Red alert!
My blood pressure spiked and my meander morphed into a power-walk.
“ . . . you should come more often.” Jackson finished his stupid sentence, his eyes lowering to her chest like a cheeseball, then back up to her eyes.
“Jenn,” I said very loudly, sidestepping Jackson and inserting myself between the two of them. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
“Have you?” she asked, her sweet face tipped back and her impossibly pretty eyes arresting mine.
“Yes. I have,” I said, then promptly forgot what I was going to say next. I sensed a hovering presence behind me so I glanced over my shoulder at Jackson—the hoverer—and frowned impatiently. “Do you mind? Give a man some space.”
“That’s real funny, Cletus,” he said, not sounding amused. “Because I was just—”
“Do you have any—uh—taffy?” I asked Jennifer, not wanting to hear Jackson’s complaining. If he was going to complain, I decided it was best to pretend he was a ghost. Taffy was the first thing to pop into my mind.
“Taffy?” Her dark eyebrows drew together; I wondered if her real hair color would be the same dark shade as her eyebrows. I hoped so.
“Yes. Taffy,” I said gently, and smiled when she smiled and shrugged. “I like to live dangerously.”
She opened her mouth, just about to ask me something and I couldn’t wait to find out what, when Jackson cut in impatiently. “By eating taffy?”
“Yep,” I turned just my head and gave him my profile. “It puts my dental fillings in grave peril.”
Jennifer laughed. I smiled at the sound, allowing myself the luxury of looking into her eyes. She had an appealing laugh. And a great smile.
“Are you ready?” Billy—in all his handsomely smooth, well-maintained glory—sidled up to Jennifer and wrapped his arm around her waist. “We should head out if we’re going to dinner.”
She turned surprised eyes to my brother, then to me, then to Jackson. I sidestepped, cutting off Jenn’s view of the latter and forgave Billy just a little for putting his hands on her. “That’s right. You two kids go get that steak. Have fun.”
I tried to herd them forward. Unfortunately, Billy was a gentleman and took the time to shake hands with Sheriff James and Judge Payton before moving off. Meanwhile, I maintained my defensive position, blocking Jackson from seeing or following them, until Billy’s tall head was out of sight.
“Dammit, Cletus.” Jackson, growing exasperated, shoved me to the side and craned his neck, presumably searching the crowd for Billy and Jennifer. “What is wrong with you?”
“Was I in your way?” I squinted at him and smiled, deciding that leprosy via armadillo infection was definitely in his future.
***
When I awoke on Saturday morning I had a hankering for baked goods. Unless Duane was making his blueberry hotcakes, my breakfast consisted of three hard-boiled eggs, an avocado, a grapefruit, and a half liter of water. I saved my special coffee for after breakfast.
Today I didn’t want eggs. I wanted . . . a muffin. Or whatever.
Though I’d stayed up the previous night until Billy arrived home, he was irritatingly circumspect with details. I swear, getting information out of him sometimes was harder than getting blood out of a turnip.
I showered quickly, intent on making it to Donner’s Bakery for whatever Jenn had cooking, and ask her directly how the date had gone, i.e. did I need to maim Billy? Or had he been a gentleman? Or, even if he’d been a gentleman, did I still need to maim him?
After toweling dry, I wiped the foggy mirror and grabbed my comb. But I halted mid-brush stroke when I caught sight of my reflection.
My hair had grown long, falling over my forehead and ears, reaching the back of my neck. It looked messy—well, messier than usual—and it was past time for a trim. Spur of the moment, I decided I’d stop by the barber on the way to the bakery and have my hair seen to.
While I was pulling on a pair of dress pants and the dark gray shirt Sienna had bought me for my birthday, Beau popped his head in my room.
“Hey, Cletus. I was thinking about—” He’d stopped speaking so suddenly, I looked at him. He was staring at me like I’d grown rooster feathers.
“What?” I glanced at my outfit then back to his face.
“Today isn’t Sunday,” he said, his eyes on my shirt.
“I know that.”
“Then why’re you dressed up?”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” Beau walked all the way into my room and stood behind me. We were both reflected in the closet mirror. “Who are you going to see?”
I shrugged. “No one.”
“Is it Shelly?” he asked suddenly, scowling. “Are you two involved?”
My answering frown was immediate, because I’d hadn’t spent much time thinking about Shelly; I needed to add her to my to-do list. “I’m not involved with Shelly. At least, not yet.”