“That I believe.” He reached out to poke Cooper’s round belly. “Coop, dude, you gotta lay off the beer.”
Cooper’s eyes veered toward Wyatt’s, locked on, and his big smile was joined with leg kicks and a happy gurgle. Wyatt grinned and slid onto a stool beside Dylan, all his attention on the baby. “Whatcha been up to, little man? Wearing out your mom, I bet.” More belly pokes resulted in more laughter, the kind that came from deep in the gut. The sound was like a sedative, shaving down the last few edges of Dylan’s stress. “Yeah, you look like a handful to me.”
“Hey,” Gypsy said, waving a bar towel at Wyatt. “I don’t want your entitled fingers on my kid.”
Ignoring Gypsy’s taunt, Wyatt put out both hands. “Wanna come to me, buddy? We can have a long talk about your mother.” Cooper lifted wobbly arms toward Wyatt, and the man grinned. “That a boy.”
“No, hey, stop touching him,” Gyspy said, clearly more annoyed than serious. “I don’t know where your hands have been.”
Wyatt settled Cooper into his arms like a pro. “Is that your way of asking if I’m seeing anybody?”
“You’re always seeing somebody. Usually a few somebodies.”
“Just passing time until you’re ready to admit you like me.”
Dylan took a longer look at Wyatt, because something about his voice kept nagging him. He had dark, thick, wavy hair and bright blue eyes. One of those faces with good looks and character. But the week-old beard was throwing Dylan off. “Why do you look familiar, man? Have we met?”
“Nope. Must just have one of those faces,” he said without taking his eyes off Cooper.
“He’s Wyatt Jackson, guitarist and lead singer for Fifth of Jack.”
“Gypsy.” Wyatt gave her a don’t-tell-people-that look.
“What? You use it every time you come in. Certainly brings all the babes to your table, at least two of which walk out the door on your arm.”
“Careful, sugar,” Wyatt said, still smiling at Cooper and swaying back and forth. “You’re starting to sound jealous.”
“That’s it,” Dylan said. “Dude, I love your music.”
“Thanks.”
Wyatt wandered behind the bar.
“You’re not allowed back here,” Gypsy said, one hand on her hip. “You may get everything you want on the road, but you aren’t getting it here.”
Wyatt ignored her. Instead of giving up the boy to Gypsy, he made one of those basketball moves, turning his back to her, then inching backward, gently pushing her away while keeping the baby out of reach.
There was something going on between these two. Like neither wanted to be attracted to the other, but both were, and they had an unspoken agreement to fight it with everything they had. But the Everclear had reached Dylan’s brain, so that observation might be bullshit.
“Jackson, give me my boy and get out from behind my bar.”
“Put your feet up, sugar. I’ve got this handled.” Wyatt looked at Dylan. “What brings you to town?”
Gypsy let out an exasperated breath, hands on hips, a do-something glare on Dylan. But it was pretty clear to Dylan that Wyatt had all this handled just fine.
“Visiting family,” he told Wyatt. “Taking a break from the insanity.”
“I hear you.” Wyatt put a glass under the tap of a local IPA and pulled the handle while grinning at Cooper. “It’s a crazy place out there.”
“Why aren’t you out on tour?” Dylan asked, watching Wyatt put another glass under the tap and pull.
“Who’s that for?” Gypsy wanted to know.
He ignored her and placed the filled glass in front of Dylan. “Our lead guitarist, who started the band with me, fractured his hand wrestling an alligator to impress some chick.”
“Are you serious?” Gypsy asked. “Is he okay?” She played a hard-ass, but she had the biggest heart out of all the Wright siblings.
“It’ll take six weeks before we can go back on tour, but he’s not complaining since the lady was impressed enough to marry him.”