Chapter 3 #2
Jaxon shook his head. “No. We’re going to keep Honky Tonk Heaven open and prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that we fulfilled the stipulations of Mama’s will.
While we’re at it, we’re going to get in the good graces of the townsfolk.
The more people who side with us, the better for our case.
” He glanced at Huck. “Which means no more fooling around with married women.” He looked at Poppy. “Or drinking too much.”
“Dahlia said she was divorced.” Huck defended himself.
“And I don’t usually overdrink,” Poppy jumped in. “I was just upset about Wylynn.”
Jaxon tugged on Poppy’s ponytail. “I know, Pops. But the entire town is watching us, so we need to be on our best behavior.”
“Fine.” She placed her hands under her chin and batted her eyelashes. “I’ll be a perfect little ray of sunshine.” She hooked Huck’s arm and tugged him toward her Jeep. “Now, come on, Huckleberry. You’re buying me a triple-chocolate-dipped cone at Sloppy’s.”
“Don’t forget you’re bartending tonight, Pops!
” Jaxon called after them. “And you’re working the door, Huck!
” Poppy ignored him, but Huck waved in acknowledgement as he climbed into the passenger side of Poppy’s Jeep.
As she backed out of the parking space, Jaxon turned to Dawson. “You still leaving?”
He wanted to leave. His duffel was already packed and stowed behind the seat of his old truck. But he couldn’t leave when things were so unsettled with the will.
“Staying.”
Jaxon nodded. “Then I could sure use your help bouncing tonight.”
Dawson could have mentioned Jaxon kicking him out of the bar on Saturday night, but that was the thing about the Hennessys. They never hung on to the past. They just tried to ignore it and move on.
“I guess I could help out while I’m here.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Jaxon thumped his shoulder before tugging on his hat. “Well, I should get going. Tully’s meeting me at Honky Tonk Heaven to audition some new bands.” He stared off in the direction of the dancehall. “It will break her heart if we lose the place.”
“You won’t.” Dawson would do everything in his power to make sure they didn’t. Then maybe he could shed the guilt over Jaxon taking the blame for robbing Mickey’s Gas Station and move on with his life.
Once Jaxon drove away, Dawson glanced around the town square.
He agreed with Poppy. The person contesting the will had to be someone in town.
Rosie wouldn’t leave her beloved dancehall to an outsider.
Jaxon had made it clear he wanted the situation left to Billy, but Dawson didn’t trust lawyers as far as he could throw them.
Especially small-town lawyers who loved gold and diamond rings.
No, Dawson wasn’t going to wait for Billy to get the information. Even if it meant he had to do something he hated doing.
Talk to people.
Unfortunately, as it turned out, the townsfolk were too leery of the “Wildest Hennessy” to hand out information to him. Every time he walked into a business, he was met with cold suspicion. Since he had a black eye and split lip from the bar brawl, he couldn’t blame them.
It took being shunned by the two old guys who played dominos in front of the hardware store, who were always willing to talk to anyone, before he realized he wasn’t going to get any information from the townsfolk.
He finally gave up and was headed for his truck when he noticed the sign at the end of the street.
Like all the business signs in the town square, it swung above the sidewalk from an intricately scrolled bracket. The word Time was painted inside a clock with Read painted inside the book next to it. To was squeezed in between.
Time To Read had always been Dawson’s favorite shop in town.
He loved being surrounded by shelf upon shelf of books.
He loved all the quiet reading nooks. And he loved all the clocks sitting among the books that chimed on the hour and half hour.
As a kid, he’d spent most of his spare time and money in the bookstore—even though Otis Hastings, the owner, had followed him around, waiting for him to shoplift or destroy a book.
Dawson might have been a destructive kid, but he would never harm a book. They were his refuge growing up. The place where he could hide from the pain of losing his daddy and being stuck with an uncaring mama.
Unfortunately, the bookstore was no longer a refuge.
Now, it contained a chattering woman in pink . . . who loved talking with everyone.
He released a long, frustrated sigh before heading down the street.
The antique bell above the door rang out loudly as soon as he stepped inside.
He expected to see Magnolia sitting behind the desk in another cotton candy pink confection.
But today, she wasn’t there. He waited, figuring the bell had alerted her and she’d suddenly appear with her bright smile and sunny disposition.
A sunny disposition he hadn’t even been able to dampen.
He’d thought she’d be mad at him for calling her Ditzy Barbie, but she hadn’t held it against him.
First, she’d rescued him with a beer bottle and then she’d stuck around to clean up the mess.
While they’d been cleaning, she’d talked nonstop about everything from getting drunk at a bachelorette party and throwing up on the male stripper to the spider that lived in the corner of her room in Otis’s upstairs apartment that she’d named Charlotte.
What kind of a woman accepted a spider as a roommate? Most the women he knew would kill it or vacant the apartment until someone else did. But it seemed Magnolia could befriend anything.
Even grumpy assholes.
Not that they were friends. But after the other night, they weren’t enemies either. It was hard to be enemies with Magnolia. And maybe that’s why he started growing concerned when she didn’t appear. Her uncle hid from customers, but she wasn’t the hiding kind.
He moved further into the shop. “Magnolia?”
When she didn’t answer, he started searching, looking down every row of books for any sign of pink. When he didn’t find her, his concern grew as images of her lying at the foot of one of the many tall bookstore ladders flashed through his mind.
He headed to the spiral staircase and took the steps two at a time, then sighed in relief when he reached the second level and found her fast asleep in the window seat that looked out over the town.
Dressed in a white dress covered in tiny pink flowers with her long, moonlight hair spilling over the floral pillows, she looked like Sleeping Beauty . . . despite the tiny glimmer of drool clinging to the corner of those slightly parted, upside-down lips.
Her dress had ridden up, revealing the entire length of her tanned legs. Legs that were sprawled open and bent at the knees to accommodate the short window seat.
From his vantage point, Dawson could see her panties. He expected to see rose-colored satin. Or bubble gum-colored lace. He did not expect plain white cotton . . . white cotton with a damp streak running right down the center.
In the time it took to suck in his breath, all the blood in Dawson’s body relocated to his cock. It throbbed there like a sore tooth that needed immediate attention as he stared at that damp white cotton like it was a glass of cold water and he was dying of thirst.
Was it his imagination or could he see the outline of plump lips? A shadow of dark hair. The sweet moist—
A hand suddenly obstructed his view. His eyes widened and his cock threatened to bust through his zipper as he watched pretty pink-nailed fingers rub against that damp cotton.