Oh my God.

 “I don’t know,” I whispered, only my lips moving.

“Sheila Bailey your Momma?” he asked.

“She gave birth to me,” I answered, still talking quietly.

He nodded his head, a small smile cracking his face, “Yeah, see Sheila never changed.”

“No,” I whispered.

The smile fled and he stared at me, reading me like he knew me my whole life either because I was too stunned at what was happening to hide it or because he had more practice than me.

I figured it was both.

“She didn’t treat you good,” he whispered.

“No,” I repeated, that one, one syllable word weighty.

Hoot Booker read that too and emotions he didn’t try to hide either rolled over his face, more pain, anger, despair.

“That brother ‘a yours?” he asked when he got control of his emotional roller coaster.

“Dead to me.”

He knew what I was saying and I knew he knew when he whispered, “Fuck.”

“This is all very touching,” Buddy put in snidely and I finally moved, turning away from the door to face him and see his expression was even more spiteful than his tone. “Why am I not surprised that an ex-stripper doesn’t mind havin’ a murderer as a Daddy?”

“Think I told you, you’re done,” Hoot Booker reminded him and Buddy turned to my father.

“I am? What are you gonna do, big man? Kill me in front of your long, lost daughter?”

“No, but, the way she said hi, not sure she’ll mind I fuck you up a little bit,” Hoot returned and I couldn’t help it, a giggle escaped me.

Buddy’s eyes cut to me and he hissed, “Shut your slut trap.”

Then Buddy wasn’t there because Buddy was on his back in the snow-covered yard, Hoot’s knee in his gut, his calf in his arm immobilizing it, one hand at his throat, his other hand wrapped around Buddy’s wrist pressing it into the snow.

Oh God.

I moved to the edge of the porch but could go no further because I didn’t have any shoes on, just a pair of thick woolen socks so I cried, “Please, don’t! He isn’t worth the trouble. Honestly, he isn’t worth the trouble.”

But Hoot Booker didn’t even look at me.

Nose an inch away from Buddy’s, he whispered scarily, “You called my girl a slut right to her face and right in front of me.” He paused a scary pause and finished, “I don’t like that.”

Buddy kicked out his legs and snapped, “Get off me!”

Hoot lifted his head and aimed his eyes at me before he ordered, “Go in the house. You call the cops then you call your man.” When I hesitated, he clipped, “Now, girl. Go.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” I said softly, his head jerked and his face changed. It softened and under all that rough, weathered and worn I saw my father was handsome.

“Then keep me outta trouble by gettin’ some folks here to deal with this assclown before I lose it and do it myself,” he said gently.

I held his eyes then I nodded.

Then I ran into the house, dialed nine-one-one, told them what was happening then I called Gray.

He answered with, “Hey dollface. Remember something you need?

“Buddy’s here,” I replied. “He brought my father with him. He said a few things my father didn’t like and now my father has him pinned in the snow in the front yard.”

Silence then, “Say again?”

“Buddy’s here,” I started. “He brought my “He ?"”

Gray cut me off to rumble, “You are fuckin’ shittin’ me.”

“No,” I whispered.

“You are fuckin’ shittin’ me!” Gray roared.

Oh God!

“Honey, are you driving?” I asked carefully, reminding myself again to tread cautiously and not get lulled into stupidity by the usually easygoing Grayson Cody.

A moment while I suspected he deep-breathed then, “Yeah, on the way to Gran. I’ll be there in ten. You call the police?”

“Yes.”

Then I got, “This man, is he really your father?”

“Well, I can’t be sure but he’s got my hair, he said I was beautiful, he knew my Mom’s name and when Buddy called me a slut, he took him down in, like, a nanosecond.”

More silence and I didn’t get the same seriously unhappy vibes traveling over the airwaves that I did when I first shared my news so I didn’t know what this one meant.

Then I knew when Gray’s voice came on a vibrating, “He called you a slut?”

Okay.

Again.

Tread cautiously, Ivey!

“Gray –”

He cut me off. “You feel danger from this man, your father?”

“No.”

“Right. You get your fuckin’ baseball bat, you lock all the fuckin’ doors, not in that order, and you stay the fuck inside until I get there. Not the cops, me. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Gray,” I agreed as I moved to the front door.

“Do it now. I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay, baby.”

“I’m done with this guy,” he whispered.

Shit!

“Honey, please stay calm.”

“I’m done,” he was still whispering and he was also gone.

Shit!

I locked the door then I ran to the backdoor and locked that then I ran upstairs and got my baseball bat (well, it was Gray’s, I didn’t have one anymore) then I ran back downstairs to the living room where there was a window where I could see Buddy Sharp and Hoot Booker in the snow.

Their positions hadn’t changed.

I twisted the window latch, crouched low, shoved the window up an inch and called out, “Uh… sorry if you heard the lock turn. No offense but my man isn’t real comfortable with me being alone here with a man he doesn’t know and Buddy.”

Hoot Booker’s head was up, he was looking at me through the window and he was smiling a huge, white, wild-ass smile.

“See you found yourself a decent man,” he remarked, still casually holding Buddy in the snow.

“Uh… yeah. He’s great.” I was still calling out the crack of a window.

“Good news, girl,” he replied.

“I, uh, also called the police. They know about Buddy so they’ll probably be here really soon,” I told him.

“More good news,” he said.

“Fuckin’ let me up!” Buddy shouted, still struggling against Hoot’s hold, snow flying all around but Hoot ignored him and kept his eyes on me.

“So, you live here long?” he asked conversationally and I again couldn’t control the giggle.

When I controlled it, I answered.

“Just over six months but Gray and I’ve known each other for over seven years,” I told him, decided, considering he seemed willing and able to dole out justice for me, I would leave out the history and Buddy’s place in it and finished, “It’s a long story.”

“Gray?” he asked.

“Gray, uh… Grayson Cody. That’s my man’s name.”

“Fuckin’ hell, I get from the dude ranch I’m on he’s a cowboy but, Christ. Grayson Cody? That’s like the most cowboy a name can get.”

I giggled again.

Yep, this was totally my Dad.

“Let… me… up!” Buddy shrieked and Hoot looked back down at him.

“Your car, your clothes, your house, chief, I get you think you’ll get whatever you want but, clue in, right now is not one of those times,” he stated.

“Fuck you,” Buddy spat.

“Lotsa money,” Hoot Booker muttered, still looking down at Buddy, “no class.”

My heart skipped a beat. Then it warmed.

That was when I heard sirens.

“Uh… um… Hoot?” I called and he looked at me.

“Yeah, darlin’,” he replied softly and I felt my nose sting but I fought back the tears.

“Well, just so you know, Gray doesn’t want me out there until he’s home so the cops are gonna be here soon but I won’t be out until he gets here. Just wanted you to know. Okay?”

“You give your man peace ‘a mind and do as he asks, Ivey. I’ll be good until he gets here,” my father assured me.

My father.

I smiled at him through the window and called, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, beautiful,” he called back.

My father.

It seemed this was going to be a family Christmas.

And, again, I couldn’t wait.

* * *

Nine fifty-seven in the morning, Christmas Eve…

I was ready by the time I saw Gray’s pickup truck speeding down the lane.

There were two uniformed officers outside in my yard wearing their big, bulky winter uniform jackets.

Buddy was up, his back still caked in snow and he was shouting, complaining and threatening.

Hoot Booker was standing removed, beefy legs planted wide and beefy arms crossed on his chest straining his jeans jacket with its sheepskin collar. His eyes were on Buddy and there was an expression on his face like he’d never encountered anything quite like him and, to save anyone else from doing it, he was struggling with the idea of crushing him like a bug.

The cops were staring at Buddy, clearly unhappy that what they’d hoped would be a laidback, Christmas Eve shift involved a run-in with the town’s most hated inhabitant.

As for me, to be ready for Gray’s arrival, I’d run upstairs to yank on my cowboy boots then back downstairs to pull on my jacket, wrap a scarf around my neck and tug a fitted, knit cap on my head down to my ears

What I couldn’t do was wrap my mind around the fact that the man outside was my father but I also couldn’t think about that just then.

I had to think about Gray.

So the minute his pickup turned in and stopped, I dashed through the living room and out the front door and I didn’t stop. I jumped off the porch and raced through the snow toward Gray.

And I knew with one look at him that the time it took for him to make his drive did not cool his anger. He’d been pissed when Casey came to call, angrier than I’d ever seen him.