Chapter 20 Pane
Pane
For the next week and a half, I’m busy making plans and having supplies delivered. Every idea goes through Rowe, who gives me very little pushback. We discuss design, layout, and the flow of the house.
She has keen insight, and is really good at identifying future problems, for which, with both our heads put together, we work at finding solutions.
Between talking about the new business, she shares information about her mom, who is apparently a hippie; her mom’s boyfriend, Bill, who likes to read; and her deceased father, who loved this old farmhouse.
I can tell—the workmanship inside is gorgeous. He thickened the ceiling molding, added new windows, and refurbished the wraparound porch.
I tell her things about my life, too, sharing what I do on a daily basis. I explained to her that when I started working in the hotel, I was put on housekeeping duty. For some reason, Sunbeam thought that was hysterical and couldn’t stop laughing about it all day.
I didn’t mind.
I also tell her about the books I’ve read to Natalie and how Stone is my best friend.
But for as much time as we spend in one another’s orbit, and for all the breakfast biscuits I’ve been eating, there’s been no more kissing.
But, man, do I want to.
I really, really want to.
I know what I said about not falling for her. That hasn’t changed. It’s just hard to look at Rowe and not imagine my mouth on hers.
But sadly, all-you-can eat biscuits and a lack of kissing don’t change the fact that I’m low on cash, and the little money in my pocket is dwindling rapidly by the time the weekly poker game rolls around Wednesday night.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I say to Isaac when I enter Sparkle Bar.
The peanut shells have been cleaned up, thank God. The place even has a nice smell to it—pine. It doesn’t have the wastewater scent that many bars do.
Isaac gives me a wide smile and takes my hand. “Good to see you. We were just getting started. Have a seat.”
He points to a table where Ron and another man are already settling down.
I nod to Ron as I pull out a chair. “You didn’t tell me you’d be here tonight.”
He grins sheepishly. “That’s because I wasn’t sure.”
“Ron’s wife doesn’t know that he comes,” Isaac informs me, sitting on Ron’s other side. “He has to pretend that he’s out hunting.”
The fourth man, who’s wearing a plaid button-down shirt, snickers. “What season is it again, Ron?”
“Grouse?” he suggests.
The three roll with laughter. Isaac slaps the table. “There hasn’t been a grouse in this area for years. He might as well be telling Jennifer that he’s hunting unicorns.”
“Piggycorns,” Ron corrects.
I smile, worried that all these men will talk about is hunting and fishing—two things I know little about.
These aren’t the kinds of guys who talk about their yachts and their mountain vacation homes. Not sure what we’ll have in common. This might be a long two hours.
Isaac makes introductions. “Pane, that over there is McCauley.” He points to the man in the plaid shirt. “He’s our resident lawn-care guy. Does all the yards in town.”
“I bet that keeps you busy,” I say.
“It does.” He brushes dark hair from his eyes. “I tell you what, a while back I tried to hire Rowe to help me with some of the landscaping design that folks want, but she wouldn’t do it. Said it would take her away from those piggycorns.”
“She does love them,” Ron whimpers. When the two men stare at him, he shrugs. “What? They’re cute. I can say that. They’re like puppies.”
Isaac grabs a pile of cards and begins cutting. “That why you quit the feedstore? So that you can play with piggycorns?”
“Ron’s been a huge help,” I tell them. “Without him, I wouldn’t know where to start. You should see him with a sander and a measuring tape.” Ron puffs out his chest with pride, and I add, “In fact, I could use another set of hands if you’ve got time to spare.”
Isaac lifts his brows. “What do you need?”
“What don’t I need? We’re turning the place into a spa.”
Isaac and McCauley exchange a look. McCauley speaks first. “A spa? Like, where women go?”
Ron scoops up a handful of shelled peanuts and drops it into his mouth. “There’ll also be couples’ massages.”
Isaac looks up from the deck of cards he’s shuffling and laughs. “I can just see Jennifer going for that. She’ll be dragging you in there by your ear.”
“And some guy named Lance’ll be oiling down your legs,” McCauley adds.
I bark out a laugh as Ron’s face turns red.
“What’re y’all over here jabbering about?” comes a voice from behind us.
Up walks an old woman who’s got to be in her late seventies. She’s wearing capri pants, sneakers, and a Braves ball cap over a mop of curly, silver hair.
She places a tray of drinks on the table. Isaac quirks a brow. “Mojitos, Clarice? Really? You said you were making something special.”
She frowns. “This is special. When I’m working the bar, I get to pick the drink, and I picked mojitos. Do you want me to stay, or would you rather I go home and make you quit your poker game?”
“No, no. Don’t do that.” Isaac takes the drinks and hands them off to each of us. “Pane Maddox, allow me to introduce Clarice Sinclair. Clarice, Pane is helping out Wadley Farms.”
She pumps her brows behind thick-lensed glasses. “I know all about Pane Maddox. Watched you with that chain saw, and you did pretty good.”
“Thank you.”
She works her jaw, and it appears that she wants to ask a question, but when a customer enters, she waddles off back behind the bar.
As soon as she’s gone, I say, “Isn’t she a bit old to be working so hard?”
“Nah,” Ron says. “She likes to gripe and complain, but this is the one night she gets out, and Wednesdays are always dead.”
“Yeah. Folks know to go easy on her,” Isaac tells me.
“All folks except Luke Preston,” McCauley adds.
Ron and Isaac groan.
“Don’t jinx it,” Ron says. “Just saying his name may conjure him up.”
“Luke,” I murmur. “Is that . . .”
“Rowe’s ex,” Isaac informs me stoutly. “He used to play poker with us when we played on Tuesdays, but he always won.”
I quirk a brow. “Always?”
“Yeah. No telling how many thousands he got out of us.” Ron knocks back his mojito. Ice clinks as he lets the glass hit the table with a thud. “We could never figure out how he cheated, but we know he did.”
“So instead of firing him, we changed nights.” McCauley raps his knuckles on the table. “Speaking of, are we playing or not?”
“Texas Hold’em. Fifty-dollar buy-in,” Isaac announces.
I peel open my wallet and swallow a knot in my throat. I’d better do some winning if I’m going to make this back and then some. Otherwise, I’ll be begging on the streets for food.
I toss my fifty into the middle of the table. “I’m in.”
Two hands in, and I’m up. I don’t even feel guilty about it. The guys are nice, and they don’t treat me like I’m a fragile rich boy.
The bar, even for all the stuffed bucks and coyotes on the walls, is beginning to grow on me.
Ron’s about to deal the next round when the front door opens. “Well, well, well. So this is what happened to poker night.”
The three men around the table freeze. In unison, they slowly turn their heads.
A guy with thick, dark hair and a well-oiled beard rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt.
“And here I thought y’all had given it up.”
He swaggers over, grabs a chair from a nearby table. Its feet scrape across the floor as he pulls it up to us and wedges it between Isaac and McCauley.
When neither man moves, he growls, “What gives? Y’all not letting your friend Luke play?”
If I’d had any doubts before about his identity, they’re gone now.
“Sure thing,” Isaac says, scooting over. McCauley moves slower, sliding the chair inch by inch.
Luke’s face tenses, and he matches McCauley’s pace, wedging his seat closer to the table every time McCauley moves.
“Come on, man,” he mutters.
“Sorry. My hip’s been bothering me. It’s hard to move that way.”
Isaac drops a hand over his mouth to cover a laugh.
When Luke’s finally seated at the table, he extends his hand to me. “Luke Preston.”
“Pane Maddox.”
“You’re the one who’s helping over at the Wadleys’, right?”
The three men go quiet. Eyes are glued to cards. Fingers twitch.
That tells me everything I need to know about what’s going down.
I remember several things about Luke: He broke Rowe’s heart, he lives across the road, and he works at the bank.
All three make me instantly dislike him. “That’s right, I’m over at the Wadleys’.”
He scratches his beard. “What brought you here?”
It’s no one’s business why I’m doing what I am, just that I am. “It’s a little project I’m working on.”
Luke turns to Ron. “You gonna deal or what?”
Ron starts shuffling nervously. “Yeah. Fifty-dollar buy-in.”
“Make it one hundred,” Luke counters.
Ron swallows nervously. Isaac and McCauley both glare at Luke. They’re probably thinking he’s going to cheat again, and he knows he’s going to win. Otherwise, he wouldn’t bother coming in high.
It’s Isaac who tries to make things reasonable. “Come on, Luke. A hundred?”
“Fine. Keep it at fifty.”
The men’s shoulders soften, and Isaac smiles. “Maybe Pane’ll be our good luck and we’ll beat you this time.”
Luke winks. “I sure hope so.” After Ron deals us in, Luke talks as he stares down at his cards. “So, what’re you doing over there at the Wadleys’?”
Luke is trying to sound nonchalant, seem uninterested in the answer, but he’s got something up his sleeve. The man oozes snake-in-the-grass like no one I’ve ever met.
“He’s turning the place into a spa,” Ron blabs.
McCauley shoots Ron a look and Isaac scowls.
“Is that so?” Luke says, tossing away a card. “You know it’s gone into foreclosure.”
“I’m aware.”
“Let’s play, y’all,” McCauley growls.
Luke wins the first game with two queens. It’s uncanny that he’d wind up with such a winning hand, but it could also just be luck.
Clarice delivers another round of drinks. “Mojitos again?” Isaac grumbles.
“You better be glad that you got one,” she snips.
Luke glances up. “Where’s mine?”