I clear my throat. “You’re trouble, mister.”
He laughs again, and the sound is rich and deep and makes me shiver. “I was going to say the same thing about you, Tex.”
“Tex, huh?” I try to glare, but his grin only deepens.
Wow. That smile.
A cooking timer blares over the stove, making me jump, and I grab an oven mitt to pull out our dinner. My mouth starts running because I’m suddenly nervous. “You’re gonna have to live with Mrs. Bergenmeyer’s chicken casserole tonight because I was too busy to chop up the vegetables for the stew. And I really need to give Bella a bath in a bit and get her to bed, but I’m gonna plate this up for you first.”
Grabbing a bowl, I scoop in a big serving. When I place it in front of Brady, he’s frowning. “You’re not joining me?”
Those mesmerizing green eyes stare up at me, and my heart beats double-time. “I can. If you don’t mind waiting for me to bathe Bella and get her to bed.”
“I’ll wait.” He breaks out another heart-stopping smile, and I grin back like a fool. “But can I ask a favor?”
Anything. Anything at all. “Of course.”
“Can I help you with Bella? I’m thinking I need to figure out this baby thing.” He runs his hands through his thick, black hair, sending messy strands every which way. “The attorney didn’t happen to return my call yet, did he?”
I shake my head. “It’s late. He probably won’t get back to you until tomorrow. You worried about getting custody?”
“Honestly? I’m worried about my parents. Cal would've given them Izzy. Not me.” His forehead pinches in worry. “My dad is having heart surgery the day after tomorrow to replace a valve. I don’t see how they can handle a toddler running around their house.”
Hearing this reminds me that I’ll be losing Bella soon. Because of course she’s moving to Boston to be with Brady’s family.
I swallow the lump in my throat and blink back the sting in my eyes. Don’t freaking cry. Not again. When I can finally talk, I whisper, “If you guys lived closer, I’d be happy to help out.”
“You’ve done so much for us. I’m not sure I’d survive this week without you.”
Yeah, that doesn’t help the urge to cry, but I bite the inside of my cheek and try to keep my act together. “I’m glad I can be here.” I keep my eyes down because there is no way I can look at him or Isabella, or I’ll start bawling.
After an awkward silence, Brady clears his throat. “Katherine, I’ve been meaning to ask…” Ugh. My stomach tightens. Don’t ask me anything else about that night. I’m not ready to talk about it. “How much was my brother paying you to help out around here? I’m trying to figure out my finances, and you mentioned you got room and board, but I’ve also seen you busting your ass all day. You’re like a hummingbird around here, buzzing around, doing everything, really. So Cal had to be paying you something too, right?”
I shrug, trying not to look too relieved. “Yeah, but you don’t have to worry about that right now. I know how much the funerals are costing you, and I feel bad making you pay me anything. Melissa was one of my best friends and—”
“Katherine. How much?” When our eyes meet, he cants his head forward and raises his brows. “How much?”
Finally, I tell him. “A hundred.”
“A day?” He looks like he’s doing calculations in his head.
Dios mío. I laugh. “Sweet heavens, no. A week.”
I'm met with silence. Finally, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “That's all?" His jaw tightens. “What the fuck?”
Bella squeals, “Whadda buck? Whadda buck?”
He and I look at each other, and his cheeks turn pink. Beneath his breath he says, “Aw, hell.” He leans over and kisses her head. “Sorry, Izzy. Can we pretend I didn’t say that?”
“Whadda buck?” she yells again, this time with an eager clap.
Shrugging, I grin. “Whoops.”
He taps the table. “Okay, really. A hundred. A week?”
My smile falters. Because Brady is in scary, wants-to-shank-someone mode again. “Yes.”
“Unbelievable.”
I’m afraid to say anything and upset him more, so I grab a clean washcloth and wipe down the baby’s face.
“How often were you paid? Every week? Tell me what I need to know here.”
This is embarrassing. I hate telling him any more, but I have to because he’s… he’s my employer now? Ugh. How did the hot biker guy become my boss?
“Cal paid me in cash every Friday.” It’s my turn to blush because I’m sure the implication is clear that he paid me under the table.
Brady sighs, sounding exasperated. “Are you okay if I write you a check? Because I need to be able to write off all of my expenses.”
I nod, because what else am I going to say? “Whatever you want is fine.”
“When was the last time you were paid?”