Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Prescott
I missed the Hennessy, Foster, and Bailey festivities last night, but I’m once again behind my camera.
I get lost in my work, arranging the few employees of the Huckleberry Springs Public Library for their headshots.
I’m taking it above and beyond the typical headshot.
They’re paying for the simple photo, but I want to hand them back a personalized, yet professional reflection of themselves. Everyone deserves to be seen.
Clem’s sitting on the reading chair she uses when she reads to kids.
Her legs are crossed, and the two buns in her hair have glittery gold strands twisted in them.
She hitches her shoulders up, smiles, and looks up.
It’s a cute and quirky pose. The rapid clicks of my camera fill the room, then I look through the images.
“Perfect.” I take the camera to her and let her see.
Her eyes flare. “Oh my god. I look fun and cute.”
“Probably because you are.” I flip through all the images from today. I have several of each employee for them to choose from. “Are the animals ready?”
“Yes. Dr. Small is with Janelle from the rescue to wrangle and do some checkups and vaccinations.”
“It’s like a full-service spa day.” Bring it on. I need the distraction.
The bar was dead last night, giving me ample time to wonder how the meal was going. Was Haven talking about me? Am I only a nameless friend? Was there no reason to bring me up at all?
What do I want the answers to be?
I follow Clem outside.
“We’ll do the dogs first, if you don’t mind,” she says over her shoulder. “The foster families are bringing them by.”
So many rescues for such a small town. “Point me toward a critter, and I’ll shoot.”
“Depending on who says that, it can have different meanings around here.”
The sound of a dog barking comes from a car. “That one’s excited.” Time to put my reaction time to the test.
For the next two hours, I have the time of my life.
Clem and I laugh until our bellies hurt.
I have images of dogs jumping in the air for a treat or a ball, an older Great Pyrenees that was surrendered to the vet clinic curled up in the bed of a pickup, and puppies rolling around together like multicolored cotton balls.
After them, I gather shots of cats stalking feathers, kittens batting at each other, and one adorable tortie curled up in the crook of Janelle’s arm.
In between everything, I gather videos and act like both a stalker and a paparazzo.
I’m packing up my camera when Dr. Small stops next to me .
“This is a good thing you’re doing.” She runs a hand down her long black braid and squints around. “It feels like a losing battle, finding every stray a home. Your efforts are really going to help.”
“I’m happy to try. Janelle says the rescue has at least one online profile?”
“Between the two of us, we manage to post sort of regularly. It can get overwhelming.”
Ideas swirl in my head. “I can’t promise any reach, but I can start a couple of new accounts and tailor them as locally as possible. At least to the four-oh-six.”
“Just Montana?” She nods, her expression thoughtful. “I’m sure we’d have volunteers to relocate rescues an hour or two away. Even to some parts of Wyoming. Yeah. We need all the help we can get. Our seams are bursting. You talked Haven into keeping all the others?”
I shake my head. “He came to that conclusion himself. They’re good mousers.”
She flips her braid over her shoulder. “He’s a good guy, and he needed a dog. Told him all ranchers do, but he hated losing the last one. And his cats.”
Because Haven has a gigantic heart.
Her phone goes off, and she grimaces. “Almost made it through the day without an emergency call, but at least I made it through all the animals. Nice to see you again, Prescott.” She turns her back and answers her phone.
I don’t have time to run home. I told Papa I’d be later than normal tonight. I didn’t want to be rushed, but I hate to leave him hanging. Last Friday, when I tracked down Haven after standing him up, Papa got slammed. He slept all through the next morning until lunchtime.
I’ll bring my camera with me.
By the time I get to Bootleg, I have a message .
Haven: Can you take distillery pictures on Friday? Myles can come back for them.
Let me check my busy schedule. Haven’s birthday is the next day, but I can grab what I need before then and prepare it all on Saturday while Haven works.
Me: No problem.
As I enter the bar, Papa’s serving a group of tourists. They probably came from the river. They’re all dressed in loose, breathable clothing, and one girl didn’t put a shirt over her swim top.
After stowing my camera under the bar counter, I get to work, taking orders and grabbing refills. The night goes by fast. At closing time, Papa shuffles everyone out the door and comes over.
“I can clean up,” I tell him. “You go home.”
Fatigue lines his face. How much longer can he work day after day in this place? Holding it all up on his aging shoulders?
“I’ll sweep up first. Hate doing dishes.”
“I know.” Anyone who’s frequented Bootleg before knows he hates washing dishes. “You feeling okay?”
“I’m feeling like I got bucked around on too many bulls when I was younger.” He disappears down the hallway to grab the broom. When he returns, I’m at the sink, my hands in soapy water. If he’d let me look at the books, I could see if he could afford a small dishwasher.
He rests a hand on the broom. “You and that Hennessy boy still talking?”
We’re doing more than talking every chance we get, which hasn’t been a lot. “Sort of, yeah.”
“He hasn’t charmed you?”
In so many ways and in a few positions. Papa’s worried I’ll lose my heart with my pants. He doesn’t know Haven very well. “No.”
“Good.”
“Yeah. Good.”
When I get to the last glass, he’s finished a light sweep and closed all the blinds on the windows. He heads to the door, throwing me a wave. “No one’s in the lot, and Deputy Palmer is on duty. You got this?”
“I’m too wired to sleep, so I’ll probably mop.”
“I’ll lock this behind me. Check before you go out.”
“Night, Papa.” I’m parked right by the door, just in case. Papa’s quit worrying about leaving me alone to lock up, but he still tosses out warnings like a worried dad. I don’t hate it.
After he’s gone, quiet sets in, and I sigh. Time to mop. At least I can look forward to editing cute images of animals after I wake in the morning. Just as I’m rounding the counter, there’s a knock on the door. My heart lurches into my throat.
Who the hell would be here at this time of night? I creep toward the entrance.
“Who is it?” Can I sound any less intimidating?
“Haven.”
I practically leap to the door and whip it open. I should’ve checked first, but I know what he sounds like.
He’s bracing himself on the frame, no hat, his eyes dark in the dim glow of the outside light. “Hey. I couldn’t sleep.”
I step back to let him in and flip the lock behind him. “That wild of a party?”
“Must’ve been. Meadow loved it, and she’s gonna sleep for twelve hours straight. I think it’s safe to say she’s been exposed to a lot of kids now. ”
It’s good for her. And for Haven to have everyone at his house. “I was just going to mop and head out.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Of course. You want to get home.”
Wait—he’s here. I have him to myself. There’s no need to rush.
There’s nowhere else for us to go. Bootleg is the last business open.
Not even the gas station is open twenty-four hours.
An idea sparks. “I’m not in a big hurry.
Papa groans a lot when he’s getting settled. Want to see the photos I took today?”
A grin spreads across his handsome face. “Can I?”
“Of the animals. You’ll have to wait for the library’s headshots until they post them.”
“There’s only one headshot I want to see.”
“I haven’t had one for years.” I grab my camera case from under the bar. He takes a stool, and I sit next to him. “The dogs are first.”
He chuckles going through them. “There are a lot of blurs.”
“Those buggers took all my skill to get some decent shots. I’m not a sports photographer.” I rub my hands on my shorts. “I offered to start some online accounts for them. Try to hustle for them.”
“Yeah? You’re opening your influencer doors again?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I’m just going to get them more visibility. I can hand over the logins when I move.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Right. I’m sure they’ll appreciate any help.” He continues to scroll through photos. “Which is your favorite?”
“The puppies, when they got tired and passed out in random spots.”
“What about of all time?”
His. Hands down every single one I took of Haven. “ Um…probably Buford.” He’s a close second. “I have one when he’s in a sunbeam and his eyes glow. It’s like he had powers.”
“That was your first post.”
My brows lift. “You scrolled all the way through them?”
He focuses hard on the dog image we stopped on. “Sometimes I can’t sleep. What’s your favorite photo of you?”
“None.” When he gives me a seriously? look, I shrug. “It’s not that I don’t like pictures of myself. I’m usually behind the camera.”
He nudges the camera. “Show me how to use this.”
“Why?” Surely, he can’t be thinking about?—
“You should have pictures of yourself. Show me.”
I like the idea of Haven using my equipment way too much. “Okay, well, right now, it’s just a plain camera.” I poke at the screen and adjust the settings for the dim indoors of Bootleg. “Just press and hold that button. It’ll autofocus on the subject.”
“Like this?” He aims the lens at me.
I sway to the side. “Whoa. Whoa. That’s going to be up my nose.”
He chuckles and hops off the stool. “How would you pose yourself?”
I’m not self-conscious. I’m not . Yet I don’t answer seriously. “Reclining on a settee with a sheet artfully draped over me like a Renaissance painting.”
“We’re a local bar. No settee.” He snaps a picture. “No sheet.”