Must Be Wright (The Wrights 3)

The crowd cheered, Savage Justice started another song, and customers returned to their conversations. Only now, everyone knew Wyatt was here. If he didn’t play, it wouldn’t be considered an unfounded rumor, it would be an unmet promise.

“Gypsy,” he said, clearly braced for her fury. “This is my niece, Belle.”

Belle leaned toward Wyatt and whispered, “Princess Belle.”

Wyatt exhaled and his eyes closed with an expression she’d never seen on his face before, but she could clearly see he was about to lose his shit. “Pardon me, my lady.” To Gypsy, he said, “This is my niece, Princess Belle.”

“Of Franklin Briar,” Belle whispered again.

If Gypsy wasn’t so frazzled, she would have laughed her ass off. She would have dropped to the floor, clutched her stomach, and laughed until she cried at the way this little waif had reduced her powerful uncle to an unhinged page boy.

“Of Franklin Briar,” Gypsy said with a smirk. Belle was adorable, with long dark curls, the face of an angel, and Wyatt’s big blue eyes. “I’m charmed, your highness.”

Belle grinned, and dimples poked into both cheeks as she offered her hand. “Charmed as well.”

Gypsy shook the girl’s hand with a laugh bubbling up her throat. She pressed her lips together until the laugh settled down. “Would you mind if I spoke with your uncle for a minute?”

“Not at all,” she said, overly formal.

“Violet,” Gypsy called over her shoulder, “would you get Princess Belle a Shirley Temple?”

“Sure thing.”

Gypsy moved to the swinging door, and Wyatt leaned in, murmuring to Belle, “Don’t even think about moving from that stool, or I’ll send the guards after you.”

Belle giggled. “I won’t.”

Gypsy pushed out from behind the bar through the swinging door and stalked to the hallway leading to the stockroom. There, she spun to face Wyatt, hands on hips. “You brought a five-year-old into my bar? Giving the bar a bad reputation isn’t enough for you? You want to shut me down?”

He was all wide-eyed innocence. “You bring Cooper in all the time.”

“Not when it’s open for business. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Look, I’m sorry.” He put his hands up, as if that would calm her. “But I can’t find her mother.”

Gypsy frowned and lifted her hands, unable to understand what he was trying to say.

“Today is Belle’s birthday. She had a party at her house. When I got there, her mother said she had to run out and get some more ice cream, but she didn’t come back.”

“What?”

“She isn’t answering my calls or texts. When I told my mom about it, she said that Francie sometimes needs mommy-time.” He air-quoted the last words.

“Mommy-

time? What is mommy-time? And where the hell can I get some?”

“My mom says sometimes Francie leaves Belle with them and goes away for a couple of days without telling them.”

Gypsy’s mouth dropped open. A fist gripped her gut. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t know anything about this until she vanished in the middle of Belle’s fucking birthday party, leaving me with twenty five-year-old girls and twenty mothers.” He rubbed at sweat collecting on his forehead. She’d never seen him look so lost and frantic. “My parents leave tomorrow on a cruise for three weeks, so I couldn’t leave her with them. I didn’t know what to do with her. I couldn’t just leave her home alone.”

“Then you get a babysitter. You don’t bring her into a bar.”

“The only person in town I’d trust her with is you.”

“Don’t even. I’m completely immune to your charm.”