Lyric and Lingerie (Fort Worth Wranglers 1)

“We need to go dress shopping and pick out flowers and caterers … what about the menu? And the venue? So much to do.” Livinia looked at Gregor. “Where should we begin?”

Lyric raised her hand. “I um … have a special project at work I need to get done. I don’t know how I’ll be able to plan things and finish it.” She was pleased with herself for coming up with something she thought would delay the wedding.

“Nonsense darlin’. I ‘ve got this whole wedding thing down. You go do your special project. I got this.” He almost felt bad. She looked so hopeful.

“I … well … okay.” She stabbed him with a glare that was sharp enough to hack off an arm or at least put an eye out. “If you insist.”

“My Lyric has a PhD. She’s an astrophysicist. She has a very popular podcast with quite a following.” Heath used his my-fiancée’s-way-more-important-than-you-are tone. There was only room for one pompous windbag in this town, and it damn sure was Heath.

“I am seeing.” Now Gregor sounded Russian.

“My little love-muffin,” Heath dropped a quick kiss on her nose, “has new planets to discover and black holes to study. Her time is better spent learning about the universe.”

Lyric looked up at him like she couldn’t figure out what game he was playing.

“Then it’s settled.” Bowman laced his fingers through his wife’s. “Heath and Vinny will plan the wedding.” He inched over to the side of the bed. “I’ve got to get up and around so I can walk my baby girl down that aisle.”

“Yes, let me help you.” Heath offered his future father-in-law a hand.

Lyric looked absolutely stunned. Heath had never really given much thought to getting married, but he was sure that he’d never imagined a fiancée who wanted to kill him before she married him.

* * *

Chapter 20

* * *

Two hours later Heath pulled in front of Harmony’s bakery, The Wright Way, and parked Cherry Cherry in the space closest to the door. It was probably a fool’s errand for him to come here. Her parents were all for his marrying Lyric, but Harmony hated him more than any other person on the face of the earth, including Rod Marinelli, the Cowboys’ defensive coordinator who’d instructed his players to kill Heath in the last few seconds of last season’s game after he found out that Heath had hit on his granddaughter.

All things considered, he’d rather face down Dallas’s defensive line than have to spend time with Harmony, but if he had his way, they were about to become family. Which meant he had to take the first step in healing the breach that had been between them for more than a decade.

Since it was Monday, Harmony’s day off, he walked around to the back alley and took the staircase that lead to the second floor. Harmony lived above her bakery, and if he was in luck, she’d be in a good and forgiving mood.

More nervous than he liked to admit, Heath used his most recent Super Bowl ring to tap on the front-door window. He’d gotten her a peace offering in the form of a Starbucks Caramel Frappuccino. If he could survive the embarrassment of ordering a Frappuccino in public, he figured he could take whatever Harm was willing to dish out. Then again … He took one last sip of his own Americano with a triple shot and then leaned down and set it next to the door. Meeting Harmony with a hot beverage she could throw at him was a very bad idea. He had a feeling she’d be amused by the idea of giving him third-degree burns.

She was bitchy that way.

How could Lyric be so sweet and Harmony be so angry all the time? They might be identical on the outside, but under their skin they were as different as night and day.

He gave it another few seconds, then tapped with his ring some more. Her car was here, damn it, and he wasn’t leaving without talking to her.

The curtain covering the window flipped to the side and Harmony peeked out. When their eyes met, she rolled hers, snarled, and opened the front door just wide enough to smack him in the forehead with the edge of it.

“Go away. I have a gun and I’d love to use it on you.” She was about to close the door in his face when he shoved his boot in the crack between the door and the jam.

“We need to talk.” He waggled the Frappuccino olive branch at her.

“There’s nothing you can say that would make me less likely to shoot you.” Harmony kicked at his foot. “Get your huge boot out of my house.”

“I’m not leaving until we talk.” Heath wasn’t giving up; this was too important. Plus, he was fifty percent sure Harmony wouldn’t shoot him. Well … maybe forty percent. Definitely thirty-five.

Her eyebrows drew together as she weighed her options. After what seemed like an hour, she finally opened the door.

He stepped inside and came up short. Harmony had changed. From the neck up she was the same—all big blue eyes and perfectly coiffed blonde hair—but the colorful tattoos covering her shoulders and possibly lower were definitely new. As was the nipple ring he could plainly see the outline of beneath her simple white tank top. The shirt looked like a sterile bandage against the vivid ink, and the double shoulder holster she wore under both arms holding two large-caliber handguns made her look like an enforcer for a Mexican drug cartel.

Which begged the question … what exactly was she

enforcing? She owned a bakery. Was there a rival bakery in town, and she was afraid of a drive-by? Was her éclair recipe so delicious she had needed guns—plural—to protect it? Was she often robbed at gunpoint for her donut money?