Baby Maker (It Takes Two 1)

“Better than Vince Gill” must be high praise from Bill. At the comparison, Levi smirks at me. I have no idea who Vince Gill is and my curiosity is now piqued.

I steal a glance at Dane, who’s leaning against the fireplace, and find a smile on his face that tells me there’s a lot more to this story.

“Will you play something?”

Shrugging, Levi turns bashful. “Sure. Anything you wanna hear?”

“You choose,” I tell him. I close the dishwasher, walk over to the couch and get comfortable. Meanwhile, Levi retrieves the guitar and sits on the ottoman, testing out the strings.

The couch dips as Dane sits next to me. His arm stretches across the back and his eyes fix on his brother as if the answers to the universe rest on Levi’s lips.

“This little tune is by Keith Urban and Eric Church,” Levi tells us with a soft smile. Then, closing his eyes, he starts playing.

“Raise ’em up

I'm talkin’ ’bout a lighter on a Saturday night.

The band plays a song you like and you sing along

Raise ’em up

I'm talkin’ ’bout Daddy’s old pickup truck.

Shotgun seat, there's the one you love and you’re kissin’ on.”

Levi West lost in song is a breathtaking sight to behold, his voice deep and soulful and set-your-panties-on-fire sexy. This man was born to sing.

“Get those white sails sailing down in Mexico.

It’s just a whiskey glass if you ain’t makin’ a toast.

Lift your tear-filled eyes up to the sky.

A comin’ home, you’ve been gone too long.

Tonight we’re gonna

Raise ’em up

Raise ’em up”

Seated in the armchair across from me, I watch Mr. Wylder’s eyes get wet. He catches me and smiles. He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t hide his open show of emotion. He wears it proudly on his sleeve. If I thought the world of this man before, he just catapulted himself into superhero category.

“You got a voice, you got a choice

Go make some noise. Don't ever let ’em tell you who you are

Raise ’em up

Fist black and blue, fight for the truth.

It’s what you do. Hand on your heart for the stripes and stars.

Black umbrellas in the pourin’ rain. A Sunday Morning. Coming Down, Amazing Grace.

Lift those tear-filled eyes up to the sky.

As the flag flies, say goodbye. Tonight we’re gonna

Raise ’em up”

Levi’s eyes drift open, the color made even more arresting by the dim light of the Tiffany lamp. He points them at Dane and goose bumps race over my skin, a charge of awareness amplified by the music, the lyrics speaking more eloquently than I ever could.

I tried my best to fight the tide of emotion building between us, tried desperately to keep this thing contained and controlled. And still, he found the cracks, seeped in, and burrowed his way to my heart.

I continue to watch Levi out of self-preservation. I can’t bring myself to look at Dane. I can’t do it because I’m afraid of what I’ll find if I do. But more importantly what he’ll see in me.

“So, you meet someone.

The only one.

You take her by the hand.

Make a stand.

Buy some land.

Make some love.

And them babies come.

Raise ’em up

Raise ’em up

Raise ’em up trophy high

Raise ’em up to the sky

Raise ’em up, show everybody that newborn smile

Raise ’em up tall and strong

Raise ’em up right from wrong

Raise ’em up so damn high they can hear God singing along.”

That against my best efforts, I’m falling in love.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house by the time Levi got done singing. Soon after, he went back to his place, a small house on the other side of the barn, and I went back to cleaning the countertops in need of a distraction.

“I’m turnin’ in,” Mr. Wylder announces. “I’m feelin’ more tired than usual.”

Sitting at the counter stool, Dane glances up from reading something on his phone.

“Get some rest, Dad. It’ll be a while before you’re feeling like yourself again.”

“You two stayin’ in your room, or the guest room?”

Dead silence. Not a peep out of Dane, and I don’t speak in fear I’ll say the wrong thing and accidentally spill the beans.

“Uh, yeah we’re in the guest room.”

“That’s what I thought. ’Kay then, good night.” Mr. Wylder claps Dane on the shoulder and walks out of the room.

“What do we do now?” I whisper-hiss.

Weary resignation is written on Dane’s face. He exhales tiredly, shoulders dropping. “I have to stay with you.”

“What!” I shout very, very quietly.

“My room’s two doors down from his.

I have to pass it to get to the kitchen. He’ll know if I sleep in my room, trust me. The man’s got bat ears. Your room is on the opposite side of the house.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

Fifteen minutes later, stepping into my bedroom with Dane close behind, I turn to find him braced against the closed door. The only way to describe his demeanor is that of an animal being led to slaughter. What the hell is his problem?

“This is your fault, you know.”

“I know,” he grinds out. His jaw clenched tightly.

I shouldn’t be hurt. I have no right to be hurt. Why should I care that he looks sick over the prospect of sharing a room with me. And yet, I am.

I grab the oversized t-shirt and head for the bathroom. I do my thing and return fifteen minutes later to find him sitting at the end of the bed with a look of dread on his face.

“I’m taking a shower,” he announces, not sparing me a glance as he moves past me and into the bathroom.

This is way above my pay grade. I don’t possess the necessary training to make sense of this behavior.

Twenty minutes later, I’m tucked into the cozy bed, reading glasses on, Delia’s latest manuscript on Dane’s iPad when he steps out of the bathroom.

Aaaand I instantly turn into Joan of Arc, burned at the stake. Except the heat doesn’t start at my feet. Noooo. It starts between my legs and spreads forth. By the time it reaches my face, there’s a veil of sweat above my lips. Not attractive.

A wall of finely sculpted flesh walks further into the room with only a scrap of towel to hide the extra good parts. There’s so much razzle dazzle to take in my mind locks onto one area. His abdominal muscles.

Mother of gee oh dee, what kind of torture must one endure to get those? So cut they don’t even look real. Mentally, I’m poking them with my index finger to see if they poke back.

Until something intrudes in the periphery of my vision. South of these spectacular ab muscles, the towel wrapped around his waist starts to rise. That’s when I hear a snapping of fingers. A large hand immediately comes into view and more snapping of fingers.