Any Time, Any Place(30)

 

 

Dalton dropped his toolbox and sank into the third wicker rocker. "Why did I get stuck with assholes for brothers? Is there another beer out here somewhere?"

Cal passed over a bottle of his IPA. Dalton popped off the cap and took a long swallow. His brothers waited him out, like they always had. And as always, he broke. "We didn't sleep together," he mumbled. "For God's sake, I just got the job. Give me some damn time."

Cal slapped his hands together while Tristan shook his head. "Pay up," Cal demanded. "Twenty bucks."

"Morgan would kill you if she knew you placed bets on my sleeping with Raven."

Cal squinted with a warning flash in his eyes. "Do you like when Morgan cooks for you, Dalton? 'Cause I can get her to stop. Watch me."

Dalton rolled his eyes but stayed quiet. He really couldn't afford to lose his future sister-in-law's dinners. He had a limited amount of time left before she'd be moving into her own house, and then bye-bye shrimp and grits, and meat loaf, and pot roast. Good-bye.

"Couldn't close?" Tristan asked curiously. He rotated his glass once more.

"I was working! You may not respect the lines of employment, but I sure do."

Tristan and Caleb shared a look. Then burst into hysterical laughter.

Dalton brooded and drank his beer.

"Oh, please, say it again," Cal said. "Better yet, let me record you for the next time we have an inspection problem, or a supplier problem, or anything that entails a woman who is even the slightest bit hot."

"There haven't been any problems in months, and I resent you not taking my professional ethics seriously. Besides, we're getting to know each other better."

"Yeah, we know how you want to get to know her. BTW, I found another pair of pink panties in the laundry room last week. Tell your women to take their underwear home, please. I don't want Morgan doing their laundry."

Dalton shook his head. "I haven't slept with someone in a while. Must be old."

Tristan grinned. "Yeah, last weekend, right?"

Dalton gave him the finger.

"How long is the job going to take?" Cal asked.

"Three weeks, but I convinced her to go with new booths. The place is going to look incredible. She's being featured in Good Food and Fine Spirits magazine, so that means-"

"Pierce Brothers will have some solid, free publicity," Cal finished.

"Exactly. She's also doing a big grand reopening party to show off the new look."

Cal nodded. "Nice work, bro. But my original advice stands. Don't mess with her. We like to hang out there, and you could ruin it for all of us." 

Dalton stared out into the night. A cloud of depression settled over him. He knew his brothers loved him and respected his work. But sometimes they treated him like he was a clueless, insensitive asshole desperate to stick his dick in any female who moved. Hadn't they learned more about him this past year? Or was he fooling himself? Maybe they'd just see what they wanted to see, believing him to be the weakest link.

He'd worked his ass off to prove himself and his worth and thought he'd gotten there. Now?

Not so much.

He rose from the chair and headed in. "Thanks for the beer."

"Hey! I was just kidding." Cal's voice held confusion.

"Come back and finish your beer," Tristan called out.

He ignored them both and shut the handmade wood door behind him. He remembered his grandfather carving it years ago. Dalton had watched him piece together segments of rare wood, from redwood to mahogany, creating a masterpiece. Dalton had sat every day by his side, handing him tools, watching the door transform into a legacy that would welcome people into their home long after his grandfather had passed. It was another thing he loved about woodworking. It was a form of art that not only thrived, but lasted.

Nothing much else did.

He was just turning when he caught the heavy breathing. Moving real slow, he lifted his hands in a warning and lowered his voice. "Gandalf. Balin. Down."

The two massive mastiffs shook with fervor and banked joy at his arrival. Since they both came to shoulder height, their enthusiasm usually knocked him over, covered him with hair, and dripped saliva on his clothes. Their mottled fur held tinges of dirt and mud from exploring the woods and chasing squirrels.

"I mean it, guys. Stay down or you go back to training. I-ah, shit!"

They leapt.

He had just enough time to block the attack, but the force of their love staggered him backward against the door. Half laughing, he dodged licking tongues and furiously wagging tails. At least the dogs didn't give him crap about his sexual choices or his work methods. They thought he was perfect.

Dalton gave them a few scratches and pushed his way through the wriggling fur. He headed up the spiral staircase, noting the quiet of the house. Morgan must be out with Sydney for girls' night. Funny how the absence of a female changed the atmosphere. Morgan had brought back a zest and joy they'd all been sorely lacking since-