But his father had built so many things in his life that he never bothered to take care of. Houses, marriages, sons. He made people laugh. He also took whatever he wanted. Mick was dapper, and devil-stained, and draining as hell. Waylon wondered which neighborhood widow he’d horrified this time after penning her the same tired love note and banging on her door at four o’clock in the morning with a sad bouquet of geraniums he’d filched from his own lawn.
