“You forget, I also failed your cousin Rudy.”
“You couldn’t save Rudy from himself either,” I reminded him. “We all tried, Mr. T. You can look at it as we all failed but we didn’t. In the end, Rudy failed himself.”
Mr. T shook his head. “You can say a thousand words, put them in a hundred songs, Justice, and you would not have enough words to convince me I’m wrong.”
I studied a man I didn’t know until that very moment that I loved down deep in my heart where my dad lived, where my grandfather lived, where all the good love that was pure and right in any body took residence.
“I might not be able to convince you that you’re not to blame, the only person to blame is the man who did this to me. But I hope I can convince you that everything you’ve done for me, for Granddad, for Dad, even for Mav, all of it, culminating in you dropping everything to be here right now with me, I love you for it because I just love you.”
“The Lonesome heart,” he replied reflectively, “all of them so soft.”
“Which means it was a blessing Granddad found you so you could protect them.”
He nodded. “Yes.” He kept nodding. “Yes, a blessing.”
I had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the same blessing I was but he cleared his throat, looked away and announced, “You need stables.”
I grinned and turned, bumping him purposefully with my shoulder before I opened my mouth and told him all my plans. The ones that were currently being carried out by Deke and the other ones that would happen pending the sale of the extra land that my real estate agent was negotiating for me.
While I was doing this, we heard a vehicle approach and Mr. T turned to my house, extending his arm for me to precede him.
I did this and we went through my bedroom to the great room to see Cal at the door and two men walking through it.
I stopped dead on sight of them.
One was white, had a salt and pepper (predominately pepper, black pepper) head of hair and goatee, a face that was gorgeous in a rugged way, and a tall body made up of what I was assuming since I kept running into it was patented mountain man muscle.
The other was black, as huge as Deke (maybe even bigger), and so outlandishly handsome, I could swear I’d seen him before and that had to be in a movie.
They were carrying a beat-up couch.
Following them in was Jim-Billy.
Jim-Billy looked at me, started to grin, the grin faltered, died, he stood still and immobile and I started toward him, calling a gentle, “Hey, Jim-Billy.”
He didn’t greet me back.
He turned on his battered boot and walked out.
Deke was down the ladder and on the move to the front door, saying, “Wood, Ty, Jussy. Jussy, my buds, Wood and Ty.”
Then he was through the door.
I looked to Wood and Ty. Ty, the black guy, I knew was Lexie’s husband. Wood was the man I hadn’t met who took care of Granddad’s truck.
I waved.
They did not wave back.
They were staring at me with stony faces and their mountain man, badass, pissed-off vibe was choking the air.
Okay, so maybe I should have a look at my face and perhaps get creative with foundation.
I walked to my front windows.
And I stood there and stared as I saw Jim-Billy, his back to me, hands fisted and to his hips, the line of his body tight, Deke standing close to him, his head bent to the older man, his hand wrapped around the back of Jim-Billy’s neck.
They were talking.
I watched Jim-Billy’s back heave with what was apparently a large breath.
Then he nodded his ball-capped head.
Deke dropped his hand and they both turned to the house.
I scooted out of eyesight, not an easy task as the walls were windows that rose unobstructed for two and half stories.
I did this thinking that was at least one thing that was happening in my life that it was easy to know what to make of it.
Jim-Billy really liked me.
And more serenity settled inside me.
Ty and Wood headed back out. Deke and Jim-Billy came back in. Wood and Ty also came back in, this time with a ratty armchair.
Ty went back out to get an ottoman.
Jim-Billy sat his ass in the armchair, lifted his dusty boots to the ottoman practically before Ty had it on the floor, looked at me and asked, “You got any beer, sweetheart?”
“It’s not even nine in the morning,” Mr. T. stated tetchily, staring at Jim-Billy and doing it making it clear he wasn’t making much of him.
Jim-Billy looked at him. “Who’re you?”
“William Thurston. I’m Justice’s,” Mr. T replied.
I waited for him to say more but apparently he meant that to say it all (and it did, and the way it did gave me more solace).
“And you are?” Mr. T asked when Jim-Billy didn’t offer that information up himself.
“I’m Jim-Billy. I’m Justice’s too. And I’m hangin’ with my girl here so she don’t get bored outta her mind watchin’ men hang drywall.” He turned his attention to me. “Now, darlin’, you got beer?”