Lyric and Lingerie (Fort Worth Wranglers 1)

She’d take any positive vibes Heath wanted to throw her way.

Pushing back the blanket, she went to stand just as Heath nodded in her direction. “Look who’s awake.”

“Lyric, sweetheart.” Her dad reached out a trembling hand to her. She stared at it for a second, shocked again at how frail her larger-than-life father was right now.

She didn’t want him to see that, though. Didn’t want him to know how much his illness had thrown her. So she shoved all her worries and fears back down inside and pasted on the biggest grin she could manage.

“You’re awake.” She sounded like a manic cheerleader on a caffeine high.

Heath shot her a WTF look.

Maybe she should tone done the positive vibes.

“I am, sweetheart. Why don’t you come around here and give me a big ole kiss on the cheek?” For as long as she could remember, her daddy had wanted a big ole kiss on the cheek. It had worked to get her out of all sorts of trouble, from I-don’t-know-how-the-garage-door-got dinged to I’m-sorry-for-that-speeding-ticket.

“I’ll give you two,” she said, falling back on the old joke they’d had between them since she was little more than a toddler. “How does that sound?”

“Just about perfect.” Her daddy turned his head a little, giving her a scruffy, pasty cheek.

As she leaned forward, Heath stroked a hand straight down her spine, from the sensitive nape of her neck to the top curve of her ass. She jumped and then settled into it. His hand stayed put, his palm resting on her ass while his long fingers curled around her hip.

She squeaked a little before she gave her father a hug and the two kisses she’d promised. As she did, she tried to angle her body so that he couldn’t see where Heath’s hand was resting.

But her father was no fool. He might be laid up, and he might be sick, but he was far from blind. A fact she was reminded of as his eyes zeroed in on Heath’s fingers.

“How are you feeling?” She pulled back. This time she did wiggle her butt in an effort to dislodge Heath’s hand. He just tightened his grip and smiled like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Like I’m about to have my chest cut open.” Her father was always upbeat. He was the Yang to her mother’s Yin. “It could be worse.”

How could he feel worse? Maybe if he had his head cut open, but the brain doesn’t have any pain receptors—they’re all in the outer coating. She guessed cutting through that probably hurt.

“Yeah, you could be feeling like you already had your chest cut open.” Heath took her father’s hand.

Her daddy grinned. “Exactly.”

“I swear, you two are peas in a pod.” Lyric stiffened as her mother swept into the room in a familiar cloud of Chanel No. 5 and superiority. She’d changed out of her Darth Vader pantsuit and was now wearing some sort of swirly orange chiffon shirt and white trousers. She looked like a peach sno-cone. Lyric couldn’t wait for the barrage of hatefulness her mother would have for her when she caught sight of Lyric’s Walmart-special yoga pants and too-tight tank top.

The peach sno-cone was going to melt into an angry puddle.

She still wasn’t sure how Heath could get her pants size right but miss so completely on the shirt. With his nickname and extracurricular activities, she’d figured he’d recognize a pair of double Ds with his eyes closed and his libido tied behind his back.

“There you are.” Her daddy held his hand out to her mother. “I was wondering when you were going to get here, my love.”

Lyric and Harmony had never really figured out what there was to love about their mother, but clearly their father had found something … minute and really well concealed. Harmony believed their mother was a secret Wiccan who’d cast a spell over their father so he couldn’t see the real her.

Lyric sighed long and hard at the endearment, but she made her way to the other side of his bed ASAP.

“Are the nurses being nice to you?” Livinia pressed a dry kiss to the same cheek Lyric had just kissed.

Lyric was relieved that she’d gotten there first. God only knew what kind of poison her mother left on everything she touched.

“You bet they are.” Her father seemed to brighten in her mother’s presence. “They’re too infatuated with Heath and too scared of you to do anything else.”

Lyric glanced over her shoulder at the nurses’ station, half expecting to see the nurses holding up garlic and crosses now that her mother had finally arrived. Jeannie and a nurse with blonde hair and large ears sat behind their desk trying to look busy. No crosses or garlic. It was disappointing.

Heath had thought of everything from hand lotion to fuzzy socks for her feet, but he’d forgotten the garlic. She would have to ward her mother off with her wit alone. It wasn’t the best plan, considering she’d gotten all of three hours sleep in the last forty-eight hours.

“Mrs. Wright.” Candy, the nurse assigned to her father this morning, came bustling in. “You’ve had your chance to see Mr. Wright. The surgery center just called, and they’re on their way to get him. I broke the rules once, but y’all are going to have to head back out to the waiting room. They’ll come get you when he’s prepped for surgery, and you can see him one more time before they put him under.”