Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Prescott
Monday nights are surprisingly busy at Bootleg. The shift was long, and Papa spent most of his time talking to an old rodeo friend rather than helping me serve drinks and clean tables.
I smother a yawn and duck into the supply room. The scent of lemon-tinged mustiness fills the air. I flip the water on to fill the mop bucket. While it’s filling, I stretch my back.
How has Papa kept this place going? There’s so much to do, and he just roams the room, talking more than he’s filling drinks.
Tonight, I even heard him telling a story about when I was younger, when he led me around on one of his buddy’s horses.
I asked him why it wasn’t bucking, and he laughed for an hour.
My lips curve up. That was a good day, and I liked hearing him recount it .
His hitching footsteps reach me. “Go home, Pressie. Get some rest.”
“The floors are filthy.” It rained earlier, and we got a lot of regulars tonight. Customers who were outside all day working and came in with gritty shoes. Many used the boot station outside the door, but it only gets the big chunks.
“They’ll still be filthy in the morning. Let’s go home.”
I rub the back of my neck. I have all this restless energy coursing through me from the drink with Haven after the crochet club. “It’s okay. I feel like doing it now.”
He shakes his head like he normally does when he doesn’t understand my reasoning. “You work too hard. Gotta make room for a little fun.”
There’s one guy I’d like to have fun with, but that’s all he wants. I’m not in a place for a relationship anyway.
So why can’t I have fun with him? Why can’t I keep my hopes all locked up and just enjoy— No, he’s not interested.
But he kissed me .
“Maybe I do.” I go to the seating area and start sweeping. What am I going to do about it? The only fun I’ve had lately has all involved Haven.
He pushes the mop bucket to the side and slides a butt cheek on a stool. “You were at Foster House all day?”
“Crochet club.”
“Haven there?”
“All of his brothers were.” Not until the end, but I’ll keep that to myself. Papa’s fishing, and he might be afraid that Haven’s going to put a ring on it and keep me in city limits, but he doesn’t know Haven.
“How’s studio hunting going?”
About as well as me finding a home for the kittens.
Hard to make progress when I’m not reaching out to anyone.
To be fair, I work late, and then I sleep late.
Now I have Haven’s pictures to edit. Papa won’t buy those excuses.
“I’m saving as much as I can, but I don’t want to find the perfect place only to not be able to afford it. ”
“What if I helped you?”
I keep sweeping, curving the broom around table legs. Papa already tipped chairs onto the tables. “How do you mean?”
“I’ll put the money down for it.”
That makes me stop. “You don’t have the savings.” Rodeo was Papa’s main career, and the pay wasn’t exactly steady. Then there’s Bootleg.
“I can find some.”
“Did you inherit money I don’t know about?”
He chuffs. “Pressie, the Fosters, Hennessys, and Hawthornes aren’t the only ones with means in Huckleberry Springs.”
I arch a brow.
He smooths his fingers over his mustache. “I’m not well off like them, but I can get some quick cash.”
Do I want to know how? Probably not. “I’ll figure it out.”
“You don’t have to do it alone.”
It’s how I’ve been doing it since Mom died. I temper my attitude this time. Papa’s offering, and it’s not something he’s done much of before. “I’ll start looking just so I know what to expect for size and expense.”
He rubs his hands together, and the scraping sounds from all his old callouses fill the air. “I’ve been doing some looking.”
He’s more invested in my future than I am. I’ve been spending my extra time with barn cats and Haven. The guilt isn’t building like it should, but there’s a spark of dread. What if Papa finds the perfect space? What if it’s time for me to move on? I’m not ready. “Find anything?”
He makes a pleased sound, mistaking the tremor in my voice for excitement. “There are some options. It won’t hurt to go look at them.”
“Where exactly? Bozeman or Billings?” Are those big enough towns for me? In this state, they’re cities, but I came here from Chicago. I’ve lived in Phoenix and Tucson. What’s my small-town limit?
“Both. Either. I can check in other places too.”
Now that dread’s building in my gut. Hopefully, the reflux won’t keep me awake. I’ll sleep too late to call the rescue again. “Sure. That’d be a good idea, I guess.”
He grunts. “Casper’s a little over four hours away. There’s Rapid City. Even Sioux Falls.”
I choke on a swallow and start coughing. “Sioux Falls,” I wheeze. “That’s quite a drive.” But it’s the biggest city he named.
“Yeah,” he says gruffly, and I peek at him before I return to sweeping. Is he going to miss me? “I heard something today,” he says with a gravity I haven’t heard very often. When he was around, he was the fun parent.
“Oh?” I leave my tidy little pile of dirt and pretzel bits close to him, then push the mop bucket toward the far corner I started sweeping in.
“You went fishing last weekend. With Haven Hennessy.”
I spin around. “How’d you know?” Don’t I sound guilty.
“Small town.”
“I was in the middle of nowhere.”
He gives me a knowing look. “The parking lot isn’t. ”
The distillery. Someone must’ve been doing a tour or been in the tasting room when I walked off with Haven. “Is fishing a bad thing? I caught two trout.”
“That’s my girl.” A flash of pride crosses his face. That damn little girl inside me soaks it up.
“Thanks.” As long as I don’t think about that kiss or Haven’s tongue in my mouth, I won’t turn red. Papa won’t know what cooking those two fish led to. “He’s a friend. That’s all.”
He grunts. Does he believe me?
I continue pushing the mop around. It’s true. I consider Haven a friend. Honestly, he’s the closest one I have. He’s the only one I have who’s more than an acquaintance.
Did Papa know Haven’s parents? Curiosity wells inside me, and I have to stop mopping. “Were you gone while he was growing up?”
Papa scratches his cheek while he thinks. “I came back enough. His dad was a good guy. Had the patience of a saint with that woman as a wife.”
“What does that mean?” I rest my arms on the top of the mop, thirsty for every scrap of information I can get on Haven.
“She was a piece of work. Left them boys.” He shakes his head as if he didn’t basically do the same thing with me. “Not well liked in town.”
She still isn’t, from what Haven said. “She’s never returned?”
He puffs his lips out. “Would’ve been the best thing that happened to them boys if she never had. Losing their dad was the worst. Having to go live with her was a close second.”
“That bad? ”
“I don’t like to get into other people’s business.
” He ignores my pointed look. Yes, in fact, he does.
He most likely opened Bootleg to keep talking about rodeo when he could no longer do it, and to be at the hub of gossip.
“But if those boys have been able to get away and never talk to her again, it’s for the best. She’s bad news. Always has been, always will be.”
My heart twists. I don’t need a psychology degree to assume that Haven’s commitment issues are rooted in his history with his mom. First, she left, then he lost his dad. And who knows what games she’s playing now. Is Haven protecting himself or other people by isolating himself?
It’s not my concern! But I do care about him. As a friend, of course.
Papa crosses to the broom. “I’ll sweep this pile up, and then we’re going home. My back hurts.”
I look at the half of the floor that still needs to be cleaned.
Thoughts of a young Haven dance in my head, mixing with my memories of him from the last few weeks.
He’s taken me horseback riding and fishing, and while it wasn’t part of our experience swaps, he dropped everything to go to the crochet club with me.
Who’s gone out of their way for him? The photos don’t seem like much, and the birthday dinner is over two weeks away. What else was I going to do for him? I have to make sure I don’t let him down. I rack my brain. Right! I dig my phone out.
Me: Lasagna. Lunch on Friday?
I hit send. He should get it in the morning, but at least he’ll know I plan to follow through on my word.
I’m about to tuck my phone away before Papa returns, but it vibrates .
Haven: Noon. My place. Let yourself in when you need to.
Haven
My phone’s going wild while I chat with Durban in his office.
As much as I’d like to think it’s Prescott in my house telling me to come home, fill my belly, and then sate myself with her, it’s not.
The only person who pings my phone a million times before giving up and sending me an angry text is Mom.
I jut my thumb over my shoulder at the door. “I’ve gotta finish some orders and then head home for lunch.”
“I was going to meet Campbell at the café. You can join us.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got something at the house.”
Something sweet and delicious who licks sugar off the rim of her glass in a way that brings me to my knees. I duck out and rush up the stairs to the next level and into my office.
Just lunch. Just a friend.
Shutting the door, I take my phone out. Did Durban hear it vibrating? He would’ve made a comment if he had. I punch Mom’s notification, and it rings.
“I thought you were ignoring me,” she says, and the image of her fake pout enters my brain.
“I do have a job, Mom.”
“What if it was an emergency? You’re all I’ve got. Your brothers…” There’s a loud inhale, like she’s holding in a so b. Is it a real reaction? “I extend the olive branch, and they slap it away.”
“Is something wrong?” I ask to bypass the subject of my brothers.
“Just checking in. You were being cagey the last time we talked.”
I had been trying to get off the phone because Prescott had just arrived to go fishing. “There’s nothing. I had to work.”
“I thought you said you were off that day.”