Chapter 20

This was Walker’s father?

Lindsey wasn’t sure what she was expecting, exactly. Not someone quite so . . . hard.

According to Walker, he was a con man and an art forger, but maybe she’d seen too many movies because she was expecting a warm and charming guy. She wasn’t quite prepared for the thick, wiry muscles. He was short, and he really didn’t look like Walker at all, except for maybe in the nose and eyes. Walker’s eyes had been wary and closed off when she’d first met him, but now she could read them like a book. His dad’s were the same steel gray, but when he smiled, his eyes didn’t look happy at all.

And he did smile—another difference between Walker and his father. Red Smith smiled a lot, and asked a lot of questions about Walker and how he’d been, and asked what Lindsey did and how she liked living here and he hoped his son was treating her well. Despite his scary appearance, he acted very friendly, like it was no big deal that he had broken into his son’s studio and was now just sitting around making small talk.

Of course, she wasn’t one to judge others for breaking into Walker’s studio.

But the eyes really bugged her. Cold. That was what they were. Walker could be grumpy and private, but when he smiled, Lindsey knew he meant it. Heck, when he smiled, she felt it zap down through her core.

Red’s smile made her squirm in an entirely different, entirely unpleasant way.

But he was Walker’s father. And he hadn’t actually done anything wrong in this case—at least, nothing that Lindsey hadn’t also done, and Walker seemed to like her okay. Maybe Red looked that way because he was just out of prison. Maybe he just needed some time to get used to civilization again. Her opinion was probably clouded by Walker’s own dislike. She wasn’t going to give the guy a kidney, but she also wasn’t going to let Walker kick him out into the cold night.

Which was exactly what Walker wanted to do.

“You don’t just ‘swing by,’ Red.”

Lindsey noticed that Walker didn’t call him “Dad.” Clearly, the two were not close. But she didn’t miss the hurt flinch through Red’s face every time Walker did it.

“I told you I was getting out.”

They were sitting around Walker’s kitchen table, all very cozy and domestic. Lindsey had changed into sweatpants, and helped herself to Walker’s coffee pot. Red drank the coffee like it was going out of style—best coffee he’d had in ten years, he told her. She tried not to be flattered.

Walker just stared hard at his father, even when Red looked away and admired the house.

“Quite a spot you’ve got here,” Red told him. “You’ve done well.”

“All on my own,” Walker said quickly.

Red threw up his hands. “Hey, I never said otherwise. I always knew you were the real deal, son.”

“Don’t call me that,” Walker muttered, then took a sip of his coffee. Lindsey put a hand on his knee and squeezed. Walker was doing a good job of being mostly polite, but she could see Red was pushing his buttons. She didn’t really know what those buttons were, but Walker’s muscles were tightly coiled under her hand, and she wanted to stand up and wrap her arms around him.

That might interfere with the tough-guy act he was putting on for his dad, so she stayed seated.

Lindsey let the silence linger between the two men. She had tried to fill it with small talk, but every time she engaged Red in conversation—that was another way he was different from his son, he actually knew how to make small talk—Walker got kind of a pre-transformation Hulk look about him. So she tried to keep her mouth shut. As a result, she was drinking a lot of coffee.

“What are you doing here, Red?” Walker asked again, despite the fact that Red had answered that question more than once. The first answer, “I thought you’d be glad to see me,” was clearly bull. It was pretty obvious that Red was not surprised by the cold reception he was getting from his son. Hurt, maybe, but not surprised. The second answer, “Just stopping by on my way out of prison,” was ridiculous.

Red sighed, as if Walker had finally worn him down and he was bracing himself to reveal the truth. Very dramatic, that sigh.

Lindsey gripped her mug tightly, trying not to die of curiosity.

“I got nothing, kid,” Red began. “I been inside for ten years. Got no money, got nowhere to go. I hitched a ride here—you know how hard it is to hitch a ride to Bugtussle, Kentucky?”

“Real sorry I couldn’t live somewhere more convenient for you,” said Walker, oozing sarcasm.

“Look, I know we have our differences.” Walker snorted, but Red continued. “I know you think I did you wrong growing up, and maybe I did. I was just trying to teach you how the world works. I know I’m not the world’s greatest father”—Walker snorted again—“but I did my best. I taught you how to survive, didn’t I? And look how you turned out. I’m proud of you, son.”

“Are you seriously taking credit for my life?” Walker’s back muscles trembled under Lindsey’s hand, even as she rubbed small circles with her thumb. He took a deep breath. “One more time. What do you want?”

“Ah, son, don’t be so hard on your old man. It’s hard for me to ask for help.”

“No.” Lindsey flinched at the coldness in Walker’s voice.

“Just for a few days. Just until I can get my feet under me.”

“No,” Walker repeated.

The two men stared each other down, and Lindsey felt the residual chill coming off them.

This was ridiculous. He was Walker’s father.

She cleared her throat.

Neither of them looked her way.

“Red,” she said, tentatively. She still couldn’t believe “Red” was actually his first name. “I’m sure you understand why Walker has mixed feelings about you visiting.”

“They’re not mixed at all,” Walker said, still staring down Red.

“But,” Lindsey continued, “I understand that you are going through a . . . transition period.”

Now both men looked at her. Red looked grateful. Walker looked like he wanted to dump his coffee on her head.

“I’m not suggesting he move in,” she told Walker. “Maybe just for a few nights.”

Walker’s mouth opened, then closed. The muscles in his jaw clenched so hard, she thought his teeth were going to break.

“But Red,” Lindsey said, turning to the older man, “you have to respect Walker’s space. He’s worked hard for his success, and he’s under a tight deadline.” Walker raised his eyebrow at her. She hurried on—she was no good at lying, and even if this was just a little fib, she didn’t want to dwell on it. “So you need to give him room to work. And you need to stay out of the studio unless you’re invited in. You can use these few days to find a job and a new place to live, but if Walker doesn’t want to talk to you, you have to respect that, okay?”

Red smiled, but not at Lindsey. “You got a real sweet woman here, you know that?”

Walker clenched his jaw.

“Just a few days, son, I promise. I’ll keep out of your way until I find my feet, and then I’ll be out of your hair for good.”

“Promise?” Walker asked tightly.

“Yeah, I promise.”

“You can stay, Red. One week. I know your promises don’t mean shit, but mine do. Today is Sunday. You’re out of here next Sunday, no excuses. Got it?”

“Got it,” Red said, a little sadly, Lindsey thought. “Thank you, son.”

“And quit calling me that.”

 

I don’t like the smell of this guy. I gotta keep an eye on him.