Badd Daddy (The Badd Brothers Book 12) Read online

  She groaned again. “Why Poppy?”

  “Why not? She’s your sister.”

  “We’ve just never gotten along.”

  “I know. To my great chagrin, I know. But you’re both going through very similar situations, and I think you really could both benefit from leaning on each other.”

  “You do know Boston and New York aren’t that close, right? Like, I can’t just pop down to New York for a quick cup of coffee with Poppy.”

  “Your life is up in the air, and so is hers. Maybe you should both throw caution to the wind and just…spend time together, figuring things out.”

  “What, like a road trip?”

  I smiled to myself. “Something. I think you both need to get away from your current situations—get space in terms of time and distance from everything you’re trying to figure out. Answers have a way of cropping up when you stop trying to force it.”

  “Great. So when you finally do give me a straight piece of advice, it’s something I’d rather eat glass than do.”

  I frowned. “Charlotte, now really. What is your issue with Poppy?”

  “I don’t know, Mom.”

  “Well, this is your chance to find out and fix it. You can do whatever you want, but you wanted my advice and, well, this is it. Spend time with Poppy.”

  “Why not Cassie, or Lexie, or Torie?”

  “Because as far as I know, things are copacetic for them. So far.” I sighed. “God, now I’ve probably jinxed myself.” I laughed. “Point is, I know Poppy is going through something like you are because I just talked to her the other day—it was a very similar conversation, actually.”

  She’s silent another moment or two. “I’ll think about it. I certainly could use some time away from Boston.”

  “And she could use time away from New York,” I said.

  “Fine, fine. I’ll call her.”

  I smiled to myself. “Good. I really don’t think you’ll regret it—you’re just going to have to learn to give Poppy space to be…Poppy.”

  “You make that sound easy.”

  “No harder than it will be for her to give you space to be you,” I chided.

  Another long pause. “You know, I’ve been talking about me this whole time. What’s going on with you, Mom?”

  I was tempted to ask her how she’d feel if I was dating someone, but bit the words back. What I had with Lucas wasn’t that, and couldn’t be. And it was none of Charlie’s business, at this point at least.

  “Mom?”

  I held back a sigh. “Oh, you know. One day at a time.”

  “That is the most vague and evasive answer I’ve ever heard in my life, Mother. Now I know where Poppy gets it from. Usually when I ask you that, you’re off a mile a minute like Cassie or Poppy, telling me all about what your neighbor said and who’s having an affair with whom in your paddle boarding group…”

  “Well, maybe right now there’s just…” I trailed off, unsure what else to say.

  “Something going on you’re not ready to talk about,” Charlie guessed. I remained silent, and Charlie correctly interpreted my silence. “What’s his name?”

  I laughed. “Whose?”

  “Whoever it is that’s the reason you’re not telling me what’s going on.”

  I wiggled my toes into the thick shag pile of the rug under my bed. “I need some time before I’m ready to do that. But for now…yes, I’ve made a friend.”

  “A friend, huh?”

  “Charlie,” I warned. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” She sounded amused. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about it?”

  I snorted. “I have to go. I have a lunch meeting.”

  “Eee-va-ding!” Charlie said in a sing-song.

  “You’re pushing it!” I sang back.

  “I have to go too,” she answered. “My train is here.” I heard the sounds of a PA system announcing an incoming train, and the ambient noise on the other end increased until it was hard to hear her.

  “Call Poppy!” I said. “I love you!”

  “I will,” she said. “Love you, too.”

  I tossed the cell phone onto my bed beside me and considered Charlie’s and Poppy’s plights. I wondered if Charlie would actually call her youngest sister, and if they’d be able to overcome their differences long enough to help each other through their hardships.

  Time would tell.

  For now, though, I needed to get ready. I had a lunch meeting with a client to discuss design ideas for a condo renovation. I’d already sketched out my concept after viewing the space, so the meeting should be short—I also had samples of the various materials I was suggesting in my work satchel.

  Two hours later the meeting was over. It had been short and sweet as the client loved my ideas, approved the materials, and told me she’d contact my recommended contractor.

  Meeting concluded, I sat in my truck with the window open, listening to “Country Roads” on the radio, trying to tell myself I should go back home and finish the three other design concepts sitting on my desk. The problem was, it was one of those rare, perfect Alaskan afternoons: warm but not hot, a gleaming, brilliant sun in a clear blue sky, and just enough of a breeze to ruffle the hair…

  I didn’t want to work anymore. I wanted to change my clothes and head for a hiking trail.

  But I needed to get this work done. One client’s home was still in the beginning stages, nothing but photographs of the current space and some color palette preferences; the second was further along, some sketches, some proposed structural changes with a definite modern industrial motif; the third design concept was nearly finished, with the sketches needing only finishing touches and a list of materials to obtain samples for.

  Gah. The sunlight bathed me in golden warmth, and the thought of being in my office behind walls and under a roof, sketching and designing? No. I just couldn’t do it.

  I had a go-bag on my backseat, a backpack with a change of hiking clothes, a spare pair of hiking boots, a couple bottles of water, some imperishable food, and a few other hiking necessities. I took the change of clothes back into the restaurant, changed in the bathroom, and returned to my truck.

  When I put the truck in gear and pulled out onto the road, I found myself heading not for the highway and the nearest trailhead, but in the opposite direction.

  “What am I doing?” I asked myself out loud. “God, I’m an idiot. He won’t go hiking with you, Olivia.”

  I didn’t listen to myself, of course. I ended up at his apartment and lucky for me someone let me in the front door. I headed upstairs to Lucas’s apartment, knocking and waiting. He answered the door clad in nothing but a pair of baggy, ripped, khaki cargo shorts, a pair of kitchen scissors in one hand, his beard looking…unevenly trimmed at best; he was clearly frustrated.

  I bit my lip, trying to hold back a laugh. “Lucas…”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Liv. I’m, uh…”

  I snorted, snickered. “You need help.”

  He closed his eyes and sighed, and his shoulders slumped after a moment. “Yeah. I need fuckin’ help. Story of my life, lately.”

  I waited, but he didn’t move, or invite me in. I arched an eyebrow at him. “That was me offering to help you even out your trim, Lucas.”

  “Oh. You, uh…you’d do that? You can do that?”

  I snorted a laugh. “Was that two different questions, or one?” I patted his shoulder; his skin was so warm to the touch it was almost hot, the muscle firm. “Yes, I will, and yes, I can. I cut Darren’s hair every single month during our entire marriage.” I pushed away memories of Darren’s hair between my fingers, his familiar scent in my nostrils.

  “Well, come on in, then.” Lucas stepped aside and let me in.

  I looked around. “The green looks great now that it’s dried.”

  “I like it.” He grinned at me.

  “Now you just need some better furniture.”

  He waved a hand. “Nah, I got what I need.”
r />   “What you need from a utilitarian standpoint is not the same as what will make this feel like a proper home,” I said. He led the way to the bathroom, which is where he had been trimming his hair—or attempting to. I stopped before entering the bathroom, though. “You know, it would be easier if you sat on a chair in the kitchen.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  In another moment, he was sitting on a chair in the middle of the kitchen, hands fidgeting restlessly. I stood behind him, feathering my fingers through his hair, fighting a powerful wave of memory mixed with a surge of attraction.

  I blinked, and for a moment it was Darren sitting there; he’d crack a joke about me giving him a bowl cut like his mom used to—the same joke every time. I blinked again, and it was Lucas, his broad shoulders like mountains, his hair shaggy and uneven, his skin bronze and freckled and hairy.

  I continued to toy with his hair, now trying to decide what I was going to do with it. Before going into interior design, I’d gone through beauty school, so I was actually trained in cutting hair, but I’d realized I didn’t like it enough to want to do it every single day.

  “Do you know what you want it to look like?” I asked.

  He snorted. “Shorter. Neater. Beyond that, I got no fucking clue. Last haircut I got was from a meth addict who lived in a trailer next to the bar I used to drink at, down in Oklahoma. She gave me haircuts for enough cash for her next fix.” He sighed. “She was terrible at cutting hair, but she’d do it for five bucks and it was right there.”

  I wasn’t at all sure how to respond to that. “Um. Wow. Okay.”

  He laughed, a bitter sound. “Glamorous, ain’t it?”

  I fingered the ends of his hair, it was very uneven, even before he’d attempted to trim it himself, but it was thick and healthy. “Why don’t you just go to a barber shop?”

  He shrugged. “Too far to go right now.”

  “Insurance wouldn’t pay for a new truck? Or even towards a replacement?” I asked, as I started cutting.

  He didn’t answer for a long time. “It’s…complicated.”

  I trimmed the back of his neck until you could see his actual hairline, and then began working up around his ears. “Do you have clippers, by the way?”

  “Nope. One of my boys may, though.” He dug in the pocket of his cargo shorts and pulled out a flip phone that looked like it had been old ten years ago; he found the number he was looking for and held it to his ear. “Hey, Rem. Uh, you happen to have clippers? Yes, for, like, hair, you dumbass. What’s it matter who’s clipping it for me? Can you run ’em over? Thanks, Rem. See you in a minute.”

  “I get to meet one of your sons, then?” I asked, my stomach doing flips.

  He paused before answering, as if he hadn’t considered that fact. “Yeah, I guess so. Remington. The tattoo artist.” He sat silently as I continued cutting, working my way around his forehead, trimming the shaggy hair until you could see his face more clearly. “Your girl figure things out?”

  I chuckled. “No, I don’t think so. But my oldest daughter discovered herself in a very similar situation, so I sort of pawned the problem off on her. Or, rather, pawned them off on each other.”

  “Yikes. Two girls both having crises, huh?”

  I paused, teasing the hair out, examining the ends and the lines. “Yes, it seems so. I’m just praying my other three stay out of crisis mode. I’d really love to not have to put out five fires all at once.”

  “What’s your oldest’s issue?”

  I hesitated. “Um?”

  He waved a hand at my hesitation. “None of my business, I guess. Sorry.”

  “Her boyfriend of five years cheated on her with her boss, so now her entire life is up in the air. New job, new apartment…I’m thinking she’ll end up moving, it’s just a matter of where.”

  “What does she do?”

  “She works at a law firm in Boston.”

  “Lawyer, huh?”

  “Well, working toward that. She’s working there while studying for the bar.”

  “So moving her entire life ain’t exactly a simple thing.”

  “No, it’s not. It means transferring to a different law school, but she has a really good job that provides direct experience in her field with people at the top of her field. But now? I really don’t know what she’s going to do.”

  “And she wanted you to tell her what to do?”

  “As the easy way out, yes. Which is unlike her, as she’s usually fiercely, almost violently independent and strong-willed.”

  He grinned up at me as I moved in front of him to scrutinize my handiwork. “Imagine that,” he muttered.

  I clicked the scissors at him. “Hey, bub, watch it,” I said with a smirk.

  At that moment, his door opened, and I turned just in time to see a breathtakingly enormous, heavily muscled, chisel-jawed, blond young god swagger through the door. His forearms were covered in tattoos, and more crawled up his chest out from under the V of his tight black t-shirt, and more yet wandered down his legs—he had a set of keys on his index finger, which explained how he’d gotten in without needing to be buzzed.

  I felt my jaw fall open, and heard Lucas chuckle. “Yeah, they get that a lot. And, yeah, all three are identical.”

  I glanced down at him, clearing my throat and blinking hard. “Wow. Okay.”

  He just grinned. “Don’t worry—they’re all spoken for. Good women, too.”

  “Why would I worry?”

  He rolled a heavy shoulder. “You got five daughters, and I know I’ve mentioned my boys being troublemakers. Most moms take one look at my sons and hide their daughters as far away as possible.”

  The blond Adonis laughed. “They try to hide ’em. Usually the daughters just escape and come looking for us.”

  “Humility is a family trait, I see,” I said.

  He grinned broadly at me, and even as a woman old enough to be his mother, and a woman attracted to his father, I felt a little dizzy and weak-kneed. “Remington Badd, at your service.” He took my hand and shook it, firmly but not painfully.

  “Olivia Goode,” I replied.

  Remington eyed me with intense scrutiny, and then turned his gaze to his father, sitting shirtless in the middle of the kitchen. “Clippers,” he muttered, handing over a pair of professional grade clippers in a bag with a full set of guards. “I’ll need ’em back though, Dad.”

  Lucas took the clippers, and then handed them to me. “Thanks, Rem. How’s business?”

  Remington shrugged. “It’s the busy season. Ink is thinking of opening another location closer to where the cruise ships dock, which would work for Juneau and me. She’d like to be closer to the wharf anyway, and that works just fine for me.”

  “Would all three of you work at the new location?” Lucas asked.

  Remington shrugged. “Dunno. Probably not. Ink’s regular clientele won’t want to go near the tourists and, honestly, neither will Ink. Juneau and I are better suited to a busy tourist shop anyway. Plus, I think the three of us are a lot of personality in one shop.”

  “You hear from Ram lately?” Lucas asked, his voice a deep rumble.

  Remington snorted. “He’s way the fuck up near Coldfoot, guiding a group of big game hunters on a month-long hunt. Won’t be back for, like, two and a half weeks. Poor Izzy is going loony, too. Shoulda taken her with him, if you ask me.”

  “Surprised she didn’t make him take her along.”

  Remington cackled. “She likes hiking and camping with him, but a full month away from toilets and Wi-Fi is a bit much, even for her.”

  “You ever think of going on one of those long hunts with him?” Lucas asked.

  I continued fine-tuning the haircut with the scissors while Lucas spoke with his son, but I was ready to start using the clippers to blend and trim the beard.

  “Nah. I don’t mind a week or even two out in the wilderness, but where he’s at? Man, that is the real wild. Plus, Juneau says that’s how she grew up, and she fought like hel
l to get away from it, so why would she go back to it voluntarily? And if she ain’t going, I ain’t going. Not for a full month. But Ram and Izzy have their own way of doing things. They like a little time apart, I guess. June and I, not so much.”

  “So what’s Izzy doing while Ram is gone for a whole month?”

  Remington shrugged. “Annoying the shit out of me, that’s what. Over at our place all the damn time.” He huffed and waved a hand. “I don’t mind, for the most part. But it’s becoming a bit much. I get that she’s bored and lonely, but it’s putting a serious crimp in my A-game, if you know what I mean.”

  Lucas glared at his son. “Remington.”

  I snorted, pulling the scissors away and covering my mouth. “If you think I’ve never heard my daughters speaking that way, boy, do I have news for you.” I brushed hair off of Lucas’s shoulders, laughing to myself. “Lexie, my middle daughter, once told me her college town only really offered two forms of entertainment: parties, and…boys.” I hesitated. “Although, she didn’t use the word boys. She used a much dirtier word which I won’t repeat. I cut the limit on her credit card down to a thousand dollars for two months for that one.”

  Remington laughed. “Hit ’em where it hurts, huh? The pocketbook.”

  “Yes, exactly,” I said. “Those cards are only supposed to be for emergencies, but they have a way of thinking everything is an emergency solvable by Mom’s credit line.”

  Remington laughed again. “I had a credit card once. For emergencies only, I told myself. But then I ran up a huge bill on things that seemed like emergencies at the time, and I ended up cutting that fucker up into a million pieces.”

  “Probably smart,” I said. “But with the five of them being scattered to the four corners of the country, and me up here, I sleep better at night knowing they have something to fall back on in case of a real emergency, and I keep the limits low enough that they can’t get into any real financial trouble. And they do all have at least part-time jobs to help pay down the minimums.”

  Remington slugged his father in the shoulder. “I gotta get back to work. See ya ’round, old man.”

  “See ya, Rem. Thanks for bringing the clippers.”