4. Chapter 4
four
“Oh, my. Don’t you clean up nice.” Mom comes through the garage door with Bowie on her hip, looking exactly like what she is—an adoring grandmother. “Are you going out?”
“Yes. You, me, and Bowie. He’s out of everything he likes to eat.”
Her eyes drag over me. “You realize, they do make fabric other than denim.”
“What’s wrong with this?” I’m in my big-leg jeans and favorite ankle boots, a soft sage tee, front-tucked under my old denim vest, with my turquoise necklace and earrings… because even if my life is changing, my style isn’t.
That part of me I’m not letting go.
I even pulled my hair into a half-up pony at the crown, tying it with a sage scrunchie, the rest hanging heavy and straight past my shoulders.
“I thought you’d outgrow the denim phase. You never wear anything but jeans, Laurel. Those are a little baggy.”
I turn in a circle. “Big-leg jeans. They’re the newest look. In Nashville, anyway.”
“First of all, you’re not in Nashville, Dorothy. And yes… jeans are what we wear in Texas. But a jean vest, too?”
“Denim is my signature, Mom.” Durable but soft.
I lift my arms and give a little spin, half-teasing, half-proving a point. The denim vest flares a little, my half-up pony swishing behind me. I tip my chin just enough to say told you so without saying it. “See? It’s a whole look.”
“Yes, I know, Princess. Just saying, they do make other—”
“I know.” I scoop Bowie into my arms. “And not everything I own is denim. Speaking of which, we didn’t unload the car last night. We have to do that when we get back. Maybe we can take him to the park before we go to the store.”
“Swings, Mommy. Swings!”
“That’s where we’re coming from, dear. He’ll sleep good tonight. We did everything they had. Swings, slides. He climbed the mini rock wall and crawled through tunnels where Grammy couldn’t go—but he came out alright.”
“Did you have fun with Grammy?”
“Yes! Grammy!”
Putting Bowie’s feet to the floor, she says, “We have a new H-E-B you haven’t seen.”
“An H-E-B in Ladera? Wow.” Progress.
I’m not sure I want progress here.
“And, we have a new feed and hardware store, too,” she says over her shoulder as she sets her purse on the bar.
That’s an odd look on her face. Why does it make my stomach uneasy?
“I don’t need anything from a hardware store.”
She nods. “Let me run to the girl’s room and we’ll go.”
“Bowie? Do you need to tee-tee in the boy’s room?”
His little face scrunches. “No.”
“Let’s try, just to be sure you don’t have to go in the grocery store. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Oh. My. Gawd! Laurel? What are you doing in town?”
Myrna Simms surprises me in the parking lot as I unbuckle Bowie from his car seat. She was my senior English teacher.
“Mrs. Simms, how are you?” I give her a warm hug.
“I’m fine. And who is this?”
“Bowie,” he says proudly.
“My son, Mrs. Simms.”
“That’s right—I heard you married some music bigshot in Nashville.”
“He wasn’t a bigshot when I married him. That came later.”
“Well, it’s good to see you, Laurel. Beautiful as ever. Don’t be a stranger.” She toddles on her way.
Mom flashes me the evil eye. “So, you’re not advertising—”
“No.” Not yet.
“Your mind’s not made up.”
My mind is absolutely made up. I flash her a threatening chin tuck and brow lift, whispering, “Really? Now?”
“Bowie, what do you want Grammy to buy you?”
“Goldfish! Gummies! Fruit Loops!”
It’s old home week in H-E-B as I pass one person after another, surprised to see me and meet Bowie.
“You never shop at Barlow’s anymore?” I ask, as Mom juggles two types of lettuce. Romaine or iceberg, that is the question. “Mom.” I snatch the romaine from her hand and put it in the basket. “Romaine is better for you.”
She quickly switches them out. “Iceberg is crunchier.”
I give.
“What’s wrong with Barlow’s?”
“They’re higher, and H-E-B has more selections.”
“But Barlow’s was the only grocery store in town forever—and now everyone just abandons them because a competitor comes to town? What happened to loyalty? I mean, small business can’t compete with chains like H-E-B.”
Mom stops long enough to give me an unguarded grin. “For once, you and your father agree on something.”
I roll my eyes, smiling. Only Mom can find common ground between Dad and me.
Next thing I know, my feet are in the air, and I’m spinning in the produce aisle with enormous arms wrapped around me. “Laurel Beth! My God, what are you doing here?”
“Tanner Briggs put me down!” I laugh.
He holds me at arm’s length, his green eyes sparkling. “God, you haven’t changed a bit.”
I wish.
But—he really hasn’t. Still built like a brick wall, square shoulders, and muscle that hasn’t softened one bit. If anything, he’s harder, but the thick blonde hair is the same—no receding hairline—long on top, cut over his ears.
Wait, okay. There are a few crinkles in the corners of his eyes.
I hug his neck. “Tanner, it’s good to see you.”
“Who’s this?” He ruffles Bowie’s hair.
“Bowie.”
Tanner’s eyes go wide. “Bowie?”
“My son.”
He nods, tilting his head just a little. “Familiar name.”
“I always liked that name.”
“How long are you here?”
Mom and I exchange glances, and I tell him, “Maybe forever.”
His eyes go even wider as he glances at my hand on the cart handle. “No shit?”
I hike my shoulders. “I don’t know, Tanner. Maybe.”
“Damn. Nice to hear. Stop by—drinks are on me.”
“That’s right. I heard you own—”
“The Dust Devil.”
“Got a dance floor?”
“Are you in the middle of Texas?”
And just like that, he picks me up again, squeezing the air out of me. “Damn, it’s good to maybe have you back.”
“How’s Donna?”
“In Dallas. Found her a man who didn’t have to work twenty-four hours a day and had deeper pockets than me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” Turning to Mom, Tanner removes his cap. “Mrs. Hayes, good to see you.”
“You, too, Tanner.” She squeezes his arm. It’s impossible not to like Tanner Briggs. The man fills a room just by breathing.
He tucks his cap back on, turning to the cart. “Bowie, I’m your Uncle Tanner. Look forward to being your friend.” He offers Bowie his wide, calloused palm.
“Friend!” Bowie slaps it with a chubby little hand covered in Goldfish dust, flashing a toothy, orange grin. “Uncle Tanner!”
By the time we get through checkout, Bowie’s face is covered in Goldfish dust. He’s high on Grammy’s gummy bribes.
And my head is spinning. It’s good to see these people again. My people. My roots.
And Tanner. I hadn’t seen him in so long. He’s thicker, a little weathered around the eyes, his skin bronzed by the sun, but still a striking man.
With Bowie perched in the top of the cart, Mom heads through the parking lot, babbling with him like he’s her new best friend.
Maybe he is.
I’m digging for my keys when something shifts—not so much a sound or a voice. A feeling. A knowing. I look up.
Across the lot, in front of the new B & B Hardware store, a man steps out with a fifty-pound sack of feed slung over one shoulder like it weighs nothing—like a woman would sling a dishtowel over hers.
His other hand pulls a flatbed cart stacked with big bags I recognize on sight. Feed, minerals, a couple of salt blocks—the kind of load that would make most men grunt.
He doesn’t grunt.
He moves so easily, like he’s done it a thousand times. Like his body was built for it.
Reaching the back of a dusty ranch truck, he drops the tailgate and tosses the sack into the bed with one clean, practiced motion. Then another. And another. Efficient. Strong. No wasted movement.
My breath catches.
Calder.
Even from the side, I know him.
How many sunsets I watched that profile—time may crinkle your eyes, leather your skin, but it doesn’t change your silhouette. I know those strong shoulders. The sinewy forearms. The way he braces his boots before he lifts. The quiet power in every line of him.
He’s not a boy anymore. He’s broader now, all sun-cut and lean muscle.
A man I didn’t get to watch become one.
He bends to grab another sack, and the muscles in his back shift under a worn T-shirt, the fabric darkened with sweat above his waist.
My stomach drops straight through to the asphalt.
Mom follows my gaze. “Laurel,” she warns under her breath.
Too late.
Bowie tugs my hand and points. “Mommy, what’s that man doing?”
Calder can’t have heard him, but something makes him glance over his shoulder in time for me to tell Bowie, “Loading ranch supplies.”
Our eyes meet across the parking lot.
Not long. Not dramatic. Just a jolt. A recognition that pulls butterflies from my stomach to rise into my throat.
He looks away, grabbing another sack of feed as if the moment didn’t happen.
Maybe I was wrong.
Maybe his eyes are bad. Maybe he didn’t recognize me.
But my pulse is hammering. My knees feel loose. And every part of me knows I’m not ready for this.
“He owns the hardware store,” Mom says as she buckles in the passenger seat.
I can’t choke out a word.
“He and Tanner put it in together a little over a year ago. Boone and Briggs. B & B.”
“Oh, God, don’t tell me Dad carries his loan.”
“No, apparently those two boys saved the money to put it in on their own. I don’t know how. You know, Calder’s a welder and he drills water wells… and of course, he still has his family’s land. And Tanner owns the most popular bar in two counties. They’ve done alright for themselves.”
I bet my father hates that.
“Mercy said he’s never married.” It just tumbles out of my mouth. Dammit.
“Not that I know of.”
I risk a glance. “Live-ins? Steadies?”
“Not that I know of.” She studies me out of the corner of her eye, checks over her shoulder to make sure Bowie is playing with his tablet, and looks straight at me. “Laurel, let’s don’t go through that again. You two breaking each other’s hearts. Once was enough.”