Chapter Six
Dillon sat back with a sense of wonder listening to his older brother spar with the young nurse. For the past few years he’d rarely seen anything resembling the wry sense of humor Cale had possessed as a kid. Life had beaten it out of him. Yet, here they sat, in an old stone house in the middle of nowhere, eating cinnamon rolls, feeding table scraps to an already plump cat, and Cale smiled and laughed, reminiscent of the days of old. Dillon caught a glimpse of the old Cale, the one he hadn’t seen in forever.
Not for the first time, Dillon cursed the evil witch known as Rachel. Anger rolled his stomach at just the whisper of that name. The woman who’d yanked Cale around by his love handle and ended up burning him every chance she’d gotten. The divorce had proved drawn out and particularly nasty, but at least there had been no children to fight over. Rachel had refused to have any, citing that she didn’t want to become fat and ugly as she’d believed other women did after bearing children. How his brother could have loved that fucking pile of shit woman remained a mystery to everyone. All she had cared for was herself, her clothing, and spending every penny Cale could bring home on nonsensical baubles. Cale had risked life and limb each day just to keep that bitch in the manner she’d demanded. An absolutely useless human being, in his opinion.
After the divorce had wrapped up, Cale had thrown himself into his work, taking the most dangerous jobs in their private sector para-military specializations. Dillon worried often that Cale would get himself killed one day. At the pace and aggressive levels he’d lived at for the past two years, it seemed almost inevitable. But, money wasn’t worth the life of his older brother and that was a sure fact.
In all honesty, he wanted to move on to another career, somewhere more stable and safe where he and Della could settle down and raise a family. Riches weren’t required, just enough to keep them going—the American dream. His dream didn’t include looking down on a compound with the scope of his sniper rifle, patiently waiting for all hell to break loose. No. Deep down, he knew this was his last mission. No longer did he have the dedication or desire to keep tackling the scum of the earth, never knowing when he would eat, rest, or die. When a man lost his edge and want for such a life, then he ended up getting himself and others killed. Thus, it was time to get out. Della deserved a husband by her side and a father to the kids he hoped to one day have.
“Got any other fetishes I need to know about?
Cale arched an eyebrow. “Such as?”
Lily shrugged. “I don’t know. Some odd sexual attraction to cows, perhaps? Or the uncontrollable need to lick people’s bare feet while they sleep.”
“Cows, no. Licking…” he leaned closer, “is a possibility.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh my God. You have a thing for feet?” She scrunched her nose up.
“Did I say I licked feet?”
Confusion covered her face. “Well, not exactly.”
Cale sat back. “I’d rather lick a creaming woman’s…”
Lily coughed. Dillon whacked her on the back, shooting a scolding glance toward his brother, only to find Cale chuckling in obvious enjoyment of Lily’s naive reaction.
Realization clicked. By some stroke of good fortune, they had been thrown into Lily’s life and home. His brother, for the first time in years, was relaxed and actually bantering with a woman, his surly attitude solidly on the back shelf this morning. Promising.
After thinking for a long moment, Dillon formulated the beginnings of a plan. It could be the answer he’d sought for the past couple of months, each time he had considered walking away from his present career.
He’d worried Cale would spiral downwards, throwing caution to the wind without Dillon to watch his back. Now, perhaps another stable force could pull Cale from the fires of his ravaged heart and return him to the man he used to be. Nothing would please Dillon or appease his need to protect his brother more than watching Cale transform into the goofy brother he recalled in his memories.
I’ll make it work.
“Why do they call you Bugle?” Lily’s question pulled him back into the conversation.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Cale beat him to it. “He looked like a young, smooth-faced kid that had never once used a razor on his face. Like the bugle boys the army used to have during the Revolutionary War.”
“And what did you call Carson? Mayberry?”
“He’s from a small rural town where no one locked their doors and everyone knew everyone else’s business.”
Lily took a sip of her juice, then met Dillon’s gaze. “He won’t tell me, I’m sure. Why do they call him Tiger?”
Cale glanced warningly at him, but Dillon only grinned mockingly in return. “Oh, there could be a few explanations for that.”
“It’s because I stalk my prey and hunt alone,” Cale tossed out, his voice gruff with irritation.
Dillon leaned in close enough to stage whisper to Lily. “Personally, I think it’s because, like most cats, tigers can lick themselves.”
Lily tittered. Dillon yelped when Cale kicked his shin under the table.
“Brat.” Cale shook his head, but couldn’t suppress the bright flash of amusement in his mind.
Yes, definitely worth a try. Sinking his teeth into a hot roll, Dillon couldn’t restrain the low moan of pleasure the pastry brought to his taste buds. “Oh, man.” Sweet and hot, the treat nearly melted in his mouth. Granted, he hadn’t eaten homemade cinnamon rolls in years, but this was simply a taste of heaven.
An echoing sound of pleasure mimicked his own. Cale closed his eyes and savored the first bite, obviously agreeing wholeheartedly with Dillon’s own assessment. “You can certainly cook, I’ll give you that.”
Lily beamed at the praise. “My mother worked at a bakery for years. She taught me how to make all kinds of things.”
Dillon met Cale’s eyes and smiled to himself. The way to a man’s heart was rumored to be through his stomach. If anyone could get to Cale, it would be Lily and her decadent desserts. But, sometimes, even miracles needed a helping hand. One he was more than prepared to lend.