I laughed, wiping my palm on my jeans. “You think this is small? It’s huge now. It was an event when we got a traffic light here. The newspaper covered it.”
Crunch laughed. “No shit?”
“Not only did they cover it, they sent out a reporter to stand by the side of the road, interview people after they went though. Caused a traffic jam.”
"Guess you knew everybody here, huh.”
"Everybody knew everybody," I said.
Crunch nodded. "You and June seemed like you knew each other pretty well."
I groaned. Not this. I didn't want to talk about June. I didn't want to think about her.
My dad saved me, waving at us from the porch. "I think we’re wanted up there, man,” I said.
"So I'm not going to get the story on June, then."
"Not on your life," I said. I glanced behind us, over toward June's house. I hadn't seen her, not even run into her, since the night I'd gotten back here. I'd drunk too much, gone over there thinking I might get lucky. Like she was a club whore or something.
It was stupid, and I deserved worse than I got from her that night.
We walked toward the house. "How's Mac doing with all of this, anyway?" I asked.
“She’s an easy kid,” he said. “Been taking it in stride. She thinks it’s a big vacation.”
“That’s good.”
“We probably need to get them out of here.”
I nodded. “I think it would be for the best.”
“You think shit’s going to hit the fan out here?”
"Not yet," I said. "You been working on getting us any intel?"
Crunch nodded. "Seeing if I can get anything through the medical examiner's office, newspapers, that kind of thing. Doesn't look like the ME's office has anything I can hack into though. Might all be old school."
"Can we get them back with your mother-in-law?"
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s how we had planned it anyway. Should we get them set up?”
"Let's wait, see what intel we can get," I said. "If they think we're dead, at least right now, we may be able to buy some time, get in touch with Blaze."
"You think we should get in touch with Benicio?"
"Not Benicio," I said. "Blaze might know him, but I don't."
“If shit goes down, this isn’t the place to be,” Crunch said.
"I don't know about that," I said. "This town's full of ranchers, armed to the teeth. But yeah, I don't want anything coming down on my old man."
“Well, now, Joe Holder.” April put her hands on her hips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look as hot as you do right now. You look good enough to eat.” April’s hair was pulled back in a ponytail, an apron tied around her waist, and she brandished a whisk in her hand.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear an apron,” Crunch said. “Are you cooking?”
“I’m being all domestic,” she said, a wide grin plastered across her face. “Don’t worry, I’m not burning the place down.”
"April can’t be trusted near the stove, Stan,” Crunch said. He walked up the stairs and slid his arm around her waist. “Don’t you go burning down this nice man’s house, now.”
April giggled as she leaned against him. “Just as long as you don’t expect any gourmet meals from me at home.”
Crunch leaned in and kissed her neck beneath her ear. “Honey, you know I lowered my expectations when I married you.”
“Assh - I mean, jerk,” she said, laughing as she pulled away from him and punched him on the arm.
“I heard that!” Mac yelled from the side of the porch where she was sprawled out, looking at a book. “Mommy said a bad word!”
“Nope, no bad words came out of mommy’s mouth,” April said. “Right, daddy?”
“Your wife is a quick learner.” My father interrupted, standing in the doorway, oven mitts over his hands. “I’ve been showing her how to make your mother’s apple pie recipe.”
I looked at Crunch. “My mother’s apple pies were famous. She won the West Bend Baking Contest four years in a row. Before - who was it, dad?”
“Before Martha Barnes took the title,” my father said. “Lord, your mother was upset. I had to hear about Martha Barnes for months after that.”
I grinned. “I remember that,” I said. “Mom was convinced she had somehow stolen her recipe. Remember? She said it was the ultimate betrayal.”
Dad laughed. “I remember. I listened to it non-stop.”
Mom had only been gone a few years, but it was hard talking about her, even if it was a good memory. Her death was tainted by the fact that, to the end, she thought I was someone I was not. She still thought I was a good person.
“You two look like you made some real progress out there on the fencing,” my dad said, interrupting me before I could sink lower into my own shitty self-pity.
“Yeah,” I said. “It should hold up for another couple years or so, as long as you can keep the elk from running through it again.”