Page 40 of Song Bird Hearts (Green River Hearts #4)
Valerie
I didn’t know what I expected when I step into the Boot Skoot the next morning, but it wasn’t the smell of fresh coffee, a plate of still-steaming biscuits, and Hank sitting in his usual seat behind the bar like he hadn’t just hosted a shootout almost a week ago.
“You’re up early,” I say when I walk in.
“Been up since four,” Hank replies, pouring me a mug of coffee when I come up and take a seat. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. “You always this charming’ before sunrise?”
“Only to the kids I like.” He slides the mug toward me. “Sit. Drink.”
So, I do. The silences settles between us, easy and warm in a way that only happens with Hank. He’s the kind of man who says little, but always says something. He’s been a steadfast part of my life for the majority of it, and I’m grateful for him.
I sip my coffee and finally ask what’s been chewing at me for days. “How’d you get in touch with Knox and Gilden? You know, the bodyguards you hired?”
“You’re on a first name basis with them two now, huh?” he asks, watching me carefully.
“We spent a significant amount of time holed up together. They’ve saved my life a few times now. Seems impersonal to call them anything else,” I reply with a shrug, playing innocent.
“Uh huh,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. “And I suppose it ain’t nothin’ to do with the way they look at you.”
I flutter my eyelashes. “I don’t know what you mean, Hank.” I grin. “Now, are you gonna tell me how you managed to hire them, two bodyguards from a company that definitely handles more than just protection, or you gonna pretend we’re not dancin’ around the answer?”
Hank raises a brow. “Lucky guess when I pulled up phone numbers?”
I level him with a look. “Hank.”
“Fine.” He leans back, the leather of the stool creaking. “Let’s just say I’ve got favors scattered across this country like cigarette butts. And some of ‘em still owe me.”
“You were just a bar owner when I met you,” I point out.
“Mmm,” he murmurs, eyes twinkling. “And you were just a barefoot girl with a broken guitar and a fire in her belly. We both lyin’, sweetheart.”
I smile faintly at him, the warmth in my chest blooming with affection.
My dad was never around when I was a kid, and when he was, it was just to pretend to be a good dad for the latest woman he was sweet on.
It never lasted, just like his relationships.
So when I came strutting into Hank’s dance hall at fifteen with a guitar and an attitude, I didn’t expect much of him.
Instead, I got someone who’s more like a father to me than my own ever was.
If my mama didn’t keep me straight, Hank did.
Still, right now, something gnaws at me. “You warned me,” I say, my nail tapping on the bar top. “You told me fame wouldn’t be everything I thought it would be.”
“Yeah.” He scratches his beard. “But if you’d listened, you wouldn’t be the Valerie Decatur I know.” When I laugh, he smiles. “Stubborn as ever,” he adds. “Like a damn mule with a microphone.”
“You’re not gonna tell me, are you?” I say, grinning despite the secrets hanging in the air between us.
“Nope.” He tilts his chin up and winks. “A man’s past is like an old revolver. Best kept locked up and outta sight. You go pokin’, you might not like what jumps out.”
Before I can press, the door opens, letting in the sunlight from outside. A gust of dry wind sweeps in just before a man does.
A very, very attractive man.
I’ve never seen him before, but he walks into the dance hall like he owns the place. Considering Hank just mentioned a past best left alone, this man feels like all the danger and secrets he’s trying to leave buried.
This newcomer looks like trouble dipped in ink and tailored in black. Tattoos curl along his neck, disappearing beneath a crisp button-down shirt that has no business being that expensive in a place like this. His smile is pure snake as he finds me at the bar and smiles. I tense.
“What’s this I hear about my favorite country singer bein’ in trouble?” he drawls, voice smooth as bourbon and clearly not from here.
I blink. “You. . . listen to country?”
He looks like he might listen to death metal or classical music. Not country.
“I do now.” He saunters over and claps Hank on the back like they’re old friends. “I’m Lennox, by the way.” His bright eyes meet mine. “You and I are going to be real close soon.”
I glance from him to Hank. “What the hell is he doin’ here?” I ask. “And why does he look like he just walked out of an episode of Mob Wives?”
Hank snorts, but it’s Lennox who grins and answers.
“Hank called in a favor,” he says. “And when Hank calls, I don’t ask why. I just show up with my best boys and some fireworks.”
I look between them, suspicion creeping up my spine. He’d said he wouldn’t tell me but. . .
“You two go way back or somethin’?” I ask.
“Or something,” Hank says with a grin, not elaborating despite my clear fishing.
Lennox turns his full attention to me then, and it’s like being stared at by a cobra—gorgeous, mesmerizing, and inherently dangerous.
“So?” he asks. “What can The Crows do for you , Valerie Decatur?”