Peacocks (Licking Thicket #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Lane

After my last disaster of a relationship, in which I’d been accused of being “a master of emotional evasion” who was “fundamentally indifferent toward romantic partnerships”—don’t date a law professor, people, just don’t —I never expected to find myself interested in another man.

And even if I had? Even if, somewhere in a sealed-shut compartment in the back of my brain, there existed a part of me that wasn’t entirely “indifferent toward romantic partnerships” on the whole?

I’d sure as hell never expected the object of my fascination could be someone like Jaybird Proud.

Jaybird had offered to rent me the apartment over his garage when I moved to Licking Thicket six months ago… then refused to cash my rent checks because I was his cousin Charlie’s boyfriend’s friend, which “practically makes us family, Lane!”—an assessment I disagreed with on many, many levels.

Jaybird greeted me most evenings, come rain or come shine, with a bright, handsome smile, a cheery “Howdy, neighbor!” and occasionally the offer of a dinner casserole. Or a beer. Or, on one memorable occasion, a “dirt cake”… whatever the hell that was.

Jaybird wore snap-back hats with misspelled John Dear logos (“on account of Kitten Montgomery’s confusion at Valentine’s Day while working the embroidery machine,” Jaybird had explained. “But I don’t wanna make her feel bad by not wearing it, do I?”).

Jaybird’s career ambition began and ended with working at the Suds Barn as a full-time Automobile Cleansing Artisan (not joking) because “there’s nothin’ more satisfying than settin’ things to rights.”

Jaybird had never met a T-shirt with sleeves that hadn’t seen the sharp edge of a pair of scissors (which, okay… shoutout to Jesus for that one) even when the weather turned cold.

He was like a splinter under my skin. Too silly to take seriously, too friendly to be genuine, and too sexy not to fantasize about… sometimes multiple times a night.

“The man’s gonna drive me to drink,” I admitted to my friend Hunter before taking a bite of my ham and swiss. I only had a half-hour lunch break today between a morning full of spay and neuter surgeries and an afternoon packed with wellness appointments, so I was glad Hunter had agreed to get to the Thicket Tavern early and order for us.

Hunter had heard my complaints often enough now that he didn’t bother asking for clarification.

“What’s Jaybird done now?” He crunched a cucumber slice, looking way too amused at my plight.

“Cleaned the ice off my windshield this morning,” I muttered. “Mirrors too. Said he didn’t want my fingers to freeze off before I did surgery this morning. Who does that?”

Hunter let out a low whistle. “Diabolical.”

“It is ,” I insisted.

I knew I probably sounded ridiculous, but I simply didn’t understand why Jaybird did the things he did. In my experience, people didn’t do nice things—not so many nice things, at least, and not all in a row—for no reason.

But try as I might, I couldn’t puzzle out what Jaybird’s agenda was.

If he was a dog, or a cat, or even a turkey, like Hunter and Charlie’s pet, Tammy Wynette, I’d have known exactly what he wanted and how to handle him.

Men had always been much, much harder for me to read… and unfortunately for me, Jaybird was undeniably a man.

All six feet and several sexy inches of him.

“You know… you could move out,” Hunter suggested. “Morris and Danica Borris are retiring down to Georgia and selling their spread.”

I glanced up at him. “Morris Borris ?”

He ignored me. “You’d like their place. Ten acres at the edge of town. Super quiet. River access for fly fishing. It’s exactly what you talked about when you considered moving up here.”

My stomach twisted at the idea.

Yes, fishing had been one of the draws of moving to Licking Thicket from Athens last summer. There had been many. First and foremost was the opportunity to escape the quasi-scandal that had resulted from my breakup with Professor Chadwick Montgomery. The University of Georgia was a big school but a tiny town, and if I’d had to respond to one more well-meaning, whisper-voiced, “How you doing with, uh… with Chad’s wedding and all?” I was going to lose it.

Second, my teaching job had gotten stale. It had begun feeling too far away from the actual practice of veterinary medicine, and I came to realize I hadn’t held a live animal in months.

And third, I’d wanted a place of my own. Animals of my own.

And—in whatever form I could find it—peace.

The small town of Licking Thicket in Tennessee had not been in my top twenty “towns to move to” list, but then Hunter had contacted me to tell me about the opportunity to buy into a thriving vet practice in his hometown. Fate seemed to have decided for me, and now that I was here, I had to admit I was happy with my decision. The town was much more gay-friendly than I’d imagined, and the vet practice was even better than I’d expected.

The doctor I’d partnered with was funny as shit too. Alva’s dry humor kept my workdays moving quickly, and her desire to move over to the large animal part of the practice meant I could take charge of everything else.

That part of the move was going well. It was the social part that was lagging.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to move,” I hedged. “Work’s been nonstop, and Jay’s place is awfully convenient to the clinic.”

Hunter glanced up at me with a forkful of salad halfway to his mouth. “Jaybird lives on the opposite side of town. The Borris place is half the distance from the clinic.”

I let out a grunt before taking another bite of my sandwich. Hunter studied me while he chewed. “What else is Jay doing that’s getting on your nerves? Couple months back, it was the… lawn mowing? You said he wasn’t doing it right?”

The memory of that day still got under my skin. “He mows in a giant circle! Normal people do it in straight lines. Back and forth. Hell, do it at an angle if you want to get fancy. But this guy? He does it in a spiral that’s enough to make you get seasick from watching.”

Hunter gave me a sly look. “And you were… watching?”

I opened my mouth to snap back, Of course I was watching. Have you seen the man? But I clamped my teeth closed before the words could escape. Hunter didn’t need to know I had an embarrassingly strong physical attraction to my landlord.

“It was hard to miss him when he was wearing nothing but tiny cutoff shorts and work boots,” I muttered, admitting my fetish reluctantly. “Besides, he’s accident-prone, and one of these days, it’s bound to involve arterial spray. I’m just looking out for myself, considering he’s still not charging me rent.”

“Jaybird Proud? Accident-prone? The man is the first to volunteer for tree removal after bad thunderstorms. He has, like, three kinds of chainsaws. He does engine maintenance and rides dirt bikes. Hell, the man whittles, for fuck’s sake. You can trust him around a mower blade.”

An older man I didn’t recognize leaned over from the table next to ours. “And Jay twines a mean vine, if you know what I mean.”

I… did not know what he meant. “I’m sorry?” I asked politely.

The woman with him, a lady I recognized as owning a poodle-rottweiler mix, nodded. “He’s talking about the Entwinin’. You probably don’t know about it yet, being brand-new to town and all, Dr. Lane. The Entwinin’ is sort of like the Thicket version of Valentine’s Day.”

“’Cept it happens in April,” the man said, like this made any sense whatsoever. “And there ain’t no candy hearts. Only good, solid wood.”

The woman patted his hand. “He means wisteria vines. It’s town tradition to weave the vines into a symbol of love and gift it to your sweetheart.”

“What does that have to do with Jaybird?” I asked.

“Oh, Jay.” The woman got a dreamy look on her face. “Folks around here call him the Entwinin’ Whisperer. He does the most beautiful wreaths and items for the holiday. In fact, just last year, he twined a birdhouse in the shape of a tractor for Misty Willard. You might spot it if you head down the Nuthatch Road.”

Small towns were strange. I already knew this. Athens, Georgia, had a law against offering two-for-one drinks. You could offer half-priced drinks, but not two for the price of one. They also had a tree that owned its own land, a haunted sorority house, and a building with a tree for a roof.

But at no time did someone craft a tractor birdhouse out of wisteria.

At least now, I supposed I knew what he was doing in his garage workroom all those nights when I came home.

“How… nice,” I said when what I really meant was, “ May I please finish my sandwich in peace? ”

Ava Siegel walked by with a baby strapped to her chest. I’d learned from her visits to the clinic with her one-eyed cat that Ava always had a child of some kind on her person. It didn’t even need to be hers. In fact, I was fairly sure this one was related to the family that owned a beautiful pair of two-eyed Siamese cats. “Jay also carves tots… and toys.”

I glanced at Hunter and murmured, “Does she mean Toys for Tots?”

He shook his head and grinned. “You’d think so, but no. And before you ask, you do not have time for this story. Suffice it to say that, around here, tater tots aren’t just potatoes. I’ll explain it all to you later.”

I focused on finishing my sandwich while the rest of them spoke around me about Jay’s “eye for design” and his “willingness to chip in” around town.

That part I already knew. Jay seemed to be everywhere, all the time, no matter where I went. It was awful. And wonderful.

If I needed my car washed, he’d be working at the Suds Barn, crooning at the car about how it was a noble beast and deserved to be clean, yes it did, yes it did .

If I needed groceries, he was in line ahead of me, joking with the cashier about the Licking Thicket Bovines’ chances of making it to the state championships this year.

If I needed my car washed again, he’d be at the Suds Barn once more, wearing a superhero costume for a full month before Halloween and calling himself Captain Clean.

If I stopped at Chuy’s Barbershop to get a trim, he was there dropping off a bundle of firewood and discussing the merits of pellet stoves versus hardwood for reliable whole-home heating.

If I needed my car washed yet again, he’d still be at the Suds Barn, singing a falsetto rendition of “Car Wash” while punctuating every word with a sway of his hips when he got to the “ workin’ at the car wash, yeahhh ” part of the chorus.

If I went to the library, I might find him reorganizing the gardening section and chatting with patrons while Chad the librarian looked on with a smile… though he’d have violently shushed anyone else.

And if I needed my car washed… well, you get the picture.

And yes , I suppose I did make a lot of trips to the car wash. The man had a killer body, and it happened to look amazing in damp denim and threadbare cotton tees, okay?

And I couldn’t help it if living in the countryside was dusty .

I sighed and stood up, crumpling my sandwich paper and taking a final sip of my drink. “Thanks for meeting me. Sorry it was so short.”

Hunter stood up and gathered his own trash. “Want me to send you the info on the Borris place, or are you going to freeload off Jaybird a little while longer?”

I hadn’t thought of it as freeloading. I’d been more than willing to pay Jay rent, and he’d refused, so I figured he was okay with me staying there.

I frowned. “You think he wants me out so he can rent the place to someone else?”

Hunter shrugged. “Who knows? Man seems to be a sucker for a pretty face. First Charlie, now you. Wonder if he’d finally start charging if a plain-looking lady moved in.”

I stared at him. “You’re acting like Jay is gay ,” I said, whispering the last word like an old lady gossiping about someone’s angina.

Hunter’s eyebrows dipped in confusion. “Uh… that’s ’cause he is?”

I stood up straighter and inhaled a breath for patience. “Hunter. The man knows how to string a bow and fletch an arrow.”

He nodded. “Okay?”

“He knows at least seventy-five percent of the starting roster of the Tennessee football team.”

“Sure. Big Vols fan,” he agreed. It was Hunter’s turn to frown. “Are you saying gay men don’t follow sports? Because that’s weird and also wildly inaccurate.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Name one wide receiver in the NFL, current or retired.”

Hunter opened his mouth to respond but hesitated when he realized I had him. “This isn’t about me,” he said with a sniff. “Besides, you don’t know any either.”

“That is exactly my point,” I hissed.

“Peerless Price,” someone muttered nearby. “Saw him once when he played with the Falcons.”

I didn’t even justify the interference with a glance. I’d been in the Thicket long enough to have learned to ignore the nosy nellies. They were like forest fires. If you gave them more fuel, it only made the flames last longer.

I moved away from the crowded tables and tossed my garbage in the can before turning to Hunter and lowering my voice even more. “Jay can’t be gay. He’s having an affair with Blythe Nelson! She’s over twice a week like clockwork and stays until well past midnight.”

Not that I paid much attention. Obviously.

Jaybird Proud’s love life was none of my business.

I just happened to share a driveway with the man and couldn’t help it if his girlfriend’s obnoxious minivan took up half my view every Wednesday and Friday night.

Hunter threw back his head and laughed. “Now I’m a little worried about your mental acuity, my friend. First of all, Blythe is happily married to the world’s quirkiest ophthalmologist. Secondly, she’s pregnant with her third child.”

“Don’t you think I know that? It’s disgusting. Both of them should be ashamed of themselves. Unless… well, unless she’s in an open relationship, I guess.”

“Definitely not,” he said with a laugh. “But she is head over heels for her husband and has asked Jay to teach her how to make a giant Entwinin’ wreath in the shape of a bunch of pairs of eyeglasses for her husband’s practice to display this April.”

Oh . But that meant… I closed my eyes and groaned. “That… would make more sense than the other thing.”

“You think? Lane. Bro. Buddy . I’m a little worried about you. Do you think maybe you’ve been working too many hours at the clinic? You seem to have taken jumping-to-conclusions lessons from the worst of the Thicket gossips. Is it Alva? Is she a bad influence?”

I thought about my business partner and her respect for the townsfolk’s privacy. “It’s not Alva.”

Hunter tilted his head before grinning at me. “Then maybe it’s jealousy.”

“Jealousy?” I squawked. “Me? Me ? I don’t get jealous. Just ask Chad.”

I screwed up my face, remembering some of my ex’s parting comments about me not caring about anything that didn’t “have fur or feathers” and his desire to find a man who “actually paid attention to him.”

Even a year later, the words stung… maybe in part because they were true.

“Besides,” I went on seriously, “Blythe Nelson isn’t my type! Jesus, Hunter.”

He barked out a laugh as we walked into the chill of the afternoon. “Lane, let me put this in a way you might understand. You know how turkeys sometimes strut and puff out their chest and drag their wings on the ground?”

I gave him a worried look. “Hunter, your Tammy is a hen, not a tom. She shouldn’t be strutting?—”

He huffed. “She’s not. I meant… look, you know how cows wiggle their tails? Or how wolves will bring a kill back to their den to share it? Or how penguins give each other pebbles?” He leaned closer and wiggled his eyebrows. “Or how stags sometimes butt their antlers into trees because they really want to be butting other things into… other places?”

I stared at him slack-jawed. “Wait… really?”

Hunter nodded with satisfaction. “Now you’re getting it.”

“Hunter.” I put a hand on his arm. “If Tammy is exhibiting any of those behaviors, please bring her to the clinic. It could be serious.”

He laughed. “Okay, you’re not getting it. I’m not talking about my turkey, Lane. I’m talking about you and your landlord.”

I shook my head. I felt stupid for not getting his point, but I really couldn’t see what stag ruts and wolf kills had to do with Jaybird’s constant presence in my space.

Hunter put a hand on my arm. “Maybe you should ask your landlord who he’s really got his eye on,” he explained. “You might be surprised by his response.”

Hold up. Did Hunter mean he thought Jay was interested in…? With… me ?

No. Not possible.

Jay was friendly, yes. Neighborly. Strangely, even aggressively , thoughtful. But he was like that with everyone, it seemed.

And even if, through some fluke of nature, he was interested in me… the two of us had about as much in common as a… a cow and a rabbit. A rainbow trout and a mourning dove. I liked looking at him, sure, but he wasn’t meant for me.

I was too embarrassed—and late to work—to stick around and interrogate Hunter further. Instead, I bolted back to the clinic and busied myself with vaccinations and well checks. When I finally left, it was almost eight o’clock. It was pitch-dark, and the cold air immediately sank into my bones.

The sandwich was long gone, and my stomach rumbled with the need for dinner. There were several enticing options awaiting me upstairs at my place. I could scramble some eggs, pour a bowl of cornflakes, or even microwave a chicken tikka if I was feeling fancy.

My eyes betrayed me as I pulled into the driveway by straying immediately to Jay’s parking spot. His truck was there, and warm lamplight glowed in the windows of the house.

He was home, but tonight, he wasn’t outside to greet me. The garage where he was often working was closed, for once.

My breath hitched, imagining him inside, dancing to the country music he liked to play. One time, I’d caught him grilling out in the yard, singing into his spatula while his steak sizzled. Another time, I’d seen him through the window, singing into a can of cooking spray while he baked something that smelled cinnamony.

He was silly and playful, and there was something about his freedom to be his unique self that…

Okay, fine. That attracted me to him.

Maybe we were less like a trout and a dove and more like a yappy Jack Russell terrier and a derpy golden retriever.

My eyes remained riveted to his kitchen window as I stepped out of my own vehicle and closed the door. There was no sign of him inside. I finally gave up and focused on making it up the stairs to my apartment without face-planting on the remnants of this morning’s ice… when I noticed something on the Welcome mat in front of my apartment door.

It was a glass Tupperware dish with a blue plastic lid. My heart thumped erratically.

I leaned down to pick it up and immediately inhaled the perfect blend of garlic and tomato sauce that indicated something wonderfully Italian inside.

It wasn’t the first time Jay had left dinner for me. Not even the tenth. In fact, my first week in the Thicket had been so chaotic and unpredictable that Jay had left dinner for me every single night.

I caught myself grinning as I cradled the warm casserole dish against my chest like a lovesick teenager holding a bouquet of flowers and entered the apartment. As soon as I set it down on the kitchen table and peeled off the lid, I saw it was one of my favorites.

A huff of laughter escaped me as I remembered the first time I’d thanked him for this dish.

“Of all the things you’ve ever made, this one might be my favorite,” I’d admitted. “You have no idea how grateful I was to come home to a warm meal last night. Mrs. Estrada’s pug had nine puppies, and none of them came easy. Thank you so much.”

He’d beamed at me. “I call it Italian Gentleman,” he’d said proudly, nodding down at the dish. “On account of the bow tie pasta.”

I dished a heap of bow ties into a bowl and threw it in the microwave for a few seconds while moving over to my dresser to change out of my work clothes. I’d just slipped on a soft pair of cotton lounge pants and was getting ready to search for a clean T-shirt when there was a knock on my door.

I glanced over to see Jay standing on the other side of the glass-paned door, staring at me. His arms were bare, as usual, but he’d thrown a vest over his sleeveless shirt in deference to the cold.

Our eyes met, skyrocketing my heart rate and making my skin tingle.

Was he truly gay? Was he truly interested in me? And what would I do if he was?

Jaybird Proud was my exact opposite.

He was the kind of guy who flew by the seat of his pants while I meticulously planned out everything in my life.

He was a chaotic collection of mismatched tools and scraps of lumber while I prided myself on perfectly arranged and sanitized surgical instruments and supplies organized to within an inch of their lives.

I had advanced veterinary degrees and teaching accreditations… while Jay probably claimed the School of Hard Knocks on his social media profile.

I liked reading and period dramas; he enjoyed chainsaws and… apparently creating things out of dead wisteria.

My eyes trailed down his muscular body while I moved to answer the door, yanking the T-shirt over my head quickly to keep him from seeing my hardening nipples… among other things.

I needed to stop thinking these things. To get Hunter’s earlier words out of my brain and get things back to normal with my landlord… for whatever definition of normal applied to our relationship.

But as soon as I opened the door, I noticed he was wringing his hands worriedly, and the other thoughts fled my brain.

“Jay?” I asked in concern. “Is everything okay?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean… I don’t know.” He glanced everywhere but at me, looking nervous for the first time in the six months I’d known him.

“What’s going on?”

“I need your help. I, uh…” He finally met my eyes and firmed his jaw defiantly. “I need help with my cock.”