Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Jay
Every once in a while, as I was going through my regular life in the Thicket—like while I was giving a Corolla a particularly fine wax or helping Grandma Emmaline with her latest artistic endeavor (a larger-than-life mural of her husband, Amos, clothed only in a loincloth)—it would hit me that I, plain old Jaybird Proud, was keeping time with gorgeous, funny, supremely talented Lane Desmond.
I got to touch him.
I got to kiss him.
I got to watch his gorgeous body kneeling at my feet and sucking my cock on the regular.
I got to hear the pretty little cries he made whenever my hands were on him.
I got to see his eyes go unfocused when he came for me.
I got to catalog his shy blushes while I cleaned him up.
And best of all, I got to take care of him.
Not that I hadn’t taken care of Lane even before we were sleeping together, of course. As he’d pointed out more than once, taking care of folks was what I liked to do. But now, I didn’t bother holding back… though I still tried to keep it subtle since I figured Lane didn’t want to take our relationship public.
That was why I was determined to play it cool when I walked into the vet clinic one February morning.
“Hi, Jay. He has two more surgeries before lunch,” Pete said without looking up from the computer behind the reception desk.
I glanced around the empty waiting area and then out onto the street, where pedestrians strolled past the window as they did their morning errands.
“How’d you know it was me without looking?” I asked suspiciously. “I could’ve been Rosario Cockburn with his pet rat. I could have been Halle Jorgensen bringing in Veronica. I could have been Diesel and Mari bringing in Elsa the chicken.” I named four of the people I’d seen passing by. “I could’ve been anyone.”
Petey pursed his lips and nodded as if considering this.
“Well… I figured you weren’t Rosario because Punkin was just here yesterday for his checkup. I figured you weren’t Halle because Veronica the ball python was here at the same time as Punkin, and there was almost… ahem… an incident?—”
My jaw dropped. “Damn. The circle of life played out right here in the waiting room?”
Petey rolled his eyes. “I said almost . But mostly, Jay, I knew it was you because it’s 10:57 a.m.”
“Uh… okay.” I frowned. “So?”
“So, sometimes around this time, you’ve heard a report on the news about a flood in Florida and want to make sure Lane’s got his boots, just in case the flooding spreads north. Sometimes around this time, you have a burning question, like needing to know Lane’s middle name?—”
“Because I’m his landlord,” I said firmly. “It was important for me to know that he’s Lane Bryan Desmond for legal purposes.”
“And most of the time,” Petey went on like he hadn’t heard me, “right around eleven, you get concerned about Lane’s blood sugar, and you bring him a snack.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s most of the time,” I muttered.
But then I thought about it. Was it most of the time?
“Remember last week, when you claimed you’d just happened to find an entire peanut butter sandwich in your pocket, despite you not liking peanut butter?”
“That…” My face went a little hot. “That was a strange coincidence, I grant you. But Lane loves peanut butter, and it would have been wasteful?—”
“Uh-huh.” Petey waved a hand, eyes on his computer. “So leave your cookies, or umbrella, or sweater, or lunch, or whatever the heck you’re bringing him today over there, and I’ll get it to him when he has a break.” He nodded over his shoulder toward the end of the high counter.
I sauntered over and casually slid several small packages of carrot sticks and Oreo cookies onto the counter.
Petey snorted.
“It’s not… I mean… I just thought… if anyone was hungry… I know you and Lane work awfully hard, so?—”
Just then, Lane came hustling out of the back, staring down at his phone. “Pete, call Stef Holmes and let her know Fluffernutter will be ready for pickup at—” He came to a halt as he caught sight of me and smiled sweetly. “Hey.”
Did that smile make me look as goofy as I felt? “Howdy, neighbor.”
“These two,” Pete muttered before typing the customer’s number into the phone keypad.
“Everything… okay?” Lane asked. His cheeks had turned a dusty crimson that made my stomach tighten.
“Oh, sure. Yeah. I was just…” I stopped and shuffled my feet. “In the neighborhood and thought I’d drop off some snacks. You know, in case you had any peckish… clients. Not a big deal.” I gestured to the snack packs on the counter. “Anyway, I’ll be on my way now.”
“Wait, uh… wait.” Lane hesitated and then glanced at the snacks as if trying to figure out what he wanted to say. “Carrots! That’s strange, I was just craving carrots last night.”
Now, I was the one shuffling my feet. “Were you? Huh. I hadn’t noticed,” I lied. “I just grabbed whatever was closest.”
“Fucking Christ,” Pete muttered.
“Hey, Lane, are you—oh!” Alva came out of the back, pulling on her white coat. Her eyes lit up when she saw the Oreos. “Snack time!” She twisted her wrist and checked her watch. “I hadn’t realized it was eleven already.”
This entire situation was cringe, and it reminded me of why I was never going to be the kind of guy Lane Desmond could be proud of. I had absolutely no chill.
“Gotta go,” I said before bolting for the door.
Lane called after me again, but I didn’t stop. Things were too good between us to risk fucking it up by saying something stupid in front of Lane’s coworkers.
Or something more stupid, anyway.
I just… liked being with the man, that was all. And the hours between leaving him in the morning and greeting him in the garage tended to drag. I’d end up thinking about how good it felt to kiss him, and wishing I could see the smile on his face.
I worried sometimes that things were getting too good. Too… serious, at least on my part. And that was a problem.
Even though I’d lived in the Thicket my whole life and there was no place I’d rather be, I’d learned pretty early on that folks—well, men—didn’t want serious from me. They wanted a fun night, a few laughs, and some screaming orgasms.
It had never bothered me much since I hadn’t been after anything serious myself, but with Lane…
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dunn Johnson asked when I slunk into the Partridge Pit to pick up some ribs after finishing my shift at the Suds Barn.
If Lane didn’t want me turning up on his doorstep with food, I could at least deliver it to his doorstep before he returned home. That way, I’d still ensure he was properly fed after his long workday, and he wouldn’t have to see me or feel obligated to give me a pity invite inside.
“Nothing’s wrong, why?”
Dunn lifted his boot and used it to shove out the chair opposite him at one of the wooden tables. “You look miserable. Bad day at work? Tell Uncle Dunn all about it.”
I threw myself down in the chair with a sigh. Dunn’s husband, Tucker, eyed the two of us as he approached with a couple of cups full of icy-cold sweet tea. “Hey, Jay. You hungry? Want to join us for an early dinner?”
I shook my head. “Nah. Just put in an order for some ribs for later. How’s it going at work? Ms. Vienna came by the car wash with her station wagon the other day and said things have been busy on account of the flu going around the school. I figured you’ve been run off your feet.”
Dunn waved his hand to keep Tucker from answering. “He’s fine. Flu’s normal this time of year. Stop changing the subject. How’s that fussbudget new vet?”
I stared at him in shock. “Lane Desmond is the furthest thing from a fussbudget! He’s a… a… he’s a… damn it, what is the opposite of fussbudget ?”
“Nonchalant?” Tucker suggested. “Easygoing? Relaxed? Carefree?”
I stared at him, and he blushed. “Sorry. I, uh… I like crosswords.”
The look Dunn gave him was so filled with love and pride I had to look away. “He’s being modest. Tucker Johnson knows more words than anybody.”
Tucker’s blush intensified. “Drink your tea and hush,” he said fondly. “Anyway, you like Lane just fine. You brought Bernadette to see him.” To me, he explained, “That’s about the highest compliment Dunn can pay a person.”
Dunn made a grumbling noise. “The man called her my pet , Tucker, when anyone knows a pig is livestock .”
Tucker nodded and pushed his glasses up. “I know, baby. But I think Lane was confused when you mentioned that Bernie sleeps in the house, under the dining room table.”
“Only sometimes,” Dunn scoffed. “Like for safety, when it’s storming.” He frowned. “Or when she seems lonely. Or when there are new episodes of Bridgerton . But otherwise, she’s out in her pen. Which I told him.”
“You did,” Tucker agreed. “You sure did. But I think… I think maybe when you explained that there was running water in the pen and that you’d taught Bernie to operate the lever in case she needed a shower, that might have increased the confusion?—”
“Pffft. That’s just responsible livestock ownership.”
“—and when you explained the part about how you had us draw up wills and list Parrish and Diesel as her guardians if something should happen to both of us… well, I can see where Lane’s confusion came from, that’s all I’m saying.”
“We agreed we need someone we know will administer her trust correctly.” Dunn grabbed Tucker’s hand. “But that doesn’t make her a pet , Tuck. That’d be silly.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Tucker soothed. He laid his free hand atop Dunn’s. “The more I think about it, I can’t imagine where Lane got that idea.”
“Well, I’m sure Lane was just doing his job and taking care of his client,” I said, a bit more hotly than maybe I should have. “He’s an excellent vet and a good man. A great man. The best man.” I glared at him.
Dunn raised one brow at me, his grievances seemingly forgotten. “Oh, reeeeally ? Tell me more.”
Tucker shot a look at Dunn and wiggled their joined hands. “No. Stand down, Cindy Ann.”
Dunn’s eyes twinkled with humor, but he didn’t look away from me as he responded to his man. “I’m not my mother. And even if I was, that’s hardly an insult. Cindy Ann Johnson is a saint on Earth.”
Tucker and I exchanged a look. Dunn’s mother, Cindy Ann, was a lovely, kind woman… and possibly the biggest matchmaker and gossip east of the Mississippi.
“But we aren’t talking about her,” Dunn continued. “We’re talking about Doc Nonchalant.” He grinned. “He’s cute, your doc. Not, like, Tucker-cute, but cute.”
I felt my face get hot… not because of anything related to the conversation, of course. Barbecue restaurants in general were overheated. It was a side effect of good brisket. “He’s not mine.”
“No?” Dunn took a slow swallow of sweet tea while continuing to study me. “I thought the guy was staying over your garage?”
Tucker nodded. “Isn’t he your tenant? We thought he moved in after Charlie moved out.”
“He is, but…” I shook my head. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“You’re his landlord, so I figure you know him better than most. And there are all kinds of new guys moving into town now that Champ is expanding his security company. We might need to set him up.”
Tucker rolled his eyes behind his glasses and fake-coughed the words, Cindy Ann . Dunn ignored him.
I inhaled slowly to keep from snapping. “Far as I know, Lane’s not dating anyone,” I said. “Not… not seriously , anyway. Probably wants a smart guy. Someone in… in management or something.”
Dunn’s teasing grin faded. “What do you mean? This guy a snob?” He shot Tucker a look. “See? This is what comes of people calling livestock pets .”
“Hush, baby.” Tucker reached over and massaged Dunn’s shoulder. “Dunn’s sensitive about these things. He wants to make sure you’re being respected.”
“Respected?” I glanced back and forth between them. “I don’t get it.”
“When Dunn and I got together, some folks—not anyone close to us, but some folks—wondered if we’d be a good match,” Tucker explained. “They figured we’re too different.”
Dunn snorted. “’Cause I’m so shit with words that I can’t do the New York Times crossword, even on a Monday, and ’cause Tucker gets trampled when he tries to help me get the cows into the milking pen. Such bullshit. We were best-best friends for years because our hearts are the same, no matter how different our lives are on the outside, and I fell in love with Tucker before I even realized I wasn’t straight. If love can conquer that , let me tell you, it can conquer anything.”
Tucker’s eyes looked a little shiny. “You’re fucking great with words when it counts, Dunn Johnson,” he said fiercely. He cleared his throat. “But we’re getting sidetracked. We were talking about Jay and Doc Lane.”
“Nope. No. We weren’t. There’s no me and Doc Lane!” I insisted because it was true, even if I wished it weren’t. “We’re friendly. Landlord and tenant. It’s totally… totally normal. Normal as can be. Like, Norm. Al.”
The two of them exchanged a look before Dunn pulled a clean paper napkin out of the wooden box on the table. He pointed to the blank surface. “This right here is a list of all the times someone said something was normal when it was actually normal.”
I closed my eyes and took a breath. “No, really. Can we change the subject, please? Brickle McNair—you know, the sheriff’s deputy—came through the car wash today with a Jeep covered in camellia blossoms. Do you know the only camellia in town that’s in bloom right now? It’s the one at Jessica Greely’s house.” I bounced my eyebrows, waiting for them to process the juiciest piece of Thicket gossip to come out of the car wash in days.
Tucker looked confused. “Camellias aren’t blooming this time of year. What gives?”
“That’s not the point,” I said at the same time Dunn pointed out Jessica’s camellia was located by her garage… which happened to be her brother’s grow house.
“The lights in there would be enough to keep my farm in bloom all winter in addition to his marijuana plants,” he muttered.
“Exactly,” I said, laughing. “So. Jessica and Brickle. Now, there’s a romance, huh? Talk about star-crossed lovers. I really hope those crazy kids manage to make it work?—”
“You want him,” Tucker said softly. “You want Doc Lane.”
“You want him!” Dunn said much more loudly. Several people turned their heads to stare. I scooted down in my seat and studied the blank napkin list again in hopes of finding one instance where normal meant normal.
No luck.
Tucker reached out and patted my hand like a little old lady. “How can we help?”
I shrugged and admitted, “You can’t, Tucker. I meant what I said. Lane Desmond is above my pay grade. He’s got fancy diplomas and knows shit I’ll never know. Hell, the man reads books on self-help stuff. I work at a car wash. I graduated from Thicket High by the skin of my teeth.”
Dunn’s eyebrows jammed together. “Only because you were busy caring for your mom. And there’s nothing wrong with working at a car wash, Jay.” He lowered his voice and met my eyes. “Especially when you own said car wash.”
I gaped at him. The Suds Barn ownership was a carefully guarded secret. I’d gone to great lengths over the years to imply that I ran it on behalf of an absentee out-of-towner. “Own it?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
Dunn rolled his eyes. “Fine. You want to play it that way, we can play it that way. But know this: I’m a farmer. My partner is a doctor. Am I below his pay grade? No, I’m not. Know why? Because I’m smart in other ways. I know all kinds of shit he doesn’t know. And even if I didn’t, do you think Tucker Johnson would love me less?”
I glanced at Tucker, who was looking at his husband with giant saucer eyes full of affection. “Er, no?”
“Correct. He loves me because of who I am right here,” he said, banging his fist in the center of his torso.
“That’s your pancreas, baby,” Tucker murmured. Dunn moved his fist up and banged again. “Lungs. It’s fine. Jay gets it.”
“My point is, you have a huge heart, Jaybird. And you’re one of the most generous people in this town. Your family isn’t just Proud because that’s your name. They’re proud for real because you make them that way every single day.”
Tucker nodded. “Last week, your cousin Ginny-Rae was bragging about how you looked after her two older kids so she could bring Baby Rae for her checkup.”
Dunn poked a blunt fingertip on the wooden table. “And let’s not forget the time back in high school when you helped Gracie out after she got into her first car accident. My parents still talk about you like you were God’s gift to stranded teenagers, even though you’d barely gotten your license yourself.”
Dunn’s sister had been sobbing and gasping from fear even though she’d only sideswiped one of those orange barrels out on the Nuthatch Road. “That wasn’t a big deal, but thank you for saying it.”
I did feel a little better after their kind words, and now that Dunn had pointed it out, I realized he was a dairy farmer hooked up with a fancy doctor. It was obvious Tucker thought the world of Dunn and had no problem with Dunn’s work or his country manners.
“Ask Lane out,” Tucker advised softly. “Really. Because I can tell you from personal experience that just because he has a bunch of fancy degrees, that doesn’t make him less of a fool when it comes to his heart.”
My stomach twisted with nerves at the idea of trying to ask Lane for something formal—like dating instead of fucking. He was too nice to laugh in my face, but I would die if I saw him scramble to come up with a polite excuse as to why that wasn’t a good idea.
When Cassandra at the counter called my name, I jumped. “Okay, well,” I said, pushing to stand. “I appreciate the pep talk. I’ll be thinking about it.”
Probably all night long.
And more than likely, I wouldn’t get up the nerve to act on it for a while.
I patted Tucker on the shoulder as I walked past to go to the cashier for my order. Ten minutes later, I was home with a giant brown paper bag full of delicious-smelling food. I scribbled a quick note inviting Lane to dinner at my house and stuck it on his door before heading out back to check on the guys.
Disco Dave spread his tail feathers as soon as he saw me and squawked to get my attention. I went through the necessary chores to care for them before bidding them a good night and retreating to the workroom in the garage where my Entwinin’ work had taken over most of the space.
I’d gone back and forth for weeks about the idea of making Lane an Entwinin’ wreath, but every time, I’d managed to talk myself out of it. I’d never made a wreath for someone I was interested in before, and if I did it for Lane, it would be a big deal. Everyone in town would know how I felt about him… and if Lane didn’t realize the significance for himself, someone in town would probably point it out.
But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe by April, I’d be ready to put my feelings on the line.
Despite all my misgivings, I had put aside a quantity of thin, whippy wisteria vines—the hardest to get since they were the best kind for twinin’—from my stock at the beginning of the season, like deep down, I’d known the wreath, like my growing feelings for Lane, was inevitable.
So I sat down at my table in the cold garage and got to work on the idea I had for a Georgia Bulldog. The University of Georgia was an important part of Lane’s life. Georgia fans were rabid anyway, but he’d spent a huge part of his life there. I sketched out a base and added a few more components, as well—the things I liked best about Lane, the things that made me think of him. There were a surprising number for the short time I’d known the man.
I got so excited about the project I tuned out the rest of the world… at least until I heard Lane’s car rumbling down the driveway an hour later. Then I jumped up, put away my sketches, and headed out to give the handsome man his nightly “ Howdy, neighbor ” to collect his sweet, stammering hello in return and to lose myself in the warmth of his presence.
Because while I wasn’t educated, I was smart enough to enjoy a good thing when I had it.
And Lane Desmond was maybe the best thing that had ever happened to me.