speaking for weeks but eventually seeming to forget about that horrible day in the car. About raising them alone, how inadequate I’d been, how bad I was at it. The way music seemed to be the only way I could provide for them. Connect to them.

  And then I tell her about Lennon, how little hints started to appear that he wasn’t okay. That it wasn’t all behind him, the way I’d thought and hoped. The drinking. Hurting himself. Rehab for drugs. A hospital when he thought he might really hurt himself. Eventually wrapping a motorcycle around a tree—on purpose—when he couldn’t handle whatever it was that was in his head anymore.

  And I tell her how Lennon had begged me to keep it all a secret, to not tell the boys. And I’d gone along with it. Another secret to add to the one about their mother—that she had left us not because she was tired of raising a family, but because she cared more about her drugs than she did about her boys.

  Ruby listens without saying a word, her eyes steady on my face. I’m hoarse by the time I’m finished, my ragged words drifting away into silence between the two of us. Finally, when it must be clear that I don’t have anything to add, she takes a deep breath. “Well,” she mutters, still not dropping my gaze. “Shit.”

  I laugh, which is so not the reaction I would expect to have when baring my soul to the near stranger with the nose ring and the sparkling eyes.

  Before either of us can say more, the waiter appears with our nachos and fresh beers. “Thanks,” Ruby says, shooting that trademark grin up at the kid. He seems a little off-balance, blinking down at the woman twenty years his senior, like he’s overwhelmed by the force of that smile. Poor kid, I think, grinning, as the waiter mumbles something incoherent and walks away, stumbling a little over his own feet. Probably head over heels with her already.

  “What?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

  “You just filled that kid’s fantasy bank for the foreseeable future.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I could be his mother.”

  “You’re the hot older lady,” I correct, waggling my eyebrows, and she throws a napkin at me.

  “And you’re gross.”

  And just like that, my horrible confession is behind us. We aren’t going to dissect every word, every poor decision I had made. She isn’t going to make me relive it any more than I already have. And, maybe most importantly, she isn’t going to patronize me with feel-good crap about how I’d done my best, how it will all turn out okay in the end. She merely listened, let me have my say, and that was that.

  And somehow, I know, it’s exactly what I need right now. To just get it out there, finally. To tell someone. There will be time enough to talk about it later, now that she knows the details. And I know, as I watch her dig into her nachos, that we will have a later. That this date won’t be our last. Not by a long shot.

  “What?” she asks, again, her eyes narrowed now. “And you better not say anything else about old ladies.”

  I think you’re beautiful, I want to tell her. I haven’t felt this comfortable with someone in years. Thank you for listening to me. Thank you for letting it go.

  But I don’t tell her any of that. Instead I lean across the table, take the chip from her hand, and kiss her.

  Daisy

  Well, she’s finally asleep,” Daltrey says, collapsing onto the couch next to me. He looks about as tired as I feel. “I can’t say I’m a big fan of this nap skipping thing she’s been doing.”

  “Agreed,” I say, leaning into him. “It’s almost as bad as the whole not sleeping at night thing she’s been doing.”

  He slips an arm around me. “It’s a good thing your daughter is so cute or I might lose my mind here.”

  “My daughter?”

  “When she’s not sleeping, she’s definitely yours.”

  I snort. “Maybe I’ll stop taking the night shift just so you can get your rest for rehearsals.”

  “Hey! We’re supposed to take turns.” He frowns down at me. “Have you been waking up and leaving me to sleep? You’re not supposed to do that.”

  “You’re very sweet, but it’s fine. You have a lot on your plate.”

  “Daisy.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “I think you know me well enough to know I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to.”

  He grins. “You are pretty stubborn.”

  There’s a knock at the door and Daltrey stiffens. “If that’s someone trying to sell us something and they wake up the baby—”

  “It’s not a salesman,” I tell him, pulling out of his arms to stand. “It’s probably your brothers.”

  “What? Why are my brothers here?” He makes a pouty face. “I wanted to have sex with you.”

  I laugh. “I thought you were tired.”

  He reaches for my hand, pulling me back. “I’m not too tired for that.” Whoever it is knocks again, and he groans. “Don’t answer it.”

  “We’re supposed to do wedding planning today, remember? Paige set it all up—she’s been talking about it since Tennessee.”

  Daltrey groans loudly. “You know I tune her out half the time.”

  I glare at him and he meets my gaze with an unapologetic expression. But he does let me go so I can open the door. I’m not at all surprised to see Paige standing there, her arms full of various tote bags and boxes, a huge grin on her face. Reed stands beside her, his expression not nearly as excited as his girlfriend’s.

  “Baby’s asleep,” I say quickly, before Paige can start squealing. Rose is on the other side of the house and unlikely to be awoken by typical inside voices. But Paige doesn’t really have a typical insid
e voice.

  “Oh,” she says softly, her face falling. “I wanted to snuggle her.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be awake pretty soon.” I open the door wider, gesturing for them to come in.

  “Hey, Dalt!” Paige says happily. “You excited for this?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he replies, his voice flat. “Totally excited.”

  “Don’t mind him,” I tell her. “Rose has been keeping us up.”

  “And I was hoping to get some now that she’s actually asleep,” he mutters and I smack his head. “What?” he asks. “It’s a compliment. You’re hot.”

  “Can we not discuss this in front of your brother?”

  Reed rolls his eyes, dropping onto the couch next to Daltrey. “Please. Like I haven’t heard him whining about wanting to get in your pants for half my life.”

  “We’re done talking about my pants,” I tell them, just as there’s another knock.

  “I’ll get it!” Paige says, skipping to the door. “Lennon! Haylee!”

  I wince at Dalt, holding my breath for a second, but Rose doesn’t make a noise. Cash, Levi, and Karen follow closely behind Lennon and Haylee, our living room looking suddenly very full.

  “Did Sam get off okay?” I ask Cash.

  He sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yup. Back in Seattle.” He looks even more down about this than usual, so I pat his arm.

  “She’ll be back soon,” I start, but Paige interrupts us, clapping her hands.

  “We’re all here!” Paige calls in that I’m-about-to-force-you-to-have-fun voice she does so well. Cash groans next to me. “I’m so glad! This is going to be so awesome!”

  “I for one can hardly wait,” Lennon mutters.

  “Really, Len?” Paige shoots him a disappointed glance. “I thought you of all people would be into this.”