“It’s a small town. Of course you know.”
“I heard your ass looked great in that beekeeper suit. Surprised I know that?”
“I wondered if she took a picture of that. Did she send it to the group text?”
“Honey, I’m royalty around here—she sent it straight to me.”
It was my turn to laugh as she watched me with a curious smile on her face.
“What are you doin’ with her?”
It wasn’t an accusation, which surprised me.
“Proving a point.”
“Sure, sure—but what are you really doing with her?”
Poker face firmly in place, I answered, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do. You don’t put a straight man who looks like you and a hetero girl who looks like her together without something happening.”
“How do you know I’m straight?”
“Touché.”
“I promise you—my intentions are good.”
“That, I seriously doubt,” she said on a chuckle. “I’d just remind you of two things. The first is that she’s not gonna flip for you, so if that’s your angle, you’d best rethink it. And second is the advice I’ll give for you to watch your ass. That girl is beloved by this town, and if anything happens to her? Well, if you think you’ve been trolled by all those signs in your yard, I’m here to warn you that you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. So be good, cowboy.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now, what am I feedin’ you, kiddo?”
“Biscuits and gravy, thank you.”
The bell over the door dinged, and we both looked to the sound, greeted by the sight of Jo.
Her hair was loose and long, shining as bright as her eyes and her smile as she strode in, looking to the counter for a friendly face. When she didn’t find one, she scanned until she found Bettie. And subsequently, me.
Her smile faltered, though not in dismay, only surprise. Color smudged her cheeks.
“Let me get that started for you,” Bettie said with a smile of her own before swinging by Jo, leaning in to whisper something that made Jo giggle. Their eyes darted to me.
I laid a hot look on her that would have split an iceberg, a look that told her she didn’t want to fuck with me, lest I devour her. The color in her cheeks rose higher. But rather than shrink away or go back to her business, her chin rose, and she sauntered over like she owned the place.
“Well, howdy there.”
I sat back in the booth and reached for my coffee. “I didn’t realize people actually said howdy anymore.”
“If you’re under eighty, it’s only a novelty.” She leaned on the other side of the booth, folding her arms and looking down her nose at me. “You recover from your bee trauma yesterday?”
“If you think that was trauma, I wonder how charmed your life is.”
“And if you think that’s the worst I’ve got to dole out, you’ve got another think coming.”
“Bring it on, Blum.”
“Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“You keeping this one a secret too?”
“No, because you need to go get some appropriate clothes.”
One of my brows rose.
“That’s right. You’re going to Cavanaugh’s to get yourself some jeans and boots. And a hat if you’re smart. Otherwise you’re gonna get fried working cattle on Wyatt’s ranch.”
I didn’t react other than saying, “Fine, but you’re coming with me to shop.”
“You’re a big boy. You can do it by yourself.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. If you’re going to be the boss of this, own the title. I’m not risking ending up in the emergency room because I had the wrong shoes on.”
She sulked a little, but said, “Fine. Meet me there in an hour. I’ve gotta take breakfast back, and then we’re getting your burly ass in a pair of Wranglers.”
I shook my head at her. “How much do you love this?”
Her smile widened. “So, so much. See you in an hour, rube.”
Before I could think of something clever to say, she pushed off the booth and headed for the counter where a waitress met her behind the register with a couple of bags of food. I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off Jo. She wore a navy T-shirt with the Cub Scout logo big on the front and a pair of frayed cutoffs just long enough to cover her ass. She was strong, her arms trim and thighs toned, too fair for a deep golden tan, only a sun-kissed glow.
And I realized with no small certainty that I was going to enjoy myself with her thoroughly.
An hour and a half later, I stood in a dressing room that smelled like leather, listening to Garth Brooks over tinny speakers, and frowning like a son of a bitch in my underwear at the clothes Jo had picked out. They hung on the wall like a curtain of hell made of denim and plaid.
“Quit pouting and put those Wranglers on,” she commanded from the chairs just outside.
“I don’t pout,” I said, reaching for a pair of stiff, dark wash jeans.
“Have you ever even worn jeans?”
“Of course I have.”
“What’d they ever do to you?”
“Besides being coarse and unforgiving?”
A pause. “What kind of places do you get your jeans from?”
“Nowhere like this.” I stepped into one leg, then the other.
“I can’t imagine being a little kid and having to wear khaki and slacks all the time. Didn’t your mama ever send you outside to play?”
I pulled them over my ass and immediately felt constricted “She’s dead. So, no.”
A pregnant silence. “I … I’m sorry, Grant.”
“Don’t be. I didn’t know her.”
“Still, she … she was your mother. Couldn’t have been easy not to have her.”
“Hard to miss what you never had,” I deflected. I buttoned the fly, turning three-quarters to look down my silhouette. And hot damn.
“Are you and your dad close?” she asked.
An unbidden laugh puffed out of me. “No.”
“That was definitive.”
“He’s a definitive asshole.”
“Oh. Do you have siblings? Any other family?”
“Nope.”
“So you’re alone?” Her tone was gentle, sad.
“It sounds an awful lot like you’re pitying me,” I warned, turning in the mirror.
“I’m sorry—I don’t mean to. It’s just that my mama and sisters are the best thing in my life. I don’t know what I’d do without them, and when I thought about it just now, it made me sad.”
The rock in my chest warmed and softened at the earnestness in her voice. “Don’t be sorry. But don’t be sad either. Look at what a successful adult I am—I can afford that car you hate so much and an apartment in Georgetown that’s so bougie, you wouldn’t be able to stomach it.”
“But who do you have?”
The question slithered under my skin, wrinkling me up. In my desperation to change the subject, I decided for guerrilla tactics, reaching for the door handle.