Chapter 11 #2
There’s a hitch in my breathing. It means more to me than I thought that Hutch wasn’t a cartoon to people. “Thank you.”
“Now let’s back off and give her room to think.” Jamison smiles at me and drags Iverson with her, but it’s not like he fights it. That guy looks like he’ll tail her anywhere.
I turn back to Lane, and it’s the calm I need after being in a spotlight I didn’t ask for. I stuff the rest of the banana bread in my mouth just to have something to do, and the sweet flavor bursts over my tongue.
“Geez, that’s good,” I say around my mouthful. I push my fingers to my lips and hurry to chew and swallow. Is Huckleberry Springs making me forget my manners?
His gaze is on my mouth. He brushes a crumb from the corner.
A warm shiver races over my skin. “Thanks.”
“You’re not welcome.” He leans closer. “I wanted you to lick it off.”
Lane
For the first time in a long time, I’m content. My mind isn’t jumping from the ranch to one distillery, then the other, to Hutch and his place. This is more like the zen I experience when I’m in an engine. I go back to the time my only worry was about keeping Cruz out of jail.
As for my brother, he checked the cows and now he’s here, crocheting a washcloth Myles and Wynter will probably get for Christmas.
I use the last one he made all the time.
Makes doing dishes really trippy. One, I have dishes, and I’m not living off fast-food takeout; two, Cruz made it for me when he used to only make a lot of trouble.
This moment is so satisfactory because of the company.
Hillary sits next to Edna and her friends.
The girl was timid at first around the older women, but once Edna was done with her treats, she took Hillary under her wing.
The girl’s working on her own little dishcloth.
She’s put down the project and gone back to it at least ten times.
It seems to be more of the lure of the older women, who are just fine letting her be a kid.
I could’ve used some Hookers and Booze growing up.
“One more,” Clem says. She’s also been checking in with Hillary and her crocheting after Prescott was drained dry of bunny rescue information. Clem started chatting with her about books.
“Coming right up.” I prepare Hillary’s third Shirley Temple. She’s more of a cherry fiend than Iverson’s oldest.
All the Hennessys have stayed close. Durban’s with Campbell, his arm draped around the back of her chair.
Iverson and Haven are coming and going from the main part of the distillery.
We have an order for jalapeno cucumber vodka wedding favors, and they’re getting the little bottles ready on our off day so production doesn’t slow.
I see Brooks pull in before anyone else does.
My gaze strays to Emerson. She tries to stay on the fringes of the group, but the group keeps adjusting their chairs and moving toward her.
When Hillary left her side, I thought she might go to the bathroom and not come out.
But she relaxed as time passed. Jamison taught her the basic stitches.
Emerson’s brow is no longer furrowed with concentration.
“Who’s that?” Clem asks in a wondrous tone I’ve never heard from her.
Her gaze is on the door, her jaw slack, astonishment filling her eyes.
A quick look in the same direction makes me even more curious. “Brooks Langley.”
“Oh,” she says on a breath, her gaze stuck on him.
Brooks enters, his brows lifting and his steps slowing, likely at the sight of so many women gawking at him.
Clem hasn’t moved.
“You okay?” I ask, only loud enough so she can hear.
She gives herself a shake, blinking. “What? Of course. He just looks like . . . someone I know.”
“And there’s Brooks.” Edna’s chair creaks as she pushes away from the table.
Brooks has no choice but to be encompassed in a hug.
Edna’s half his size, but he’s careful with her.
Hillary slams into his legs, chattering about Prescott’s rescues, influencers, and Shirley Temples.
I don’t know what he likes to drink, and I don’t know if he’s staying, but I start on a fresh Shirley Temple for him.
“Didn’t you go to school with the Langleys?” I ask to a Clem who’s rooted in her spot, watching Hillary drag Brooks around to introduce him.
Prescott gets the longest introduction from Hillary. Then Elodie and her baked goods. He shoves his hands in his pockets, shaking no one’s hands, but nodding politely and murmuring, “Nice to meet you.”
Clem looks away and back at Brooks again. “He’s older.”
“But you knew him?”
“I guess.” She stiffens as Hillary drags her dad to the bar. “And this is Clem. Daddy, she’s read the Wingfeather books.”
“Nice to meet you.” Brooks’s eyes narrow on Clem as he takes her in. “You like dragons too?”
Before Clem can answer, Hillary tugs on his arm. “She’s a writer.”
A squeak leaves Clem. “Yes. Of thrillers.” She spins to me. “I have to check on something. Behind the front desk.”
What the hell is up with her? “Whatever you need.”
Clem claps her hands together and smiles at Hillary. “It was so nice to meet you. I’m at the library most days when it’s open.”
She scurries away. There’s a furrow in Brooks’s brow as he watches her. I slide the drink I made toward him.
His gaze drops to it. “Thanks, but I better not.”